There was something unique about the sound of a speeding race car. Whatever that secret was that made it so different from the sound of any motor no doubt lay within the construction of the engine. A racing-standard engine was leagues different than your regular transportation vehicle, and Jon loved it. He could watch racing every day, and while most people just saw a bunch of cars driving in circles, Jon appreciated the intricacy of the vehicles and the performance aspect of the sport. Cars were just his thing, and if he could get away with it he loved to share his passion.
He found one such opportunity in meeting Milkette. Despite being oddly named, the girl was a real knock-out. She stood short as expected for a mouse girl at a scant few inches over five feet, but her body more than made up for it. She was curvaceous like no one’s business, with huge, soft bosom and hips made for grabbing. But beyond that, Jon just loved the look of her – he’d been attracted to her nerdy demeanor on first sight. She had lovely blue eyes behind big, round glasses, cute bucked teeth, and she decked out in gamer apparel without a hint of shame. Her fur was mostly a chocolate brown that matched her long, beautiful hair, with an underbelly that was lighter, more tanned than the rest of her fur.
She had that combination of a knock-out body that seemed out of his league, but a welcoming gentleness that had him try anyway. Jon was a rather plain fellow in comparison, at least that’s what he’d tell anyone. He was as plain as foxes go, with the typical dusty orange fur and white muzzle, while the darkest brown tipped his ears and white tipped his tail. Topped with black hair and brown eyes, he really wasn’t the most complex fella to look at. He didn’t even go out of his way to dress fancy, preferring plain slacks and ‘whatever’ shirts. He wasn’t all that big, nor was he small – in Goldilocks terms; he was “just right.” But he was okay with that, because in a world where most furry creatures are practically embodiments of sexual wonder, being average felt pretty special on its own.
But what did a girl like Milkette have to do with racing? Well, when Jon had met Milkette, she was in a bit of a slump. Without terribly much detail, she explained that she just didn’t know what to do with herself. She needed to find her own things to do, and make her own way in life. Jon, a la usual male reaction to her charms, was right there claiming he’d help her if he could. In the end, Milkette had somehow convinced him to let her in on his hobbies and interests, just so she could try them out and see how well they fit her. Jon agreed to do so, but didn’t have the most sincere of intentions to follow up on his claims at the time… he wasn’t even sure he’d see her again.
But the mouse girl made sure to keep in touch, and after several days of beating around the bush, Jon finally managed to arrange a small run for her on a race track. Racing was one of his keenest interests, and the only one that he had that Milkette didn’t already dabble in. They both liked video games, and TV shows, movies, the usual media consumption of virtually everyone… but racing was his thing, so it was the best to show to her if only to take her entirely out of her element. It worked, too! As the two of them sat track-side and watched one of the cars do practice laps around the track, the mouse next to him looked rather… puzzled.
Fortunately she wasn’t wearing a hat, as sitting so close to the track-side still kicked up a breeze that would blow off most headwear. Still, it clearly brought chills upon her as she wore a simple t-shirt and jeans combination with every stitch of fabric hugging her body to leave little to the imagination. Her hair whipped around her face as the car passed by, and she righted it with one hand, the other was holding tight to her shoulder bag. “I don’t know…” She said, “It looks a little boring.”
“Well, you may as well give it a try first,” Jon tried to assure her, “That’ll be the last lap this guy does, so let’s get you ready to get behind the wheel, huh?”
Even if it looked boring, getting behind the wheel of a race car was a once in a lifetime opportunity. At the very least, Milkette would be able to tell people she did it. So, she and Jon left to get prepared, which meant taking Milkette a little into the stadium to get her fitted into a racing suit. The girl was rather impressed with Jon, as it seemed he was genuine in his helping her. He didn’t seem to stare that much at her, or make bold passes at her or anything like that… He was a real ‘nice guy.’ She’d have to pay him back for his effort someday, maybe with a dinner or something… But, she decided she’d cross that bridge when she got there.
There was a spare suit set aside for the mouse, and when she put it on and stepped out into the corridor where Jon politely waited, the man was nearly floored. Racing suits aren’t normally as tight as her body made the green fabric that covered her body. It seemed to hug her chest and rear like a second skin, and shape to her body gloriously. Green really was her colour too, as the earthy tones of her fur tended to meld well rather than contrast starkly. In the end, he was staring, and the mouse girl blushed modestly before raising the gloves she was meant to wear and lightly ‘bapping’ him on the face with them.
“Sorry,” Jon smiled sheepishly.
Milkette sighed, “Yeah, yeah, keep your tongue reeled in there, doggy. Let’s just go see what this racing thing is all about.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll walk you through it,” Jon said as he ushered her along.
The two of them stepped out onto the track where the driver of the car that had been doing laps earlier stepped past them. Lifting the helmet off his head, the black-furred feline told them to have at it before disappearing back into the stadium presumably to get changed. The car itself was a standard stock car model – a sleek car that didn’t look entirely unlike the sort of vehicle someone could pick up for casual transportation use. Jon knew better though, as not only did its paint job and pasted-on sponsors set it apart, but the 850 horsepower engine certainly wasn’t your standard make. Milkette examined the car with more average-person focus on aesthetics and comfort. It was an ugly car, and when she got around the side to peer inside, looked… practically barren inside. With an open passenger side and more switches and knobs than she thought would ever be in a car, it sure looked… different.
Opening the driver side door, Jon gestured her inside with a sweep of his arm and said, “Milady.”
Milkette gave him a sort of wry grin before slipping on the gloves she had to wear and stepping over to climb inside. Immediately when she sat down, she seemed to sink back further than she expected, making the landing of her round butt a little harder than she had thought it’d be. Her breasts jiggled in the tight suit, and then she sat back and realized she was much too small for a car of such dimensions. The seat seemed much too far back, and immediately thought that her small height officially barred her from knowing what it was like to race. Jon couldn’t help but smile at how bewildered she looked, so he leaned into the open door to show her the ropes.
“First, let’s get you buckled in. We can move the seat up a bit after that,” He said, pointing to what looked like a hydraulic piston the attached to the seat from beneath, “That’ll pull the seat forward.”
“Ohhh…” Milkette nodded, “And I guess the seatbelt is all space-age too?”
“Ha, I guess… It’s a six-point fastening system,” Jon said, “Meaning we’re really going to harness you in there.”
“Uh… okay,” Milkette said as she looked all around herself at the various straps that would no doubt connect her to that seat, “… Help me?”
“Oh…” Jon paused, eying over the mouse’s sensual form and how the mammoth spheres of her breasts thrust out from her chest so far and so lushly. They were as big as her head at the very least, bigger if he had to take a finer guess and were probably going to get crazy in the way. This, of course, said nothing about how the two straps up between her thighs might have had some trouble passing through the soft suit-encased mounds of fat and muscle that made up her lap. But, she was eying him rather expectantly, as she had no idea how to fasten the thing proper… so he had no choice!
Leaning into the door, he reached across her to start with the straps that would circle her waist, and in doing so his shoulder bumped into one of her tits, rolling the mass upwards against the side of his head and into her face. She winced and tried to ignore the obvious invasion of personal space because the cockpit of the vehicle was pretty crowded as it was. As Jon fumbled with the straps and buckles, he sometimes had to steady himself with a hand on her thigh – he was leaning in way too much! All the pressing and squeezing made Milkette shift uncomfortably, but that wasn’t to be the worst of it. She had the first two buckles strapped in before too long, and Jon moved on to the next.
He may not have even been really thinking about it, but to get the steps from beneath her seat up between her thighs, he smoothed his hands over her legs and pressed in against her thighs. His fingers tickled her just right, and his urging her to spread her legs so he could get between them raised a blush to her cheeks. He stuffed his hands down to grab the straps when she complied with his pushing, and tugged them up to fasten and tighten them in too, pulling a pressure onto her inner thighs and lower abdomen that her mind seemed to react to as something arousing. She barely squeaked as she got the third and forth buckles done up – the last two were above her shoulders, and she could only imagine what was to happen then.
Jon practically climbed into the car, so focused on his work that he rested one knee on her lap so he could face her more directly. His chest was right in her face, and she could feel his breath against her head as he reached above her and tugged the straps down over her chest. They dug into her heaving boobs, making the soft flesh bubble out every way until they slipped to slide between her mounds. This squeezed the fabric of her suit tightly towards her sternum, serving to emphasize the shape and roundness of her breasts even more than before! Their exact shape became apparent, and the way her nipples pushed against the suit was pretty obvious too. She kind of fussed and protested as Jon’s actions squeezed her body in all the wrong ways, but once he fastened those in too, she was essentially locked to the seat.
Giving the straps a few good tugs to make sure everything was set, Jon then sucked back out of the car and grabbed hold of the upper lip of the frame. Milkette sat looking flustered as all hell and Jon didn’t even understand why, but he did notice how her breasts looked all snug in her bindings. For just a fleeting moment his mind delivered the image of a more erotic sense of bondage into his head, even though he wasn’t very into that… He had to shake the thoughts loose, and finally noticed how miffed the mouse appeared.
With one hand resting upon a breast, she gestured to him accusingly with a mild threat, “If you say anything about dual air bags…”
Jon barely contained a laugh. “I won’t,” He insisted, “Now then let’s just flick this switch here…”
Reaching inside, he flipped a switch that pulled her seat forwards to a more comfortable driving position… where her push-put breasts immediately crowded the lower part of the steering wheel; crushing them and bubbling them up to practically hide her own neck. Poor Milkette gasped, finding the quarters to be entirely too crowded despite the fact that being that close was the perfect distance so her feet could reach the pedals. Jon’s expression was much less playful as Milkette got all crammed into place; it was more fright than anything.
“Ugh, what the hell?!” The mouse squeaked, squirming in place, “This isn’t working at all!”
Jon had to admit, it didn’t look like she’d be racing that day.
“Get me outta this thing!” The mouse continued to fuss.
Regrettably, Jon eased her seat back and helped her unfasten all the straps so she could climb out. It was a moment filled with disappointment for both parties, and Milkette in particular was silent as she made her way back to get changed out of the suit she’d slipped into. Jon was worried she was mad at him for doing that to her – she certainly didn’t seem happy. But he stayed quiet as she stormed off, figuring he’d let her blow off some steam on her own.
When she finally emerged again, she was dressed plainly once more, and adjusting the strap of her bag so it comfortably rested across her chest, slung over her shoulder as it was. “Listen, you’re sweet for trying,” The mouse said with lowered ears and a sigh, “But maybe it’s just not meant to be. I mean, that car obviously wasn’t designed with a little lady like me in mind.”
“Obviously not,” Jon spoke in relief that she seemed less agitated. However she seemed sad – like, really sad. There was a moment of silence where Milkette just seemed to sink deeper into a look of depression, so Jon eventually spoke up.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
It seemed as if she didn’t want to answer that, but she struggled to anyway. “I don’t know, it’s just…” She started, “… I don’t have anything that makes me unique.”
They both shared a pained expression, her for saying it and he for hearing it.
“What do you mean you don’t have anything that makes you unique?” Jon asked, “Doesn’t everyone?”
“Well, you don’t know things,” She said quickly, then paused and tried to reel back. Unfortunately, the words had already left her mouth. “Can we do this somewhere else? Like… eating?” She’d then ask, “I… I don’t wanna talk about it just standing in this hallway. It smells like rubber.”
“O… kay.”
It wasn’t long before the two of them found themselves in a Diner not too far from the track. It was a busy establishment on race days but that day it was fairly quiet and thus short-staffed and almost private, in a way. They ordered food like any customer would, but sat in silence while they waited. Milkette had a look on her face that was wrought with worry. Whatever she had to tell Jon, it obviously wasn’t easy for her to say. He waited though, patiently, drawing out the lengthy silence as long as she could bear it. The drinks came, a couple of sodas in tall glasses, and it seemed once she had something in her hand she felt comfortable speaking.
“What if I told you my name isn’t Milkette?” She asked.
Jon tried to choose his words carefully, “I’d ask you what your name really is.”
“It’s Milkie,” She said simply.
Jon’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t that your brother’s name?” He asked.
“It is,” She nodded somberly.
Jon thumbed along his glass, and took a moment to unwrap the straw that came with the beverage. He pondered over the implications of her words, and came to the most simple of conclusion: she shared a name with her brother. Surely that couldn’t be what she was so nervous about saying… It didn’t seem like that big of a deal.
“So?” He asked, sticking his straw into his drink.
Milkette looked confused by his answer for a moment, but must have realized she wasn’t clear. “Oh, no, I mean… I AM Milkie,” She said, her voice sternly emphasizing each word, “Milkie Souris is me, I am him.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Jon nearly laughed.
The mouse girl sighed in obvious frustration. “What I mean is… that I’m… a copy,” She said, “Of him.”
“What?” Jon rebutted with a look of ‘I call bullshit.’
“I mean I’m a clone,” She almost shouted at him, “Look, I know I’m a girl, but… Okay, imagine copying your DNA. Everything that makes you who you are. Then imagine changing little bits and pieces of it to make you something entirely different. That’s me. I’m Milkie, but if Milkie was a girl.”
She took a big sip of her drink, closing her eyes so she didn’t have to see Jon’s odd stare. She figured that he was trying to determine if she was being sincere with him right then. She couldn’t blame him for that, because it did sound like a crazy person’s rambling. But even if it was understandable that he’d react with such confusion, it didn’t make things any easier. If nothing else, it was immensely frustrating that things were panning out exactly like she always imagined they would. She was being honest with someone, and they were looking at her as if she were a nut-case. It seemed like she was destined to live out what she had always feared most.
“That’s impossible,” Jon said dismissingly, “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying…!” Milkette raised her voice, but quickly caught a breath in her throat and took on a quieter tone, “Jon, I’m seriously only a couple of years old, if you want to be technical. I’m 22 in body, but I was born just a couple years ago, a girl version of Milkie. I have all his memories, and I’m basically just like him.”
Jon got a really panicked look in his eye. “So you were a boy?” He asked.
“No!” Milkette squeaked in instant denial, but then closed her eyes and shook her head, “I mean, not… technically.”
“Not technically?” Jon repeated the words to give her a chance to further clarify. The back-and-forth was grating on her now.
Milkette let her head fall forwards onto the table, and she ran her fingers through her hair as if to pull it out. How could she explain this so that he would believe her? How could she make Jon understand that she didn’t feel like she even belonged anywhere? She was an accident. She was some sort of product left over from some lucky scientist winning the genetic lottery, and that was it. She had looks, but all the beauty in the world didn’t mean jack to her if she woke up and spent every day feeling like she should have never stumbled out of that experimental tank in the first place. How was she supposed to justify taking up so much of the world’s space?
“You need help,” Jon said, rather put-off by Milkette’s antics. He felt so tempted to just get up and leave. What kind of fool did she take him for? Why would she even make up some an elaborate story? He didn’t believe a word of it, naturally, but even so it seemed like telling him this was so incredibly difficult for her that she could have broken down at any moment. Against his better judgment, he stayed. He pitied the little mouse girl. If she really was suffering from some form of dementia, she sure didn’t deserve it. A girl as nice and pretty as her never deserved that.
Milkette lifted herself back up and took a deep, steadying breath. Though her voice was a little shaky when she spoke, wavering like her composure. “Listen, you don’t have to believe me about any of that. It’s true, though,” She said, “But it’s just… it’s hard. And Even though people tell me that it’ll get better and that I’ve got nothing to worry about… it never goes away, you know? I’m never going to not feel… directionless? I’m not sure how to put it…
“But it’s nice to know, at least, that there’s people like you at least willing to try and help me. So… thanks for that. It’s too bad the whole car thing didn’t work out, but… I’m pretty sure I don’t care for it much.”
Before Jon could answer, their food came. He got a burger and some fries, and she fancied a grilled BLT sandwich, also with fries. He waited until the waitress left before he carried on. He took a deep breath, uncertain what he should think about the whole thing, but eventually conceded to a simple notion he thought to be true.
“Well you are who you are,” He said, “I don’t know for sure what you should do. Maybe you should just let it happen.”
“Let what happen?” She asked past a mouthful of sandwich.
Jon took a bite of his own burger, chewed, and swallowed. “Well, why do your hobbies have to be different? You can like whatever you like, it doesn’t mean it defines who you are,” He said, just shooting ideas from the hip, “Why not just… not be Milkie, I guess, because you don’t want to be?”
The mouse furrowed her brow and said, “I… don’t know if it works that way.”
“Sure, why not?” Jon shrugged, “You’re Milkette because… well just because. Does there really have to be a big reason?”
Milkette sat back and pondered Jon’s words for a moment. She kind of squinted and shifted her gaze left and right, trying to sort out the mere idea that she could be whatever she wanted to be – and whoever she wanted to be – just because she wanted to be that way. It sounded like some moral lesson pulled straight from a children’s cartoon; something that just wouldn’t work in real, adult life. But then, why wouldn’t it? Her mind worked in such a way that she knew it was up to her to take a simple idea like that and make it work for her, rather than twist and contort her own self-image to fit it.
“And… does it bother you? All those things I said?” She asked.
Jon nodded. “It bothers me terribly much,” He said, “You’re either telling the truth and everything I know about science has been turned upside-down; or you’re lying and I’ve spent the day with some kind of sociopath.”
Milkette put on the most somber of grins, “That… is pretty rational, I guess.”
“Better to just disbelieve, I think,” Jon simply said.
With a little laugh, Milkette sat forwards again and plucked a fry from the little paper-lined basket her food had been served in. “You are an exemplar of mind over matter, I think,” She said with no lack of snarky attitude, “But… it’s refreshing, I guess. I dunno, I guess I just needed to talk someone’s ear off.”
“You and most of the female population,” Jon chimed in.
“Alright, keep that up and I’m gonna come across this table at you,” Milkette smirked, “… And thanks.”
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