When I donned my fursuit to go out for my first public event, I was flushed with anticipation. I was more than a little nervous too, not knowing what to expect and worried about etiquette and what others would think of me. But for the first time in a long while, I felt a bit like a child again, believing that I can be anything and do anything that I had dreamed about. I had custom ordered my fursuit months ago and received it last week. My introduction to the furry fandom had been accidental and it immediately felt like something that I should do. It was very different from all the other weird, and often dangerous, obsessions and paraphilias that I had come across during my job as an FBI profiler and investigator. Just the other day we tracked a serial killer who could only get sexual satisfaction after his victims’ deaths, finding gratification in the knowledge that they could never leave him, Jeffrey Dahmer-style.

Of course, the furry fandom is nothing like that, I quickly realized. Not all furries engage in sexual activities, but for those who do, it is a peaceful and consensual affair, playful in its own way. Not very dramatic or overt as the fursuits are very expensive and most people don’t relish the idea of ripping or staining the soft furry material. So, it is mostly sensual scratching, pawing, and fondling, called “skritching” in the furry world, and hugging and rubbing against each other. Perhaps you have heard of “yiffing”? Such sexual activity often involves furpiles, just a bunch of furries mashing and humping together. Sounds like fun, right? I thought so…

The prices of fursuit made me think twice but when I browsed the supplier’s catalog, I was hooked. So, I put away some money and ordered one. Feeling a little lost and uncertain in the brand new world, I set up a twitter account and started acting out my chosen persona, Phoenix, the fox. It was not long before I made my first furry friends online. A few mentioned that they planned to meet up at Anthrocon in June held annually at the David L. Lawrence Convention Center in Pittsburgh. The most friendly I only knew by their online furry names, Lily Lamb and Rocky Raccoon. According to her profile pictures, Lily was an innocent-looking white lamb…what else…Whether Lily was really a “she”, I did not know. It didn’t matter either; for most furries their persona is a projection of an important aspect of themselves and how they would like others to see them. Rocky, on the other hand, has a distinct macho look and online presence. I imagined him as husky and dominating. I could not wait to see them both in real life and meet other interesting furries too.

Anthrocon is the world’s largest event for those fascinated with “anthropomorphics,” which are humanlike animal characters that have been around since the dawn of human imagination, to quote the official website. This year more than 6,000 guests are expected and the range of activities are amazing. There are dances, furry games, presentations, get-togethers, and so much more.

Having put on my hind paws and fursuit, I paraded in front of the full-length mirror, admiring the craftsmanship that had gone into making such a thing of beauty. Despite the relative strangeness, I was beginning to feel turned on too, the familiar hollow tightness in my tummy, and the first signs of hot wetness between my thighs. It seemed just thinking about other attractive furries had that effect already. Oh, imagine being able to hug and touch them...skritching and, perhaps, yiffing…

I had decided on one of the non-digitigrade suits as it seemed less restrictive and hot. It did not have inserted padding to puff up the legs and body to better simulate real animal dimensions. I am a touch kind of person for whom the tactile sensation of soft, heated fluffiness hold an incredible appeal. So, imagine the first time I had unboxed my newly shipped fursuit: By myself, I had an incredible evening of admiring, touching, and parading, with and without the suit, until I, understandable, reached the most incredible orgasm ever. I was looking forward to another similar fur-related experience.

By now, you are probably wondering how the suit looked (and felt?) and which animal I had chosen? Well, as I am definitely a canine person, a wolf, fox, Alsatian, or husky dog had been my early favorites. As many furries have a similar preference, maybe it sounds boring. Nevertheless, in the wild, I have always admired the cunning and ingenious confidence of the fox. They have no boorish or crude behaviors. Even out stalking and hunting, they seem keen and graceful. My choice had been obvious…

Finally putting the head and forepaws on, I was amazed again at the accurate presentation of the red fox. The lush fur was golden red with a lighter, creamier colored shorter fur on the breast and belly. It had three-dimensional orange eyes and upright black-rimmed ears. The thick, bushy brown tail with its white tip stitched to the suit is perhaps the most striking detail. Feeling mounting excitement that finally subdued the earlier apprehension, I left my hotel room after and checking myself one last time in the mirror. The convention center is just across the street from the Westin Hotel and I relish taking the short skywalk, showing off my fursuit at last.

On the way, I got a few excited “Good evening, Phoenix!” greetings from fellow furries and non-furries alike. I had a maroon bandana around my neck with my furry name embroidered on it. There was a buzz around the place. Everyone seemed to be making their way to the venue for the opening of the convention. I was going to a meet-and-greet drinks and dancing event where I was going to look out for Lily and Rocky, and hopefully, meet other interesting characters as well.

Once inside, the atmosphere was, even more, electric in anticipation.

As I walked in the door, a poodle came darting out. She bumped into me and gave me a tight apologetic hug. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “You look gorgeous!”

“Thanks. You too, Pixie,” I replied, looking at her name tag before she rushed off.

I looked around. There must have been about 50 furries inside the smallish barroom. A mahogany bar counter ran lengthwise on one side. There were about 15 wood and metal barstools in front of it, all occupied by a variety of creatures, and a large wall unit, all glass and mirrors behind it, filled with every kind of liquor I could ever want.

I moved toward the barman, a large friendly looking bloke with a white Anthrocon 2011 T-shirt proclaiming “A Mid-Summer Night’s Dream” in bold, dark blue letters.

“What will it be, pretty fox?” he asked.

“Make it a double whiskey. Cutty Sark, please. Neat.” I was my usual tipple and I already anticipated the vanilla sweetness and gently spiced malt on my tongue. Receiving the drink in a tumbler with a long straw to facilitate furry drinking, I glanced at the crowd. Around half were standing or sitting around the bar, catching up. The others were either dancing in small groups or clustered in hugs. It was early evening and the bustle was still reserved and subdued.

I spotted Lily first, dancing with a couple of others that included a feminine-looking cat sporting a black bikini and flashy bling over her blue fur, and a realistic looking husky with a full-toothed grin, white jowls, and piercing blue eyes. Recognizing me, Lily waved me over. She put her wooly arms around me and held me close for a few seconds. She felt soft and smelled like some kind of a sweet flower. It was nice.

“I am excited to finally meet you in person. I had been looking forward to it since we first spoke online,” she said. “Look, everyone, meet my friend, Phoenix Fox!” pointing to the others. The Husky’s name was Max and the cat, Miss Kitty, as in the CSI episode “Fur and Loathing.” There was nothing to loathe here, though. There was a black bear named Kenai too. They all waved and briefly squeezed my arm or shoulder. I felt relaxed and at home, still wondering what the appropriate cue was to invite more sensual, lingering hugs when I noticed Rocky Raccoon walking over. Looking as strong and muscular as I imagined him to be, he gave me a tight and demanding hug, our chests and bellies squashed together.

“Hello Phoenix; so lovely to see you,” he said in my ear. With a paw moving down to my buttocks, he pulled more of me even closer. “You feel and smell wonderful.” My face was pressed into a furry shoulder clavicle, my knees weak. He rubbed the length of my back, gently skritching.

He released me. The moment was over. For the time being, anyway. Glad that he couldn’t see my flushed face or know about the growing wetness between my legs, the group exchanged pleasant banter for a few minutes between music, chit-chatting about the convention, the weather, and the city. When the music started again, it was the slow, relatively unknown Elton John song, “Original Sin.” We swayed arm-in-arm to the sensual tune. I felt Lily’s thin waist in my right arm and Rocky’s hip in the other. The evocative words about paper angels, little devils, and “all the pleasures deep inside” took me a step closer to losing control. I realized that something unavoidable had already been set in motion.

His forepaw was now below my tail, rubbing between my legs. I was stroking Lily Lamb’s breast on the other side. My breath was ragged and my heart pounding. I pressed my thighs together, trying to rub my clit and clasp Rocky’s hand. Pressure starting building in my stomach, a sure sign of an impending orgasm. The music changed to “Slow Hand” by the Pointer Sisters. Evidently more of the group could not sustain their own weight anymore either and we slowly toppled over. Everyone fell on top of another in what seemed like a planned slow-motion movement.

Keeping one arm behind me, Rocky put a paw on my breast and pulled me on top of him. To the words of having a slow groove among a lazy sway of trees under a midnight moon, I ground myself against him, feeling my nipples and groin explode with an electric current. Savoring his smokey, musky scent, I could not even pretend to have any form of control anymore. The tension was building and building. The blood was rushing in my ears. Every muscle contracted. My slit was engorged and sleek with flowing juices. Not thinking then about the good decision to wear a padded panty to protect my precious fursuit from such an event, I clenched the absorbent material between my legs, feeling the waves starting from my sacral chakra, rushing down to sweep over my root chakra low down. The intense contraction gradually subsided in what felt like an eternity. Returning to reality after the sensation of floating freely in a silent and weightless space, I let out one large breath, relishing the post-orgasmic afterglow.

“Now you’re not a furry virgin anymore,” Rocky whispered in my ear, his eyes catching mine. Giving me a last squeeze before the music faded away, he got up from the furpile, pulling me up with him. After helping Lily and the others to their feet as well, he guided me, weak-kneed, to a barstool and ordered a refreshing mojito, which I eagerly drank from. Lily sat down next to me and put a make-belief hoof on my thigh, leaning in and pressing her head to my shoulder. It was an incredibly comforting gesture to round off a perfect experience.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur. It was only the next day that I really started to connect with Lily and Rocky. Both would become good friends. In the next years, we shared many exciting and sensual adventures, sometimes all three of us together, and other times with one or the other. But more about that at another time…