My big brother was off. 'Rents, too. The empty evening house was hollow, rattley; phantom echoes of a day at junior high faded away with the sun. I'd gone through all the numbers that my new SuperGamerz cell phone could remember, munching microwaved pizza from a greasy paw. But nofur had answered. Not one.

I sighed. Guess it was official. Stuck at home onna 6th-grade Saturday night, with absolutely nothing to do. And no company but Brent, my plush fox.

So there I lay upon my back, limp ferret tail between my paws, knees drawn up in roomy skater-jeans with Gap emblazoned cool on the back. The plushie on my chest gazed back, shining dark eyes reflecting the dim desklamp, the dusk on bedroom walls. His silly, tongue-lolling grin mocked my lonely plight. I wagged his floofy tail, made him bounce a bit to amuse myself.

"So, Brent... It's just us guys tonight."

Anxious, I put the plush aside, pulled off my shirt - A & F stripes that was more casual than cool. There were a couple of friendship bracelets around one wrist, bright beaded colors against sable, and a rainbow paw pendant around my furry orange neck. I was pretty flat in the chest and tummy, a mustie of eleven who spends more of his time indoors than out.

Maybe that's why I don't have any friends, I thought, smoothing a free paw over my pelt. A wet and sniffily self pity put his arm around the shoulders of a kit too young to recognize him for the demon he really is.

But I shook myself free, wished for a cool, clean, distracting breeze. And scritched beneath the waist of my loose jeans, reaching low to where they ride above Tommy's.

I had all my labels.

Maybe it's just not that simple.

The foxie was on me again, hopping about happily meanwhile. I scritched his soft white chest with one paw, making him wriggle with my other on his tailbase. I wagged him again, feeling the tickle of his brush on my own tummy.

"So what do you know about it anyway?" I teased the faux fox. He grinned just the same as he'd always done, mute yet friendly. Non-threatening, in a lobotomized sort of way.

But the evening was still, silent as the stuffie and uncomfortably humid. Itchy beneath my fur, beneath my 'nads. I thought I might take a shower, let the water deal with the nervous summer feeling. Still lying on my back, I popped the buttonfly of my Gaps, kicked them down and off my paws. The keys in my pants-pocket chimed.

I sighed. Much cooler. I could sniff myself, now liberated from denim, all young and sweet and nose-tickling. Cherry-fresh and fashionable Tommy's clinging shyly like only damp boxer briefs on an innocent boyferret can.

The foxie was silent.

"Hay, it's not like you gotta worry about clothes." I turned him upside down in my paw, looked for his tag. It was inside one leg, slippery rayon with faded printing on it. "So you do know yer brands, little foxie," I giggled. "But yer always nakey!"

I imagined the fox blushing, tucked his nose under his forepaws for shame. Brent hid his eyes, tail appalled and flaccid. I laffed out loud.

"Yeah, you naughty - naked - little - foxie!" He danced across my chest in time with the taunts, obviously enjoying the attention. My foxstuffie wasn't a toy to be so easily trifled with!

I made Brent stand on rear paws, displaying himself boldly, with a preteen giggle at his vulpine arrogance. He waggled his tail, sinuous flicks dancing out feelings that teased at my eyes, seemed just over the threshold of my young imagination. He had more of my attention than he knew.

I tittered. "Hay, you bad foxie! Yer gonna get a spanking!"

The plushie eeeped, bounced startled into the air. I laughed.

But I brought Brent to my nose, nuzzling him sweetly. And scritched his tail as I said, "I'm just teasin' ya, foxbutt. I'd never do that."

The stuffie nuzzled me back, the petting at his tailbase making his nose twitch. I moved the other paw under his bottom, supporting him all safe and warm. What I'd like to feel, I thought. I closed my eyes and kissed his small fabric nose. It was suddenly so restful and safe there, and I rolled onto my side to bank the feeling; a new and curious urge for privacy tickled my conscience like a strange feather, anticipation.

I petted and scritched Brent with both paws, hugging, mrrring softly. His tail was so fluffy and light; his crotch, so velvety smooth.

A laugh popped out of me!! "Yiffy foxie! I betcha were likin' that action!" The silly grin on his muzzle said all. "Yeah, I know how you foxers are..." Actually, I didn't. I guess I already had some sort of idea about what 'action' was. And foxes in general. But I suppose I was still pretty innocent and dumb. Didn't even know what a yiff really was., too young for the angst that passes as real desire until the winter's night of your first deadly heartbreak.

Turning him over, I examined Brent's underside. Plain, like any plush. Soft. But inside me there was something, something new. A sort of sadness maybe. I rubbed a paw carefully and slowly over the plushie's tummy and private area, exploring him... exploring me.

The stuffie came up to my muzzle; I nuzzled gently at his belly, between his legs. There was something sort of funny about it. Naughty like a yiffy fox, but not naughty at all. And not really funny, either. Sort of like walking too close to the edge of a cliff - too close to look down - and feeling the pounding of unseen waves against the stone beneath you.

My tongue came slowly and shyly, slipping from my muzzle, all small and honest and seeking. I licked the little plush fox from under his fluffy tail to the middle of his soft cloth tummy. And shuddered. Gawd, I did it again! And hissed breath through my fangs. I could feel myself tenting my Tommy's. This wasn't like just in class sometimes, when it gets caught - ya know, pinched, as you sit there at yer desk - and it chubs up. I was out of my sheath in those shorts, dry cotton against my babypowder preteenness.

I opened my muzzle, panted damp, excited breath on the foxie's cloth belly. The bed seemed to roll. I hung on tight to the comforter, buried my nose between Brent's legs again, dispatching a paw to rescue my trapped and tingling self. The desperate tighty-whities got hung up on one rear paw when they frantically tried to join my Gaps at the foot of the bed.

And Brent the Plushie shuddered in my trembling paws as I licked over him, under his tail, past groin and tummy. My small, tight sac felt like it was going to disappear into me, leave me smooth and sexless as the stuffed fox in my muzzle. Yet that other part of me, the tingly-pointy I'd wondered at during every single bath and every change of boyclothes, seemed to whistle and grow numb as I instinctively hunched the friendly evening air.

A shock like watery fire sluiced over me, licked my immature sheath in dry waves. It felt like my thing wanted to leap from my groin. And in almost the same instant I relaxed quite suddenly, sighing, helpless before the alien sensation that, strangely, wasn't even that alien at all.

"Oh Brent! OMG what was that?" I panted, shaking, near a cry. I was on my back again, the foxie resting motionless near my sensitive sheath. Vision swam; the room reeled. I grasped, reached out for something familiar and stable, petted the plushie's soft back and small pointy ears, which trembled under my paw.

And sniffied and huggled my small fabric friend! A tear shook itself free, plunged to saline oblivion on the slope of my cheek. I moaned, near fear, near a world I didn't know. The bed was no longer moving, but still the whole universe seemed to be racing by.

"I love you, Brent," I mrrrd to the stuffie, hurrying him to my muzzle for a kiss. And collapsed back limp to the coverlet, the toyfox bouncing against my belly. His tail landed on my sheath.

My eyes squeezed shut, my back arched. My muzzle, opening on its own, emitted a silent cry that only the angels could hear. I lifted my tailbase off the bed, lodging my tender small boyness under the fluffy tailseam of the little toy foxie. Soft as his fur was, it burned like fire upon my exposed and unwet tip.

The planet stood still. I clutched my plush almost tight enough to tear. It felt like I was lifted a foot from the bed, then dropped forthwith onto the floor.

I called out;

ceased to breathe;

ceased to be.

And the next thing I knew, I was crying. Hard - panting and pleading - frightened and weak. I desperately wanted to tell somefur, maybe my bro. To trust the joy, share it. To seek reassurance from the fear. But I didn't dare move, chance to spoil the glory by running off like that, even moving at all. I kissed my plushfox, hugging him tight. And wished more than anything to feel the soft warmth that his tongue would surely be if only he were real. I wept that he was just fabric and fluffy stuffs, thread and shiny plastic eyes, a heart that comes only from the place all stories do.

And Brent the fox found my ear, licked it with his tongue.