Posted in February 18th 1997
The Horsey Hole was the kind of two-bit dive bar that furs would do anything to avoid. Its reputation around Anthro City was less than favorable to say the least. If you so much as looked at one of its gruff, hulking, beer-swilling patrons the wrong way it'd be a one way ticket to poundsville with no return trip. Only the meanest of the mean or the dumbest of the dumb ever set paw in The Horsey Hole, but on tonight of all nights a skunk girl was traipsing beneath the streetlights and headed straight for the ominous neon sign stored away down one of the seedier alleys in town.
Liz sure didn't look like the type to take her chances in a place like this. In fact, she was quite the pin-up. Liz wasn't too lanky, too short, too stocky or too fat. She sat somewhere in that perfect zone with a little bit of plump around her hips, a nice shapely womanly figure, breasts peaking out like a centerfold model and a cute button nose in the middle of a cute skunky face. To put it frankly, if you asked 99% of guys what they were looking for in a girl, you can bet Liz would tick most of those boxes. This of course only made her strutting toward The Horsey Hole more and more confusing. Make no mistake. Liz hadn't taken a wrong turn. In fact, she'd heard all the stories about the hovel she was so boldly entering. She knew the risks, and they didn't exactly phase her. What interested her more than the lingering threat of a bar fight or some grubby guy putting his hands where they didn't belong was how cheap the booze was in this joint! She'd heard it was less than half as much as the other bars around town, for good reason of course. Besides, if worse came to worst, Liz always had a secret weapon.
Liz swept in and the walla died down enough for her to notice it. A good few furs glanced in her direction, following her all the way over to the bar where she pulled up a worn red leather stool and leaned elbows-first into the stratched wood. She was the only girl in the entire establishment. The air was thick was masculinity--literally! It smelled like a locker room after high school football practice in here, but the piercing stench of about three dozen thugs didn't seem to bother Liz. Nor did the pairs of eyes holding on her from a mix of onlookers. Most of the folks in here were wolves or lions or panthers. Tough animals. Even the bartender was a jet black mountain lion with a scar across his face and unbridled testosterone blazing like stoplights in his eyes. He sidled up to Liz, running a filthy rag through a filther mug.
"You lost or somethin', sweetheart?" Growled the barkeep.
Liz simply shook her head. "I don't think so! I heard it's only fifty cents for a beer here, is that right?" She fluttered her lashes, leaning deeper into the bar and (for some crazy reason) bringing her face even closer to the bartender's horrible breath. It blustered over her contented expression."Nah, I think you're lost. Word to the wise, turn tail back the way youse came and leave before things get ugly." He contested, leaning in closer himself and showing her there was some weight to that threat of his. Still, Liz didn't let it get to her.
"I think I'd much rather get a drink, if you don't mind?"
For a good couple minutes, the mountain lion just stared at her. Into her soul... or at least that's what he was trying to do. This girl's expression didn't falter for a moment. She was clearly made of stronger stuff. In the end, he just leaned back with a shrug.
"Your funeral, missy."
He handed Liz a tall foaming glass of strong stuff and she drained half of it in one go. It was surely cheap beer, but she'd had much worse at late night college parties. For half a buck she wouldn't be complaining.
It didn't take long for one of the fine gentlemen in the bar to rise up from his table and plod toward this steely young black and white intruder. He was a rat with a greasy combover and a torn and tattered white vest hanging in near-shreds on his chest. "Lookit, fellas, if you're all too chicken to try her on for size, leave it up to Richie." She cricked his neck and huffed into his claw to check his breath. It was as fetid as always but he didn't seem to notice.
Richie slithered up and popped himself down on the stool beside Liz, wrapping a thick muscular arm around her neck and getting in close.
"Heya toots, this ain't no place for a nice girl like you, y'know?"
Wiping beer froth from around her snout, Liz turned into him with a genuinely perplexed quirk of the eyebrow. "It's not?"
Richie shook his head. "Not at all. There's a lotta creeps in here, lotta dangerous fellas. But it's alright."
Liz, sipping at her beer again despite the sleazeball wound around her, shot him another innocent look. "It... is?"
"Sure it is!" Richie's fingers fluttered against Liz's arm. "Coz I'm here to take care of you. How 'bouts me and you head outside to my van? It's nice and quiet there. Nobody leerin' at ya."
"Thanks, but nah! I think I'm fine staying put right here."
You might be wondering how Liz could keep her cool in a situation like this. It is of this author's opinion that any lady has just as much capacity to handle herself as any brawy beefcake, but nethertheless Liz should be utterly terrified right now! What gives! Well, one pretty vital piece of information I have held back on revealing thus far is the very unusual malady that afflicts our dear Liz. You see, when Liz was born, it was without the stink gland that allows skunks to spray their signature perfume at predators. Instead, her body produces a natural stream of flatulence akin to that of a whole field of cattle. To put it simply, Liz is the biggest gasbag you'll ever meet! To some, being such a blimp would bring shame and self-hatred, but Liz has grown up to adapt to her strange condition and take control of her own eccentricity. Liz may not be able to spray out other furs like a regular skunk, but what she offers in exchange is a defensse mechanism even more gnarly!
Richie bristled. He did't like being told no, but it had never been enough to stop him in the past. Most girls played hard to get. It always took a little pressure on his part to get what he wanted. Richie always got what he wanted.
"But it's so dangerous in here, sugar cheeks." There was a sharp THWACK! as Richie removed his hand from around Liz's neck and instead gave her a swift slap on the ass! Letting out a surprised squeal, Liz served a slap of her own to the rat's face!
"Hey! Hands off the merchandise, ya creep!"
Everyone in the bar noticed that, and they could only laugh at the pathetic attempt. If Richie hadn't been mad before, boy was he mad now. The rodent grumbled, pulling Liz's face into his own and boring her with his needling eyes.
"Bad idea, stripes! Nobody, and I mean nobody slaps Richie around and gets away with it! I don't care if you're a broad or a fella, if you disrespect me you'll get what's comin' to ya!"
For the first time this evening Liz's easy confidence withered and she let the nerves through with a sheepish grin and a bead of sweat running down her forehead. She probably shouldn't have done that.
Before Richie could follow through on his threat, Liz had to think of something and fast. The rat was winding up his fist for a proper wallop when it came to her and she held up her hands.
"Hey! Wait! How about a contest?"
Richie paused. "Contest? You think you can drink me under the table?"
"No! Not a drinking contest, a farting contest!"
All the anger on Richie's face vanished and he lowered his fist. "What did you just say?"
"You and me. We get goes each. The one who can cut the biggest fart wins! If I win, you and all your scuzzbag buddies have to leave me alone for the rest of the night. If you win, I'll do whatever you want!"
"Whatever... I... want..." Richie had to repeat those words to make sure he'd really heard them.
"Whatever you want. I'll do anything, really! We can go out to your van and fool around, whatever."
Of course, Liz had no intention to ever do anything like this. She knew she could win this with her hands tied behind her back. She'd never in all her twenty five years lost a fart-off to anyone. Didn't matter if they were male, female, lion, rat, or squirrel. She'd never ever met a fur who could even come close to her natural ability.