Foxbutt Ch. 01

Thomas Fox, a young man of twenty, stirs at his alarm. It is a few seconds past 7:30 in the morning on a warm July day in the northern United States, and as he silences the trill, Thomas hears the sound of birdsong from his open window.

Unhurried, Thomas stretches - sensation focuses around his knees and back at first, a few minor muscle shifts move the tension into his neck, his shoulders, one at a time. His toes point downwards, his hands above his head.

Outside, the sunrise's dew is still wet, barely beginning to evaporate. Lazily, Thomas reaches downwards, moving into a second verse of the stretch, feeling a warm, damp spot on the sheets around the tip of his erection. In the same stretching motion, he pushes himself downwards with his right hand, provoking a tight ache around the base of his shaft.

Thomas' penis feels different.

Thomas reaches beneath the sheets and takes hold of himself.

Thomas opens his eyes. Something is desperately wrong. He throws back the sheets, and gasps.

His penis is a violent reddish pink, bulging outwards at the base.

Holy shit, something bit me in my sleep, he thinks. Something venomous and horny.

Convinced of a nightmare, Thomas reaches up to pinch himself hard in the cheek - the pads of his fingers find a stranger's face, elongated jaw, some kind of thick soft beard.

Thomas screws his eyes shut. The birds outside, oblivious, continue to sing.

Thomas waits for the nightmare to be over. He takes several deep breaths, feels himself relaxing.

The nightmare was of me waking up - how am I gonna know when it's done?

Thomas opens his eyes, very slowly, and looks down at his body.

"The fuck," he whispers.

Thomas is covered from head to toe in thick fur. His belly and chest are blinding white, fading through orange to a reddish-brown at his sides and legs.

Twitching and dancing between his thighs is a long, bushy tail.

"Nope," says Thomas. "Nope, don't have time for dreams like this, gonna be late for work." He closes his eyes and slaps himself, twice, across the muzzle.

That's a muzzle.

And it hurt.

Thomas opens his eyes again.

He's still all fuzzy.

Thomas blinks, and reaches for his phone. His hand is bizarre - furred on the back, the pads of his fingers bare, palms very soft. He opens the camera app, selects the front-facing camera, and aims it towards himself.

A fox's head stares back at him, the expression tired, bemused, the fur ruffled and flattened on the left side, where he slept.

He wiggles his ears. They twitch, revolving backwards, pointing in different directions, acting bizarrely silly. Almost mocking.

Thomas freezes. His tail continues moving of its own accord, swishing, twitching between his buttocks.

It tickles.

"No, some fucking camera filter," he whispers, reaching up to feel his face, "that's what it is."

He feels fur. A muzzle. He bares his teeth - pointy fangs, a long tongue.

Thomas leaps out of bed and runs to the bathroom, perhaps trying to leave the alien body in bed, with all the other crazy dreams where it belongs. He yanks open the door and looks in the mirror.

His phone wasn't lying.

Thomas is a fox.

Thomas moved out of his parents' house and into his own apartment only a few weeks ago - were this another sort of emergency, he'd probably call Lily, or Jason, or Max. He finds himself ringing his dad.

"Come on," he whispers, holding the phone awkwardly halfway up his head, the speaker not reaching his ear. He looks in the mirror, readjusts - if he holds the phone so that his mouth is at the speaker, his crazy ear is too high for it.

He frowns. A twitch, and his ear folds downwards, covering the top of the phone.

"Good morning Thomas," says his father's voice, shockingly loud. Thomas winces and dials down the volume, looking away from the mirror and down at his own body.

"Dad, s-something really weird's happening," he falters, not knowing how to continue. "I'm gonna video-call you, okay?"

"Okay, son," says his father, calm. "Talk to you in a moment."

Thomas hangs up, opens the messenger app, calls. His father doesn't pick up immediately - Thomas waits three or four heartbeats before the blurry, video-compressed outline of his father appears, head resting on a pillow. He can see his mother's hair in the side of the picture, an eye sneaking into frame.

"So tell me, son," says Dad, "what's wrong?"

"Lurk ap myee," says Thomas, tears welling up. "Augh ghrawd..."

"Thomas," says Dad calmly, "stop looking at your own video feed and look at me."

Thomas drags his eyes down from the little window top right of the screen, and looks at his father, whose video compression is catching up and filling in details.

Thomas stares, and doesn't say anything.

"It's okay, Tom," says Dad. "You're still our boy, and we love you very dearly, and will help you in these changes you're going through."

"WHAT THE HELL?!" cries Thomas.

"Tom, try to stay calm if you can."

"What do you mean, calm down?!" Thomas looks up at his outgoing video feed. "Wre're browff fawxsses an' I can'ph hrreven hhalk pbwropberwry..."

"Tom, look at me again."

Thomas does as he's told. "What the hell's going on?! What happened to us?"

"Tom, son, how does a caterpillar walk without tripping over all those legs?"

"It doesn't think about it," says Thomas.

"Exactly," grins the fox that has replaced Thomas' father. He smiles at his mother, off to his left, before turning back to the camera. "You've been talking through that muzzle since all you could say was "Mom," you're only faltering now because common sense says you shouldn't be able to make these sounds with this mouth. Don't look at your own mouth while you're trying to speak, that's the first lesson."

Thomas slides down the wall. His furry butt hits the floor with a thump. "Dad, please start making sense."

"Give it here," comes Mom's voice. Dad obliges, and Thomas' phone is filled with the face of his mother - reassuringly human. "Tom!" she says, "there you are! It's so good to see you."

"It's good to s-see you too, mom," says Thomas, his chest beginning to hitch, tears soaking into the fur beneath his eyes. "Mom, is Dad a fox?"

His mother smiles. "Yes, honey, he sure is."

"Am I a fox?"

"Yes, honey, and so is granddad."

Thomas watches his mother's face blur, trying not to cry. He hasn't cried in half a decade. He's a man, with his own apartment, his own job, his own independence.

His eyes crinkle half-closed, his left hand reaches up to cover his muzzle, and he cries.

"Oh, sweetie," says his mother, softly. "It's okay."

"Listen to your mother, son," says his father. "Nothing's wrong. This is a happy day. I'm proud of you."

"Put dad back on," breathes Thomas, weakly. His mother obliges. "Dad," says Thomas, "what made us change?"

He looks upon the unfamiliar face of his father. "Nothing, son," he says, in the same deep voice he'd remembered since before he could remember anything. "We haven't changed a bit. You've always been like this, and so have I. But people are very good at ignoring things that don't fit in with how they think the world should work. Apart from Doc Chaudry, your mother and your grandfather are the only people in my life who know who I am." He smiles. "Until today. I love you, son."

Thomas stares at his phone, blinking back tears. "Other people can't see this?"

His father shrugs. "More like won't."

"Our little cub," says his mother, out of frame. Thomas can hear the smile in her voice. "He's all grown up. Thomas, let me look at you." His mother's face appears, resting on his father's chest.

"You're so handsome," says his mother. "Even I couldn't see it, until today. You look just like your father."

"Why today?" asks Thomas. "Why didn't I know?"

His mother and father share a glance with a grin. "Honey," says Mom, her lips pursed together to try to keep from smiling, "your father only found out he was a fox when we started dating."

"It's something to do with collapsing a wave function," says Dad. "When..." he pauses. "When the physical body is observed, by a certain category of observer, then whatever force is acting upon us has to decide which..."

"Oh honey, that's far too theoretical for before eight in the morning, let me - you're aware of your body, Tom, because somebody else out there is... also becoming aware of it, and perhaps thinking about it." The grin breaks through. "Y'know. In detail."

Tom stares at his mother.

"I wonder who she is," says Mom, looking at Dad. She catches herself, looks quickly back to the camera. "Or he! That's fine!"

His father's eyebrows rise. "Yes, Tom, it's fine if it's a he. We want to make that very clear."

"Guys," says Tom, blushing beneath his fur, "I'm..."

"Either way is fine with us," says Mom. "Isn't it, honey?"

"As long as they're nice," nods Dad.

"Or a they!" says Mom. She looks to Dad, nudges him, catches his eye. "Could be a they, you know." Looks back at the camera. "And that's fine! Whoever makes you happy!"

Tom raises a hand, and the reassurances trail off. "Putting... just... putting that aside, for the moment," he says -

"Uh-huh?" say Thomas' parents, in unison.

"What..." Thomas swallows. "What do I do now?"

"Ah, right," says Dad. He clears his throat. "Now, young man, take a shower, and go to work. Isn't it release day?"

"Yeah," says Thomas, "the new GTA."

"Brush your teeth," says Dad. "For now, do it without looking, and you'll be fine. Tonight, when you've got more time, practice in the mirror."

"Be careful of your tail," says Mom.

"Honey," says Dad, "let me take this one. Be careful of your tail, sport. These first few days it's going to move more or less randomly. You remember your cousins? You know how very small babies are always hitting themselves in the face?"

"Yeah."

"They haven't figured out that their arms belong to them, yet. Your tail's been on autopilot this whole time, and it's going to move around on its own until you start reinforcing those neural pathways. Again, practice in the mirror. Do not, son, I repeat do not try to tuck it into your pants."

Thomas looks down at himself, back up to his father. "You're telling me to go out in public like this?!"

"Son, nobody will notice. The only people who can see your true form are your mother and I, and doctor Chaudry. You remember doctor Chaudry?"

"I remember. I haven't seen her in years, though."

"Because you haven't had a sick day since you were a cub. We should all get together sometime soon and give her the good news."

"Mom?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Could you really not see me? And dad and doctor Chaudry could?"

Thomas is astonished to see tears in his mother's eyes. "That's right, honey. Doctor Chaudry could see you because she was concerned mostly with your body, and she only ever saw what was really there. Her mother was your father's doctor. Your father could see you because he never saw anything else. When you were very small, sometimes if I looked one way you were my beautiful baby boy, and if I looked the other way you were my darling cub." Her tears soak into Dad's chest fur. "But over time, as your father would say, my wave function collapsed, and you were my boy. Now..." she smiles through the tears. "Now I see you."

Thomas smiles, and there is quiet for a moment as everyone wipes their eyes.

"And your father misspoke," says Mom. "There's one more person who can see you. Or who'll be able to see you, very soon. So go out there and find her!"

"I will, Mom. I love you."

His mother smiles back at him. "I love you too, my darling fox boy." Her eyes widen. "Or him!"

"Or they," says his father, holding up a finger.

"We really don't mind," says his mother.

"As long as you're happy," says his father.

"Alright, guys," says Thomas, sniffling.

"Get in the shower before you're late for work!" says his father. "Just act normally. Don't draw attention."

"Sell lots of cartridges!" says Mom.

Thomas chuckles. "I will, Mom."

"We love you, son."

"I love you too, guys. Still on for dinner tomorrow?"

"That's right," says Dad, "unless you want to move it to tonight."

"I'm doing a late one," says Thomas, "can I call you later?"

"Absolutely," says Dad, "we'll talk more later. Go to work!"

"Bye!" says Thomas, feeling much better.

"Bye! We love you!"

"Bye!"

This cycle goes back and forth a few more times before Thomas ends the call.

Thomas sits on the floor for a moment, his butt rapidly cooling against the tile. He feels far less distressed.

After a few slowing heartbeats, he has enough spare attention to realize that he video-called his parents and held a lengthy, life-changing conversation... while not wearing any clothes.

His hands slowly reach up to cover his face, and he sighs cringingly into his palms. He stays like that for a moment, his cheeks hot, reassuring himself that he was holding the phone at eye-level the whole time.

After a few seconds he's relaxed enough to remember his surname, and groan "Fucking seriously?!" into the empty room.

Better get in the shower quick, reasons Thomas, before there's another bump on this emotional rollercoaster.

Thomas eases his butt off the floor, his tail swishing to his right. He turns on the shower, tests its temperature, and begins to step in.

Thomas hesitates. He places a towel on the floor, deciding to leave the shower curtain open. A mirror hangs on the wall opposite the shower, covering his medicine cabinet.

Thomas steps in, looking over his shoulder at his reflection. His tail grows from somewhere around the base of his spine, its base peeking between the top of his buttocks. He wiggles, experimentally - his tail swishes back and forth in time with the motion of his butt.

He has a new body. A stranger's body, and yet his own. Thomas smiles, and turns around to look at himself.

I'm cute, he thinks, astonished. I'm a cute, fuzzy foxboy. His eyes travel down his chest - he works out with slightly relaxed regularity, which is enough to give him decent pectorals, but he has always had small bones. Exercise made his muscles sharp and defined and strong but never much larger - he didn't get big and sexy, he got sinewy and ropey. His forearms looked like something you'd find in an anatomical textbook - beautiful in a way, but... "in a way." Perhaps in a way more technical than aesthetic.

Now, though...

The white fur of his chest creates a tuft which accents his muscles, and the extra fluffy bulk disguises his small form while softening his definition. He no longer looks skinny, but lithe. Sleek. His forearms no longer resemble twisted masses of steel cables, but instead inviting-looking pillows with their strength implied rather than exposed.

Thomas suddenly feels as though the effort he's put into his physical form has secretly been benefiting this new body, this true body.

He is elated at this realization.

He is also rather alarmed to discover that his penis has disappeared.

Thomas quickly stops examining himself in the mirror and looks down - the very tip of his penis is just visible, pointing towards his navel. The rest is hidden inside a sort of furry sheath, retracted almost completely into his body.

Something nags at him from a previous biology class.

Don't canine penises have... bones?

Another nagging thought bubbles to the forefront of his mind, taking its time as it has to travel some distance upwards.

He considers calling Dad again, runs through the conversation in his head, and quickly discounts it.

He chuckles, holding his hand up to his ear. "Dad, dad, how the hell do I pee?" He holds his other hand up to his other ear and drops his voice an octave, mimicking. "Tom, my boy, you're twenty years old, you figure it out, take a damn shower and go to work and don't get distracted by being a fox, mind your tail, by the way it's okay to be gay."

He steps into the shower. Warm water strokes his chest fur, holding it flatter to the skin beneath. Thomas looks in the mirror. He grins.

Water runs over his new body, flowing down his chest, his tummy, curling through capillary action beneath him, stroking gently the underside of his testicles, flowing tickly down his inner thighs.

Thomas is amazed to see that no water has yet hit the floor of the shower. It's all soaking into his fur. Dampness and then warm saturation slowly flows down his calves before a puddle spreads outwards from his feet.

Thomas cuts the spray. Water continues to flow from his body for longer than he thought possible. Thomas watches it, fascinated, feeling heavy with it.

Did this always happen? The water doesn't know that I thought I was human, wouldn't it have behaved the same way yesterday?

Maybe I didn't ever notice. Maybe I was so convinced I was human that I really did see the water bounce and splash off me, maybe I really didn't feel heavier when I was wet.

Thomas starts the spray again, and reaches for his shampoo. He squirts a dollop into his hands, and reaches for his hair.

Oh.

Thomas doesn't have any hair. He has the same amount of fur on the top of his head as he does anywhere else - his enormous pointy ears monopolize his cranial real estate.

He shrugs, and lathers up anyway.

Couldn't this have happened another day? he muses as he strokes his ears. It feels good. Did this really have to happen on the new GTA release date? A day I absolutely can't take off work to read the manual for a whole new body?

Not that there is a manual.

He realizes after half a minute or so that his eyes have eased closed and he's spent a long time slowly stroking the outside of his ears.

He doesn't stop. Instead he hums a low contented growl, deep in his throat, and exhales noisily.

It feels really good.

Thomas' eyes creak open, looking down.

Hmm.

His penis is slowly extending.

Well, that's kinda fascinating to watch. His erection begins and ends upright - a completely different dawning than the ones he's always been used to.

Warm water batters his manhood as it emerges, encouraging it.

Thomas winces. It's sensitive. Every millimeter slowly exposed is alive with as much sensation as the tip of his glans was yesterday.

Yesterday Thomas was uncircumcised, and as a result never needed to use lube to masturbate - but now, gently wrapping the fingers of his right hand around himself, it feels like he might have to relearn some things.

Thomas squeezes, gently. A pulse of pleasure runs through him, up to just below his bellybutton. He moves his hand, experimentally - his penis is slick with whatever mysterious juices reside in the sheath that covered him. He brings his hand up to his nose, sniffs - musky. Not at all how he smelled yesterday.

Thomas feels himself. His erection is still growing - he feels more slender than he did yesterday, the head less defined. He feels something stretch down near his pubis - it feels intense, almost painful, and he remembers the bulge he saw when he woke up.

His groin aches wetly as the widened bulb of his knot yawns out of him, almost painful - then the pressure eases as the bulge narrows at its base.

Thomas looks in fascination at his glistening, aching erection. He cautiously strokes a finger down it, fondling himself - he's slippery with some musky natural lubricant, but the water is quickly washing it away. He wraps his fingers around his cock, biting his lip - he's unbearably sensitive. His penis feels so different in his hand - perhaps a hair longer, perhaps a shadow more slender, except at the widening in the base where it swells to eye-watering proportions.