How I met my girlfriend, Malodor Skunk

"Please, Peuti, can you keep those kids quiet? I have to study for a
Geology test," Malodor begged her older sister.

A member of a large family of skunks, she had to share her room in the
family burrow with two sisters. As if that weren't bad enough, sister 
Piuti had to go and get pregnant. Now there were six in the small 
earthen room, including: Peuti, younger sister Stinklee, Malodor 
herself, and babies Tommy, Jeffrey, and Nancy. All those skunks made it 
hard for Malodor to do her schoolwork.

There were only four rooms in their burrow, one for the girls, one for
five boys, and her parent's bedroom. The fourth was a larger family 
room and kitchen. They had to go outside to relieve themselves, with no 
inside plumbing. The burrow home was out in the countryside, with a 
walk of just under a mile for Malodor to get back and forth to school.

She had to finish high school, Malodor thought, in order to get a good
job and out of that crowded mess. Malodor didn't want to marry the 
first nice skunk boy she could find, then settle down in the same kind 
of burrow, to have her own dozen kids. Although she had no real plans, 
the youngster wanted something better than that same old backwoods 
lifestyle.

***

Not all that personable or intelligent, poor Malodor suffered through
high school, becoming a very nervous little rodent. Graduating fourth 
from the bottom of her class, she found herself with a diploma. Armed 
with that piece of paper, she set out looking for a job. Anything to be 
able to move out on her own.

"I see you had a "C" average in math," Mr. Gopher looked her over, "Can
you type?"

"Well . . . almost. We couldn't afford a computer at home, but I
practiced on a friend's once in a while."

"Here, young lady. Sit down and let's see how you do."

Malodor pecked away with two claws, nervously getting the "f" and "r",
along with the "s" and "a" keys mixed up. After what seemed like only a 
few seconds, she heard a "ding" as the test ended.

She not only didn't get the job, but knew she couldn't type well enough.
That experience told her not to bother with any position where she'd 
have to take a typing test.

Discouraged, the young skunk tried for factory work.

"Sorry, Ms. Skunk, but you're a little too small for this work. We
prefer larger animals, like dogs or aardvarks, for factory work. You're 
just not large enough and can't lift heavy weights. It's not your 
fault. would you like to take a typing test? Maybe we could use someone 
in the office?"

"No. That's alright, Mr. Possum," she told him, "I can't type very
well."

With yet another whole field she had to avoid, what was left, Malodor
wondered?  Now she was feeling even more insecure. And her she had 
thought her diploma would make it easy.

"Well, at least I'm old enough to buy a beer, she thought, stopping in
at the "Ratskeller Bar" in the basement of the Ezboard Building. It was 
a hot day, early in the season, and she still hadn't shed all her 
winter fur.

Tired from job-hunting, Malodor enjoyed sipping a cold brew in an
air-conditioned room. She relaxed in a back booth of the mostly empty 
room, with her tired feet up on the seat beside her -- feeling 
circulation return to her sore legs. Ah, that feels good, she thought.

Relaxed and half asleep in the cool room, the tired young skunk barely
noticed a large rat come in and sit at the bar. 

"Hey, Mabel, where's alla' the action today," he yelled, reaching behind
him to scratch his ass.

A particularly obnoxious young rodent, Malodor thought. She had seen a
lot of other rats like him in high school. They were the high school 
jocks, brash and used to getting their own way. Ugh, just what she 
needed, she told herself, a boring rat to interrupt her solitude.

"I love a little squirrel in the afternoon, you know, Mabel Honey," the
evil, but really good looking creature, yelled at the bartender while 
still scratching his butt, "How 'bout you and me, baby, getting 
together later, say what, Babe?"

"Only in your dreams, Oscar. Only in your pathetic wet dreams," Mabel
made a point of crossing to the other end of the bar to wash glasses.

Malodor, keeping an eye on that rat, went up to the bar for another
drink.

"Can I have another beer, please, uh . . . Mabel?" she asked politely.

"Sure, Honey." Mabel grabbed a fresh glass. "And what's a girl like you
doing in a place like this?" she asked with a warm smile.

Malodor sighed, watching the rat out of a corner of her eye.  She hoped
the guy would leave her alone. If not, she could always try out her 
Skunk-Fuey moves.

She could picture the scene, with her raising her tail at a forty-seven
degree angle, tensing her muscles, to send a concentrated spray into 
his boring, loud, mouth. Ha, ha, she thought, that would shut his face.

"Job hunting," Malodor replied, taking the beer and settling on a bar
stool in front of the bar.  "It's so hard to find a job."

She told Mabel all about her family troubles and need to get her own
home. Mabel, being a bartender, had heard it all before. The tree she 
grew up in had been pretty much the same as Malodor's burrow.

"Tell you what, Honey. maybe you could get a job here?  One of our
bartenders is leaving next week, and Mr. Raccoon hasn't got anybody to 
take her place yet. You're certainly pretty enough to draw in 
customers, if you can take it, that is."  Mabel nodded toward Oscar.

Taking his cue from the nod, Oscar grinned and came over to take the
stool next to Malodor.

"Hi there, Beautiful." He smiled at Malodor, getting two dirty looks in
return. "How's about tanglin' a little fur?"

Malodor half turned. Pretending clumsiness, she knocked her cold beer
over, splashing it down on his furry crotch.

"Eyipppp." Oscar jerked back and grabbed for his privates.

"Sorry, mister." She stood suddenly.  Being larger, and with one foot
behind his stool, she pushed. The wet rat fell over onto his back, 
stool and all, while the two girls laughed at his plight.

While getting up and brushing beer off his fur, Oscar noticed her raised
tail.

"Okay, okay.  Sorry girls. I have'ta get home. See ya' later, Mabel
Baby."  Oscar hurried out the door.

"That was a nice move. I've always wanted to do that to the rat." Mabel
laughed.

Oscar was in a daze, even pushing the wrong elevator button, as he made
his way home to an empty apartment. Here he was, trying to celebrate, 
even finding the skunk of his dreams to help him, and he screwed it all 
up. He didn't know why? Despite all his newly acquired suave manners, 
he just couldn't seem to get anywhere with nice girls.

The rodent hookers he normally frequented seemed to like him. Why didn't
the nice girls? After all, he tried to be a gentlerat. Oscar tried hard 
for that gentle Mike Hammer attitude. What more could a guy do? Why, he 
almost never jumped their bones at first sight -- like he used to. 
Oscar always tried to speak at least a half dozen sentences before 
asking them to his place to fuck -- though it was hard.

And here he had even received his first check from the Rat Archives. Now
he could be certain of paying his rent on time, and maybe eventually 
pay back his human pal Charlie. Well, he didn't know if he'd go that 
far. But at least, with a steady income, he could afford his own beer 
and pizza now.

All he had to do was what he did best, write stories for the Archives.
The Venerable Rat Archives are a complete history of Ratkind, from long 
before human oafs had fallen out of trees.  It included every bit of 
knowledge from the efforts of billions of rats. Now, Oscar would have 
his name down on new stories for billions of future rats to read. It 
was a dream come true, but would have been an even better dream if he 
could get that beautiful skunk up to his place. At least he could 
dream.

"Since I can't cash my check until tomorrow," Oscar told himself, "I
better sneak into Charlie's place for one last time."

He went through a rathole in his apartment, scurried through the space
between walls until he came to Charlie the human's apartment and, 
sticking his head in to make sure nobody was home, scampered inside the 
apartment.

"Ah, sausage pizza," he whimpered happily, looking in the refrigerator,
"and cold beer."

The pizza went in the microwave, two beers to the bedside table.  Oscar
scampered down again to find the remote control -- to turn on Charlie's 
television set. There was a John Wayne western on channel 22, so Oscar 
ate, drank, and watched television.

Finished, he carefully gathered his crumbs to shove under the sheets,
threw the empty beer cans under the bed, turned off the television and 
left. He hadn't paid much attention to the movie, what with thinking of 
that nice looking skunk girl.

***

"All right, Malodor, you have the job, starting tomorrow morning at
ten," Mr. Raccoon told her, "At first all you have to do is open beer 
and help clean. The morning bartender, Harry Hog, will teach you how to 
use the cash register and mix drinks. When Gladys Groundhog quits, you 
take her place."

"Yeah, nicer clientele in the morning, Malodor, no obnoxious rats,"
Mabel told her, "That guy gets drunk every night, and doesn't get up 
until late in the afternoon."

"What does he do for a living? Besides drive people away?" Malodor
asked.

"Oscar's an unemployed writer, or at least thinks he is," Mr. Raccoon
told Malodor, "If you think he's bad now, you should have seen him when 
he was selling mouse pornography, door to door.  Since he started 
writing for a living, he's gotten much better --  hardly ever plays 
with himself in public anymore."

They all laughed at poor Oscar, whom was sitting with one of Charlie's
beers at that time, eating the pizza the man was saving for his own 
breakfast, and thinking erotic, but sad, thoughts of Malodor herself.

***

Malodor threw herself into her new job, trying to save enough money to
move into town. She was caught by transportation costs back and forth 
to the job, as well as the need for at least a first month's rent, plus 
deposit, in order to get a hard to find apartment. Furniture would be 
another consideration. The real world was seeming a lot more 
complicated than high school to the young skunk.

Meanwhile, she had to not only work her little butt off, but have it
pinched by male animals at the bar. Some of the others were making even 
that rat Oscar seem good by comparison. And, she thought, he was a lot 
more handsome than the male skunks that came in the bar.

And, as for Oscar, he kept himself busy writing, most of the day and far
into the night. In the most part, for the first time in his writing 
career, he was working on love stories. Love stories involving female 
skunks with male rats. The curator at the Rat Archives had taken to 
complaining,

"Oscar, Oscar," he would say, "I know we've had cases of rats and skunks
marrying, but not so damn many of them. Maybe a few of rats and other 
animals, like other rats, for instance?  You think you could do that?" 
The curator would ask.

In what little spare time he had, Oscar would study library books on
etiquette, determined to make a good impression on the girl. He had 
seen Malodor one morning when she had come in for work. Waiting until 
she went into the back room to change into her apron, he slunk out of 
the bar, too shy to talk to her. A definite change to his otherwise 
brash style.

One night, pretty well drunk, the rat had taken a couple of his stories
downstairs. He paid a mouse named Maurice to take them in to Malodor, 
too embarrassed to go inside himself.

Two days later, he had a visit by Maurice Mouse.

"Your girlfriend," the little mouse told him, with a knowing smirk,
"gave me this for you."

It was a thank you note, written in a flowery style. Oscar sniffed it,
ecstatic with lust. His legs quaking, he thanked the mouse, quickly 
penning a note in return.

"Gi-- give this to her. Please, Maurice?" he asked the mouse.

"It'll cost you. I ain't no messenger service." Maurice held out his
paw.

The note told her he would be waiting outside when she got off work to
"give you a good meal," and that he would be a good little rat.

Malodor didn't know what to do. She was tired, but then he might have
changed, or she might change him. After all, she was bigger than him 
and knew some Skunk-Fuey. No need to be afraid of the rodent.

***

Oscar, not knowing when she would finish work, arrived early. Very
early.  In fact, while he waited, he fell asleep on the floor in front 
of the bar.  Malodor came out, after work, to see him sleeping 
peacefully in a little alcove. Oscar looked so defenseless lying on the 
dirty floor, and so sad, she thought.

"Hey. Woo. Woo, looka' that." She heard.

Two rough looking aardvarks were walking by. From their spiked collars
bearing Nazi swastikas, she could tell they were from a motorcycle club 
based around the corner.

"Hey, girly. You wants somea' this," one asked, grabbing his furry
crotch, while the other one laughed and moved around behind her.

"Stop it this minute, you ruffians," Malodor started to raise her tail
in defense, only to have the animal behind her grab and hold it down. 
The first, puckering his snout for a kiss, reached for her.

"Auurgggggg," Malodor heard as a streak of gray fur landed on the bigger
animal's back, teeth bared. As she swung away and managed to get in a 
defensive position, tail raised, she saw the aardvark throw Oscar 
across the hall -- to bounce off the hard surface.

Malodor had never really used her scent in anger before but, considering
the occasion, it came easy. Two quick sprays later, the toughs had 
enough and took off, running in panic.

Oscar raised one eyelid open a crack.  Seeing them run and Malodor
coming closer, he closed it again and groaned, "Ohhhhhh.  Ohhhhh, I--  
I can--- can't move," he lied, easy for Oscar.

"Where does it hurt?" she asked, concerned with his welfare, "What can I
do to help you?"

Malodor held his head, petting his fur, while Oscar savored the
occasion, taking in her real scent, not the one she used on the 
aardvarks.  His heart beating wildly, the rat could feel her fur on 
his.

"Ca-- can you he-- help me upstairs, to-- to my apartment," he muttered,
causing her to come closer to hear. It was all he could do to keep from 
reaching up for a kiss.

"Of course I can," she exclaimed, picking him up to carry him to the
nearby elevator, "What's the apartment number, you poor thing?"

The rest is history.  That "poor" rat had raided his pal's refrigerator
of beer and had two twelve-inch pizzas ready. It was to be the good 
meal he promised her. After studying all those etiquette books, he even 
had candles and soft music ready. Of course she spent the night. And 
then the next night, and then moved in. A few weeks later, her sister 
Peuti asked if she would take Nancy in for awhile.