Page 47 of The Quirky Vet

It would seem the boundaries of my bi-curiosity are, uh, expanding. I'm finding my thoughts drifting to the whole raft ofotherthings he and I could be doing, in addition to kissing. Which, don't get me wrong, is fucking stellar.

But how would it feel to touch him down there?

Or have him fondle me?

Or, heck, what would it be like to take his cock in my mouth? To feel and taste and experience an entirely new side of him?

Muir swipes his tongue along my lower lip and murmurs, "Let me have a proper look at you."

I squeeze the last few seconds out of the kiss before stepping onto the front porch and doing a small twirl so that he can take it all in.

And, yeah, it'sa lot to take in.

It has to be.

It's Pride. And it's me. People have very high expectations of both. I don't want to disappoint anyone.

That's why I went with a lime-green fake-feather puffer jacket with no buttons on the front—because this baby isn't meant to be done up—a short ruffled rainbow kilt, and a custom-made Fibonacci spiral rainbow necklace, with sprawling crystals beaded in golden ratio spirals, draped over my neck and shoulders.

"Think the kids on TikTok will like it?"

"The kids will definitely be fed."

I tilt my head back and laugh. If you'd told me I'd be down with lingo likeateandcrumbsanddemure, I would've laughed my head off. But being an influencer, I've got to stay on top of these things, as silly as they are.

While I do sometimes feel the pressure to always be on and performing, doing these TikToks is a really nice counterbalance to the heaviness of my day job. Sure, it was good news for Chugs, the wombat that came in last week—we named him that because can that fella drink or what—but not all stories have a happy ending.

As passionate as I am about animals and as much as I love what I do for a living, vet life can be tough. On my worst day, I treated a dog who'd been run over who I couldn't save; a cat suffering from suspected poisoning who was barely breathing, and despite me administering the antidote and providing intensive care, died anyway; and a horse who'd developed severe colic, and after hours of surgery, her condition worsened to the point where the only humane option was to put her out of her misery. It takes a while to bounce back after that.

And that's just the big stuff.

There's also the day-to-day grind that wears you down, a whole bunch of little things like owners ignoring our advice and not following care instructions, self-diagnosing from the bloody internet, which more often than not only exacerbates an animal'scondition, pets behaving badly during a consult, and all the other issues that come with working in an understaffed, overbooked clinic.

Getting dressed up and making silly videos is an escape, something that not only makes other people happy, but lifts my own spirits, too.

"And what about my outfit?" Muir asks.

"You're not wearing an outfit," I retort. "You're wearing your normal clothes."

He does a sexy little strut towards me. "Doesn't mean I'm immune to being complimented."

My eyes roam up and down his impressive body. He's wearing an olive-green shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, revealing his muscular forearms. The shirt is tucked into a pair of well-fitting, dark denim jeans that show off his lean physique and hug his bum nicely. The look is finished off with his favourite pair of well-worn brown leather boots. It's quintessentially him, laid-back but perfectly put together, right down to the aviator sunglasses resting in his blond curls.

"You look good."

He approaches me and gives my pec a playful flick. "Just good?"

"Okay. Slightly better than good."

"Slightly?"

I chuckle. "You won't be happy until I maul you, will you?"

Colour rises on his neck, but he doesn't look away. In fact, he locks his baby blues on me, casually shrugs a shoulder, and says, "Maybe."

I crash my lips into his, and we spend the next ten minutes making out on my front porch.

For logistical reasons, the actual Pride event itself is held a ten-minute drive out of Scuttlebutt. What started as a small, localcelebration back in the olden days before I was born—1985, if my local history memory serves me correctly—with a march down the main street and a piss-up at the local pub, has transformed into a major drawcard for tourists. There aren't enough hotels in town to accommodate the influx of thousands of visitors, so the council offered up an empty field as a makeshift campground and Pride HQ. Think Burning Man but minus the douchey wannabes.