Group Therapy (gay furry camp story)

5 - the boys

By the time Ryan finally stumbled into the correct campsite, his determination had long since faltered. His eyes were dusty slits. Blinks felt straining. And that feeling of dizziness... he had been so close. But the body does what the body needs; and Ryan's body did it right at the entrance of the camp.

What felt like an hour later, he was staring up into blue-sky, aching all over. His thirsty mind struggled to grasp at basic concepts. Like where he was. Why he was. Why any of this was?

Suddenly there was somebody standing over him, stretching their shadow across everywhere but his drying eyes. "Well then." They said. "I know Camp B owes us supplies, but I didn't think they'd send a full coyote."

Ryan said nothing legible.

Their head, just a black shape, turned over towards the tents, producing a lengthy, crooked snout. The boy started yelling some kind of call that Ryan didn't know an animal's throat could produce.

In an instant, there were quite a few people standing over him. Ryan felt his cheeks flush fill with heat despite the shadows which cooled him. Annoyance crept up in him, like a weak, milky broth: his drunken delusion of the cosmos above was now broken by people. And when there are people, there are urgencies. And where the more urgencies, there was likely more that he'd need to endure.

One of the taller boys rocked his head back and gargled. A wad of spit flew from his maw and attached itself to the side of Ryan's neck, running not even an inch before it was soaked into dry, thirsty fur - like that of a toy in an attic. The coyote's eyes squinted from the wet-sensation. 

 "Well e' ain't dead." The spitter noticed, in quite the Australian way.

"Thanks for checking." A new voice flatly said, and then whoever it belonged to crouched down and shielded Ryan's eyes from the sun with his hands. Ryan's eyes dilated. The unkempt scruffiness of feline ear's, bent whiskers that stuck out at no coherent pattern. Eyes were made ever greener by contrasting, near cartoonish red that stained the fur of his face. It resembled - almost - a bloody mask, like cult initiation in a sacred thieves' tribe.

The cat smiled coolly and held out a leather water-skin (which you can imagine to be quite the contraband in a world governed by civilized animals) He twisted the cap off and took a swig himself, then offered it to the corpse.

Ryan drank from it greedily, but he stopped, flinching from the taste. He ignored his nerves and drank some more.

The cat smirked as he watched him, before he yanked it away - well before a hydrating quantity was administered - before bringing it to his own lips. He chugged, finishing the rest, and wiped the white from his whiskers with a long sigh. "Milk." He said, biological ecstacy evident in his expression but he still had yet to smile. "Was my birthday yesterday. Well, Mr. Hyde thought it was. Only way to get precious little commodities like this. And medicine. And just general tender love and care." He seemed to focus on something in the distance - much like the fox had - but the difference was that the cat had this soft, easiness of his eyes. Strange, as one should normally squint in a desert, but he stared with intent to drink in everything. As though everything unobserved should slip away into oblivion if he weren't, like red sand falling between outstretched fingers. "You may be my strangest present so far."

The laughter of many male voices scattered around in the sand. Without the insulation, the sound escaped into the empty abyssal landscape much like moisture, gone too quickly and missed just the same. But this effect was lost on the cat's voice. It had a way of wrapping over your ears like a scarf. When he was finished, you'd think of what was said. Playing it over like an echo.

The cat's tail curled out like an old brown whip and wiped clean the spit from Ryan's neck. "I'm Bandit." He said, voice still that strange - yet ultimately commanding - soft. He jestured to the ragged teenagers around him "These are my boys."

They cheered and whooped, some shrieking that animalistic scream. The abruptness rang Ryan's sensitive ears like telephones. Impending sales' calls to discuss tinnitus.

"Have you killed a man?"

Ryan nodded, despite feeling that 'killed' was too a mild a term in his case.

"Good. Then that's all we need to know about you." Bandit said. "Everything else, all the fun little details like your name, your age... even you're favourite bloody flavour of 'Ben and Jerry's'... forget about all that. In fact, don't even bring them up. I doubt anyone here could care less." He turned to face the others. "We don't like small talk much, do we boys?"

There were grunts of approval from the masses. After the sleep and rehydration, he counted that there were five of them standing over him, not including Bandit. He took a second to recognise one of them as Kyle, and it had taken him so long because - like bandit - his fur had been stained red with near completion.

"Speaking of talking," Bandit grinned, "I think I've about exhausted my share of words for this morning. Flack, Mortar, you two mind showing this canine where to put his things?"

There were no objections from the bear who stepped forward, nor the hyena who stepped forward soon after. Ryan was thankful to see the hyena - he had a cheeky face. He was also thankful to see that he had clothes on. Flack, was his name? Surely the bear is 'Mortar'.

The bear helped Ryan find his feet, whilst Bandit led the rest of the boys off into a more communal looking tent. They each clapped him on the shoulder on the way past, some welcoming him into the gang with hearty handshakes, others semi-jokingly warning him that'd he'd best not get annoying, nor become a burden.

The only person who lacked any personal exchange was Kyle, who kept his head down and - as the saying goes - left Ryan's shoulder cold.

The Hyena was showing him into one of six tents, which were quickly explained to be 'sleeping tents'. Not to be confused with the communal tents, toilet tents, or quiet tents. "Now, the toilets ain't really even a tent. More so a tarp that... ya know... blocks the smell and all that. Unless ye' got a canine nose like I do." The hyena said with a smile. He had a face that Ryan felt strangely eager to look at, and his fangs had a way of poking out the corners of his mouth even when it was closed.

The bear grunted.

"Sorry, not a canine." Flack laughed, and gestured a thumb towards the bear, "He don't talk too much, but when he's pretty smart when he does."

Inside of the tent, Ryan was startled to see that there were only two beds. Each positioned on opposing sides. They were stretchers, like they had been in the other camp, and once again they were temporary lodgings that had been made to be permanent. The sheets on top were cream-coloured and already falling apart. The tent didn't even have a floor, but whatever dirt ground there was had been ridded of pebbles and other natural inconveniences. Also, by the looks of things he had a VERY messy roommate, as one of the hammocks was lined with so much brown shedded fur that it could almost serve as an extra sheet.

"Looks great." Ryan said, and he felt amazed at how much he suddenly missed his wood cabin. Trauma and all. "Who's the roommate?"

The bear answered by pushing past him and flopping face first onto the stretcher with the most fur. Napping in an instant.

And christ could bears snore. Even from where he was standing, Ryan felt his ears being pulled towards the bear's enormous breaths. And each snore was impressively loud, like a old chainsaw was starting up for every breath that the bear heaved out.

"That's Mortar, by the way." Flack said. "You'll get used to him."