Comparative Biology In Your Bed
Brumby_Run
You have had a very bad day. To be completely honest, it has been a bad couple of months. Every Monday, for longer than you have cared to remember, something completely weird and disturbing has occurred. In your bed. For all these strange and alarming circumstances, you just know that today is going to be particularly bad.
Not that you can recall much of the events of this specific Monday. That is probably due to the fact that it is six in the evening, and your hangover from the bender you were on over the weekend is just kicking up to eleven.
You are standing, or more accurately swaying, at the cursed door to your cursed bedroom. Inside, your cursed bed will have something lying on it. If they aren't cursed, or cursing your bed, they may curse at you. They might even be taking notes about what they see in cursive writing. It's enough to trigger a string of expletives from your mouth.
You can hear them breathing. Even with the door closed the faint sounds of respiration drift through. Best get this over with, you think to yourself. With a false sense of bravado, you fling the door open.
On your bed there is a lump under your covers. Whatever it is rolls over to look at you. A shock of white feathers greets you. Whatever it is also has a pair of eyes, and a hooked yellow beak. A pair of limbs slip out from under the covers (Legs or arms? You are not sure). They end in a set of talons that look dangerously sharp.
“Hi there sasquatch. It’s about time you showed up,” Gilda (does-she-even-have-a-last-name) the Griffon says. “Hurry up, and lets get started.”
“Get what started?” you ask with a sense of dread.
“Sex dummy. Why else would I be in your bed?”
“You have no idea about what has happened in that bed over the past weeks. I’m not prepared to assume anything anymore.” Yes, that sense of dread was totally justified. “Besides, last time you were eating my bucket of chicken and watching TV.”
“Whatever dunkoff,” she replies indifferently. “Less talk, more action.”
“And they say romance is dead,” you mutter.
“Come here and take me, you glorious hunk of monkey meat,” she says in a sarcastic tone. “Is that enough foreplay, or do you want my star sign as well?”
“Look, I’m a man of the world,” you say. “I’ve seen nature documentaries. I’ve been to zoos. What specific courtship ritual are you hoping for?” That sense of dread is getting stronger.
“Cartwheeling!” she exclaims excitedly.
“Cartwheeling,” you state flatly. “Where two hawks fly at each other above a cliff, lock talons, then try to get the deed done before their spiraling plummet smashes them into the rocks below?”
“Exactly that, only about a hundred times more awesome.”
You twist your head to look over your shoulder. First your left, then your right. With your examination complete you say, “I don’t have wings.”
“So what?” Gilda asks. “Nothing heightens the post-coital rush like seeing your lover’s corpse splattered at the base of a cliff.”
You sit down on at the foot of your bed. With some trepidation you ask, “What’s in it for me?”
“You will get to meet your gods while mellowed out from experiencing the ultimate sexual ecstasy.”
“Most human gods tend to frown on sexual ecstasy at the best of times,” you reply. “Achieving it with a mythological creature of a completely different species, or two, is more than most of them can stand.”
“Wow, you lot have uptight gods. Mythological creatures of a completely different species make for awesome bragging rights where I’m from,” she says. “Why else would I be trying to bag a dweeb like you?”
“Whatever,” you brush off the insult. “Cartwheeling is not going to happen.”
“Fine. We’ll do the boring mammal thing. On the ground.”
“I’m a man of the world,” you watch as Gilda rolls her eyes. “I’ve seen nature documentaries. I’ve been to zoos. The first thing a lioness does after they finish is to turn around and savagely attack the male.”
“Oh, come on!” she yells. “Nothing like a bit of afterplay to get the blood pumping.”
“I’ll ask again, what’s in it for me?”
“If you staunch the bleeding in time, it probably won’t be fatal,” she says unhelpfully.
Time to try a different tactic, you tell yourself. “If you knew the truth, you probably wouldn’t want to have sex with any human.”
“You lot seem to be pretty boring at it. But there is nothing you’ve said that counts as a deal breaker for me.”
“I’m a man of the world...”
“If you mention nature documentaries or zoos again,” Gilda says, “I’ll skip the sex and go straight to the mauling.”
“It’s a matter of size,” you hurriedly state. “Specifically the difference in scale between humans and lions. I’m going to assume griffons are similar. Human anatomy is... I mean, comparatively speaking... Err...”
“Awww, the dunderhead is feeling inadequate,” she coos. “It’s not the size of the boat, but the motion of the ocean.”
“I’m actually worried that I might hurt you, maybe even tear something...”
You lean back, one hand sliding under the covers to support you. Your bed seem slimy-er than you remember. With your other hand, you reach across your body and throw back the covers. It takes a moment to process what you are seeing.
Gilda’s body is sprawled over your sheets in a very cat like fashion. The third thing you notice is all the fur she has shed. The second thing would be the feathers that have molted. But first and foremost...
“You’ve drenched my bed in lioness love lotion!” you shout in a wounded tone.
“Technically I’m a griffoness, but I guess the result is the same,” she says. “I’m in estrus man! I’ve got no control over that.”
You stare at her. In time, the look you are giving her morphs into a glare. You are only half a second from a glower when she cracks.
“Okay, I may have indulged in a little self-pleasure while I was waiting for you,” she confesses. “Things kind of got a bit out of control. My libdo is one wild ride when I’m in heat. And you left a bunch of skin mags around. What else is a bi griffon to do, left here all alone.” She grins. You didn’t know it was possible for something with a beak to grin. “I could argue that this is your fault.”
That is the statement that pushes you over the edge. You facepalm. It’s a hard facepalm. Emphatic. The only problem with it is that instead of a good, hard slap, all you get is a dull ‘splort.’ That’s because until a second ago your hand was resting in a pool of an almost unmentionable bodily fluid. Along with the liquid, your face is now covered in shed fur, and one feather tickling your lower left eyelid. You have never felt more unclean in your whole life.
“Shower!” you exclaim. “I’m going to have a shower. Please be gone when I get out.”
As you step into your bathroom, a talon reaches out to prop open the door. Gilda has followed you, and is standing in the doorway, staring at you.
“What?” you ask.
“You’ve made a pretty bold claim,” she says. “One I don’t believe for a second. The only way I am leaving here is if I’ve had sex, or I don’t want to have sex. Either way, I’m going to see you naked.”
You sigh. There is no way out of this. You peel off your shirt and toss it over the griffon. You wince as it lands on your soiled bed. You make eye contact with Gilda as you unhook your belt, and undo your fly. With a pause for dramatic effect, or just a hope you won’t have to do this, you drag your trousers and underwear down to reveal what your last girlfriend called her ‘greatest disappointment.’ A verbal barb that stings to this day.
“Yeah, that’s pretty big,” she says as she scrutinizes you. “It would be a stretch, but if you were gentle...”
“It’s flaccid,” you interupt.
“It gets bigger?” her voice cracks, squeaking slightly. “Okay, I’ll admit that when it comes to sex, I’m a sadist. That doesn’t make me a masochist.” She tilts her head to look you in the eye. “You keep that thing away from me.”
“Gladly.” Her last sentence was the best one you’ve heard all day.
You watch as she turns and walks back to the bedroom. The most satisfying sight is the way her tail is protectively covering her anatomy. She untucks one corner of your sheet, and peers underneath.
“Err... Dude? You don’t have a mattress protector?” she asks. “You know this has already soaked through. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you buy a replacement mattress from me, I’ll throw in a protector for 40% off.”
“Are you seriously trying to sell me a mattress again?”
“Can’t blame a griffon for trying,” she mutters.
“Just go home,” you say as you swing the bathroom door shut.
“Eh, maybe next time then!” you hear her call through the door. There is a flash of blue light from the crack underneath. Hopefully you’ll be alone now.
You set the temperature to just below scalding and get into the shower. As much as you would like to just stand there until the hot water runs out, you still have a disgusting mess on your bed to clean. You have to leave enough hot water to do a load of laundry. Time to get out and deal with it.
You look down as you shut off the water and notice you are still wearing your socks. It’s been that kind of day.