It was late. And hot. The summer night's breeze through my bedroom window was enough to bake cookies. And so overwhelming that I'd had no appetite for nauseous days. Trouble sleeping...

It was too hot, even, to toss and turn.

So I lay on my throat in the fetid darkness, on sheets like a San Tropez beach. Hoping the night would end, waiting for cool breezes of dawn to save me from this fiery furnace. The pillow was under my arms, my muzzle hanging over the end of the bed. I thought of icebergs, of tundra winds whipping across barren wasteland. Cool, dry places.

The pillowcase felt swampy.

There was a tickle at my ear. A breeze, maybe. The merest trace.

I sniffied. No breeze. Just the rank smell of hot ferret. Two showers a day, and still the summer was winning. Whatever I'd do when I turned teen, I hadn't a clue.

Ear tickle. I turned my head. Brent the plushie.

"Hi, little fox," I said. And petted him. He'd probably have gotten a hug, but it was way too warm for that.

I sat the plush on the bedside table. No point in getting him all sweaty. This was the sort of weather to make camels perspire.

Then I closed my eyes, thought of sleep. And imagined the desert. Camels sweltering in hijab, burqas. Camels in keffiyeh, the red and white checkered headdress. Camels with floppy lips tending valves on huge pipelines. Camels building frightening weapons in dark and secret bunkers.

I snerked. And felt a touch at my ear. It was the plush. Guess he fell off the table. I nuzzled him, relocated the stuffed foxie. He was now against the wall, about halfway down the length of the bed, his customary place. Where I wouldn't roll over on him, I was sure.

Closing my eyes, I thought of sleep again. Camels. Camels piloting airplanes. Shook myself. This wasn't helping.

I bounced up, went into the bathroom. Washed. Rinsed my sheath - anything to feel cooler. There wasn't a towel, and I didn't even have boxers. If somefur saw me on my way back to bed, I'd look pretty silly. The fur on my small ferretness was dripping onto the floor, all dark and shiny and matted.

Back in my room, I moved Brent the stuffie back against the wall, lay down in the huge damp outline. The sheet was somewhat cooler from evaporation, from its respite from my body heat. And me, from the drying fur on my paws and muzzle, too.

My boyness was uncomfortable - wet, but trapped underneath where it couldn't dry. I rolled over.

Better. My head hung backwards off the bed, neck extended and pelt taught, sensitive to the slightest trace of moving air. I could almost feel it now. The light little fur on my ticklish ferretsac curled as it dried. I giggled.

And looked down. Twinkling in the moonlight was a small droplet. At the tip of my sheath.

It must be really hot for me to sweat in there I thought. But maybe it was just the wash, no towel after. Yeah, that's it.

I closed my eyes, thought of the desert again. Of an oasis. Of shady tents, cool night breezes. More camels. Naked smalls playing in the shadow of holy palm trees. Kits eating dates, paddling in the shallows of a pool.

That was more like it. I could almost feel the shade now. Feel a breeze myself, tickling over my fur, ruffling me as I dried. I reached down a paw to scritch. It came away wet, and smelling sweet. Whatever the midnight heat was drawing from my sheath, it wasn't sweat.

I groaned, lifted my head to inspect. Past the landscape of my young chest, flat furred tummy, rose the familiar preteen ferrethood. And two shining eyes. Also familiar.

"Brent, you silly plush! How did you get there?" I lifted the stray stuffie, set him on my chest. His muzzle was open, tongue hanging to the side. It looked like he was suffering from the heat, too. Except for his silly grin.

And I petted his tail. He seemed to pant in the dim moonlight.

I put the toyfox aside, checked out my boyhood. More moisture. I wondered briefly if my ferretness could melt. Nah. But with a paw, I drew myself from the fuzzy privacy of my sheath. Everything looked in order. Though sort of angry red. I figured that was from the heat, like a rash or something. Eww, but I didn't want a rash there!

Maybe I'd go wash again. I thought about what my older brother had showed me. Well, showed me isn't exactly right. I'd rushed into the bathroom after school one day for an emergency pee. Found him standing at the sink, fleecepants down to his knees. He had this blue rubber bulb - that thing that Mom used to wash my ears out with when I was real small - he had that poked into his sheath! Water fountained out of him as he squeezed it. I had nearly wet on the floor.

Anyway, there I lay on my midnight bed, waiting for the coolness of morning. And didn't cover again, hoping a little drying there would be good for me. I certainly could feel the air moving against that most wonderful anemometer which lived within my sheath. And giggled at the thought. But it felt so naughty!

The cooling spread from my crotch. It was like being caught in the rain in a t-shirt, feeling the expanding stain as it darkens the material again your fur. I closed my eyes, thought of sleep. The desert. A flash flood. Sluicing sheets of water in the air, a brief searing stab of lightning. And cold. Glorious cloudburst relief from the heat.

So vivid it was that I shivered. What a joy! And reached for my trembling sheath, to cover. My paw fell on fabric.

"Plushie! What are you doing?" The fox toy straddled my boyhood, a lolling grin over my exposed tip. I scritched his ears, felt the pleasurable rub of his fur against mine. And mrrred. His tail lay over my small sac, the underside of my own tail. I had never known my stuffie in quite that way before.

Head hanging off the bed again, I tried to think cooling thoughts. Somehow the good feelings from the plush were making it harder to do that. Making me harder in other ways. And making the dream downpour of that Sahara storm feel like a Swedish sauna. I shook my head, trying to clear the image. The stuffie between my legs was too distracting.

I brought him up to my chest, to keep an eye on him. He sat there obediently, never complaining about his interrupted play. The plush was uncomfortably warm against my fur, but that was ok. I so just wanted to rest. Wanted winter to come. Wished to see the icy stars above rob this poor planet, rape her of her precious life-heat. How I'd love to see it snow!

Snowflakes. Big sharp ones, delicate and fragile, ethereal crystal floating on heavenly breezes. Fluffy ones riding the cold zephyr, blowing over hedge and fence, tumbling along frozen beaches to meet the unfreezing surf. Grainy spicules that twinkled like planets as they fell.

Planets.

Space.

I wondered if there was snow in space. Of course there's snow in space, I thought. Space is too perfect for there not to be snow.

My imagination took me on a floating zoom, lifting my heavy and sweat-sodden mattress, rising up and up. I could see the coastline below, the lights of sleeping New England towns. All dwindled. I was on my bed, afloat above clouds, passing out of the Earth, into the depths of space. Coolness was all around me. I clung to the sweet warmth of sheets.

Space was motionless and silent. I could feel the resonance of my heart in the bedsprings, the sound of my pulse echoing in the pillow. I spread my paws wide, scritched my chest fur, felt myself lifted gently by the sheath as I relaxed. I was weightless, and floating in the cool breeze between stars.

I forgot I was still peeking out, lost in space and meaning, until I felt something on my tip. Brent was there, his small cloth muzzle around my pointy redness. I moaned at the sight.

"Is that what you want, plushie?"

I stroked his bottom; the foxstuffie nodded.

Lying back, I placed a paw on his tailbase. The plushfox was so fluffy and soft. I squeezed him, scritched his floofy tail. His cloth head and erect ears bobbed. I gasped. It felt good. Really good. My ferrethood had never felt anything so nice before. I rubbed his pointy ears while the plushie hummed on me. It was like floating.

I clenched my furry base, bare against the sweat-cold sheet, thrust up. My paws tightened by themselves on the foxtoy, breath hissed between fangs. The pleasure was like a wet wave in a downpour. Brent seemed to be enjoying it too: his head went down deep. I never imagined what such a move could do. I tightened my belly, pulled my sheath into his muzzle again.

It was wonderful, all soft and fuzzy there. My paw on the foxhead forced him lower, made him swallow more. I rolled around the bed, moaning like crazy. The room swam.

But something was starting to feel lonely. Maybe it was the plush. I brought him to my muzzle, kissed him. There was a taste, something sweet. It made my head spin. I licked within his fabric fangs. The moist spot tasted like candy.

I floated some more, my tongue deep within the stuffy's cloth muzzle. I could feel him sucking on it as I played with his tail, under. My sheath wiggled by itself, cooling in the A.M. breeze. It felt like touchless space, eternal thrust lost in the void. Timeless wafting, waiting, dreaming.

Brent the fox went to my boyness with a paw, wrapped his own four paws around my small length. And began to move up and down. It was airless as cold space, and I gasped for breath. The plushie moved faster, bouncing just like a small fox would. I watched, amazed. So wild, seeing my glistening redness poke out from beneath his muzzle, feel his grasp and pull as he hopped again and again.

My whole body tensed and my pelt got tight. I raised up, thrusting into the stuffy's tight grip. Stepped pleasurably on my own tail, by accident. Something was on the way. Something big. It felt like a train was coming. And I was lying tied nakey to the tracks. The world rumbled like thunder.

Faster and faster the foxplush pounced. I was mrrring like mad, squeezing his soft body, calling his name. Feeling the slide and slip of his fluffy tail over the small tight boysac above my twisting tailhole. The cold dawn air was a gentle breath against me there, a surprise I'd never expected. I lifted up more, pressing against the toyfox, teasing my tight self open to the gentle kiss on night, tugging against my trapped tail. The touch of the cool breeze took my own breath away.

I struggled, strove with Brent as he slammed and slid on my hot and dry-sore kitness. His eyes shone in pulses of flashing light. The fox's tongue lolled lustfully from his muzzle, as he stared yiffily at me. I could almost feel his own sheath stroking over mine. That would be so great! A tiny plush foxness against my own! The thought took me over the edge of a spilling sea.

It broke over me like a storm. A small flick of wetness hit my nose. Another fell into my gaping muzzle. I moaned aloud, wresting the plush, the dodging sprinkling drops. Relishing their wild, sensuous feel. Rain fell heavy and wet through the open window. I licked my lips, cool and fresh and sweet. Such joy! It was like flying.

My fox plushie and I had become one!