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“Bare Assed Broadway” by Ashe Valisca (part 1 of 2) [18+]
13th June 2022 • The Voice of Dog • Rob MacWolf and guests
00:00:00 00:21:16

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[18+] Today’s story is the first of two parts of “Bare Assed Broadway” by Ashe Valisca, who spends too little time writing, is former editor of Fang for FurPlanet, and contributor to a number of anthologies. “Bare Assed Broadway” was first published in “Foxers and Beariefs” by Armoured Fox Press. Ashe is currently overhauling the digital footprint for his writing so the best way to find his writing is to follow his twitter.

Follow the life of Richard Andrews as it dances on fast forward through ten years of turning poverty and loneliness to love and glory.

Read for you by Rob MacWolf — werewolf hitchhiker.

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https://thevoice.dog/episode/bare-assed-broadway-by-ashe-valisca-part-1-of-2-18

Transcripts

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Today's story concerns adult subject matter for mature listeners.

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If that's not your cup of tea,

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or there are youngsters listening,

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please skip this one

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and come back for another story another time.

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You’re listening to Pride Month on The Voice of Dog.

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This is Rob MacWolf, your fellow traveler,

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and Today’s story is the first of two parts of “Bare Assed Broadway”

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by Ashe Valisca, who spends too little time writing, is former editor

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of Fang for FurPlanet,

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and contributor to a number of anthologies.

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“Bare Assed Broadway” was first published in “Foxers and Beariefs”

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by Armoured Fox Press.

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Ashe is currently overhauling the digital footprint for his writing

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so the best way to find his writing is to follow his twitter.

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Queer lives have, both historically and in our own times,

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been hard. And queer sexuality has been a fraught topic.

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But for those of us who have them, there is nothing to be done with queer lives but to live them,

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and nothing to be done with queer sexuality but to enjoy it.

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And as the years go by,

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to build from them both something we can look back on, well…

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with Pride. By way of demonstration,

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“Bare Assed Broadway”

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by Ashe Valisca,

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Part 1 of 2 Early Summer 2004 The bus

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engine sputtered and the brakes squealed;

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the force of the stop caused the coach to lurch forward and back shaking the occupants.

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As always – the 9:35AM was on-time.

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It didn’t matter how many laws it had to break and how many years it shaved off the passengers from sheer terror.

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Gus was going to be on time.

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The older armadillo wiped the sweat from his brow and checked the mirror back the grumbling passengers, “We’re

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here – porters will get yer shit for ya.

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Now scram.” He swung the door arm and forced the back and front doors open.

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He watched closely in the mirror counting off the people all but fleeing the coach.

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It was a simple check that he did often when he arrived in New York.

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Make sure that everyone was awake and everyone was gone.

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But curled up in the seventh row - the small frame of a chipmunk, his cheeks puffed out and hands tucked up to his chest,

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“Kid! Hey Kid!” Gus shouted back at him.

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The chipmunk tossed and turns pawing at the light coming in from the large plate windows,

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“What – are we here?” Richard asked,

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he rubbed at his eyes trying to brush away the sleep.

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“Yup,” answered Gus watching the last of the passengers leave the coach, this run was usually pretty empty.

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“Fuck! I wanted to see the sunrise as we got

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in!” “Eh! Not worth it kid.

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Now get lost.” The chipmunk nodded and grabbed his small carry-on from the top rack. “Hey, ummm – which way is it to the theatre district?”

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Gus grunted a few times and shook his head,

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“Listen kid…” he stopped himself,

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“just hail a cab and tell them to take you to Equity Casting.”

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He climbed down the coach stairs skipping the last one and leapt to the curb.

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Next to the coach sat a single beat-up suitcase patches and stickers

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covering up the knicks and tears.

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Stickers of shows long closed and plastered homemade ones of playbills.

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He took a deep breath,

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and promptly coughed it out.

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The thick layer of smog and urban scents overwhelming compared to the clean and precise suburban air.

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He took out his phone, holding it on an angle for a quick pictures

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for his friends scrambling to caption it,

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Just Arrived! A smile spread over his face as he watched the few responses show up on his notifications.

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“You can do it Richie!,”

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flashed a comment on his phone screen accompanied by the image of a matronly chipmunk in a sundress.

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“Thanks mom,” he muttered

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trying not to smile too much. * * *

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Richard looked up at the weathered sign,

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Dancer’s Line. A defeated sigh escaped as he took in the run-down look of the place. It wasn’t anything like the books and websites said.

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A place for actors, dancers, and singers to live while they got their starts in the big theatre scene –

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community kitchens, people singing and writing in common rooms.

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Nights of singing and rehearsing together. At least –

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that’s what he read.

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He stepped through the squeaky double entry doors his shoes shifting on the unlevel and bowing floorboards.

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“Hello,” he called out the large open common room empty and coated in a heavy layer of dust,

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“anyone here?” Moving deeper into the reception room his eyes took in the pieces of Broadway history,

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pictures from years gone by of dancers, actors, singers,

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director – all the industry people.

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Pictures of Lila Musko the famous ferret ballerina

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next to Lionel Sher the leopard holding some award,

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the name obscured by dust and sun-bleaching.

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“Rent’s 325 a week kid.

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Cash gets you a discount credit and cheque add 50,”

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grunted an aged pangolin, her cane clicked against the floor as she rounded the corner.

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“Yes ma’am – can, can I pay for a month in advance?”

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Richard patted his pants reaching for wallet.

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She stifled a chuckle,

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“It’s been a long time since anyone stayed here longer than a week my boy.”

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“I just, this place – “

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“Just stop there kid. I’ll cut you a deal; an even grand for the month.”

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She made her way across the great room to the console table

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taking out a dog-eared guest book.

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“Room 7 is available –

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I’ll bring your key up later once I find it.”

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“Thank you ma’am –“ “Penny. Please just Penny.”

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“Thanks Penny;” He reached into his wallet and handed over a small pile of bills,

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“that should be an even grand like you said.” * * *

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Late Summer 2004

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“Thank you - Mr. Andrews; if we have need of someone with your unique talent we will call you.”

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The aged frog croaked from his tiny table.

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Piles of paper resumes and headshots threatened to fall inward covering him in a sea of paper.

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Richard wiped the sweat from his brow with a small green towel,

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“I heard there were few openings in some chorus roles I was really hoping…”.

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The frog waved dismissively,

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“Ms. Velorra,”

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he called out. Increasing anger on his face as he waved again at Richard,

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“Mr. Andrews – you’re holding up auditions.”

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The chipmunk flushed, the tan fur on his cheeks taking the slight tinge of pink.

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“Sorry,” he muttered as he hastily gathered his bag from the chair waiting along the wall

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and headed to the door and shutting it behind him.

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Taking a few steps down the hall and around the corner he slumped against the wall sitting on the floor his knees pulled up to his chest.

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“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” cried into his knees.

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Tears staining his tights,

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“stupid…”. A quiet chirp came from his bag.

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He absently pawed down at the bag not looking at it,

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he always kept his phone in the same place.

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His fingers deftly unlocking the phone and scrolling through the countless alerts and notifications. Mostly

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well wishes and hope.

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He sniffled, pulling back his tears and forcing a smile onto his face.

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“Time to post.” Twisting his body he held the phone up

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checking the screen to make sure the angle and lighting.

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Tapping the button on the back to take the series of pictures each with

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slight adjustments of eyes, nose, cheeks, ears, and posture.

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Pulling the phone back to balance on his knees Richard began to flip through the pictures trying to find the best image.

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“Too pouty,” he flipped through a small series,

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“that looks good.” He tapped the next button on the app flipping through filters and effects,

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“Just finished auditions! Blew them all away #livingthedream #dancestar #broadway

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#flawless.” Fall 2004

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Richard flipped the card over and over in his hand,

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Danny’s Dance the Night Away.

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“Am I really doing this.”

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His eyes flitted to the calendar on his desk

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a countdown in red ink marked across the days counting down

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until the rent due date.

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Laying the card on the desk he tapped the number into his phone.

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“Danny’s - Simon speaking.”

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chittered a cracking voice through the open line.

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“Hi - ummm - someone gave me your card and said you were hiring

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dancers?” He shuffled slightly in his chair

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his ears flattened back against his head.

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A rustling of papers and grumbling, “Yuppers! We are always looking for new talent.

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Just gotta see you dance.” “So the hours are long, but the pay is good if you don’t mind people getting handsy occasionally,”

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the ferret twitched his nose, rubbing his hands together.

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“Define occasionally?”

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asked Richard slouching in his seat.

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“I mean I guess

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as long as it doesn’t

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get too out of hand.”

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Winter 2004

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Richard turned the shade on the lamp by this bed up towards the ceiling creating a woven shadow pattern on the wall obscuring the patchwork plaster and water stains.

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Checking the image on his laptop

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he adjusted the tripod tightening the frame of the shot.

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“Okay - just a little more to the left.

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He picked up the remote and leaned back against the wall, his head tilted

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up eyes looking off into the distance.

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The camera whirred

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and clicked followed by a flash -

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several pictures taken in rapid succession.

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“Up the contrast, maybe drop the saturation a bit,”

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the chipmunk fiddled with the filters on the screen.

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His nose wrinkled in disgust as the highlights

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revealed the faint rib lines.

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“Okay - so let’s put some colour back in my cheeks and get this posted.”

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He tweaked and adjusted the photo a bit more cropping in the edges

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and adding some shadows.

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and blurring the edges to give it the burnt in look.

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Adding the caption, I’m staying in the same room that Lionel Shir,

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he hit the post button on his laptop screen

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taking a deep breath

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and letting it out as a deep sigh. Richard slumped against the wall on the far side of the bed,

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“Guess I better get ready for work.”

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He pushed himself up from the bed

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and pulled the drawer out

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grabbing the petite pink

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jockstrap. The chipmunk pulled his shirt up over his head stretching his lithe form before pushing down his shorts and stepping out of his boxer briefs –

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forcing the spandex material off his toned legs and defined butt.

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He idly rubbed at his modest balls, giving a gentle tug and

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rub, “please don’t let it be VIP duty tonight.”

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The cross town rail was crowded as always; all walks of life smashed into tiny metal tubes and shuttled around the expansive network of tunnels.

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When he had first come to town the subway had been a scary beast, something he

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never thought he would master. But now,

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now it was the only way he could afford to get around.

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Richard instinctively pulled his small bag tighter against his chest

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making himself as small as possible in his seat.

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The less anyone noticed him

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the better he’d learned that lesson

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the hard way. Smiling, waving,

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talking – hell even looking at a stranger

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with anything other than than disinterest and disdain

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had you labeled as a nutjob.

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It wasn’t like home –

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and he had to learn that the hard way –

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one too many security guards giving him some

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friendly advice. Richard flicked his ears flat back against his head as he heard the grinding of the brakes against the tracks

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followed by the garbled stop call of the conductor. 45th and Simone –

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a few blocks away from Sully’s.

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The chipmunk pushed through the crowds of people

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exiting the train

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and up the stairs to the city streets.

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Heading down the alley he punched in his code number on the back door’s lock and ducked inside

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making his way towards the locker room

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taking a quick peek at the assignments,

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“fuck…” he grumbled

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his named scrawled next to the VIP room in pink marker.

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Tossing his clothing and bag into his locker he took his spot at the mirrors

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reaching for the brushes and glitter to work it deep into his fur

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adding the needed sparkle and

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exoticness to his pedestrian colouration.

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“Oh please you live on the attention,”

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a thickly built white tiger churred, pressing his hand firmly on Richard’s shoulder, “besides one of the bookings asked for you.”

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Ryan sauntered away taking his own seat at this station, his tail swaying back and forth to some inaudible music

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in only the tiger’s head.

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“Yeah, but do they have to touch me,”

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Richard growled, grinding the brush into his arm to pack the pink and silver glitter in deep.

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Ryan snarled, working a silver glitter into his own fur,

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“Yeah well I’m there with you tonight.

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They touch you - I’ll bounce the motherfucker.”

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“I thought you weren’t dancing;

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bouncing and the garage not enough anymore?”

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The tiger snorted,

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“Yeah - well I really miss the tips - so old man’s letting me pull a few shifts in the VIP room.”

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Content with the silver accents outlining his stripes he stood up

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hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his basketball shorts pushing them down

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to reveal a bright red jock strap

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the pouch stretched to its near limit.

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“Hey Dick,” he chuffed,

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“think I still have the moves?”

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The tiger laid his ears flat back against his head, his massive fingers laced together against the back of his head. The tiger rolled his hips from side to side lifting his defined buttocks first to the left and then

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the right defining each and every muscle from his shoulders down to his knees

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in a sultry sequence.

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Richard turned his head to look at the tiger; his eyes widening

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he let out a small cough and

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quickly placed his hand over his own crotch trying to hide his interest,

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“I dunno. Might need to see it from another angle.”

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“Oh you want to see the front?”

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Ryan tightened his left leg, his calf cutting deep trenches as he spun and turned switching from the soft side to side swaying of the hips

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to the deep rolling of his abdominals.

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He swung his hips forward the pouch of the jock

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pushing just a bit more forward with each trust a

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tiny wet spot appearing just in view. “Got -

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got any plans after work?”

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Richard flushed bright red

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the glitter on his face picking up some of the color.

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“Now I do.” * * * Spring 2005

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The thick smell of sweat hung in the air making the ambient dust of the room cling to the tiger’s fur.

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His thick fingers wrapped around the shoulders of the chipmunk laying under him. The tiger

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moved his hips forward in one solid thrust,

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the mesh of the jock-pouch shoved to the side letting his swollen member pierce its target. “Fuck…,” Ryan moaned as he drove himself to the root inside Richard’s strapped ass.

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Richard rubbed his hand against the mesh pouch of his own pink jock

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spreading the growing volume of pre through the fabric and rubbing it into his fingers matting his fur.

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“More…,” the chipmunk groaned loudly

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his eyes rolled back into his head.

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He reached his hands around under his

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lets pawing at the straps of his jock, snapping them against his round butt. “Please

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coach - drive it in deeper.”

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The tiger smiled and rumbled deep in his chest,

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“yeah - let’s open up that jock ass of yours.”

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Ryan smirked and

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pulsed his cock, swelling it just a bit larger

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forcing Richard to let out a sharp moan and pull his back off up the bed leaving him balancing on his shoulders.

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“You want to play first string - you best take this all the

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way.” “Yes coach -- I can take it,”

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Richard panted, gasping for air.

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“Fuck my jock pussy coach.”

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Still gasping for air he tightened his insides around Ryan’s cock.

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“Here it comes boy!”

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growled Ryan, throwing his head back and filling the room with the sound of his roar.

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His claws dug into Richard’s shoulder,

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crunching the chipmunk’s body and pulling him as deep as possible. * * *

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Light trickled in from the dirty window,

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the rising sun making the dust dance and swirl.

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The tiger rubbed his paw lightly against the chipmunks neatly trimmed stomach.

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Richard pressed back against the tiger’s warmer and larger frame.

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“Dick - it’s morning.”

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Richard whimpers and pressed the back of his head squarely against Ryan’s chest.

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“Five more minutes.”

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The tiger rumbled and pulled Richard closer to him,

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“I am covered in glitter,

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sticking to my jock strap,

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and I need to piss.”

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He pressed forward grinding his morning wood against Richard’s well worn ass,

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“I don’t think you’re quite into that kind of sports, sport.”

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Grunting and grumbling the chipmunk lifted his head and shoulder

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letting Ryan pull his arm out from under him, “you know where it is.” “Down the hall - third door on the left,”

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Ryan answered as he pulled his shorts up over his jock strap

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the pouch still mashed to the side leaving him exposed, “I’ll be

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right back.” Richard moved around the bed kicking his legs and working his own jockstrap down and off.

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His hands fumbling as he brought it to his mouth

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suckling at the cum crusted and stiff pouch.

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His free hand reaching down to rub at this stomach and groin.

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Soft pants and moans filled the room

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as he stroked himself to his full hardness.

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Careful not to lose his grip on himself he rolled over grinding his face into the mattress

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and pushing the jock further into his maw.

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His stubby tail flicking back and forth an open invitation for the tiger he

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could hear coming back up the hall. “My -

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my,” growled Ryan

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placing a hand firmly on the chipmunk’s toned ass, “and here

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I was thinking we were done.”

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He tossed his own jockstrap up to the head of the bed near Richard’s ear allowing himself a chuckle as Richard hastily

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shoved the pouch into his maw.

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“I do love a dirty boy.” * * *

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Fall 2005

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“When I call your name please step forward.

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Richard Andrews, Henry Stevens,

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Margaret Thines, Cheryl Strout,”

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called the director from his backlit seat in the orchestra section.

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The crow didn’t bother to look up from his papers

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absently waving his left hand at the stage,

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“you can all go - we won’t be needing you.”

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Richard sighed and collected his bag from the front of the stage making his way with the others through the ropes and out the alley access door.

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He angrily gripped his phone

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debating taking another selfie to post on his social media.

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“Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath heading down the alley towards the main streets and the subway home.

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Reaching the platform he felt the vibration of his phone,

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still on silent from the audition

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the image of his mother showing on the caller id.

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Swiping right he sent the phone to voicemail

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sending a small canned text,

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can’t talk now - rehearsal time.

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“I’m sorry mom - I just can’t today.”

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He flipped through his contacts landing on Ryan’s name

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and tapped open the text app,

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“Hey man you around for lunch?”

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Almost immediately the small animation of typing appeared,

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“At the gym - free after…”.

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The chipmunk licked his lips

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thinking about the tiger lifting and

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getting sweaty, “my place - don’t

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shower.” A single word appeared in response on the screen,

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“done :P”. This was the first of two parts of “Bare Assed Broadway” by Ashe Valisca,

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read for you by Rob MacWolf, werewolf hitchhiker.

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Tune in next time to see what possible successes life and lust have in store for Richard.

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As always, you can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,

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or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.

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Happy Pride, and Thank you for listening

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to The Voice of Dog.

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