Entries tagged with “exhibitionism”.

Blake had been right about one thing. It was bloody hot.

The evening should have brought with it a bit of relief from that heat. But even after he’d returned the rental truck and caught a bus back to the dorm, he’d still needed to actually unpack the things Blake had helped him move in. And unfortunately, the dorm room only had a single window.

Goddamn dorms. Blake had no idea how good he had it, moving in off campus. A proper house. No massive horde of students around. A proper room, with a chance for some actual air movement. Space that wasn’t shared by dozens of people.

As Charlie pushed back into the room, shirtless and still damp after a badly-needed shower, his gaze settled on the unoccupied bed, and he glared at it.

No roommates. Housemates, sure, but no roommates. Damn it. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of his yet, but he could hardly expect that luck to hold all year.


All in all, it had been a satisfying day.

The platoon being on leave didn’t mean there was nothing to be done. Strictly speaking, the leave didn’t even include Valan himself; he had a portion of administrative work to do, including some reports to catch up on. Even the marines under his command needed to make sure they were ready to leave when their leave was up. It did mean light duty, though; a few hours filing reports, a few more hours organizing some packing with those soldiers who had energy to burn and wanted something to do, all interspersed among as much time again in idle pursuits.

Still, light duty or not, satisfying or no, the skunk was fairly sore by the time the sun set – not from the physical activity so much as the desk work, and the makeshift workstation hadn’t helped, even if it had been nice to be outdoors while he worked – and it was with anticipation and relief that he brought his toiletries and slouched over toward the pool.


Rank had its privileges.

In this case, Valan’s rank was nothing substantial – an acting subbie was hardly in the rarefied upper reaches of command – and his privilege was correspondingly simple: he had a private room. It was enough, though; enough space for the hefty cooler-box that he now lifted from the place it had occupied for the past few weeks.

The door opened on its own ahead of him, and closed behind; a glance over his shoulder confirmed that it had locked itself. Not that he was particularly worried. Most of his gear was with the quartermaster, not in his cabin, and the burden he now bore was the main other thing worth taking – even if anyone had the nerve to try to steal something from the barracks of a Star Lane Authority training camp.


(This is the first entry to date in the Felidae collection. To navigate the chronology: Next > | Last >> )

“All right, folks,” the big lynx called out. “We’re gonna have to wrap up there. Remember, extra practise next week to make up!”

“Bye, Coach!” the five feline youths and half-dozen girls called out, more or less in unison. They made their way over the tiled floor, fur dripping onto the nonskid rubber mats as they filed into their respective shower rooms.

“Man. I know it’s his kid’s birthday and all,” said one of the boys, a tiger. “But couldn’t he have let us know before that it’d be a short practise? Gerry isn’t picking me up for pizza til six.”

“You need a girlfriend, Jon,” the ocelot chimed in, grabbing his shampoo from the locker. “Isn’t that right, Mike?”