Release Ch. 1 (Patreon)

I like it when titles have layers. "Release," originally written a few years ago, is a very layered piece. It's about a lot of things, including sex work and sexuality, but I wouldn't call it erotic. I'm not sure how much I still like it, but maybe someone else will.

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Abel “Coyote” Miralles had been missing for a little over two years. Most of the Wild Dogs were not interested in looking for him; members disappearing without a trace, being found dead or in prison, or simply going into hiding were not uncommon, and he wasn’t important, strong, or rich enough to be worth the effort of locating.

I, in my own spare time, kept an ear to the ground about the whereabouts of my missing comrade long after we’d realized he wasn’t coming back.

It wasn’t that Abel was particularly important to me. He was a violent asshole, and had a tendency to ‘borrow’ funds to spend on cheap drugs, beer, whores, or some combination thereof. But I hadn’t been in the Wild Dogs long when he vanished.

At first, I was relieved; he was a difficult person to be around. But after the relief faded, nobody else seemed concerned about him at all. I never directly brought it up, for fear of making a fool of myself, but within the week guys were joking about him turning up dead in the sewers or something. That rubbed me the wrong way.

I wasn’t sure what I expected to find, really. There weren’t a lot of permanent records in our line of work. Maybe someone in some prison or pauper’s grave somewhere who matched his description.

I did not expect to find him in a pop-up ad, wearing nothing but a jockstrap and a collar, laying back contently with a cheeky smile on his face. The only words were “NEED RELEASE? SO DOES HE!” in bold capital letters along the bottom. The exact nature of the website this ad was found on is not worth discussing.

When I saw the ad, I stopped what I was doing and stared at it for a while. I wasn’t sure it was him, at first. He looked significantly different; his unkempt hair and beard had been shaved, leaving him with a short, wavy haircut and trimmed stubble that showed off his strong jaw.

More unusually, he did not look entirely human; his once-brown eyes now glittered gold. His ears were pointed and fuzzy, and the tip of his nose ended in a small snout, like a dog’s. His teeth were cleaned and restored, but now seemed more noticeably pointed. I couldn’t see his hands, but his feet ended in little black claws instead of toenails.

I didn’t know exactly what he looked like shirtless, but I did remember him being more dramatically muscular than he did now; he seemed more toned, but it suited him regardless. Like his ears, tufts of brown fur anointed his chest, armpits, and belly. Mostly hidden under his butt and leg, what looked like a bit of a fluffy tail peeked out.

I realized he must have been biomodded, but that level of augmentation would have cost a small fortune.

After deciding it was probably him, I clicked the ad.

The pop-up window opened into the homepage for a brothel, Freyja Montes. I checked as many tabs as I could, but I couldn’t find mention of Abel, or any other escort. That was fair, I supposed, they deserved privacy too.

I recorded the brothel’s address, and a few minutes later I was taking the tram down to level K. I wasn’t sure how I felt on the way there; nervous, relieved, scared.

Searching for him had been the thing I did for so long I didn’t know who I was without it. As if meeting their gaze would tell them where I was going, I avoided eye contact with anyone, instead focusing on the curving slopes of Attacus ahead of me and the small dot of pitch-black space at the very end.

Attacus is one of the two huge tubes floating in space that form this colony. It keeps air trapped in the middle and habitable land on the inner edge and rotates to simulate gravity and the day/night cycle.

The technical term is an O’Neill cylinder, but everyone calls it the cocoon. The other one is Mariposa, and it’s the nicer one for rich idiots who want to be on the frontier without sacrificing any comforts. That’s usually called the chrysalis.

As I stepped out of the cabin and fake-nonchalantly strode in the direction of the brothel, I thought about what I would say. What I would ask. I didn’t even really like the guy, but I needed to know what had happened to him.

I stopped in front of what looked more like a dental clinic than anything else: clean, chrome and white, with tinted windows.

There was no signage, but after double, then triple-checking, this was supposed to be it. A door that appeared to be made out of metal scraps pressed into a rectangle was the only personal touch. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The inside also looked like a dentist’s waiting room. It was mercifully empty except for a receptionist at an L-shaped desk in one corner of the room.

She looked up at me very briefly, nodded, and returned to whatever it was she was doing. I approached the desk.

The receptionist looked like what I thought bank tellers or librarians should look; she wore a dark blue suit and kept her hair in a neat bun. The only concession to individuality was a chain necklace that ended in a golden silhouette of a bird.

“Good afternoon,” she said, in the polite-but-impersonal way receptionists talked. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before. Is this your first time with us? And, did you have an appointment or is this just a walk-in?”

I was so flustered that I answered honestly. “Never been here before and I don’t have an appointment. I didn’t know that was a thing.”

She nodded and typed something I couldn’t see. “That’s quite alright. Do you have a preference for who you’d like to meet?”

My brain stopped working. “Uh, oh, Abel. Abel Miralles.”

She typed more things down. “I understand that you’re new, so it’s not a big deal, but we do ask our clients to refer to our employees by their nicknames, for privacy reasons. His handle is Malamute.”

I nodded again. I could respect needing an extra layer of anonymity. “I’d like to talk to him, then. Yeah.”

She nodded but didn’t type anything. “Tonight he’s in room 9. I’ll let him know that you’re on the way. Just for safety reasons, I ask you to read and sign this form. You can never be too careful.”

She handed me a tablet displaying a long form. “The gist is that by signing this you are promising him, us, and the state that you won’t hurt him beyond his limits, along with some other legal stuff in case things like property damage, injury to you, and so on happen. Again, you can never be too careful.”

I signed the form and handed it back. “That should be everything. Have a good time.” The receptionist said with genuine kindness.

I thanked her and took a few steps before stopping. “Forgive me for this question, but, aren’t I supposed to pay to see him?”

The receptionist half-laughed, then cleared her throat. “For most of our employees, yes. But Malamute is publicly funded, so he’s free.”

I cocked my head in confusion.

“It’s like a library,” she explained. “Your tax dollars, or a tiny percentage of them anyway, goes to paying for his needs and us for hosting him. Since everyone is collectively paying for him, he’s free for anyone to use.”

I decided I would need to hear this from Abel. I nodded to her and walked down the hallway. I stopped in front of room 9. A whiteboard hung from a wall:

MALAMUTE

Sub/Switch

Generally very kinky. Nothing unhygienic or too rough

Enjoys being praised, hates being degraded

Treat him like a dog, he loves it

Do NOT bring up his past

Safeword is ‘whipped cream’

I knew what about half of these words meant. I steeled myself and walked inside. Unlike the sterile hallway, this room looked almost homey. The lights were dim, but I could still make out several loveseats. There was a faucet and a microwave on a shelf, and a big TV monitor on one wall.

Sitting calmly on the bed on the close side of the room was Abel, completely nude except for that same jockstrap and collar. He looked pretty much like he had in the ad, but this time his expression was one of quiet contemplation. He turned to face me and opened his eyes. The golden irises glowed in the gloom.

“Malamute?” I asked.

“Yes, sir,” Abel said politely. His eyes bored into mine, but they were curious, not cruel. He turned his head slightly, and one of his fuzzy ears twitched.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“No, sir,” Abel said quietly. He closed his eyes. “Just strange feelings.”

“Can we just talk for a bit?” I asked.

Abel opened his eyes again and nodded. “If you’d like.”

I fiddled around in the dark for a light switch and managed to attain a reasonable amount of brightness. With clearer vision I could see that his body was still muscular, just rounded out with a bit of fat. Scars cut and criss-crossed along his tan skin, some half-concealed by his new pelt of fur.

I kept my eyes on him as I sat down on one of the couches. Abel got up to sit next to me, but I held up a hand. “Sit. Right now I’d just like to talk.” He nodded and sat back down on the edge of the bed.

“The sign said you don’t like to remember the past. How far back is okay?” I asked.

Abel thought about it for a moment. “Nine months ago, give or take.”

“Tell me what happened.” I prompted.

“The earliest thing I care to remember is waking up in a doctor’s office,” he began, “I was getting a check-up of some kind. The doctor verified that I was in good health and began testing my programming. He said I also-”

“Wait, hold on. Programming?” I cut in.

Abel nodded. “I have been programmed by the Civil Spire to exist for other people’s pleasure. As part of their rehabilitation efforts, I have been made a productive member of society.”

“As opposed to what?” I asked.

“I don't know. Too far back. I just know what they told me.” Abel said with a shrug.

“What did they tell you?” I asked. “Tell me everything you can.”

“I used to be dangerous. I was given a choice; a lifetime in prison, or this.” Abel didn’t sigh, but made a roughly analogous gesture.

“They removed many of my aggressive urges and destructive tendencies, and healed my body and mind to the best of their ability. Whoever I was before is dead, and nobody will mourn him, least of all me.”

It sounded like he was reading from a memorized script, but he also sounded genuine. I nodded, processing this information. “Okay, what happened after the doctor?”

“After I was cleared, I spent two weeks learning how to please. What I liked and didn’t like, and how to please others,” Abel offered. “After that, I was given an apartment and a job here. The Spire pays my rent and utilities, and sends me groceries. Nothing much has changed since then.”

“Okay,” I nodded again. “Do you recognize me?” I asked.

Abel thought about it, looking me over. “Yes, but it’s out of my grasp. I know I know you, but I don’t know how I know you, nor do I want to.”

I don’t think the old Abel had used ‘nor’ in his entire life. “Alright, that’s fine, I won’t press the issue.”
“Thank you, sir,” Abel said, relaxing his squared shoulders.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. This was so much to take in. I had never planned on telling anyone if I found Abel, but it occurred to me now that if the Wild Dogs met him in this state they’d devour him alive like army ants.

“Are you happy like this?” I asked.

“Very, sir.” Abel said. “I have a modest life and a job I enjoy and the knowledge that any alternative would be infinitely worse.”

I nodded. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Thank you, sir.” Abel said quietly. Something thumped repeatedly and it took me a moment to realize it was the sound of Abel’s tail swishing on the bed. He really did remind me of a dog, one of the big silly ones that like to run around and shed everywhere. Like malamutes.

“Why do you have all those mods?” I asked.

“The Spire wants it obvious for all who see me to know what I am and how they can use me. I also have that noted in my ID and it even shows up in gene samples, apparently.” Abel explained. “The base signature is always the same but I also have one unique to me.”

“How many people are out there like you?” I asked.

“There were five others with me for training, all men. I don’t know if they have the women train elsewhere or if it’s just men right now. I’m number 83, so I’d guess that’s the minimum.” Abel said.

I decided I didn’t need to know why the government was funding an army of werewolf manwhores.

“I’ve been looking for you for a long time,” I said absentmindedly. “I guess I wasn’t looking for what you could have become.”

Abel tilted his head again. “Looking for me? Why?”

I wasn’t sure why. I don’t know what I expected to do when I found my missing gangster. “I wanted to make sure that you were happy and safe. You disappeared so suddenly, and I made it my responsibility to find you even after everyone else gave up.”

Abel nodded. “I don’t know what the old me would have done in this situation, but I greatly appreciate that you spent so long looking for me. If I didn’t respect you then, that was wrong of me.”

I thought about how this puppy of a man had beaten me into pulp multiple times. I also thought about how when he passed out while drunk or high he tended to mutter apologies and scared whimpers, though of course I never mentioned that to anyone.

I thought about how when he thought he was alone, he traced his fingers over his scars as if remembering where they had all come from.

“It’s okay,” I said. “You are alive, safe, and happy. That’s all I wanted to know.”

Abel nodded. “Did I hurt you? Back then, I mean. You smelled scared at first.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, although I realized that was basically confirmation. “Who you are now is what matters, not who you were.”

Abel fixed his gaze on me, frowning. His ears drooped and his eyes widened as if he was a scared animal. “Skeeter,” he whispered. “Your name is Skeeter.”