Where The Wild Things Are
Posted Sun Oct 16, 2016 06:15 PM
You should know from the beginning that I’m not into bullshit. I’m not so much a writer as a doer. I can express myself elegantly enough when the situation calls for it, but mostly I don’t think it’s worth the time it takes. So what you’re about to read is going to be largely simple and straightforward, without lots of fancy phrases or figures of speech.
My name is Diane. I’m 35 years old, single, childless, without living relatives and just a handful of ex-boyfriends that are just as happy to be that way. It’s mutual. I have a passionate nature, which means I throw myself wholly into anything I’m doing, sometimes without looking to see where the edge is. Give me a good reason and I can be a good and careful planner, but most of the time I just fly by the seat of my pants and trust to my luck to make things work out all right.
Let’s see, what else? I’m reasonably good-looking if you like the athletic type. I’m tall - 5’10” - and my weight is none of your damn business, but I’ve never been overweight. I must have the metabolism of a blast furnace. I’m very physical - I like to run and swim and sometimes I can actually be persuaded to dance - but I’m not a fitness nut, and my diet would horrify you. I eat what I want, when I want, as much as I want, but I don’t gain much weight, and I lose it faster than I gain it. It that makes you hate me, so be it.
I have light brown hair and brown eyes and a good tan that’s pretty much year-round. Long and lean would be a good way to describe me. I’m in shape, as I say, but I don’t look like Arnold with tits. Mine are all me - maybe just a bit more than a handful, if you care about that kind of thing.
I’m strong-willed and hardnosed and stubborn and I don’t do well in relationships - maybe you can see why. That doesn’t bother me - I’m pretty much of a loner anyway. When I find the right kind of guy and the sparks fly, I make up for lost time.
Okay, that should give you a pretty clear idea of who I am. On with the story.
* * * * *
I like to run. It puts me in a good headspace where I can forget the past and not concern myself about the future - just concentrate on the here and now. I get into a state that some people used to call flow - a state of body and mind where everything’s working together in harmony, the way it was designed to - muscles and mind synchronized, senses tuned to their highest pitch. At times like that, I feel like I could just run forever….
That afternoon I got off the road - there’s a faint, almost undetectable path that goes down a hill and into the woods. I like a challenge, and running in the woods is definitely that - skirting vines and creepers that can trip you, avoiding rocks and depressions and holes that can turn an ankle, ducking under low-hanging branches that slap at you, dodging briars and thorns that seem determined to chew you up and spit you back out in bite-size pieces. I must have radar or sonar or something; I always emerge from the forest unscathed.
Anyway… I’d been jogging for maybe forty minutes, maybe ten of that in the forest, and suddenly every danger signal I had went “RED ALERT!” all at once. Don’t ask me why. I didn’t see anything, didn’t hear anything, didn’t even smell anything; but I knew, beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt, that someone else was there.
I kept running. What else could I do? To do anything else would have tipped off the unknown that I knew he (or she, or it) was there. How dumb would that have been? Instead, I gradually changed course to take us into the roughest part of the woods - chock-full of briars and potholes and low-hanging branches - stuff I was confident I could avoid, but which would give my pursuer such a hard time that he’d - hopefully - drop out of the race.
It worked - for just about three minutes. Just as I was congratulating myself on having brushed the stalker off, the feeling was back, as strong as before. Still nothing to see, though maybe I heard him running alongside me.
Maybe. But if that were the case, where the hell was the sonofabitch?
I paced myself, knowing I might need to put on a sudden burst of speed if it came to that, but the feeling of “company” never left me. It was creepy as all fuck, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out “Where are you?”.
Then - shit! - I hit a clearing. No briars, no rocks, no trees - just smooth, level, hard-packed dirt.
On the plus side, it flushed the stalker out of hiding, too, and I had no freaking clue where he’d been all this time! He was an average-looking guy in running gear, reddish-brown hair with maybe a three-day growth of stubble. His tanned face wore a sly grin as he pulled even with me. Dammit, he didn’t even look winded!
I slowed to a trot. Let him think I was running out of steam. “Why are you following me?”
He gave me a half-incredulous look as he slowed to match me, but the grin was still there. “What? You own these woods or something? Nobody else can run here?”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
“Lady, I’m not following you. I run here all the time. You just happened to be here today.”
I gave him a quick once-over as we rounded a curve. He had a lean runner’s body, so maybe that part was the truth. But I still got a sense of something off-kilter and my guard wasn’t going down just yet.
He spoke again. “Look, race me to the lake and we’ll talk this out when we get there.”
The lake was just another mile or so away. It gave some semblance of truth to his explanation. The lake was well-hidden in these woods; you wouldn’t know about it unless you went here frequently - or unless you just happened to get lucky.
I put on a burst of speed. He matched me easily.
* * * * *
We got to the lake too close together to call either one a clear winner. I uncapped my water bottle and drank gratefully, then offered it to him. Let the claws come out later if I had to; for now I’d be wary but courteous.
He took a deep drink while I took off my shoes and socks, dangled my feet in the water. The coolness felt delicious and I sighed.
“Thanks.” He handed the water back and I took a careful sip. “So what’s your name?”
“Diane. And you are…?”
I waited for more, but that was it. A man of few words.
I could deal with that.
“So you run competitively or what?”
He gave me that grin again. “No, I just like to run. Helps me burn off stress.”
I smiled. Be pleasant, be cautious. “What do you do that stresses you out so much, anyway?”
“I deal with people.”
“You know what I’m talking about. Ignorant people who’re too lazy to improve their knowledge, people who’re greedy for what they’ve never earned, people who think they’re entitled to something just because they want it and people who have no idea how much they already have even as they fuck it up.”
“Wow. Cynical much?”
“You have no idea.” He sat, keeping a respectful distance. “What’s your story?”
“Professional student, working on my Master’s while I do temp work in office jobs.”
“Yeah? What’s your degree in?”
Oops, time for a lie. “Art, with an emphasis on primitive art.”
“Primitive as in cave paintings?”
“You know cave paintings?”
He shook his head. “Not much beyond Lascaux and Trois Freres.”
“Oooh, you have hidden depths.”
That grin again. “I’m not quite the Neanderthal I appear to be.” He stood up, stretched. “And now I’m about to make a liar of myself. I’m going in for a swim. Care to join me?”
I smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid I failed to bring a swimsuit today.”
His eyes were smiling as he gave me a slow, obvious once-over. “Doesn’t look like you have anything to be ashamed of.”
Touche‘. “I have nothing to prove, either. But don’t let that stop you.”
“It won’t.” He took off his running shoes and socks, stripped off his t-shirt. His shorts followed a moment later. He didn’t flaunt his equipment, but he made no attempt to hide it, either, and a moment later he was in the water.
I watched him swim - the strong muscles of his back and shoulders, an occasional glimpse of his ass. He had a deep tan, as if he sunbathed nude on a regular basis. Or maybe it was from a tanning bed. Either way it was a nice ass.
Abruptly I stood up. “Fuck this shit,“ I growled. I did want a swim, and damned if his being there was going to stop me! I stripped as casually as he had, and a moment later I joined him in the water.
I swam out to meet him. If he tried something, I was well able to protect myself, but in the meantime he was nice to look at and I didn’t give a damn if he got an eyeful.
Tit for tat, as they say.
He grinned as I caught up to him. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”
“What feels nice?”
“The water, being natural. There’s something primal about being in the water. Returning to the womb, maybe?”
I grinned right back. “Are you as full of shit as you sound?”
He threw back his head and laughed, but that ended when I ducked him under. He came up spluttering, but still laughing, and then he ducked me. We played like kids. It wasn’t so much that we didn’t notice each other’s bodies as the feeling that our nakedness didn’t matter. As he’d implied, it was the natural state of things, and we just didn’t make a big deal about it.
Finally we made our way back to the edge of the lake. Sometime during our “duel”, my danger-sense had shut off completely, and I’m kind of an instinctual person to begin with - so I was curious, but no longer suspicious.
I gave him a more thorough once-over as we climbed out of the water. Hey, fair is fair - he was looking at me, too! He was about six feet tall, maybe one-eighty, hard-muscled without being a muscleman. His eyes were brown with red highlights, and yes, I noticed - he had a slightly above-average cock.
As for me - I’m no exhibitionist, but I’m not shy. I couldn’t really get dressed until I got dry and as neither of us had brought towels, we just sat on the grass and waited for the sun and the breeze to do their thing.
Oh, and let’s get one thing straight - I’m no centerfold. I don’t have a bad body (all modesty aside), but my tits are too small and my face too angular to ever show up in a men’s magazine - or even on the Net. Still, I enjoyed the frank, open looks he was giving me, and I have to admit to “posing” a bit to show myself off to my best advantage.
We talked - light, inconsequential stuff that I can’t remember any more. It didn’t help that looking at his hard body was making me just the tiniest bit horny, or that it had been a long time since the last time I got laid.
He stood up - to get dressed and leave? - and part of me shouted “Noooooo!” Wisely, I kept that part locked behind my lips - it turned out he was just getting up to move closer to me. He sat down, his hip almost touching mine and smiled with his eyes as well as his mouth.
“You really are easy to talk to.” Something in that smile got to me finally and I astonished myself by saying, “I don’t really want to talk anymore. Do you?”
He pulled me into his arms and kissed me hard.
Sometimes you just have to strike while the iron is hot. I was hot, he was hot and the time was waaay overdue!
I pulled myself into his lap, pushed my tits into his chest, spread my legs and wrapped them around his waist. I shoved my tongue into his mouth, wrapped it around his and started sucking. He kissed me back just as fiercely, his hands grabbing my ass to pull me closer still. My cunt was splayed wide, my clit was swollen so much it ached and I was grinding it against the root of his cock. My nails dug into his back and my lips moved over his neck, licking and sucking. Now and again the heat would get the better of me and I’d bite, hard, a mock-growl rumbling in my throat.
My pussy was drenched, leaking my juices all over his groin. He mauled my tits with his big hands, twisting my hard nipples like he was trying to tune in to Saturn. My mouth met his again, an impatient whine coming from deep in my chest. I wrapped one hand around his cock, the other cupping his balls, squeezing and pulling almost too roughly. He was hard as a redwood.
I found my voice as he slipped a finger into my hot cunt. “To hell with foreplay,” I said urgently. “Just fuck me.”
He leaned me back far enough that I could rise up and impale myself on his throbbing maleness. Lengthwise he was just a bit over average, but he was so thick it felt as if he was splitting me in half, and I fucking loved it! I shoved myself further down, taking more of him, my juices more than enough to ease his passage. He took my hips in his hands and shoved suddenly upwards, filling me and I hit my first peak, screamed and shoved my cunt down again to meet him halfway. He lunged forward and bit my neck - damn, that was gonna leave a mark, and I so didn’t give a fuck!
My nails were digging into his back, no doubt leaving red trails to remember me by - if my pussy wasn’t sufficient to ensure that! We slammed forward into each other, rutting like animals, clawing, biting, growling.
I managed to writhe myself up and off his cock, then dropped to hands and knees and stuck my ass in the air. “Take my pussy, Pete!” I commanded - uselessly as it turned out, for his prick filled me full before I finished his name. He grabbed my hips, shoved himself into me as far as he could go (and it felt like he was going realllly far!); then he leaned forward, his chest almost touching my back. His hands went to my tits, started mauling them again and his teeth sank into my throat as he shoved his cock deeper still.
I went off like a fucking rocket. I screamed - I howled - I hammered my hips back to meet him, taking his thickness deep - God, so deep! - again and again and again. I was a bitch in heat and I felt everything working in absolute purest harmony to bring me to a furious howling orgasm again and again and again - and just then I heard him roar - there’s no other word for it. He raised up, threw his head back and roared and screamed and howled and gushed molten fire into my pussy, bringing me off yet again. My heart was pounding like a jackhammer and my pussy was soaked and I was there, living that moment, fully and completely, totally in the moment, cumming with body and mind and soul….
I toppled bonelessly into the abyss, howling.
* * * * *
I woke to find him lying beside me, smiling, looking full into my eyes with eyes that knew all of my secrets. I felt a calm, a certainty I’d never known before. Words suddenly became unnecessary.
Still naked, he rose to his feet. I sat a moment longer, admiring this splendid animal; then I too rose, and with one soul-deep mental cry, we called the Change.
Forget the movies. There’s no special effects, no bone-bending, skin-popping agonizing transformation. It happens as smoothly as a sunset. There’s just one transitional form, fully functional, yet incomplete - a human with claws and fangs and a thick, luxurious coat of coarse fur. And then, just a minute later, the Change is complete and you have a (slightly larger than usual, but to all appearances perfectly normal) wolf.
We turned to look at each other and he gave me that grin again. My heart leaped, my pulse pounded ecstatically - and we ran! - two silvery-gray flashes against the rising moon, racing, charging to meet the night head-on!
Time to howl.
Property of Mortuis
Okay, here’s the part where I gloat about how clever I was….
Our protagonist is named Diane, a variation of Diana, Roman goddess of the hunt. Our male werewolf was more difficult; Lawrence or Larry might have been a dead giveaway to a horror aficionado. (Lawrence Talbot is the doomed protagonist in The Wolf Man.) I finally chose “Pete” in reference to Peter Stump (or Stumpf, or Stubb, or even Stube), a German “werewolf” who was executed in 1589 - coincidentally, on October 31 - for committing several murders while in the form of a wolf.
And if you’ll go back and read it again, you’ll see how many “animalistic” references I made along the way….
Okay, gloating’s done. I hope you liked it!
Posted Sun Oct 16, 2016 10:11 PM
Posted Wed Oct 19, 2016 05:09 PM
Despite having a somewhat more elastic morality than most, there are some things I won't do, ever, under any circumstances. By extension, I won't write about them either.
1. No sex with anyone - male, female or transgender - under the age of 18; and by the same token, no sex with anyone under the mental age of 18 - as it's entirely possible to have someone who's 30 years old chronologically, but has a mental age, of say, 12. Not happening.
2. No sex with animals. I loved my kittehs back in the day, but not like that.
3. No incest. If you knew my family, you'd understand.
4. No urine, no scat. Period, end of discussion.
5. No one of any age who's unwilling. I might buy into someone's "unwilling" fantasies, but not in RL.
There may be some things I can't recall right now - or maybe stuff that's so far out that I've never even considered it - but that's basically it. Just about anything else can at least be discussed.
Now, as to this particular story: all the sex takes place when the participants are in human form. Only when the sex is over with do they transform into wolves. It doesn't break the rule, it doesn't bend or twist the rule, it doesn't play fast and loose with the rule. And this is my only werewolf story. It's been told and I see no reason to revisit it.
What's truly sad - to me, anyway - is that there are (last time I checked) 49 views and the only comment I've gotten is the one above.
Tough fuckin' crowd.
Posted Wed Oct 19, 2016 07:38 PM
This post has been edited by Shiro: Wed Oct 19, 2016 07:39 PM
Posted Mon Oct 31, 2016 05:45 PM
I enjoyed this one. I like the rough no-nonsense voice of your main character, Diane. It reads authentically. I find very few men can write a sex story from a female point of view. Most times the story ends up being about what men want women to want and not what women actually want. But Diane doesn't ring false at all- she comes across as a sexy tough independent woman who knows her mind and isn't afraid to do her own thing.
Thank you for sharing
Posted Mon Oct 31, 2016 06:51 PM
Thank you - first, for commenting, and second, for being specific - what you liked (or didn't like) about the story.
For the rest of you - to a writer, feedback is everything. It doesn't have to be elegantly expressed, just sincere and real. Specific is good - let us know what you liked or didn't like and why. The only way we get better at this is if we find out what works and what doesn't - otherwise, we're just writing to please ourselves. That's cool, too - but then, why bother posting it here?
This post has been edited by Mortuis: Mon Oct 31, 2016 06:52 PM