Everything was perfect.

Eric had been trekking all day to get to this place. He was tired, sore, hungry, parched, and panting from the heat that boiled off of him. But as he looked over his campsite, the otter knew it was all worth it.

He set his pack down, loosening the straps that held his tent against its side. Over there was a spot of flat ground – he swept it with a small broom, and found it to be smooth, clear of rocks, roots, twigs, or other lumps. Unrolling his tent, he also found it to be just the right size.

He convinced his weary body to keep going a little longer, setting up the tent, getting his clothes and other daily supplies into it, and hanging his pack and the food in it safely between two trees. Finally, he turned to the real prize of his labours.

His campsite lay just a short distance away from the foot of a cliff, and a stream spilled over that cliff. It was a short enough drop at this point that the sound of falling water wasn’t thunderous; and there, at the base of the falls, the swirling water had gouged out a pool, with his home for the next few days right beside it.

Overheated as the otter was, that pool was like a piece of heaven brought to earth.

He hung a towel over a nearby branch. His long-sleeved grey shirt already had some buttons open due to the heat; now he undid the rest and peeled out of it, pausing to finger the bronze compass rose hanging from its chain around his neck.

“Wish you could be here, Mark,” he whispered, closing his eyes. He thought of the cougar’s smile, his kind voice, his tender caress, the warmth of his mouth, and let out a sigh. “Hope you can find something like it, wherever you are.”

Ah well. They’d had their time together, but it had been years since life had forced them apart. It was past time to move on, to enjoy life on his own.

He tugged his belt open, reached back to undo the snap over his tail, and wiggled out of his cargo pants and boxers. With them pooled around his ankles, he bent down to unlace his boots and slip out of them, laying them on their sides atop the rest of his clothes to keep them weighed down on the rock, leaving him clad only in that pendant and his own dark chocolate fur.

There was no wind here to carry the heat away from him, so the mist from the waterfall was little more than a tease, making him ache with anticipation, even need. At last he gave in, wading a few steps into the water, then leaping forward in a shallow dive.

Even through his thick, oily pelt, the water was cool enough to be a blessing. Where the fur was thinner, though, on his face and ears, or outright non-existent – his nose, the pads of his fingers and toes, and the terracotta flesh of his penis – it was enough to make him quiver from the shock. But it wasn’t nearly enough to send him back to shore. Oh, no – he dove into the deepest part of the pool, right under the churning maelstrom of the waterfall, and let the turbulent water caress him from head to toe.

As the heat bled right out of him, he thought he really had found heaven.

A full minute later, the need for air brought him to the surface. He floated around on his back, eyes closed, feeling the play of dappled sunlight on his body as it fell through the leaves, feeling the cool water lapping at his balls and his shaft as he paddled lazily about… He bit back a moan, in spite of there being nobody around to care. When he closed a webbed hand about his length, though, feeling it slightly stiff and growing turgid under his touch – that moan he let go free.

He wasn’t picturing Mark – wasn’t picturing anyone at all, really. But with the whole-body caress the water gave him and the pounding massage the flume had placed on his shoulders, it was not so hard, really, to imagine that it was not his own but someone else’s stroking hand that coaxed him to full arousal, someone lapping so tenderly at the too-long neglected pouch between his spread thighs –

A sudden sense of motion jolted him out of his erotic reverie. Had that been a splash, or just a vagary of the waterfall?

Eric surged upright, treading water as he peered around. The roiling surface of the pool made it pointless to search for ripples, and with the late-afternoon sun reflecting from all around, he couldn’t see past the surface even to the extent the turbulence would’ve let him. He was considering ducking his head under for a look when he cried out, body arching, limbs flailing as the wet warmth of a muzzle embraced his erection.

His yelp quickly faded into a moan. Whoever it was, was damn good, tonguing him in all the right places, fondling his balls in that gentle way he adored, and pushing right down. Back in high school, boys had teased him in the gym showers for being “freakishly” big between the legs; Mark, self-described size-queen that he was, had instead found it to be a pleasant surprise, and made much of it on no few occasions. Now this unseen stranger slid right down without pause, engulfing nine inches of thick red-brown cock in one smooth motion.

Somehow Eric got his body under control. Well, mostly; the motion of treading water kept him rocking against that wonderful muzzle, and that stimulation in turn had him squirming, but he got his hands under the surface, felt a slim pair of shoulders covered in dense fur, and further up, a blunt, whiskery muzzle, a head with tiny round ears much like his own.

Another otter, then – and nobody had ever blown him like this otter was doing now. Mark had loved to stroke him, to lick and kiss his shaft and suckle over his glans, to make him feel big, and the cougar had adored having Eric’s spunk splattering his face. This otter kept trying to swallow him whole, throat kneading around his tip, tongue stroking the belly of his shaft. This otter sucked him like that was what they’d been born to do, completely undismayed when Eric grabbed his mystery lover’s shoulders and hung on for dear life, shooting a pent-up load right down that waiting throat. A few swallows in, that muzzle drew back a little – to taste him, it seemed, that tongue nudging under his glans for a spurt or two, then lapping right over it as his seed kept pumping out, the renewed shock of cool water on hot flesh sending his pleasure soaring all over again.

The otter knew just when he was spent, too, licking over Eric’s cockhead a few times to get every drop, but not a moment too long, not long enough for him to get over-sensitive. When he felt that muzzle pull away, Eric tugged up on one of the shoulders he held, eager to meet and thank his benefactor.

They came up easily enough – but what broke the surface made him start all over again.

An otter, yes, but the figure he found himself holding was a boy – well, that wasn’t quite fair. A youth, though, no more than fifteen, maybe sixteen years old at the most, with fur that was the colour of butterscotch, his black nose-pad and dark eyes a startling contrast, the latter opened wide in his eager grin. A leather thong encircled his neck, hung with a number of shells, what seemed to be shark’s teeth, and, incongruously, a large, faceted quartz, an amethyst at its heart that seemed to shift and waver, all wrapped up in a coil of metal wire. Also around his neck was a chain – silver, perhaps, or given its lack of tarnish, maybe white gold – which passed through the mouth of a leaping fish carved out of a pale green stone – jade, was Eric’s guess. Strapped to his upper left arm was a flint knife. And that was all Eric could see.

Well, young this otter might be, but, judging by the rigid warmth Eric felt against his stomach, certainly not too young. And he obviously knew how to rough it. Eric grinned. “I don’t know what I did to deserve that, kiddo, but thanks.”

The youth gave him a quizzical look and a hesitant, uncomprehending smile. When he replied, it wasn’t in any language Eric knew or even recognised, but a liquid series of trills and warbles and chirps that only otters would have dreamed up.

It was a language, though – there was too much deliberate complexity in it, nothing like the sounds a young kit, or even a feral, would make.

Again Eric blinked. Primitive jewellery and equipment, unfamiliar speech, out here, quite possibly living out here full-time – Eric had heard stories of people living in wild or tribal fashion, deep in nature preserves, but hadn’t given it much credit. Who would give up the tangible benefits of modern society for an uncertain existence out here? Plainly, though, there was some truth to the tales.

Come on, Eric, he told himself. You’re studying to be an anthropologist – think like one.

The things this otter was wearing almost fit with a stone-age tribal culture; more advanced a society than that wouldn’t have gone this long as mere rumour. Almost – but the metalwork on that chain was too fine, ditto the wire around that gem, and a stone-age culture would be very unlikely to be able to work jade so finely. But the answer to that was as simple as to how he’d got shark’s teeth so far from any body of water that could harbour a fish that big.

They had some contact with other cultures, and had traded for some things that’d be especially dear. The teeth, that very unique-looking crystal, and the jade fish… to a primitive society, all three things could seem almost mystical.

As if the way he’d sucked Eric off just now hadn’t been proof enough that his people weren’t xenophobic… but those gave a bit more of a suggestion that they had experience dealing with unfamiliar cultures. Maybe, if indeed the language was a barrier, it could be worked around. He tried again: “Can you understand me?”

The younger otter just looked puzzled.

Fine; they’d related just fine without words up to now. There was one thing Eric wanted to know, though. “What’s your name?” he asked. To demonstrate, he splayed a webbed hand over his own chest, saying, very clearly, “Eric.” Then he turned his hand over, touched the younger male’s breastbone, and cocked his head in the same quizzical manner he’d recently received.

Comprehension dawned. The youth touched a finger to his nose, repeating, “Eh-rik?” Eric smiled and nodded at him, and his answering smile was like a sunny day. He touched his own brow and uttered a liquid sound.

Eric tried his best to imitate it. “Shirro?” The whistle on the first sibilant and the trill of the r’s were both a bit tricky, but the younger otter smiled broader still, bobbed his head, and curled an arm about Eric’s shoulders, pulling himself up in the water – or Eric a little bit down, it amounted to the same – to nudge his nose against the older male’s.

Eric wrapped both arms around the wiry youth and squeezed, brushing his mouth against one of those small ears he’d felt under the water. “Thank you, Shirro,” he murmured, trusting that the younger otter would understand the intent, if not the actual words.

“Mm. Eh-rik,” Shirro sighed against his throat.

Such an adorable find he was… but now that his afterglow had had time to fade, Eric found himself yearning to truly experience the smaller otter as a lover. To find out, first of all, just what Shirro was sporting, and what he was like when he came…

“Come on,” he whispered, disentangling one arm to gesture toward shore, leaning over to start paddling that way. As the other male swam with him across the short span, the feeling of a hot, hard penis sliding against his belly did little to reduce his eagerness. Oh, yes, this would be a fun evening.

They got out of the water and onto the bank, dripping on the gravel. Shirro, it turned out, was a touch over five feet high, but so slender that in the water, Eric had thought him smaller. The pine-gold youth was also quite respectably hung – six inches long, nicely thick but not unusually so, his skin browner than Eric’s, like hazelnut. He wasn’t large, no, but considering he was fairly small of body it was still quite a piece.

As they lay together on the brush, Shirro face-up with Eric against his right side, the older otter quickly discovered a few more things. Shirro had a metabolism like an ore furnace – his erection was distinctly hot under Eric’s fingers. He was very dribbly, slick in the way otters generally were; that was not surprising. He was also very, very sensitive, and not in the least afraid to show it, arching up into the grip of Eric’s webbed hand with a loud, whimpering moan.

Eric didn’t do anything fancy – he just pumped along Shirro’s length with his right hand, left arm curled about the youth’s shoulders. It was enough, though; the young otter thrashed and squirmed against him, crying out – sometimes wordlessly, others in that fluid language Eric couldn’t decipher. Body language, though, gave an easy translation – “More.” And so Eric gave him more, stroking faster, hugging tighter.

It didn’t take more than half a minute for Shirro to arch up anew, crying out Eric’s name. His length pulsed under the older male’s fingers, streamers of rich-smelling semen streaking his slim chest. His climax was fairly brief – a few seconds long, maybe three spurts in total – but so deliciously intense, and in its wake he shuddered, whimpering Eric’s name again.

Murmuring endearments seemed a bit silly at a time like this, since the details wouldn’t be understood anyway. Instead, Eric prayed that certain other social gestures would cross that divide, sitting up and leaning over to kiss him.

Shirro was far clumsier in that kiss than he had been sucking Eric off, so perhaps it wasn’t a familiar contact – but he seemed to get the idea soon enough. After a moment’s surprise, he melted right into it, and it wasn’t that long before the youth’s own lips and tongue were making an effort to return the attention. When they finally parted for breath, some minutes later, they gave each other a matched pair of goofy grins.

Eric shivered as the youth’s hand found his resurgent erection. Shirro said something that really needed no translation; he could tell Eric was ready again, and he himself didn’t seem to have softened even a bit. He wanted more. And by the way he hiked up his legs, presenting himself, he knew exactly how he wanted it.

Eric swallowed. He hadn’t had an offer like that in… far too long.

He didn’t want to hurt the boy, though… Wait…

“Hold on a moment,” he said with a smile, touching a finger to Shirro’s nose. “I’ll be right back.” He sprang up, snatched his towel, and had most of the water off his oily pelt by the time he’d hopped his way over to the tent, his needy arousal bobbing in front of him. He draped the now-somewhat-damp towel over one of the guy lines and crawled in.

Expecting a few days to himself, he’d packed a few of his toys with him. Along with them, he’d also taken some lube. No condoms – but he’d been single for a few years now, tested clean just a month back, Shirro was from an isolated population not likely to have been exposed to STDs – and besides, Shirro’s mouth had already been as far on Eric’s cock as it could go . If there was any harm to be done, it already had been.

He’d just dug out the lube from his toy pack when movement behind him made it clear that his unexpected guest hadn’t understood his suggestion to stay put. Shirro followed him through the vestibule, having mostly dried off as well. He carried a woven, rather colourful loincloth and a leather belt with pouches on it, setting them beside Eric’s changes of clothes in the vestibule. He uttered an inquisitive trill, shuffling forward to examine the vibrator Eric had set aside while digging around.

The youth’s eyes went comically wide as he looked over the thing – jet-black silicone gel, cast quite faithfully in the form of an erect penis, glans, veins, balls and all. By the sudden flag and sway of his tail, he got the notion of a substitute penis readily enough, and it was one he didn’t seem to mind in the least.

But with the real thing so readily available, it didn’t hold his interest long.

When Eric urged him onto the sleeping bag, he was momentarily distracted, gathering up an armful of the fabric and trilling something – marvelling at its softness, maybe. Or perhaps its smoothness, to judge by the sensual way he stretched out on top of it, nut-brown arousal sliding against the synthetic.

God, he was beautiful. In that moment, Eric dearly hoped he spent the night. To drift off spooned up behind him – softening inside him – would be so very, very wonderful. For now, though…

Shirro rolled onto his back again at the sound of the flip-top of the lube bottle, watching in puzzlement as Eric squeezed out some of the contents. “It’s slippery,” the older otter said as he smeared the stuff along his length. He held up his hand and rubbed his thumb and fingers together by way of demonstration. Shirro reached up to touch those fingers, and though he obviously felt and understood the slipperiness, he was still quite plainly puzzled.

Okay, so otters were dribbly. They weren’t that much so, though If someone were to try to enter him with no more than natural lube, he’d probably understand why Eric would want to make his cock slippery now. Maybe he hadn’t actually had a chance to do anal sex before? A flattering thought, really, that he’d give himself to Eric if that was the case.

“Trust me,” Eric murmured, lips brushing the smaller male’s as he settled into position atop him, slick fingers cradling his own length, his other hand sliding behind his partner’s head. The words might have been meaningless but nevertheless he saw enough trust in those dark eyes to make his heart melt. Shirro’s hands spread over his chest, giving him something to lean on; even if he hadn’t done this, he’d obviously seen it done, and knew something about what to expect.

There was no need to rush and every reason not to. He didn’t want to cause this delightful youth even a moment’s pain. Everything had to be perfect.

He kept his motions and even his breathing steady. No reflexive twitch on his part would be allowed to mar this. He eased forward, guiding his glans under Shirro’s balls and against his ring. The youth gasped, and Eric paused, but the hunger in those dark eyes, as much as the way the otter shifted under him, toward him, assured him that it was a good sound.

Either Shirro had experience after all or his instincts were spot on. Once Eric bore down, the youth went almost completely limp, only his tail still bearing any significant tension, curled backward to push his hindquarters up for his larger lover. He almost melted before Eric’s glans, his hole parting, letting that thick cockhead slide in as though welcoming it home.

About two inches in, with his glans all the way in, Eric paused again – this time to rearrange himself; he shuffled his knees forward a bit, cleaned his hand off with a rag he had handy for that purpose, then planted both hands beside the youth’s shoulders. Their noses touched, and Shirro stared into Eric’s eyes, cupping a hand against the bigger otter’s cheek. “Eh-rik,” he breathed. “Alle shi kushirat.”

What it meant, Eric didn’t know, but it sounded so beautiful to hear, and the fondness in it was plain. He mimicked the gesture, feeling the youth’s hot, eager breath on his wrist and his cheek, and murmured, “You sure know how to make a guy feel welcome, Shirro.”

Lips brushed lips. As Eric tried to push in for something a bit deeper, their noses bumped again, and cute though it was, especially the way Shirro’s stiff whiskers splayed out, it wasn’t quite what he had in mind. He moved his hand up, coaxing the boy to tilt his head one way while Eric went the other – and then their jaws fit a little better together, lips sealing tight as he pressed deep into the kiss and deep into the youth’s body.

The kiss was a bit rudimentary – Shirro’s jaw and tongue didn’t quite move the right way to make it seamless – butdown below was so glorious. They slid together with scarcely any effort at all. Aside from a surge of tension in Shirro’s lean body, punctuated by a soft cry into Eric’s muzzle, when the older male’s glans slid past his younger partner’s prostate, that first thrust was as smooth as silk from head to hilt.

And if Eric had thought Shirro’s cock was warm, that was nothing to the snug heat that enveloped his shaft now.

He stayed balls-deep in Shirro for some time, leaning on one arm to let the other hand wander, both of Shirro’s hands roaming about his back and shoulders. The youth’s tongue grew a little more confident, dancing against Eric’s, darting forward to explore in turn, carrying a long, throaty moan along with it. When Eric’s fingers found Shirro’s length, it was so wet and slick that Eric himself wouldn’t have had a moment’s hesitation bottoming to the younger male.

Later. The tight grip around his cock was too wonderful to think of switching now – and by the way Shirro pressed against him, the smaller otter thought so too.

Eric liked to think he knew his limits, and he knew full well that, even with a fairly recent climax, he wouldn’t last long once he started moving. This wouldn’t last – the best he could do would be to make that limited time intense.

His fingers wrapped around Shirro’s hot pole, starting to stroke along it, even as he started rocking his hips, stirring his member under the boy’s muscular rudder. Shirro gasped, the kiss parting as he leaned back, eyes rolling up, then sliding shut. The youth’s throat vibrated in a whimpering moan from the double stimulation. Taking the invitation, accidental though it might have been, Eric dipped his muzzle down, dragging his tongue over that outstretched throat, nibbling, feeling Shirro surge up against him all the more for it, feeling the youth’s chest heaving against his own.

No, Shirro wasn’t going to set any records for endurance either. In fact, as Eric worked about half his length in and out, the youth didn’t last more than a dozen strokes before he shuddered, wailing out loud in ecstasy, spasming around Eric’s cock as more of his watery, slippery seed spilled out over the man’s quickly-stroking fingers.

That extra bit of slickness – the simple knowledge that that was semen he felt – was all Eric needed; just a few thrusts more and he felt a surge of pressure inside himself. He drove in deep, churning his hips against Shirro’s, muffling his panting against the youth’s throat as another orgasm swept over him. He’d thought the first load would’ve left him drained, but no – he kept going for at least nine intense squirts before he lost count, cradling his new lover’s momentarily-spent cock as his own pumped deep into the smaller male’s hot, snug body.

They must have separated at some point. He couldn’t remember doing so, certainly not wanting to, but they sat, still naked, on a blanket by the fire pit. Or rather, Eric sat, with Shirro sprawled across his lap, watching with great interest as he heated up some soup on the butane stove. One of the youth’s arms was around his neck, hand splayed over his collarbone, and from time to time he stroked those fingers or the webbing between them. They didn’t try to speak; they didn’t need to. Even when the soup was done, and Eric put some in a mug for Shirro to drink out of while he used his bowl, they ate – and rehydrated – in a comfortable sort of silence.

Once it was done, they had to part while Eric washed the dishes, but in not too long they sat on a rock overlooking the water, and this time Shirro was square on his lap, ears splaying under Eric’s breath. After so long alone, the quiet contact was better than Eric could have asked for.

When, after about ten minutes sitting there and lazily watching the sun sink beneath the trees, Shirro twisted to look at him and gesture toward the water, making an inquisitive chirrup, Eric was more than ready to move. So move they did, wading in, then diving forward.

Somehow, Shirro was still brimming with excess energy – but then, he probably hadn’t been hiking all day. Eric just twisted and tumbled, scudding around the surface while Shirro dipped underwater, this way and that, side to side, brushing against Eric more often than not.

When that tail slid over his balls, Eric shivered – and inspiration struck.

He slapped Shirro’s thigh with the tip of his own tail, grinned at him, and pushed straight for the waterfall, letting it pound on his back as he passed under it. Behind it was a little hollow in the rock, with enough cracks and irregularities in the surface for him to get an easy grip. So he did, spreadeagled with the water up to his waist, and his tail flagged, grinning over his shoulder. Shirro grinned back, slipping in behind him.

In the cool water, Shirro’s rigid length felt hotter than ever – and still so very, very slippery. It took a bit of wiggling around, and some coaxing on Eric’s part, to get the angle right, but then the youth just… flowed into him, a sudden spike of warmth driving away what little had sunk into him of the water’s chill. One arm wrapped around his chest, the younger male’s breath warm on his shoulder, and the other hand pawed around a little lower. He gently took it in his own, guiding it down to his own firm, slick penis, and they started to rock together, with the mist of the waterfall showering over them and the turbulent waves lapping at their sides.

Again Shirro came first, gasping, whimpering against Eric’s shoulder as his wet heat pulsed under the bigger otter’s tail, and this time by a fair margin; Eric himself was floating on a blissful plateau, some distance from climax yet. When Shirro drew out of him, though, the youth surprised him by staying just as rigid as ever. Turning, he cast Eric another grin over his shoulder, slid his tail up between the larger male’s thighs and against his pouch, and dove back through the cascade.

It didn’t take an expert to see that as an invitation, and one Eric was quite willing to accept. They chased each other for a few minutes around the pool, until he’d had enough of the teasing and put all his strength into it, surging forward, seizing that tail. Lube forgotten, he climbed his way up Shirro’s lithe body, entering him again without hesitation. It wasn’t quite as easy as before, but by the way he moaned and twisted, Shirro didn’t exactly mind.

They kept swimming about, the motion stirring Eric’s cock inside his smaller lover. One of his hands stayed on duty stroking Shirro’s length, the other splayed over the youth’s pounding heart. This time it would’ve taken a stopwatch to say who came first, Eric’s climax surging through him and into the other male even as the youth’s own load shot out into the water, white streamers twisting together for a little before the currents pulled them apart and dispersed them.

Full night had fallen before they finished idly playing with and fondling one another and dragged themselves out onto shore, and Eric, with that much sex on top of a long, tiring day, was exhausted. Shirro still seemed to be ready for more, but was at least trying to restrain his energy, and wasn’t trying to get Eric to perform again. He slid into Eric’s sleeping bag with him, and if Eric wasn’t up to entering him, at least they got to spoon together.

Before he drifted off, though, Shirro took that silvery chain from around his neck, tucking it and the jade fish it held against Eric’s palm and closing the older male’s fingers around it. He murmured something else Eric couldn’t understand, and held the bigger otter’s arms around himself as Eric drifted off to sleep.

He slept well into the morning, and his dreams were vivid and sensual, full of lithe, gold-brown otter males, some his age, some younger, cavorting with each other. Two had just knelt down before him when the raucous call of a nearby crow startled him awake.

He was alone. There was nobody against him, nor, when he emerged, around his campsite. For a moment he thought the young otter he’d frolicked with had been part of his dreams as well – the performance he distantly recalled had been far better than he could possibly manage, after all – but he felt something biting into his palm, and opened his fingers to find a white gold chain holding a fish carved out of jade.

“Shirro,” he whispered, shaking his head. Had the little figurine been a going-away present, a keepsake? Not like he needed any such reminder to recall that eager, playful smile, the gleam in those dark eyes…

He sighed, sitting on a stump and digging in his food pack for breakfast. Just one night together, not a word understood but each other’s names, and he was going to miss the guy forever.

He had some pancakes frying on the griddle when warm breath washed over his ear. “Eh-rik,” said a familiar, light voice, and giggled.

He whirled. There he was, sure enough, grin and all. In one hand he held a woven net, and as he shook it, several sleek, scaly forms shifted about within. The youth trilled something – again, even if he didn’t know quite what the words were, Eric was fairly sure it amounted to “I brought food.”

He swallowed, trying to hold back tears and not quite succeeding. “I thought you’d gone,” he managed to say.

Shirro’s nose nudged against his own. The younger otter pried open his hand, took the chain that still rested there, and hung it around his own neck again. He warbled something else, and as he slid into the larger male’s lap, Eric understood.

That chain hadn’t been a parting gift – it had been a promise to return.

Their idyll wasn’t over yet. There were so many things they could do together – and four more days to do it in.

Eric felt a grin steal over his muzzle, and all through breakfast – even with the extra time taken to clean, fillet, and fry up one of the trout Shirro had brought – that grin didn’t go away.