We pledge, as
individuals and as a society,
to allow each person, predator or prey,
to make their own choice between freedom and slavery
and to allow prey to choose the time and manner
of their conversion to fur.
"He's here!" Andrew's jaw dropped as he looked out the window, watching the limousine roll smoothly to the front of the circular drive.
Andrew gulped visibly. I'd never seen my brother display any hint of nervousness. I looked back out the window. The limo driver, an enormous jaguar, had emerged and walked around to open the door on the near side of the limo. His expensive suit didn't hide his intimidating muscles. An incredibly handsome young kangaroo, dressed in tight black leather pants and a short matching leather jacket, got out of the limo, a black leather collar caressing his neck. His eyes were hidden behind shades whose lenses matched his outfit. A snap-brim fedora completed the ensemble. His black and brown headfur was brushed into a windblown style. He reached into the limo for a large satchel, then turned back towards the house and walked up the steps towards the front door.
I noticed that the collar sat very low on the kangaroo's neck, just off his shoulders. To avoid interfering with the noose, I guessed. I looked at the kangaroo again, puzzled. "I thought he was supposed to be a horse..."
Andrew snarled back, "That's not him, bonehead. That's his assistant. He's..."
Andrew gasped, and turned once more to look outside. It seemed doubtful Andrew or I could be seen behind the gauzy drapes from the bright sunlight outside. Andrew was gawking without trying to hide it, and I'm sure he would have played it cooler if he'd thought the new arrivals were watching his reactions.
Then I gasped too. A stallion was emerging from the car, and there was no doubt of this one's identity. His straight, shoulder-length headfur looked like ripe durum wheat. His clothing supported the color motif established by his hair: tight, light brown jeans that emphasized his perfect bottom, a golden shirt with black highlights, so sheer it was nearly see-through, the top three buttons open to show his chestfur, even golden sandals. Like the kangaroo, he wore a leather collar, this one a brownish color a little darker than the rest of his clothes. His fur was soft, smooth, and shone in the bright early Saturday afternoon sunlight, a perfect match for the color of his outfit. His well-developed muscles added shape and definition to every feature that draws eyes to male's body: long, toned legs like a gymnast, shoulders and arms like a swimmer. His eyes, unlike his companion's, were uncovered; they were bright, large, and wide, a perfect match for his smile, his face expressing not so much wonder at his surroundings as pure, simple joy and excitement.
It was my turn to gawk; I wished I could somehow look like this horse — he was probably the hottest anthro I had ever seen. The young male exuded charm, confidence, and above all, sex.
I was eighteen, just on the verge of being full-grown, and felt woefully unprepared for the role. I was suddenly very conscious of my own body, which could hardly compare to that stallion. I had gotten my growth late, and still couldn't figure out how I should look. My body seemed formless and vague, like a quickly-sketched cartoon drawing. My nut-brown fur was just there, not like the perfect, layered blonde-on-brown fur of the horse. I had on a dingy pair of Andrew's cast-off sweats, and wished I had the clothing sense that could make me look like... well, I'd never be like the horse, but a little crisper, anyway. Father could have bought me any clothes I wanted, but I'd just never felt like shopping for clothes. It was easier to just wear whatever was around the house. Besides, wearing good clothes would have been pretending to be somebody I wasn't, somebody cool, not a nerd.
My brother Andrew...there was something mysterious about him, something that attracted the eye. I wished I could look like Andrew, but there was no way I wanted to be like Andrew — a schmuck of the first order. Andrew looked cool. Andrew and I are squirrels, but Andrew's fur isn't a common nut-brown like mine, but more of a darkish gray, probably best described as smoky.
Andrew was punching my arm. "Wake up, dumbshit. You need to greet him at the door. I'm going to be out back."
I sucked in a shocked breath. "Me?? Why?"
"I want everybody watching when he meets me. Just get him in the house and see if there's anything he needs. Then bring him out back." He turned and almost sprinted back through the house, with an unusual, almost shy reluctance to let the stallion see him too early.
Andrew projected enough self-importance even on an average day, but this, unfortunately, was his twenty-first birthday. He wanted to make sure he was the object of all attention among his friends and (I sometimes wondered how there could be such a category) admirers.
Melville, the butler, went past to answer the bell. Most wealthy men would have a slave answering the door; Father considered that gauche. Hiring a free citizen in such a role was typical of his idea of flashiness. Melville opened the door and said "Yes?" to the visitors.
The horse, now standing in front with the kangaroo and the limo driver behind him, beamed at Melville. "I'm Marshall... Well, today I'm Prince Marshall." He gave the kangaroo a look, and they both chuckled. "I'm here for Andrew Cameron's party. This is Bailey," he indicated the kangaroo, "my assistant, and this is Big Bill, our... chaperone." The boys laughed again. The huge jaguar nodded a bare half-inch, without expression. He wore shades as dark as, and much more intimidating than, the kangaroo's. Big Bill stood at least a full head taller than Father, with shoulders twice as wide.
Melville responded, "Yes, we've been expecting you."
Marshall laughed again. "Well, I hope so."
My stomach was churning. I noticed that I was fidgeting, not sure what to do with my hands. I forced myself to hold them still at my sides.
"Will you come this way?" Melville backed away to let them enter.
Marshall's bright eyes met mine. "Oh, hi. Are you..." Marshall's eyes flicked down, saw that I wasn't wearing a slave collar. "...part of the family?"
I stepped forward and offered my hand. "Ummm, yeah. Wynn Cameron. Andrew is my brother. I'm here to... well I'm supposed to... do you need... anything?" I could feel my face reddening, but I just couldn't tear my eyes away from Marshall's. At last I noticed that Marshall's collar had dark thread stitched into the front which read in a flowing script, "Marshall, property of Andrew Cameron." I gulped. I should have expected that; Father had purchased the horse for Andrew. It still boggled me, a little.
Marshall covered my hand with both of his. "That's so nice of you, and it's really nice meeting you! I think I've got everything I need here, though." He reached back and tapped the satchel Bailey was carrying. "Everything's all set up in back of the house, right? The crew came this week and set up the prep-tent, and the stage and everything? The gallows is all ready?"
I looked around without thinking, even though the newly-installed equipment wasn't visible from inside the house. "Yeah, I guess it's ready. You should probably check."
Marshall turned and looked straight up. "Bill, could you see to that?"
The jaguar nodded mutely and looked around the room. "Oh! Melville, would you show him the way?" I added.
"Yes, Mister Wynn."
Marshall was gazing around the room curiously. "Is Andrew here? I'm excited about meeting him."
You wouldn't be if you knew him. He's waiting out back. I can take you out there...
Marshall tilted his head and half-smiled. "Was there something you wanted to ask? We all get a lot of that."
"I, no I just... well, yeah," I stammered, feeling stupid, "You're really going to let Andrew hang you? For real?"
Marshall didn't laugh at me. Instead the horse simply took a deep breath, as if the excitement was about to burst out of him, and nodded eagerly. "He'd better. I wouldn't want all these years of training to go to waste."
Marshall seemed so happy and friendly, I found myself beginning to relax with him. I was rarely comfortable with strangers, especially those whose, well... might as well call it beauty... made me self-conscious. "It just seems weird to spend... well, like you said, all those years, getting ready for something that uses it all up in one day." Then it hit me. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I don't mean you're weird!"
Marshall did laugh this time, and I relaxed. Marshall patted my arm. "It's okay, really. But I don't really look at it that way. For me it's like... well, for the last several years my life has been pointed towards one thing. One big goal. Everything has revolved around this day. I've been training for this one thing. And that's the way to live, I think. Focused on a goal. It makes me feel like my life has meaning. Or has had." He chuckled. "It's about over now."
It seemed as if this stranger could read my innermost yearning — that my life should have some meaning. I'd always feared it had none. I knew a male had a certain place in society, that I was expected to find something useful to do with myself. But what did it mean? "I — Well, I mean, I could never go to the Hanging Academy, though. What should I do for a goal?"
Marshall shook his head slightly. "You'd have to find that inside you, Wynn. It would have to be the thing you want the most. But I'm wondering why you don't think you could go to the Academy. You look pretty smart. Are your grades good?"
"My grades? What's that got to do with hanging?"
Marshall exchanged a look with Bailey, and grinned. "Wynn, your grades have everything to do with it! I mean, by the time you finish the Academy, you could impersonate a doctor! You learn all about physiology, for one thing, everything about how your body works, especially the cardiovascular system, how the lungs work with the heart, everything like that." He smiled again. "And psychology, too. Everything about sexual response — what gets males excited, and females too, of course. And fitting your own sexual preferences into your show while you're getting everybody else aroused at the same time, because you want your demise to be sexually fulfilling for yourself as well as others. We work a long time on that."
"But... I mean, you have to be good-looking, too. I mean, you are so..." I waved my hand vaguely to indicate Marshall's body, unable to find just the right words for it.
Marshall looked down at himself, somehow giving the air of seeing himself objectively. "Well, of course. But really, I didn't look like this when I first started. I guess I was handsome, but probably not more than you."
"Me? Come on."
"Wynn, listen to me." Marshall reached up and traced my jawline. "You have a great face, but you've never learned to do anything with it. You've got great cheekbones, a really shapely nose. You have so much potential and you've never known it! You could really learn to make magic on your face, with what you've got to start with. And the body... for one thing, you'd have to know how to dress! You'd learn that there! And you don't think my body looked like this when I started, do you? The workouts in the gym have been killers, but it's all aimed at creating this." He raised his arms and rotated from the hips, first to the right, then to the left. He grinned again. "I promise, in three years you'd look so fantastic that males and females would kill for a chance to get you in bed."
"For real?"
Marshall nodded, still serious. "I mean it, Wynn. Think about it. You're... what are you, seventeen?"
"Eighteen. I'm just finishing high school."
"Well, you could apply right now then! If you..."
Bailey, looking at his watch, tapped Marshall on the shoulder. "Sorry, Marsh, we ought to be moving."
"Oh, right!" He turned back to me. "Listen, Wynn, I have to go mingle with the guests. But go into the tent before I do and wait there for me. I want to talk to you some more. First I have to spend at least an hour talking to people, so go in there in about... say fifty minutes." He smiled conspiratorially. "You probably don't want your brother knowing you're in there, right?"
"Yeah. I mean, no. I..." I was thrilled that this horse was spending so much time with me, and now... inviting me into his sanctuary. "I'll be there! For sure!"
"Big Bill is going to be guarding the tent. He knows to let your brother and your father in, but he'd stop anyone else. We like to watch out for curiosity seekers. Say the word 'squatcho' to him. That's the password. Say it kind of softly so you're not overheard. But..." He laughed. "That shouldn't be a problem. People don't usually come too close to Big Bill for some reason."
I laughed aloud, and led Marshall and Bailey towards the back of the house and out onto the grounds.