Part 2: Bass Hunter
For hours they lay. The sports towel had not packed sufficient capacity to absorb the mingled juices of the pair, leaving them slightly welded to the bleachers; they did not mind. No words were spoken after the copulation, no words were needed. A gentle air current was trickling through the vent just above them, drying their sweat and leaving them caked in salt. The sun reached its zenith (the pair had reached their zenith hours before) and light streamed through the high windows of the gym. The light licked bugs' eyelids gently awakening him from his peaceful slumber. He felt the dark warmth of the dusky man's thick biceps around his breast, and a slight tingling soreness from his dynamite stick. He smiled as he recalled the events mere hours ago: the heaving of bosoms, the swinging of man fruits, seeing Michael blossom into orgasm. The furry male peered upwards at his sun-kissed African, the light dancing through his lashes. He strains to plant a kiss on the darker man's chin, but hopelessly misses and instead sucks on the African's nose.
Michael awoke with a start, snorting loudly. Many would have seen this as an unattractive trait, but it sent shivers down Bugs' body, lighting a fire below. They locked lips, their tongues circling each other, like a defender desperately trying to stop the power forward. Michael drove his long, black tongue down Bugs' throat.
Five minutes later, Bugs had stopped vomiting. This was a strange, but definite full stop to the evening. The larger male soothed the sick man, and gently helped him to his feet. Michael grabbed another towel from behind the bleachers, to wipe down the grey male. It was strangely wet, as though somebody had been crying on it? Michael had little time to ponder over this though, as Bugs ripped the towel from his colossal hands, and wearily wiped himself somewhat clean. They both let out a sigh, part nerves, part desire. The two men made their way out of the gym, their place of sin. "c'mon Bugs… let's hit the shower" cooed the brown one.
…
The gym fell silent, a stark contrast to the previous choir of moans and grunts. From behind the bleachers emerged a dishevelled, shivering figure. A dark cat. Sylvester J. Pussycat Sr. stumbled around the gym, camera in hand. He made for the door, but his knees buckled before he even reached the halfway line. What he had seen had awakened a spark within him. He always knew on which side his bread was buttered. Ever since he bought that Basshunter poster, and would stare at it with his balls hanging out, he knew he leaned more towards the sausage than the tweety pie. But this event, which so offensively unfolded before his eyes; before the lens of his camera, had shattered any heterosexuality he had previously attempted to cling to. Now he craved dick. And he would do anything to get it (foreboding?).
A few moments had passed. He was now caked in sweat and dripping in desire. He collected himself and confidently strode into the sunlight, ready to receive.
…
Bugs trembled with his key in his palm. Could he go through those doors? Could he face Lola after what he had done? What he had felt? He looked down at his large rabbit feet, an overwhelming feeling of shame swept over him. She was with child… how could he have done this? As he put the key into the lock, he remembered why. The smooth entering of the key into the lock, the key tumblers locking into place. Meant to be. He was hit with memories of the previous hour. He reeled from the pleasure which filled his body. He knew what he had to do. He knew he couldn't leave her, but he needed more.
He strode into the house with a smile on his face. Lola had her fanny out again. This was going to be harder than he thought. His glove-clad hand started to tremble. He sighed and gently approached her, never making eye contact. His breath caught in his throat.
"We need to talk" he uttered. She slowly closed her legs, and got up from the glass table. She palmed his plump and fluffy cheek as tears started to roll down his face.
"W-What's wrong, daddy B?"
He grabbed her by the arm and screamed in her face "DON'T CALL ME THAT!" the rage had taken over for a brief moment. He cast her to the ground and started to weep.
"I'm leaving you" he blurted out. Lola started to sob. "I can't lose you, not now. Just one hour ago… I lost the baby." Just then, all of his rage subsided. He stared into the sorrow filled eyes of his former mate. "Oh Lola… I am so sorry. My sperm was too weak for your perfect womb".
"But Bugs… the doctor said that it is I who is unable to bare children, I cannot give you an heir"
In that moment all his love and attraction for the rabbit left him. All he really cared about was spreading his seed. His fury returned, he couldn't help but lift his top lip to bare his mighty teeth. Lola could see his rage, it was painted on his face like the disappointment that he had recently been experiencing during sex.
"I'm so sorry Bugs!" She wailed "So sorry for losing your baby!"
She crumpled to the ground and cried into Bugs' enormous feet. He glanced down, now free from any feelings towards that useless, empty vessel.
"Maybe you'd find it if you tried retracing your steps" he said. He kicked her off his feet and left.
…
Michael Jordan went home, took a shower, lit a fat blunt and turned up the Bob Marley.
There was a light, fluttering knock at the door. He slowly peeled himself off his bean bag and hobbled to the door. He was greeted with the face of Sylvester, awash with a look of glee and excitement.
"I ain't got no weed to sell ya today, barely got enough for myself" groaned Michael
"Oh, I'm here for a very different exotic delight, Mr Jordan" giggled Sylvester, he was clutching a video camera in his shaking hands. "I have something to show you."
Michael sat there in horror as a very familiar scene unfolded in front of his big brown eyes. He wanted to cry, but found himself the owner of an unwanted erection. Sylvester turned to him, a smug and expectant grin on his pied face.
"h…how did you…?" Michael stuttered
"It doesn't matter Michael" the puss squirmed in delight as he spoke, "I want that, and I will get it, unless you want me to show this to the townsfolk! Oh, how long it has been since the children saw a good lynching".
After minutes of pondering the conundrum, the black beast turned to face le chat noir et blanc. "Okay… I will do it. I will fuck you. But on one condition" his large digit pulsated. "Bugs can never find out".
Sylvester's face suddenly became filled with glee. "Oh Michael… but I want Bugs there! And another thing…" Sylvester lifted a mask from his dark pouch. "You must wear this Basshunter mask…during."
