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Jim was nervous. Even in broad daylight and with a police station in his line of sight, the skinny frat boy had never felt safe on this street. Though he was never one to judge, at least not aloud, he was deep in what others in his income-tax bracket called, "The Ghetto". Single floor houses, lawn "art", busted windows and beat up sedans. Not to mention the grown men riding pink bikes that were five sizes too small. Normally this was a non-issue. Jim had watched his brother Barry from the comfort of his Civic disappear behind that huge windowless door at least a dozen times, always to wobble back about twenty minutes later with two big bags of green and a big, dumb smile. It didn't help now, however, that Barry was in Boulder rock climbing or something for Spring Break and Jim was stuck at home watching the house. Being dankrupt was the worst of it. Did he know dealers that weren't under the poverty line? Yes. Did they have some real dro shit? Of course. This was Colorado of course. This guy had something more, though. Something better.
Free weed.
Suddenly the door swung open, a lanky, spotted cat, inked from head to toe standing in the threshold. Jim's face flushed as she glared him down, demanding his intentions wearing nothing but a bra and the tiniest pair of boyshort panties he had ever seen. After stammering out an explanation, all the while attempting (and failing) to keep his eyes from wandering, the feline scoffed and looked him up and down with a smirk tugging at her lips. The human sighed in relief as she turned and beckoned him in, her long, mesmerizing tail swaying behind her. Jim was too busy following the gait of the leopard's hips and bouncing of that barely contained ass to notice that had stepped through another door.
The smell caught his attention, though.
That familiar, earthy, skunky scent hit Jim's nose with such a force that it snapped his head back and then his body stumbling forward, barely catching the door frame to steady himself before he hit the ground. Never in his life had he experienced something like this, something so potent that it dampened the smoky air and invaded his very being. Jim knew what good weed smelled like, but good weed didn't make him sweat. Good weed didn't make him go weak at the knees, his mouth water, or make him so... Damn hard. No, this was something else. You didn't get high, or horny, from just smelling weed, and as a pulsing, tingling warmth buzzed through Jim's whole body, he knew he was both.
A deep, sharp noise ripped Jim from his epiphany, the man lifting his head, then dropping his jaw. Before him was something out of a monster movie. A behemoth of a man loomed over Jim, whom instinctively shrank. Courthouse columns would be envious of the girthy legs that threatened to hulk the jeans that covered them to tatters at any moment. He was bare above the waist, a thick, shaggy coat of black white and grey did little to hide the double row of tile-sized slabs that guided his gaze up to two tire-sized pecs. The beast's shoulders made him nearly as wide as he was tall, blanketed by a mane of chest and neck fur. And then it got strange. An undeniably masculine and canine face leered down at Jim, but while he was quick to label the man a husky, a pair of gargantuan black horns which hooked out, then forward and towards the ceiling made him question this judgement.
"Yer Barry's brother? Here for some bud?" The horned canine barked at Jim, who finally made contact with those blue eyes surrounded by a sea of red. The human nodded dumbly, mouth still agape as the room's air continued to assault him. He got used to smells quickly, but this one just kept getting stronger. A grin stretched over the monster's wide, bestial jaw, wicked razors glinting as he stepped closer. It was too much. Jim fell to his knees, weak in the head. He felt sick. He needed something. Badly. His mouth had become a lake for it, his body shivering, aching with a need for something that he couldn't even place in his mind. A thundering chuckle vibrated around his head, his frame suddenly shadowed by the larger man.
"What a faggot. Took to it even better than that bitch brother of yours." The dog beast's head turned, to the leopard, then jerked back motion her closer. "Go fill up a bag for him babe," he started, then gazed back down at Jim, who by this point was a drooling mess, eyes faded and tenting his plaid shorts with a meager erection. "I'll take my payment right here."
His bottle sized fingers dipped down and worked the latch of his belt. The zipper eased open. Jim found what he was craving.
Ryker.
Husky. Big one. Loves his girlfriend, Etna. Otherwise if you don't know, you probably don't get to.
www.f-list.net/c/Ryker Caine