>"Zumba? Like, the gay exercise dancing? Dude, I'm not doing that class." you scowl at the raccoon next to you as the two of you walk past the treadmills.
>"HEheheeeee!" Martin chortles gleefully at your discomfort, before recomposing himself. "Let me tell you something: It's not that bad. "
>"You said we were going to the gym." You glare. "I thought we were gonna work chest and triceps, not Zumba!"
>Martin puts on such a shit-eating grin that he probably devoured half a dumpster before coming here. "Well, if I told you beforehand, you wouldn't have shown up!"
>God, what a prick. This guy was the kind of sleazeball who always tries to get a rise from you. He was 5'8" and looked greasy even before working out, but you couldn't even insult his appearance because he was more muscular than you.
>You can't trust your brother's friends with anything, especially Martin. For starters, you have nothing in common with this guy, and you're only using him for his guest pass at AnthroFitness. What sucks most is that Martin wants everything to be done HIS way.
>But today is different. He's already pissing you off and you have half a mind to go work out by yourself.

>"No, you know what? I'm not some spineless shit." you stop dead and turn towards the bench presses, with the trash panda halting two steps ahead. "I don't need a spotter, I'll just hit the bench on my own."
>"Nuh-uh~" he chimes, drawing you back toward him. "Listen, kid. You're freeloading off of MY membership. If I'm doing Zumba, then you're coming with me. Otherwise, get lost. And don't expect any more free rides for the rest of Spring break."
>Your blood boils. He knows you're not willing to pay for a whole month here, since you're in town for only a week. This is not a bullet you expected to bite, but you really do need the reps.
>"Alright, fine." The words barely escape your gritted teeth. "But next time, I'm choosing what muscles we hit."
>"Deal! You won't regret it." he punches you in the shoulder and gives a devilish wink. "Besides, I hear some of the ladies there are into humans."
>"What's that supposed to mean?" Of course, you know exactly what it means, but can't tell if he's poking fun at you or actually trying to help for once.
>"Don't play dumb!" Martin jabs you with a shoulder. "I don't smell any girlfriend on your clothes. You could use some special company."
>"I think any company is better than yours." you deadpan.
>"HA! That's great, girls love a funny guy!"
>"...right. Let's just get to the class."

>Walking into the Zumba space, it actually feels quite warm and inviting. The ceiling is high and the flourescent lamps across its surface illuminate every inch of the rectangular room. The waxy wooden floorboards are reminiscent of a school gym, and the beige walls are lined with large mirrors along the room's perimeter.
>You look at your reflection and wave. Hey, at least the guy on the other side hasn't completely let himself go.
>There's a wall fan mounted in one corner of the room, which is occupied by two old greyhound ladies. At this age, they look nothing short of skeletal. Heh, grey greyhounds. They pant and keel over until the fan finally rotates towards them.
>Thankfully, the class hasn't started yet, although the clock reads 18:03. Scanning across the room, you count a dozen people split into a few cliques. A couple retired cat ladies from uptown are silently stretching in one corner, passing dirty looks to some older latina dogs as they chatter loudly in Spanish.
>The remaining groups are of mixed species. A mature hyena and grizzly bear lift 60-pound dumbells that they definitely aren't allowed to bring in here. A giraffe with glasses stares down at her phone with awful posture, attempting to browse facebook on the gym's WiFi. The remaining attendees are uninteresting.

>Finishing your head count, the realization dawns on you: You're the only man in here, and the only person under 40! You slump your shoulders in embarrassment. In a zoo full of animals, you still stick out like a sore thumb.
>At least Martin is here to share your suffering. Suprisingly, he hasn't made any sly comments yet.
>You turn toward him and open your mouth to speak, but there is only empty space at your side. A quick scan tells you that the oily raccoon is nowhere to be found. Wait, where the hell did he- That motherfucker tricked you again!
>You're nothing short of livid. You bolt for the doorway, and several gym-goers turn their heads at the scene. It's of no importance to you now that you're determined to find and strangle the striped bastard.
>Imagining his mocking laughter only increases your ire, and you sprint with reckless abandon.
>At the last possible moment, a chipper husky girl comes rushing through the doorway. "Better late than neve-AAAH!"
>There is no stopping your momentum. You crash face-first into the unsuspecting canine, taking both of you to the floor with a massive thud.
>You roll off of her, trying to shake off the disorientation and save face.
>"I'm SO sorry, are you okay? I was ju-"
>"I'm fine, don't worry!" She picks herself up the floor and brushes the dust from her legs.
>Sitting up, you finally get a good look at her. She's a husky, alright. A short and thickset one in her twenties. She furrows her snowy eyebrows, accentuating the chocolate-colored spike that hangs in the middle of her square forehead.
>A curly tail pops out of a hole in her black yoga pants, and that blue crop top she chose to wear? It does nothing to hide her creamy midriff, but it does everything to complement her electric eyes.

>"Now get up! It's dancing time!" She kicks your shoe to make you stir.
>Willing yourself to your feet again, you remember that there's a raccoon to catch. "Actually, I was just leaving."
>"What!? Oh no, was it because I showed up late?" the woman pouts, her lower lip quivering. "I'm here now! Please don't go..."
>"No, it's just because..." you trail off, unable to find an excuse that doesn't involve strangulation. Those adorable eyes of hers aren't helping you think either.
>Again, she senses your hesitation. "Is this your first time doing Zumba? No need to be nervous! ...please?"
>"...yeah, it's my first time." Today you found out that you ARE a spineless shit, provided the puppy eyes are big enough.
>"Yay!" she spreads her arms and jumps, and then immediately looks back at you to see if it made you any happier.
>A smile spreads across your face, although it's hard to tell if you're humoring her or genuinely enthused by her antics.
>The husky motions for you to re-enter. "Don't worry, I'll make the dance moves super readable. You can stand by me, that way you can follow along!"
>As flattering as the offer is, reservations bubble up inside of you. I mean, you haven't danced since you were a kid, and even then it was completely disorganized.
>"Sounds good." There's no going back now. Your hand extends towards her. "It's nice to meet you, miss..."
>"My name's Amak. Last name Takaani." A large paw grabs your hand and shakes it, fuzz brushing against your palm in a moment that is all too brief.
>"Nice to meet you, Ms. Husky. (Shit), I mean, Takaani. Uh, I'm Henry."
>There was a giggle. "Henry. What a weird name. Must be a human thing. Nice to meet you too, Mr. Humie."

>After some quick pleasantries, the other guests settle into their rows, many eager to make up for the lost time.
>Takaani stands at the front of the room, facing the long wall of mirrors and fiddling with her phone to start her playlist.
>You plant yourself in the row behind her and slightly left, preparing for the ordeal ahead of you.
>one of the cats starts to complain, but is interrupted by t-
Pum, Tss. Pu-pum, Tss.
>The sound of cheap Latino pop fills every corner of the space. Hey, at least we're getting the crappy material out of the way early.
>Takaani doesn't hesitate, marking a simple 4-beat pattern and waving her arms up and down.
>The entire class follows suit, and you're thrust into your first dance in an instant.
>Initially, the warm-up dance doesn't seem that bad. Amak's paws skate in and out, closing and opening her stance. Right, left, left, right. Above them her arms remain waving, elbows bent as they would be in a jumping jack.
>It's a move so simple even you manage to figure it out in just a couple of measures. Takaani makes eye contact with you through the mirror, and nods approvingly before transitioning into the next move.
>Same leg stuff, different arms. Now they cross over the husky's midsection every time her legs come together, only to open again when she widens her position.
>You pick it up right away, although your eyes stay glued to the instructor in case she decides to switch it up.

>In your moment of comfort, you can't help but admire Amak's athletic figure. Well, semi-athletic. She wasn't fat, but it was clear that she never shied away from Mom's meatloaf when she was younger. Or rather, Mom's fish-loaf, since Husky cuisine usually revolves around seafood.
>Her torso is svelte and sways effortlessly with each pace, and her upper arms complement it by remaining thin and toned. Moving downward below the crop top, you can make out the faint outline of her lats as they flex under her plush fur.
>The figure quickly widens from there, making it clear that any fat this girl consumed would go straight to her generous hips and thighs. They stretch the fabric of her pants tighter, and the compressed layer of fluff around her glutes only exaggerates their roundness.
>Her tail bobs behind her with a rhythmic delay, curling looser, then tightening as it rebounds upward. Her bottomwear ends at the last joint of her digitigrade legs, freeing her paws to dangle loosely in the air.
>The extra joint gives every step some additional jiggle, which ripples up her calves and haunches, stopping at that that ever-loving tail which sways so hypnotically. Boing, boing, boing.
>You snap out of the spell and remember that you're in a Zumba class. Crap, how long have you been staring? Takaani is already performing the next move!
>Feverishly, you scramble to copy the pattern, hoping to the Omni that no one saw your fixation in this room full of mirrors. Glancing around, everyone seems too absorbed in the dancing to notice. Even if they did, you suppose, it's normal to have your eyes glued to the instructor, especially as a beginner. This warrants you a sigh of relief.

>The song wraps up in four or five minutes without issue. Sure, some of the moves felt strange to you, but that rite comes with any new activity.
>"Are you feeling GOOD?" The canid shouts at the class. It's a sincere attempt to energize these old folks between songs, and surprisingly they're into it.
>You personally don't respond, but Takaani isn't having it. She turns, looks straight at you and barks again, "Are you feeling GOOD!?"
>Alright alright, you get it. "YES." The word comes out almost sarcastically, but it's good enough for her.
>As a reward for your participation, she gives you a thumbs up. For as cynical as you pretend to be, her naivety and encouragement manage to plant a smile on your face. Seeing this makes her own grin widen, muzzle pretty as a picture as a pair of black lips stretch thin across huge teeth.
>The next tune starts and she immediately gets back into the dancing headspace. This time it's a raunchy Reggaeton beat that feeds through the speakers.
>Unlike the warmup, this song is much more centered around hip motion. Takaani rests her weight on one leg, placing her hands over it while she bounces the other against the floor repeatedly. Then she switches sides and repeats.
>Honestly, you forgot how sexual dancing is in public settings, and doing the motions yourself is nothing short of humiliating.
>In addition, dancing along proves more difficult now than with the last tune, and at times you struggle to understand what Amak is even doing.
>Seeing your own stiff movements in the mirror isn't helping your self-esteem, either. But when you look just a little to right, there lies someone with raw confidence in every action. She's always guiding your next move, and she's your biggest motivator.
>Look at her go! Dancing with her eyes closed, and without a care in the world. Watching her makes you forget about how silly you look. It relaxes you both mentally and physically, loosening your muscles, letting you sink deeper into the groove.

>The chorus turns out to be much easier than the verse. It's four easy motions, each with eight counts. Well, except for the last move.
>The chorus ends with a "pum pum pum pum pum!", where each hit is accompanied by a short hop. Takaani doesn't hold back, tilting forward and arching her butt up until you can see the entire underside of her tail.
>Each scoot sends her a little bit backwards, closing the distance between you two. Oh crap! You're supposed to be moving backwards as well!
>With only a couple inches between you and her rump, you find your step, then quickly jump back to widen the gap.
>Despite almost grinding onto you, the husky doesn't seem to be phased. When she realizes how close you two were, she just laughs and repositions herself. One of the Latina dogs beside you whistles at the risqué behavior, causing your face to redden.
>Unfortunately, "boner" is not a respected dance move and you're inclined to tuck your arousal behind your waistband.
>The rest of the song goes off without much incident. Only one other moment catches your attention, and it's during the bridge.
>Everyone is supposed to shake their chest, keep their arms by their sides and their knees bent. But Amak does something else. She takes a second, squishes her breasts together and holds them in that elevated position. They're not large, just... perky, like the rest of her.
>It lasts a couple seconds before she drops them and returns to the dancing, and at first you might have brushed it off as a simple adjustment of her bosom to let it breathe... but she was looking right at you the entire time she did it. As soon as you look her back in the eyes, she closes them and sticks her tongue out.

>Time passes, with you failing to keep pace as the songs grow increasingly difficult. There's a burning sensation in your forearms and shoulders. Beads of sweat drip from your forehead, the salt stinging your eyes. You almost twist your ankle on one occasion. Anyone nearby can see that you haven't done this much aerobic activity in years.
>Halfway through the set, following a blistering fast Merengue, Takaani calls for a two minute water break. Her tongue rolls out like a second tail while she pants, and the back of her top is darkened with sweat. The whole room begins to reek like a zoo, but you're quickly becoming noseblind to the proverbial melting pot.
>Taking advantage of the paws, the two of you walk out to the water fountain, with a few oldies hobbling behind you.
>The husky lurches forward and laps up water from the head of the fountain. Watching her tongue scoop the water in tender little licks is doing things to your heart. Emotions without names. You get the impulse to pat her on the head while she drinks, rub the swarthy fur behind her ears, and caress her damp hackles, but another part of you dismisses the fantasy.
>Without the music to focus you, that sleazy raccoon comes to mind again. You have unfinished business and need to teach him a les- No! What are you doing? You only have a minute! Go talk to the girl in front of you, moron!
>"Hey... Ms. Husky." you begin, ironically this time.
>An ear twitches at the mention of her name. Amak lifts herself from the fountain and gives you a turn, which you gladly indulge.
>"Hey, Mr. Humie." She sings. "How are you holding up?"
>Still in the middle of sipping, you raise your thumb. As much as you'd love to complain, there's something about exercising that feels great and cannot be denied.
>"That's good!" There's a soft breeze on the back of your legs from her wagging tail. A tailwind. "You know, you're doing great, especially for your first time!"

>As flattering as it is, it's hard to believe th-
>"And you smell nice." She points her nose and makes an exaggerated sniffing motion before walking away. "See you inside!"
>It's unclear what you should make of that last part. Chalk it up to canine culture.
>You wave her goodbye, only to meet her 30 seconds later in the Zumba space again. She's tap-tapping on her phone, making sure that the rest of the playlist is in order.
>Soon enough, everyone is back in position, and you're feeling fired up to start the next bunch of songs. The speakers blast some bachata and your feet find their places.
>The second half of the class was even more of a gauntlet. The myriad of pop, merengue and other uptempo selections leave your feet feeling sore as soon as you break.
>At one point, the hyena, who was one of the more experienced dancers, took the aux and played one of her own favorites. It was a rock song for which she had created her own coreography.
>This was a complete change of pace from the other tunes. The yeena was using stomps and shuffles more popular in rock and pop music, a completely different set of motions which prevented you from carrying over what you had learned from previous songs.
>You were drowning in your own sweat, and failing to follow the complex steps in time with the new instructor. Takaani, on the other hand, was killing it. She had let the hyena take her spot as instructor and took up the spot immediately left of you.
>She noticed your struggling through the duration of the piece, and several times the girl tapped you on the shoulder and mouthed to you. "Watch my feet!" and "Follow me!" were her favorite phrases.
>Each time she took you aside, you noticed the extent of Amak's unwavering patience. If you learned a move in time, she would congratulate you. If you didn't? Well, she'd assure you that you'll have another chance. Then you'd both go right back into dancing.

>Afterwards, the husky assumes control of the group for the remainder of the hour. With each ballad, you grow more fatigued. Left? Right? It's getting harder to label the steps, much less execute them. Unsure how much more you can take, you find yourself checking the clock between songs. It blinks 18:55.
>"Looks like we have time for one more song!" announces the instructor "Okay, everybody stand with your partner."
>Wait, partner? I've gotta dance with one of these old ladies? You do a slow 360 and see which of these grannies are closest, but it seems all the remaining participants have long since found their cliques and partners. Looks like you're last kid chosen for the kickball team. Not like you can blame them.
>Then, a voice from behind you. "Oh, is there an odd number of people? That's fine; I'll dance with whoever doesn't have a partner."
>At this point, it's very obviously you. She lets out a determined wuff and struts towards you, eyes sharp with intention. Suddenly, this feels a lot more intimate than the grinding. There is a dryness in your throat and a quickening of your heartbeat.
>She offers two forepaws, which you gingerly clasp from underneath. The pads on the base of her hands rub into your palms like sandpaper. The two of you stand inches apart, close enough for you to see the cracks along her shimmering nose.
>"Alright!" She commands to the room, drawing all eyes onto the two of you. "THIS is how you'll be dancing with your partner."

>In a flash, she splays your right arm with her left, pushing her perky chest against yours. Her right hand departs to find your waist.
>We're doing a tango? You freeze up, unable to process all of the sudden stimulation. Amor is definitely in the air. You consider wrapping your own arm around her, but stop short.
>The room fills with "ooohs", "ahhs" and wolf-whistles as people are dumbfounded by the intimacy.
>She lets go three seconds later, chuckling herself to death. "Ahahahehe! HAHAAAaa, nah I'm just messing with you guys." The crowd joins her in rapturous laughter, but you aren't laughing. In fact, you feel a little disappointed that she played you for a joke.
>"Just hold each other's hands like this." Takaani demonstrates on you, and again you take her front paws, albeit more reluctantly this time.
>You look away, and try to stay annoyed with her for teasing you, but...
>god damn it, you can't stay mad at her. She's done nothing but encourage and help you for the past hour. Between that, your own exhaustion, and the supple fur and pads squishing in your hands, remaining angry is an impossible task.
>The music finally kicks in, and you return her eye contact. It's a Cumbia, leisurely and soulful. All around you, people are slow dancing.
>Takaani's paws float like feathers as she begins her walk. On the other side, your whole body is stiff, and you remain afraid to step on her delicate claws.
>She senses your hesitation for the third time today, and her snout finds one of your ears. "Just watch my feet."

>Following her instruction is second-nature at this point. Left, Right, Right, Left.... hey, it's just like the exercise from the warm-up! Within ten seconds, the two of you are completely synced, swaying back and forth in little arcs.
>You ease up a little, gaining confidence that you won't crush her feet. Looking up from the paws below, it becomes apparent that she's been staring at you the whole time. Her eyelids look heavy after the workout, or perhaps they're just half-lidded because she trusts you. Similarly, her smile is much slighter than it was, but just as genuine.
>The husky's hands dangle limply in your own, as if she could fall asleep on the spot from your growing embrace.
>The wooden floors, the mirrors, and the other dancers fall into insignificance. For the next minute, the only possible thoughts are about her.
>Your bodies count to four together. One, two, three, four. Then once more. Again and again they wander through the measures, until you've lost count.
>Your mouth opens. "Thanks for dancing with me."
>"No, thanks for coming," she replies. "Usually it's just old people who show up. I just want to foot it with someone my age!"
>"You can dance with me any time, Takaani. As long as you're willing to teach me the moves."
>"Sounds like you want more than a dance." Without warning, the husky plants her feet and pulls you in for a hug which you gladly return. At this distance you can smell the intricacies of her earthy musk. She's not wearing perfume, and if you have any say, she doesn't need to. The warmth radiating from her fluffy shoulders feels heavenly under your chin. She finishes with a sloppy lick along your cheek, whose warmth and wetness overstimulates you beyond compare.
>Finally, her nose pulls away. "I have to do the cool-down stretches now. I'll give you my number when class ends."

>That Martin was right; Zumba isn't half bad, really. Might even be worth getting your own membership just for the week.