This erotic story features anthropomorphic (furry) characters, intelligent humanoid beings with both animal and human characteristics.
*
Ruck stepped out of the cab at the foot of the long driveway to his childhood home. Money changed hands with the cab driver, and a cloud of dust on the arid dirt road covered the car's retreat. Tires ground the loose soil, tossing the beige matter high in the air. Ruck raised his arm to shield his eyes, coughing at the mess the driver had caused. It didn't matter. He was home.
After the dust cloud subsided, he shook the dirt from his fur, fetlocks swinging side-to-side. His arms and legs suffered less than his glorious mane, while the rest of his body was protected from the elements by his leisure clothes: a plain black t-shirt and pants. Dark glasses reflected the brunt of the midday sun. He collected his sand-blasted self and lifted his leg. At last, he crossed the threshold, setting foot firmly on his parent's land. The sandy earth rose around his hoof, the sturdy pillar of his limb sinking into home. This land wanted to envelop him, wanted him to stay and never leave again — to trap him here forever. Ruck felt its pull, the warm comfort of familiarity tug at his soul. It was enticing.
Three steps. Then four. Then many. The grown-up mustang entered the past. His tall body carried him quickly up the path, the still air not yet whipped into a frenzy by the wind, leaving his rich coat of fur unmolested. The walk to the house usually took ten minutes. He took longer, seizing the opportunity to look upon the acres he ran and hid and played among in his youth. Those memories seemed so distant now, to him, a man of twenty-five. But seeing the same sights he spent his childhood days observing brought them closer than ever. He could almost taste the meals he used to enjoy as a child after a long day adventuring, and the smell of the farm reinforced that nostalgic sensation. He could get lost in a place like this. Not in the physical sense. The emotional.
Ahead! There she stood. His mother, in the porch of the two-storey white timber house he was raised in. He last saw her a year go, at his graduation. She positively shone that day, in fine formal wear, proud of her son's achievements. He looked towards the porch. She was as radiant as ever. No fancy dress this time, only her usual get-up. Tight-buttoned shirt with the collar splayed, the criss-crossing burgundy and yellow ochre pattern her signature style. She clad her bottom half with a pair of old ripped jeans, from where he stood Ruck could see muck-marks, evidence of a woman hard at work. A cowboy hat rested on her head, giving the mare a classic rancher look. Past that her mane had been bunched back to keep it from flopping in front of her during the day.
Ruck's tail flicked as he approached.
She leaned against the door frame, a big smile on her muzzle.
He reached the entrance in silence. He removed his sunglasses, the shade of the porch now taking over that responsibility. This was the first time in a while his brown eyes (matching his fur) set themselves upon his mother's. Her grey-green irises shone brightly, staring deep into his soul. No words were spoken. One look was all they needed. One look that said: 'welcome home'.
"Hey Ma," Ruck said in a bass voice, the sound of which ripped through the idyllic ambiance, banishing any chirping of birds or rustling of trees to oblivion. That voice! Oh how his mother had longed to hear a word spoken by that voice.
"RUCK!" she squealed in her Southern twang. Leaping from the doorway, she wrapped her son in an enormous hug — squeezing like her life depended on it. "Yer home! Mah baby..."
"I missed you too Ma." He brought his arm 'round her back, placing a firm hand on her shoulder blade, keeping the hug close. His other arm soon joined the party, locking behind her back, bending his knees to accommodate his mom's shorter stature.
He'd come a long way. And this moment made it all worth it.
She broke the embrace. "Can't ya stay fer more than a Summer?"
Ruck chuckled. Unlike his mother, time spent away from home had diminished his accent. "Ma, you know well I got a job, responsibilities..."
"I know, I know. Ya silly boy! I wish it was simpler. Like the ol' days."
"Well I'm here now. Make the most o' me."
"I will!" she exclaimed, "now hun, how's life in the big city? How's work?"
"Work's great. Got a position at a big firm downtown. So I don't want for much. Stayin' with some roommates to keep costs low, so I can put more into savings. We all pitch in for stuff. Nobody's an ass or got a big ego. Things're pretty good."
"Oh my God, I'm so happy fer ya! Hope ya saved some money fer yer dear ol' mama!"
"I did Ma. I did." He produced a small bundle of dollar bills, placing them on her palm and closing her fingers around the wad. "For being a great mom," he grinned.
She opened her hand. Shock and amazement washed over her, the matronly mare's jaw dropping. "Baby! How much is this!?"
"More than enough for a few repairs and renovations for the house. Plus enough for you to treat yourself."
"I...ya earn so much..." She stood there. Dumbfounded.
"Ma, I told you I have a great job. It's no big deal."
"Yeah it's a big deal. I can't believe—"
"That your son treats his momma right?"
Words weren't necessary to express her gratitude. The silvery twinkle in her eye was thanks enough.
"Where would I be without you? Eh, Ma?"
She kicked her hoof into the porch floor, angling it so that she tip-toed on the boards, her left leg twisting, lightly grinding her hoof into the wood. "Nowheres. That's where," she replied.
"I have a lot to thank you for. Especially this year."
"Shucks honey, I'm not one fer takin' credit. But ya did so well..."
"Oh I did more than well. Top percentile o' grades—"
"Just as smart as yer Pa!"
"—and I owe it all to your support." Ruck had left to pursue a college education, something his father pushed for, and his mother supported wholeheartedly. His father had done the same in his youth, studying hard to make something of himself. His parents met at a county fair, dad visiting his hometown for once in a blue moon and falling head-over-heels in love with a simple farm girl. One thing led to another, and with the blessings of both families concerned they were wed. Ruck arrived on the scene shortly after.
"I miss him honey-pie. More than anythin'."
His dad died a week before graduating. It was a black mark on an otherwise happy occasion. It affected his mom more than anyone else. Yet she dried her tears and put on a strong face as the flash of photographer's camera immortalised her son's triumph. Her husband would've been proud to see him then; smart, strong, handsome...
She led him by the hand into the house.
* * *
The old farm house's exterior was a sight to behold — a clean, well-kept Carpenter Gothic home, built before electrification of the region. It had seen plenty of updates in the time since its construction, and while from the outside it hadn't suffered the ravages of time, the interior of the house bore the marks of repeated remodelling. Modern conveniences occupied nooks and crannies, haphazardly inserted wherever the space existed, with preservation of the quaint aesthetic a fleeting regard to its inhabitants throughout the years. Ruck's parents never minded much the 'corruption' of its antique look. They were people who lived in the
now;
their minds on the godly-green land and its people. Drinking. Dancing. Lanterns hanging from trees in Spring — illuminating the paths and parlours of the rural neighbourhood. Love. Laughter. And smiling faces. Who cared about the history of the building when there were far more important things in life?
Foggy glass panes were held in permanent suspension by the varnished wood of the original window frames. They'd begun to lose their transparency decades ago, but lingered on, eking out their twilight years, roughly forty percent opaque. Enough light was let in on a sunny day to avoid wasting electricity, but when the clouds came over, and the weather turned...that was when their age showed. Many parts of the house told similar stories.
The hall now entertained a familiar mustang. Older, yes. Wiser, yes. But still the same young colt who leaped and bounded up-and-down the stairs, clattered the cupboards, fiddled with the fireplace...getting up to all sorts of mischief, swimming in the throes of rambunctious youth.
Ruck's mom scurried off to the far side of the house, leaving him to wallow in yet more memories. "Looks like I'm home," he said, the scourge of his homesickness lifting.
* * *
Dinnertime came and his mother had prepared an aromatic meal comprised of mixed vegetables, onions, peppers, spices, and more; its rich scent burning his nostrils. "Smells good Ma," he nickered, taking a seat at the wooden table.
"I hope ya like it honey-pie. Wanted to put on a special meal for your first day back."
"Looks plenty special!"
They dug in.
As the hot food tantalised his tongue, chewing and savouring the sweet taste of home, Ruck peered over at his mother. He noticed her stare a lot; the table, the bowl...never at him. He worried over her, alone in the countryside. Farming kept her mind steady, though it's never been easy for one to avoid the sting of loneliness. With a mild sigh she resumed eating. Her lips smacked, her meal gradually disappearing to fuel her finely-aging body. Working the fields meant she was healthier than most her age, and despite a build-up of fat in the usual places her figure maintained itself well.
She sighed. Ruck looked up at her.
"Not enjoying it? You made it."
"I know that hun."
