Skunk Boys

Top of his class, a dog finds himself transforming into a skunk. He's gassier, stupider, yet for some reason, he might just like it.

(5,563 words.)

(All characters are 18+. This is an alternate world where high school continues pass 18, as I thought a secondary school setting felt cuter here than college.)

(If you like my stuff, check me out here: https://diaperedcats.carrd.co/)

It started with a fart. A big, loud, nasty fart that snuck out of your ass. Your classmates look around, the teacher rattles on, but they all sniff out the truth. It was you. You made the room disgusting and smelly. It was you and your now swampy ass's fault.

You feel horrible. You're a proper dog who's an A+ student. You shower every morning and night, and you wear nice collared shirts despite many of your classmates opting for more casual affair or going commando. Why didn’t you hold it?

You rush to the men’s' bathroom. Your favorite Optimus Primal underwear is slightly brown in the center, and you hope it'll come out in the laundry. For minutes you're washing off your butt and fur with way too thin toilet paper. That’s good enough, you eventually device, and you walk back into class head down, cheeks flushed.

A skunk in the back snickers as you enter. You think his name is Philip. He's always a bit smelly and still wears diapers to class. Not your type at all.

You ignore him, as something else bothers you; that fart smelled kind of good. Everyone likes the smell of their own farts, though. Yet it’s selfish you enjoyed that smell when it was awfully rude.

At lunch, you sit with the usual group. They’re talking about their classes, but you keep to yourself and your food as usual. The grilled cheese your mother packed is tasty.

That night, you work diligently on calc homework. It's interesting enough. You like school, and you're a good student; by now you've practically forgotten all about your smelly mishap this morning. You still take a long, cold shower and fetch a tight belt for your pants tomorrow.

Your black pants feel a bit tight the next day, but you pull them up fine. Another usual lunch passes. Then you're back in calculus, last period today, and you're diligently taking notes. It's only a second of warning. There's discontent in your bowels, and you think it'll pass or you'll head to the restroom, but your control slips. Hot mush fills your pants, squished by the chair. You've shit yourself. Run, you think. But smells wafts through air fast, and your toxic fumes are released. Everyone's eyes are on you, including the professor's. Your eyes water. They're gagging and giggling simultaneously.

“Ew, gross!”

Two days in a row, this time a poop…these furs must hate you.

"Simon, would you like to---"

"Yes, I excuse myself."

You duck out, holding the back of your pants up with your paws, hoping none of the shit will touch you. As you open the door, you notice again that same skunk in the back smirking. Couldn't other animals leave you alone? Even somefur like Philip is judging you! You present yourself so well all the time. Why are you messing up everything now?

You didn't bring a change of clothes---who would at this age?---so you do your best to remove that disgusting gunk out of your tighty whities. Just take a remote path, avoid eye contact, and you can get home. Your friends will hear all about this...

Thank god your parents aren’t home. You take the longest shower you've ever had, the temperature set a little warmer than you usually like it. You feel bad for using so much water. In the corner of your eye, you do notice your dusty fur turning a bit darker around your butt, but you don’t make much of it. It’s the least of your problems.

You really go to the bathroom the next day before school. Pee, poop: you get it all out of your system. And it works! Nothing goes wrong in math class. At lunch, the group was a little worried how you were doing, but otherwise they chatted amongst themselves.

In the halls, some classmates give you concerned glances; maybe you were too hard on yourself yesterday. They're not all making fun of you. You're a valued member of your community. You're a good student, and you know you’re proud of that. The chemistry lab later feels a bit more difficult than expected, and you find your brain feels a bit foggy, but otherwise the day went alright.

So you're very certain the next day you'll be dry. You walk into end-of-the-day calculus period with utter confidence.

It shocks you, then, when your belly gurgles. You feel tension below. Then it releases. Splurt! Your just start crapping yourself. Stop it, Simon, stop it! But you keep on crapping. Your classmates are disgusted and jolt out of their seats, backing off to the edge of the room, except that skunk Philip, of course. Your butt does not care. It keeps on pooping and crapping and your pants sag way the heck off the chair. You're crying, but simultaneously, it feels so good. This is not what a student like you should think! You hear a Snap! and your belt flies off, slamming into the wall right next to Mr. Green. Your tail rips through the small tail hole. Is it getting larger, bushier? It thwacks a chair over. Your ass shows no sign of stopping. You keep on shitting yourself as you finally get yourself to stand and run out the room. How will you ever return from that?

The nurse tells you what you expected. After your incident, you're required to wear diapers.

"Don't worry," she says. Ms. Bell is a long weasel known for a big heart. "Some animals need diapies, and it's nothing to be ashamed of!" She's also known for being patronizing.

You cringe. A strong student like you shouldn't wear diapers nor have accidents like this. And will you fit them inside your neat pants? Everyone will see the budge. But everyone's likely heard of your incidents at this point. You're going to be known as that poopy boy dog for the next month.

The nurse recommends some brands on the way out, and you begrudgingly jot notes. She provides a couple diapers.

Why do those soft white things have to look so comfy…

On the way home, you're thinking, what was up with your tail? The nurse told you not to worry; body changes happen when you're experience bowel destress. But you're very confused by it. You'll have to cut a larger tail hole in your pants tonight.

“We got a call from the school,” your father says as you hang your coat up. It’s small on you with the curves you’ve got growing in.

You don’t know how to respond.

“To say we’re disappointed is an understatement,” he continues.

“Dad, I’m sorry! It was an accident!”

“How can an accident that bad happen?” your mom says and sighs. She’s reclining on the green reupholstered chair in the living room, your dad lying on the brown couch. “You should’ve told us about yesterday’s incident. You don’t need to keep secrets from us, you got that Simon?”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“We love you,” Mom says. “This is just so hard to believe. My son, wearing those again?” She sips from her tea mug.

You’re looking at the carpeted floor. “Can I be excused to my room? I’ll go put my lunch box away.”

“Yes, dinner will be at 6,” Dad says.

At dinner, They later agree to purchase some "protective underwear" (you all know its diapers). Your mother locks eyes and comforts you, saying she knows your behavior will improve.

You’re on your third bowl of pasta and your mom demands you eat your broccoli first. Damn you’re hungry. Maybe if you eat less, you’d poop less.

Or if you eat more, you’ll poop more.

You shake the thought away.

***

"They're so big" is your first thought dressing the next day. The wrinkled texture is obvious on your kacki pant's back rise. So easily could the diaper's hem peep out, too. Your butt was not this big yesterday. You tuck your white buttoned shirt in and opt for suspenders today. That should keep the diaper in. Your now thick, increasingly striped tail swishes.

A couple murmurs, but today's overall gone swimmingly. You almost forget you have the diapers when a certain skunk slides up behind you in the hall.

"Ooh, nice! Diapers are the best. Whatch'ya you have on?" Philip speaks with a raspy, toothy lisp. A Charmander plushie dangles on a keychain from his backpack.

No, stop it! You shouldn't associate with him. But he's too fast. He pulls down the pants, stretching the suspenders. The plain white diaper shows.

"Ooh, that's a good brand. The nurse knows the best stuff. I like ABUs a bit more, though. You got to try them. Holds my poop real well." He grins, eyes gleaming behind his glasses, and he gives a big, smelly hug. You try to wiggle out. Every animal is looking at you now, pointing at your big diaper on your big butt. You want to run.

Philip wasn't the brightest animal on the block. Friendly sure, a huge Pokémon nerd, but not your type. You were an academic animal. You weren't a diapered slob. Except at this point, you kind of were. You're confused. You didn't want to be like Philip. But something about being a smelly animal sounded interesting.

You're about to be free from his embrace and it's the worst possible timing. A gurgle, but there's practically no warning. A huge log of shit tumbles into your diaper. Despite the suspenders, the back starts to weigh down. Philip squeals with delight. No, don't impress him! All the cats and bunnies and other animals are pointing now laughing. Like yesterday, you can't stop. You keep pushing, stiffening your arms, and it unfortunately feels so good. You like this. You feel your muzzle become stouter somehow. Was your tail getting longer again? Your belly then gets rounder, and your thighs chubbier and mushier.

"Oh that's good," Philip says. "Just push it out. You'll feel so much better. Gee, we should be friends!" He walks around behind you, puts his skunk snout right into your diapered behind. "Ahh, that's the stuff. Super fresh and smelly. See you later, stinky pal!"

You're not a stinky pal. You don't want to be a stinky pal. Then why did it feel so good to have his muzzle push your poop into your fat ass? You shudder as you try to avoid thinking along this line further. The crowd slowly disperses. Pulling up your pants, you walk along to class. You'll change later. The smell's a bit nice, and maybe your peers won't mind. Philip had a point.

Students scootch their desks away in calculus class, but you don't mind it. They seem to smile at you. Even if the smell makes them gag, they think you're kind of cute. A laughing stock, but cute. You have a quiz today, and you know you did worse than you usually do. But it doesn't bother you. Grades feel just a little less important in your head. You smush your butt around in your pampy. Nice and squishy, and still a tad warm too. You blush. You hated the idea of diapers yesterday, but you could get used to this. Others roll their eyes looking at you but still smile. You're just a diapered smelly animal. They do this sometimes. They just love their diapers.

When the bell rings and you stand, you swing your pudgy arms rapidly to stop yourself from falling. Was the desk always that cramped? No, it wasn't. You're getting fatter. Dumber and fatter, you reckon. That sounds good.

---No! This isn't how you used to think! Snap out of it! But why fight whatever's "corrupting" you when it sounds so perfect and stupid?

That night, you're brushing your teeth and notice yourself in the mirror. Your rounder ears, your forming white stripes: no doubt about it, you're becoming a skunk. A gross, dumb, fat, disgusting skunk. You're not surprised. Everything you've been doing, from each poop all the way back to that massive fart, has been skunk behavior. And you're only going to get skunkier. You pee yourself at the thought, your diapered front turning yellow from your little penis. You drool. You're a skunk boy. It sounds more and more nice and you. You should talk to that Phlip fellow more. He could give you some tips on stupid skunk life.

You can’t let your parents know you actually like all this, though. You smile bright when your mom tucks you in to bed.

There's something you need to sleep. Where is it? You jump out of the covers and then dig behind your bed into the mess of papers, and of course you're pooping and peeing your diaper as well. And there it is! Your stuffed Anteater. You bring it to your snout and slobber all on it. It's now sopping, but you provide her a massive hug. She's your best friend.

You jump into bed in your unchanged diaper and let your scent wafer around the room. Just a good smelly skunk under his covers. You snooze quickly.

***

You don't even bother wearing clothes the next day. Your diaper is so pretty and happy on its own, and no clothes makes it easier for the nurse to check your diaper. Today, a massive diaper sags behind you on the floor full of your very own hot poop as you drool. Your skunk conversion is almost complete. Nobody would ever think you were a dog or smart again. You're an extremely poopy, stinky, kind, adorable skunk friend.

Walking down the hall, students wave and smile, pinching their noses. They think you're cute! You haven't pooped today yet, but you're farting. They're so explosive now, and you can breathe in poop droplets in the air. There's so tasty; you take a deep breath to get as much as you can. You're a biohazard now, but super sweet. A river of drool winds behind you, so a wet floor sign is placed. A janitor gives you a thumbs up as they start mopping up your drool. You giggle and drool some more. You shit yourself and hug your Anteater stuffy you brought.

It's hard to sniff out Phil over the stench of your diaper, but you find him. He's grunting and pooping himself.

"Simon!" Philip says, waddling towards you. "Looking awesome. You're a skunk like me!" He's drooling too and holds up a paw to high four. His diaper is also to the floor, swollen with his fine poop. He bends his arms and lets out a loud fart.

"Yeah!" Your butt lets out a little toot. "Wanna have a play date sometime?" That word came out so naturally. Strange.

"YES! I'm so happy you asked!" He gives a big fat hug to your now black and white pudgy belly. "I got smash and Pokémon and lots of games. Let's come over to my house! Maybe tomorrow? I'd ask my mommy."

You don't remember the last time you've been to someone's houses. When was the last time you hung out with your other friends? Those friends you only talked to at lunch. The playdate sounds really nice, and you drool at the thought. "Sure!"

Meanwhile, the adults in the room walk around you in the hallway, eyes locked on their destinations. Despite your sharded monochrome fur, you two are the color in the room.

"Here's my phone number," Philip says. He scribbles it onto an index card. "Text me if you need help finding my home!"

In class the next day you're at your desk, and you can't focus. Your pencil refuses to connect with the page. Meanwhile, you're crapping. The diaper is expanding down beyond your chair. This is what life should be. You feel your intelligence literally pushing itself into the seat of your diaper. Your smarts are draining while you keep pooing. You're a bit anxious at what this means for school, but why should you care when you're so much happier now? You've got a playdate upcoming with Phil! You don't need to be stressed because you don't need to think about stuff that doesn't matter. Just be happy and play and push. Skunks don't think; they stink. You giggle to yourself and smush your mess all around. You're a good skunk.

You still had to wonder: why you, why now? But thinking was hard. You didn't need to question this.

You sit at your usual lunch table. No one comes. You check your watch. It’s 5 past now. They should be here. Where’s the group?

You get up, walk around. Everyone’s eating, but they’re used to autistic kids walking around. You see them. The group is at a different table chatting. There’s still an empty seat. Maybe you didn’t know about the switch?

“Can I join?” you ask through your big teeth.

“Uh, sure,” a fox says.

They don’t talk the rest of lunch. You’re not clueless. You feel icky inside.

You’ll sit with Philip tomorrow. That sounds better.

Later, you dread math class. What's the point of it? There's no snuggling nor playing. Your other classes at least let you socialize. But the day would end soon enough, and then you'd go to Phil's house for the playdate! Your parents would be a bit suspicious where you were, since you usually come home right after school to attempt starting your homework. So you text them the truth. They've wanted you to find actual friends anyhow. They don't need to know your friend is this skunk.

The hours crawl by, but school is done. Philip went home on his own to get things ready. You're outside the house now, and you ring the doorbell. When was the last time you went somewhere new?

A tall chubby skunk opens the door. "Hello!" she says. "You must be the new friend Philip has been telling me so much about it. I'm his mother. I feel honored to meet you!"

You can't help but notice a diaper peeking out under her green dress. She needs one too? "Uh, yeah."

"Come on in! Philip's on the couch waiting. I'll prepare you two some smoothies while you play."

"Thank you, miss." You want to hate her overbearingness, but it feels kind of nice.

"Oh, call me Samantha. Or Philip's mommy, if you prefer. Jess is Philip's momma. We differentiate that way." She laughs.

You're not sure who Jess is, but a voice disrupts this thought.

"SIMON!!" Philip says. In the entertainment room, he's got all the shades drawn and the happiest grin on his snout. His diaper takes up half the couch.

You run towards him on plop on the couch. You each give a big hug. You can't help it! Is this how good real friendship feels? Why don't your main friends meet up, let alone hug each other?

"I got Smash ready! And of course the GameCub controllers~" he points to an elaborate setup with a GameCub adapter you've only heard of in internet discourse.

"Oh cool. I've never played Smash, so sorry if I'm awful."

"You've NEVER PLAYED SMASH?" he says. Drool leaks from his muzzle in his shock. "Okay, we need to fix this. I call Pikachu."

You're in the middle of a match when Samantha walks in. Philip grumpily pauses the game.

"Who wants apple and banana smoothies!"

"Me! Me!" Philip say. His mother bends down and gives him a kiss. He grabs the smoothie and starts slurping on the metal straw.

"And for you," she says as she paws you one. Not to be rude, you take a slurp immediately.

"This is so good!" you say.

"I know, my mommy makes the best smoothies" Philip says proudly through his drinking.

There had to be a catch here. Your mother would’ve told you to get your own drink, lazy butt. Here, Philip is playing and his mother provides him a snack. It’s really sweet, but maybe unnatural. Your parents have the right smart parenting, you know that.

You play for hours. Prime homework times passes, though it's not like you would've gotten yourself started anyways by now. You're falling into it. You're maining Kirby, slurping on Samantha's apple and banana smoothie, and you love it. You never had any consoles at home because your parents said they're time suckers. But this is amazing!

"Another match! Another match!" you shout.

"Of course, bud!" Philip says.

"Actually," Samantha says, now in front of the TV, "It's Philip's feeding time. You can join if you want. I'll give diaper changes afterwards!~" She sings

Feeding time? Before you can respond, Samantha squishes herself between you and Philip. No, you’re a friend! But then the strangest thing happens. She pulls off her dress, revealing her loose thighs. She has massive breasts, and Philip happily latches. His muzzle starts moving.

No, no, no, no... You don't want to be rude, but you can't join this. She's not your mother. Despite how nice she is, your parents are at 17 Banyard's Street and you should return home. You sit there and watch curiously. Nursing, at this age? But Phil really loves it. You hear purrs and grunts between his suckles. It's so intimate. You drool a bit. Maybe you could ask your mom to play a board game or something. But you know she finds them boring.

You hear a squelch, and you notice Philip's mother stiffen a bit. She can't have pooped herself, can she? But she is, and is still doing so. Philip is nursing his mother as she messes herself. He's likely to mess himself soon after. It's really sweet.

"I'm home!" a voice sounds from the front door. You see a yellow cat approach. Your eyes are trained now, and beneath black pants is a diaper bulge. This must be Jess, Philip's other mom. You wonder how your parents would act around these two. “They’re corrupting lunatics!” you can hear you dad shout.

"Awww," Jess says. She leans a paw against a doorway beam. "Looks like two are a bit busy right now. And who are you?"

"...I'm Philip's friend."

"A friend! Philip has a friend? That's wonderful!" Jess says.

Samanatha gives her a look that means business. Jess controls herself. "I mean, of course Philip has a friend. We're so happy to have you over." She yawns. "I'm beat from work, but I can help make dinner later, Sammy."

Fudge, it’s late! "Oh my, I've got to get home! Family dinner and stuff."

"Would you like a ride?" Samantha has Philip detach himself, much to his disappoint.

You don't want to trouble them, but a ride would lessen how late you are and in return how mad your parents will be.

"Yeah, that would be nice.

***

"A new friend," your father says as he stab a big fork into steak.

"Yeah," you lisp. Your plate has steak, a salad, and mashed potatoes. Only the mashed potatoes looks particularly appetizing. Are your tastes changing, too?

"We got a call from the school," your mother says. You freeze. You want to grab your anteater stuffy from your backpack and hug her tight so bad. Oh gosh, what did they say?

She continues. "They want to place you in Special Ed classes. Says that a skunk like you needs extra help. Your grades are slipping."

Special Ed? You were in those classes back in elementary. They tried to teach you to socialize, but really you missed class time and felt ostracized. You can't go back there!

"No child of mine will be a skunk," your dad says after a big bit. "I don't care how your body is changing. You're a dog and you better act like it."

Run. You want to run so bad. You're not a dog: you're a skunk. Stop talking, stop talking. You cover your ears.

"No listen to me, young man," your father snaps. "If your grades don't improve, we're kicking you out. You're an adult, and if you don't want to value your education, maybe it's time for you to experience the real world. You got that?"

Please stop. You're wailing now. What a baby you've become...

"Oh stop your crying," your mother says. “You’re a grown-up.”

"You got it?" your dad asks.

"Yes! I understand!"

"Good," he says. "Get your act together, Simon. I'm not fucking kidding." He talks as he chews. "And put some clothes on, for God's sakes."

Your mother smiles again and turns to your dad. "So how was work, Mark?"

***

You sit down next to Philip in Special Ed. Of course he's here, too. You're kinda glad about that. You're wearing a collared shirt with a tie. The fabric is spreading between the buttons due to the weight you've put on, but you overall look professional. Your diaper is hidden under your pants, and there's only a wetting in there as far as you're aware.

"Woah Simon, what's with the getup?" he says. The teacher hasn't walked in yet.

"I'm trying to be mature again. I was taking this skunk thing too far." You sigh. "Maybe you should too---we could be friends that way. I could show you to my parents!"

Philip shakes his head. "Snap out of it, Simon! This isn't you. You're a good skunk and you know it!"

"Only since a week ago."

"And it's been a great week! I'm so glad I wished for us to be friends."

Your ears pop up. You’re sweating. "...What do you mean, wish?"

"Oh," Philip chuckles. He picks his nose a bit. "I went to the library, which I normally only do to get Sonic comics, and found a silly spellbook I thought meant nothing. The page I flipped to said the spell could fulfill your dreams, so I wished we could be friends. I only realized yesterday at the playdate that the spell made you more skunky too, huh!"

"You did what!?" You're steaming as you wet yourself. "Did you know you ruined my life? I was one of the best students in this school. Now I've got shit for brains and my parents are pissed!" You laugh to clam down. "Well, at least I know a way to maybe fix this, if that book has some counter spell."

"Heh, pissed." Philip laughs.

You just stare.

"Sorry, bad time?" he says. "I didn't think it would actually do anything! "And how could I know it would skunkify you?"

"Well of course it did. Only a skunk would be friends with you."

Crap, you said that. And you can't take it back. Philip's breaking. His eyes start watering. Then he wails. "My momma is friends with me, and she's a cat. I thought you liked being a skunk. You were so much happier. You looked sad in class before and I thought you needed a friend."

“I wasn’t sad! I loved class!” Yet did you still?

Some other Special Ed kids are looking at you both now. The conflict had gotten loud. "But it's obviously wrong," you say. The teacher walks in, and you turn away from Philip. He's still looking at you, though. You can feel his eyes.

The class consisted of making figures out of shaving cream to express how you feel. Philip kept wanting to show you his creation, but you ignored him. This was training to be a stronger dog. You barely make it to the bathroom in time to mess in a toilet for once.

You spend your afternoons the next few days looking for that spellbook in the town library. You hadn't thought magic was real, but here you are searching for witchcraft and again ignoring your homework. The math problems had been so hard lately, and as much as you knew it was giving into your variety of skunkhood, you procrastinated on it.

Your searches held no fruit. That book was nowhere. Shelved somewhere among the countless books, or perhaps sent to another branch. You head home once to find a suitcase packed by the door.

"You're moving out," your mother says calmly from the kitchen.

"What?" you stammer.

"You heard her," your father says. He's in the living room playing a game on his tablet. "The house stinks, you look awful. We're sending you out. Go lose some weight, get a job. It'll do you some good. Then you can finish school."

"Please, daddy, pwease! I'm twying weallyth hard!" You have a classic skunk lisp now from your large buck teeth.

"Well it's not enough," your father says. "I expect great improvement from you."

You don't know to process this. It's horrible. You're tearing up as you run upstairs to gather whatever you need most. (It's mostly your studded animals.) You can't fit all your diapers, so you hope whatever you go has them.

Where are you going? A hotel? A park? You're shaking. You're too small for this. You're just a little skunk. Madly you rip off all the suit and tie you had forced yourself into. What's the point when it didn't work? Your parents don't want you.

You realize who you need to call. No, would he even want to talk? He had every right to reject you after you told him off. He skunified you accidentally, but shouldn't have said the stuff you said. But you needed something. It was the only light you knew.

You dig into your contacts---how long would your parents pay for your phone plan?---and find Philip. You didn't have many contacts. You pause for the longest time before a bean taps call.

"Oh, hi Simon! How you feeling?"

His tone seems fine. "I'm okay. But I need a place to stay. My parents are kicking me out. I know we just fought, but---"

"They're kicking you out!? They can't do that!"

"They can. I'm 19. They said the real world would do me some good."

"The real world is with friends. Hang on, I'm getting my mommies."

You hear some shuffling and some muffled dialogue. Then Philip picks up the phone again. "Mommy can drive over to pick you up. Are you packed?"

"Yeah," you say. You look to your still made bed and your oak dresser with worn clothes. There's a lot in this room you wouldn't be taking. "Aren't you mad at me?"

"Nah, it's hard being a skunk boy. I understand." He pauses for a bit. "I wish more animals were nice like my mommies. They're a lot nicer about me needing diapies."

"They do seem good with it," you say.

"Listen," Philip says. "I'm sorry that I made you a skunk. I didn't mean to, but it happened. But I hope we can still be friends."

You know some magic beyond comprehension played into all this. But right now, being his friend was what sounded worth living for. You pee yourself. "I really want that."

***

Your parents said nothing when you walked outside and entered Samantha's car. It was the same one she had dropped you off in only a few days ago. But now you were being taken to her home.

"Simon, I'm so, so sorry your parents are treating you this way. No parent should. As a mother, it's enraging to see."

"Thanks, Samantha." You see the trees whip by. Cold air flows in by the October breeze.

"Jess and I are happy to help. Stay as long as you need. We can get an extra bed. You can even call us momma and mommy if you'd like."

"I—" you don't know how to respond. "I'm not your child. I'm a failed dog who was cursed to be a skunk. And for some reason, I like it." Despite everything happening, you admit this to yourself. You like being a skunk. You're a good boy. You can feel a fart coming. You're still crying from earlier.

"Philip told us about that," Samantha says with a sigh. She looks at your through the rearview mirror genuinely, then back at the road. "What he did was wrong, magic-ing your mind like that. As much as we wanted him to find friends, that's not the way to do it. We can find the book for you."

"No," you say nervously, scratching your fuzzy arm. "I don't want it. I want to be a skunk. And I want to be friends with Philip."

"You sure?," Mommy says. “If you change your mind, we can look for it.”

You wipe away some tears and drool. “I’m swure for now."

You pull at the lot, and Momma and Philip are on the front porch. Philip stumbles forward to give you a hug. "Simon! You're here!"

You hug back tight in return. "Yeah! I am here. I am okay!" It's so much to think about. Mommy and Momma start talking to each other.

"We get to have an eternal playdate," Philip says. "We can be brothers! Isn't the awesome? We get to play with all the time!"

You think about what your future here means. Protection from the horrors of homelessness. Snacks and cuddles with Philip. Nursing on your mothers. Family movie nights and lots of hugs.

"Yeah," you say. "It is awesome." You smile. Philip dances in circles around you. Your mommies hold the door open, and you two skunk boys head inside to play and sleep.