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I arrived in Kentucky without even knowing that the annual state fair was in full swing. I didn't even know about its existence until I arrived at a two-story motel in Louisburg, where I then saw a slew of advertising posters in the main lobby I checked in from. I couldn't resist the idea of seeing full-blown Americana, especially in a rural state like Kentucky, so I decided to bring my Fjord to the city's fairgrounds and spend a full day there. I had no idea what to expect. Would it be like the fairs in some European countries?

Haha, nope.

I got a taste of full-blown Americana quickly; ridiculously awesome fairground rides, many makeshift shops selling Kentucky souvenirs, dozens of stands selling unhealthy snacks, a few pavilions catering to whiskey drinkers, as well as a feral horse show in the field. The smell of beer and deep-fried food filled the air. Plenty of tobacco and cigarettes too.

My favorite amusement ride had to be the one with the swinging boat with Egyptian themes. The rest felt too intense for somebody like me. Still, I couldn't help but feel sorry for some of the young mammals who stumbled out of one ride, then threw up all over each other.

"Only in Kentucky," I laughed to myself.

"I bet they had a little too much to eat before getting on."

I turned to find a ferret-like mammal in his mid-thirties standing beside a larger stand decked with political T-shirts and posters of all stripes. Literally, all ideologies. Mostly conservative and quite radical, but also some liberal pandering too. For that day, the friendly mammal dressed in a short-sleeved shirt with 'Don't Tread on Me' stamped across his chest, plus some denim jeans and what in hindsight had to be a neon sign: a rainbow-colored belt peeking out from under his shirt. Subtle hint, I felt.

"Nice stand you have going here," I motioned to his stand, the mammal already going behind the counter to sell a 'Vote for Women' t-shirt to a teen girl while selling a 'Keep America American' bumper sticker to a seemingly innocuous old man. I held back a frown. "Quite a lucrative business here."

"Rakes in the cash, doesn't it?" The mammal chuckled, then turned his curious attention to me. "You don't sound like a local, do ya? You Swedish or something?"

"Greco-German."

He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to hear him better.

"Gecko-German?"

I groaned and laughed with him at his confusion. "Born in Germany, living in Greece," came my clarifying reply, and I looked back to the mammal as he smiled. "And would it be fine of me to ask what species you are? I don't think there's any mammals like you in Europe."

"No, not at all--I get it all the time. I'm called a 'fisher', buddy," he held his arms up and turned around in a pose before leaning his elbows on his stand. "What brings you all the way out here, Mr...?"

"Sebastian," I shook his paw. "Let's just say I'm a little set for life, so I've been on a cross-country road trip. I was just in North Carolina several days ago, actually."

"No shit," the fisher laughed in surprise. "The name's Hunter. Born and raised."

Hunter and I traded subtle flirts while occasionally glancing down at my phone whenever he needed to interact with his customers or sell something to them behind the register. When I became clear to the Fisher that I too happened to enjoy a good musical now and then, he became bolder. He grew more interested in our conversations. He left a few wordplays and teasing comments now and then, until he finally asked me something.

"I got no privacy at my own place, and don't like giving my old neighbors fuel for their gossip," he mentioned with a coy smirk. "Know somewhere we could unwind for a bit?"

Pretending to ponder about it for several seconds, I nodded to the apolitical fisher.

"As a matter of fact, I do."

***

It would be another five and a half hours later that I'd invite Hunter into my motel room, closing the door behind him as he pulled me down into a feverish kiss. A lonely kiss, too, warm breath smelling of cigarettes from earlier in the day and the aftertaste of something very alcoholic.

"Is that...whiskey you're holding?" I asked, having only just then noticed the bottle in his paw.

"Moonshine," he lustfully clarified. "More powerful than any of the shit they sell at the liquor stores."

"In that case," I grinned at the twink and the liquor he held; two of my favorite things at once, "we'd better not let it go to waste."

We did not. Setting it aside on the nightstand for a little while, Hunter grabbed the reigns of dominance by ordering me to hold my arms high. No sooner did I comply with intrigue did the sly mammal push his snout into my hairy pits. A surprise growl turned into giggles and panting as he sniffed as if my underarms emitted the scent of roses. To him, it probably did. Not that I was complaining, since I could feel his stiffness through his denim jeans as a leg humped my thigh, and I groaned when that tongue lapped at the sensitive skin.

At first, I didn't feel too keen on making out with him again after he got a muzzle full of my musk, but a few swigs from the moonshine helped breakdown whatever few barriers I had left. My God, the moonshine helped us with more than making me and Hunter feel fuzzy inside. We explored sexually too, my favorites of which involved pouring a shot or two of the liquid gold into my belly button. Hunter ravenously suckled up the moonshine, then deviated upwards to lick up remaining droplets that accumulated on my six-pack. The fisher, half-buzzed and fully horny, orally worshipped shipped to each sharp pack on my abdomen, before at last pulling down my underwear to get the same polishing treatment for my dogcock.

By the time I returned to Greece, it wouldn't surprise me if my dick smelled like moonshine. Or fisher, because something in the distilled liquor activated something inside me that led to us having drunken sex at least four times. The first happened not too long after I lathered my tip in dollops of the moonshine, only for Hunter to impatiently mount me instead of sucking on it some more. One load later, we both still carried erections. So, I fucked another load in him again, only we traded mouthfuls of the moonshine between our lips. Before penetration, some of it fell on my torso, so he then suckled and lapped on each of my sensitive balls with each firm stroke to my dogcock. And then he got fucked by it.

The third became blurrier in memory once the bottle started to get empty, but I did remember distinct flashes of seeing Hunter ride me like a cowboy as I ravaged my tongue over his sensitive nipples. As for the fourth, I only knew it happened due to me waking up the next morning, hungover with a peaceful fisher cuddled atop my large chest, his limp dick halfway inserted into the fold between my cum-dried sheath and my fully spend member laying exhausted between his inner thighs.

It turned out that Hunter the Apolitical Fisher could be quite romantic, despite a nasty shared hangover. He joined me in the motel room's shower not long after I turned the hot water on, then helped wash my back and hard-to-reach places as I did the same for him. We were both too tired for a fifth round, but not for a discussion on American and European politics after I ordered us some breakfast to be delivered.

"If you don't believe in any single one of the things you sell," I argued, "why sell 'em? I get that it's a lucrative business, but you must believe in at least one of the candidates or parties that win elections."

"The only real winners of elections are people like me," he countered while sporting a self-assured grin. "Think about it: city slickers pay me hundreds of thousands of dollars to Salah crap with their faces and logos on it, well I also spending another hundreds of thousands of dollars to play ads during election seasons. In the end who is coming out with more?"

"That's morbid to think," I shrugged. "True, but morbid."

"Eh, the world's fucked in a million different ways," Hunter hummed as we sat together on the made bed. "Instead of donating the money or actually doing meaningful shit, our politicians splurge millions to measure each other's dicks. I just so happen to make good money off of the dick-measuring."

I laughed, "You should see how convoluted it can get in Greece and Germany."

A knock at the door interrupted us.

"Breakfast first, then debate later?"

"Deal," Hunter licked his lips, nodding. "Breakfast first, then debate later."