FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Riding my motorcycle, a 1982 Kawasaki KZ440LTD with factory black paint (a bike I have since sold to a friend), I ride through a portion of Wayne County Michigan that I am very familiar with. With earbuds plugged in, I'm listening to Ill Nino. Turning a corner past a graveyard where my aunt and uncle are buried, the song “The Alibi of Tyrants" begins and the dream seems to fast forward. As if it were a music video, I ride much further than the song would last, passing a bridge that crosses the I-75 freeway. Turning my head slightly, I see a human woman to my right.

She wears a simple dress with a floral pattern. Pacing back and forth, she leans over the railing and glances down at the busy street below. I cannot hear her words as she speaks to herself, only hearing the song through my MP3 player. With a visibly distraught expression, she turns her head to me and a white thought bubble with a wavy outline, like a cloud, appears above her head. A series of still images, rather cartoony, play in her mind for me. An image of the word “job" with a red circle and slash over it, an image of three figures as seen on a bathroom door, a male and female lying on each other as if having sex and a third female with arms raised and an exclamation point above her head, and then finally a picture of a tombstone.

It's obvious that she is contemplating suicide. I pass by without stopping, looking at the right mirror on my handlebars. She pulls herself up onto the railing, standing tall and peering down. I turn away. The dream cuts ahead without missing a beat. I ride down a busy part of a Detroit downriver sub-city. As a young, human couple walks by a bus stop, thought bubbles emerge above their heads. The boyfriend sees his girlfriend and pictures a wedding ring, but his girlfriend sees a boy at the bus stop and pictures him topless, a censor bar covering his entire pelvis.

Chuckling, I keep riding. I sit at a light, just down the street from my house. I glance to my left and see two men on a corner, both older humans. A white man who looks like a street person has a thought bubble depicting an image where a wife and two children are weighed on a scale against a single syringe and a bent spoon with brown gunk on it; the drugs weigh heavier than his family. The black man, probably in his 40s, has a wide grin and wears nice clothes, but his thought bubble depicts him lying in his bed, crying from loneliness.

The light turns green and I continue my ride. Rolling casually down my street, I see a figure out of the corner of my eye, but I don't focus on the person. I only know that they are jogging. Pulling into my own driveway, I ride a circle in the front yard so that my motorcycle points toward the street and mailbox, my back to the gate to my backyard. Turning off my bike, I take off my helmet and shake out my long hair. Setting the helmet aside and removing my riding gloves, I then take out my earbuds as the song ends and straighten my long beard.

“Hey!" A voice excitedly chirps.

Looking up, I smile and wave as a brown furred feline anthro girl jogs by my mailbox. A dark gray sports bra covers her ample breasts, at least a C-cup or possibly even a D-cup. Black spandex shorts with a dark gray waistband are pulled over her lower half, showing off her figure rather well. On her left arm is an armband for a cell phone or MP3 player, with white earbuds sticking into her cat-like ears. She looks at me with vibrant, emerald green eyes, a smile across her face.

“Hi! It's nice to see you." I say to her.

“Went for a ride?" She asks.

“You know I love to ride." I reply.

“I bet." She coos.

I genuinely did not consider the sexual implications of my statement to her, flushing with embarrassment and glancing down. Continuing her jog, I watch her form; her swaying hips, firm buttocks and swishing tail attract my eyes like a magnet. Glancing back over her shoulder, a thought bubble appears. In it I see my face beside a plus sign, with her face on the other side. The image switches to a solid black censored bar, complete with bold red letters. Chuckling, I turn my eyes from her thought bubble to her face and see a very lustful look in her eye. She waves again, moving each finger, and then I wake up.

Self-analysis: No freakin' clue.