A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn
The standard, has been set.
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The Standard, is a “unique” hotel in New York.—-> HIGH LINE HOTEL ENCOURAGES NUDE CLIENTELE
Maybe ‘someone’ spent a little to long in were-wolf ‘friendly’ clubs during lunar weeks. And got a little restless and impatient with the whole having to wait till lunar week kicks in, for themselves to get their kicks.
Seems it’s taken a year now, for the media to truly tune in to what they can no longer ignore in the appropriately entitled “meat packing” district.
The New York Post reports about how hotel guests and staff are encouraged to nude up, and well, fuck up, as it were, against the floor to ceiling windows of the hotel. For their own sexual exhibitionism pleasure. As well as others, one would think.
I can tell you right now, whilst I don’t frequent The Standard I do know many a were-wolf who goes there.
It’s about as good as it gets for those of us when we want to be with Nons.
Because you know, whilst were-wolves are encouraged to be with others of their kind for pack structure, growth, survival and blah blah blah. There are still those amongst the Breukelen and other wolf packs I’m sure, that prefer the company of Nons in a sexual playing ground.
The Standard kind of, uh, opens up doors for both sides of New Yorkers. Non-’s get to play with were-wolves; were-wolves get to have sex with them. Everybody gets something.
You know we have a name for people like that.
Scruffies.
Non-’s who deliberately seek out were-wolves for sex, even when not during lunar weeks.
But more often than not you’ll hear some one refer to them as
Coyote Ugly, Paradoxes, furry fuckers, PETA lovers, Omega’s, screechers, Skin coats, Skin walkers, howlers, beef chow mein and beasts. Non-’s prefer to call themselves “Coat warmers” when talking about getting their furry freak on.
Yes believe it or not there are those with furry inclined fetishes. Because if you haven’t guessed it, were-wolf sex, is the best.
Don’t knock it till you’ve knocked boots with it.
Lol.
Tags: beast, Beasts, Coat warmers, freak, furry, lunar week, Meat Packing district, New York, New York Post, Nons, Omega, PETA lover, Scruffies, Sex, The Standard Hotel, were-wolf, wolf
Beloved wolf
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Aimme asked me what my wolf was called.
Noticed that I spoke of the werewolf part of me like ‘she’ is a second person. I told her, the wolf isn’t so much a second person as another aspect of me. Part of my personality, not really, more like part of my genetic biology. You know, that part of you that you can’t fight, never get a say in, that makes you up into who you are.
Yes my wolf, does have a name, it’s a Breukelen name that was given to me when I first shape shifted.
My wolf’s name means Beloved. I was given my name for obvious reasons, mum and dad wanted me to know above all else that I was loved, even if I wasn’t from their tribal lines.
Everyone in my family has a Breukelen name.
We all get names given to us upon the first time we shape shift.
Some were-wolves are able to shape shift from birth. In particular Alpha’s. They end up knowing no different because it’s so inherent in them. So second nature to them, even as pups.
But Beta were-wolves like me tend to shape shift some time in the first five years of our birth. Sometimes, it can even take as long as puberty before the whole ability really kicks in and gets sorted out.
Just depends I guess.
Being a were wolf isn’t exactly an exact thing.
We are tactile in our being and instinctual in our behaviour.
We have no say in being a were-wolf when the lunar week hits. Any other time, we can at least feel like we have a sense of control and understanding of what we’ve been lumped with.
Doing Laundry
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I was doing laundry.
I can be somewhat of a slob sometimes. I tend to end up throwing my clothes aside quite often, and letting them pile up until I have no fresh, clean or whatever I would deem wearable clothes in my wardrobe to wear.
I found one of my tops was torn. A red one.
It always looks great on me. Usually an eye popper, show stopper.
But now I find it’s torn. Well shredded would be more accurate. Not just torn. Two whole sides of it, it looks like claw marks, have torn it from back to just around the front. It’s utterly ruined. It’s not even a top you could pass off as having deliberately meant to be like that. Like a deliberate look of fashion.
Fucking werewolf foreplay.
Doesn’t always have to be rough or rash, but more and more tends to be with me and Conall.
Granted, I like winding him up, pushing him to hold out till he can’t and then that’s when the fun starts. Right before the fur fly’s. Everything he’s feeling just rushes out of him desperately as he tries to consume me in his passion.
It’s like a form of devotion.
Being swept up in his sexual desire for me.
It works, how can I not get swept up in his heat? When his body feels like it’s on fire and his eyes tell me he’s drowning in built up desire. Just by looking at me.
The world drops away and I feel like falling to my knees and clinging to his body. Our breathing syncs and we’re gone. There isn’t anything else but us. That’s when we tend to forget that one off designer tops are hard to come by. Clothing gets torn, forgotten in a momentary bliss of blinded emotion.
It’s all body memory when we reach that place. Common sense and inhibitors go out the window. Werewolves, even locked up inside us, take over the carnal side of control. Fully. They want us to be together, maximum consumption anyway, anyhow.
You could call it a loss of control.
I prefer to call it surrender.
Times like this I feel like he says so much to me without saying a word. The sounds of his breathing, his moans, groans and little sighs of air. They make me aware of his sensuality, as much as where his lips are on me. Or how his hands grip me, where his teeth nip at me.
I liked that top. Really liked it.
Conall liked it too. That’s why it got shredded. He’d been eyeing me all the time in that red top. As if distracted by it’s coloring on me. Hard to not notice and look at.
That top was a favorite of mine.
But then so is Conall and carnal pleasure.
Happy thoughts as my heartbeat picks up.
I think that’s the only time I’ve ever enjoyed doing laundry. Hmmm.
Contending
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Family, you can’t live with them you can’t disown them.
Well, you can actually. And I do, live with them, that is. Some of them. Bodil and Aksel live out of home and Markus is barely ever around. So really it’s just me, Joss, Dad and Annabeth.
But sometimes, even that’s too much. Let me tell you having genetics that make you part animal, make you feel part animal at times. Like you’re caged by the walls that shelter you at home. By the people that protect you.
Being half-breed sure gives meaning to sensation of restlessness, of needing space. Normal life intrudes all the time and you can’t focus on anything else, because you can’t escape the cover of normalacy that keeps your life in order, your identity secret. Your safety in check by it’s mundane rules and expectations that you go through the regular moitions of what you must because you must.
Maybe I’m just pissed off cause in a couple of days it’ll be my birthday. I dunno, I’ve never really enjoyed my birthday.
Then again, were-wolves feel things when there’s no lunar cycle, I mean, part of us is always the wolf, deep, deep down inside. Just lunar weeks make it all incredibly more real. I guess I don’t really acknowledge my wolf when its not a lunar week. I keep her at bay a lot of the time.
Part of that whole secret identity thing I’ve had to deal with my whole life, balancing who you are versus what you are, making you in the end, who you contend with.
Tags: Aksel, Annabeth, family, identity, joss, lunar week, Markus, secret identity, Sommers, were-wolf, wolf
Last night
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Last night, I was desperate to feel his body with mine.
We’d gotten out of the club and we couldn’t wait, didn’t stay as long as we normally would.
Because as the moon gets fuller during the lunar week, we get more affected.
Our sense of control gets inched out further and further. Till you’re barely holding self control together. Well, those of us that fight it, test the limits, it’s like that. Till you can barely stand to function, without just caving in to whatever it is your wolf desires, early release, insatiable hunger, lust. Take your pick.
It prickles at your skin and itches your scalp and makes you sweat profusely as you try to fight your hold on having some time, in this world. Keeping the hours at bay until you have no choice but to shift.
“Need to breath the same air as me.”
His voice was husky and getting gravellier.
We were racing the clock down.
Something we do, sometimes, as it gets deeper into the week of wickedness.
Not much longer till the obvious changes would start kicking in and we would have no control and choice but to shift shape.
Let the were-wolves out.
Hands on each other, roughly pulling. Clothing got torn as he lifted my legs up around his waist. I felt his hips dig in. My back against the cool wall. My skin felt relieved, against it, my chest, feverish against his.
It’s all about touch for were-wolves, we need to feel each other.
Skin to skin, heat and heartbeat, we pulse.
It’s like white noise, you hear nothing but it when you’re in sync with one another.
When it’s so deeply intense, as it with Conall.
When it’s all you can focus on.
When it’s all that you know, will sate your wolf and make the shift far more bearable.
We moved quickly, eagerly and I clung to him, entangling our bodies and racing, as hard and fast as we could. Surrendering to the sensation.
His face hovered above mine.
His breath panted, danced, heatedly across my mouth as he said
“is leath díom tú”
Before consuming me in a kiss that I got lost in, bathed in the light of the Brooklyn moon.
Tags: Brooklyn, conall, desire, gaelic, lunar week, lust, moon heat, moonlight, New York, Sex, Shape-shifting, were-wolf, wolf
We go clubbing
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I told you it was on the first of what’s likely to be forever.
Hmmm.
Obviously there is a lot to talk about, mucho ground to cover.
Aimee want’s to be informed so she can understand where I’m coming from.
I am truly lucky that Aimee’s my friend and she chose to be understanding to get over her initial reaction of anger and hurt and realize there was more to it than the simple fact I’d been keeping my secret from her.
I did say that to her too.
She’s already asking me about Lunar week, the how, the why, the me and Conall sitch, can she meet him?
Can she join me at one of the wolf clubs?
Right.
As if.
No way I’d let her near a wolf club.
Why wouldn’t I let her near a club you ask? Simple.
It’s freak her the shit out.
Seriously, it’d freak most Non-’s out. I don’t know what I was thinking the first time I invited her out. Clearly, I wasn’t. It’s not the smartest move, ever.
Hell, sometimes it can freak me out (depending on which club we end up in, they can be so very, very, different). The clubs are our safe havens and we’re free to express and explore. To enjoy and indulge.
It’s not that the clubs suddenly turn into sex clubs or the like. But they’re a lot more liberating for urban were-wolves than you’d suspect. It was an ingenious idea that got crafted a long time ago. A way for urban were-wolves to deal with the moon heat, moon madness and lunar week.
All three things can individually affect us and are by their names alone, very different.
See, if you’re a country wolf, or you can get time out of your real life for a week, every month of the year, you can plan to go country and deal that way. It’s easier for our country counterparts. There’s open land to run around in, lush landscapes to roam and get lost in. The country’s a very ideal place to be. A hell of a lot less chance of being seen, although by comparison, risk of getting hunted, can be higher.
So as the were-wolf population of generations past, grew and moved further into cities, matter’s had to be dealt with in a whole new light.
Hence, lunar week at the nightclubs.
The various wew-wolf “friendly” clubs set up around New York, make a killing, let me tell you. Figuratively speaking. We spend all our spare time in these clubs because we can, because we need to, because it’s safe, it’s secluded and it beneficial. It helps us out. We’re highly sexed creatures.
Like I said before, there are rules that govern packs.
You can’t just go around shape shifting in public, in the open where someone can see you, for a few reasons, but the biggest one being, when we shift, we loose ourselves.
So you’d want to hope the wolf is in control when it comes too. That it’s been satisfied and sated accordingly. You don’t want an upset angry were-wolf, with emotions of badass, transmorphing tenfold. It’s likely to lead to an attack on a human.
You can’t have one way out of control and out of their mind were-wolf, running around screwing stuff up for the rest of us.
Especially when the rest of us have worked so hard to fit in, have a normal a life as possible.
So we go clubbing. Burn up the energy, sate the mind, and fill the senses. It helps with the shifting that we have to face as the moon get’s fuller each night of the lunar week.
Tags: Aimee, freak out, life, lunar week, lust, moon heat, moon madness, New York, night clubs, Sex, Shape-shifting, were-wolf, wolf
Because it’s tribal
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Lunar week is approaching, so I’ve spoken to Aimee and told her why I do my little routine, so she understands something about me.
That is to say I avoid her and my non friends and I go native, with just the Breukelen. We hit the clubs because it’s tribal and gives us a sense of freedom if we’re amongst our own.
We’re asked to deal with this thing put upon us, from birth and this is how we deal.
It’s evolved into us all creating this amazing atmosphere in the clubs for a week. It’s not always about sex, but it is about feeling. A communal sense of who we are and it’s something, let me tell you, its hot, sweaty, sticky and sweet and rough.
It’s soaking and contagious and wanting and filled with desire.
It’s amazing, to say the least.
Get a room full of were-wolves in heat and you can’t help but be affected! It’s sexy, sensual and essential to the core of what you need, want and lust for.
Try to imagine that when Lunar weeks happen, the moon affects everything in our physical, psychological make up. EVERYTHING.
Feelings are doubled amped up. Sensations are quadrupled. Especially at night when we’re affected the most.
Think of it like this, if you can. You’re horny, you’re feeling desperate for release. Now imagine that feeling maxed out for a good twelve hours or more but you have to go to your job and do whatever it is you do in real life.
In the day time, we’re still affected, imagine you have to concentrate on not letting waves of pleasure shake you. Imagine you have to pretend, everything is fine and normal, because life goes on around you and expects you to behave!
But most of us have been taught ways to cope.
To concentrate on keeping everything, under control. But at night, it’s a different story. The night is ours and we embrace it.
We play in it’s moonlight and we cave in to whatever we crave before the animal inside us, tears its way out of our skin, no longer content to sit back and let the human it wears, drive us.
Utter release, true freedom, with a howl.
Question
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So it doesn’t stop there.
Aimee’s established with me that she’s okay about, things, about us. We can still be friends.
But there are questions, more questions.
Always, with the questions.
She was just being respectful of me considering the news I’d had to deliver that I’m part pet, as well as human.
Her first question to me, was is Lycanthropy a disease?
I say it’s Hollywood’s attempt at movie magic to elicit sympathy for it’s characters. Honestly not trying to be trivial here. But explaining something as ingrained as your identity to someone is hard.
As far as I’m aware of, maybe it started out that way, but from what I’ve always been told and read about it, it’s a gene. A “were”gene. Which has evolved and now somewhere along the lines, the gene has started to regress again.
Because birth rates amongst were-wolves are lower than previous decades. Yes, were-wolves it would appear, are a dying breed, so to speak.
If current birthing trends continue, we will be just another race that breeds out.
Means, I guess, that the only wolves then around, aren’t shape shifters, they are natural born wolves. Just wolves that are animals, you know the ones you see in the wild.
I don’t find it easy to talk about all this stuff, especially when her curiosity just makes me feel like a freak show.
So more Q& A’s later, some other time.
Tags: Hollywood, life, Lycan, questions, relationships, Shape shifter, were-wolf, wolf
Shorty
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Turns out, while I’ve been avoiding having this talk with her, that Aimee’s curiosity has gotten the better of her.
She went all detective on me and she started asking around, making enquiries.
It was simple really, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.
She just started off where we left off. She started with The Reflex. She just asked a few questions about that night. Staff there just told her what they tell everyone who enquires. For a certain week of the month, lunar week, the club has a strict membership only policy. That’s they’re standard line. I’ve heard it before.
What they wouldn’t have told her is the membership is designed for wolves to be able to come out and play, and keep everything under control without hurting anyone. Of course there are a select few humans allowed around, but they have to be guests vouched for by at least two wolves. They become the wolves responsibility in the club.
All she had to hear was the word “Lunar” and she made the connection easily enough.
“So you’re a Lycan?” She asked me outright, without blinking or taking her eyes off my face.
My less than stellar response “Uh, we just call ourselves were-wolf’s.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
How do I answer that one? It’s a damn good question.
“Self preservation.” I said the words before I even realized I said it.
“You mean, you didn’t trust me enough, to tell me this important thing about you.” Aimee fired back angrily.
No.
“We’ve been friends for five years . Five years! I would have thought you’d have figured out, I could be trusted. Have I ever done anything for you to not trust me?”
No.
“To think I would ever deliberately hurt you?”
No.
“Do you find such little value in our friendship that you can’t share this with me, when I tell you everything about my life?”
No.
“Where you ever going to tell me?”
No.
Suddenly I’m realizing something I didn’t think of before, this really isn’t about Breukelen Girl werewolf, freak. It’s about her and who I am, to her. Does this rock the foundations of some image of me she’s built up in her head? I think it does. We sat in awkward silence for a good three minutes. Which stretched out, felt like forever in a room of tension. Till I broke it.
“If the situation were reversed what would you have done?”
Her face went pink. Her mouth tightened.
Yeah, I thought the same.
“I’m hurt that you kept this from me.”
“Why? It’s not like I go around telling everyone I’m friends with, hey once a month I turn into a howling fur ball because I have no say in the matter. So don’t hunt down any wild stray dogs, it might be me in disguise.
“That’s so not the point.”
“Then what is?” I yelled at her, not realizing I’d raised my voice until she kind of looked at me with surprise. I’ve never been the loose your temper type of person. But if you’re going to be under attack for being who you are, you may as well get to the heart of the problem and roaring at someone kind of gets there faster.
“Does this change who I am?”
No!
“Strawberry ice-cream with real strawberries is still my favorite, I still enjoy listening to punk-rock music, watching bad reality TV shows, and I’m still sleeping with Conall, I still have no car, I still live at home with my parents, and I’m still only five foot eight inches tall.”
She cranked an eyebrow up at me.
Just the one.
“So it doesn’t give you any special powers to speak of?”
“Well there are benefits. Heightened hearing, night vision, accurate sense of smell, tracking abilities, speed, accelerated healing for health problems. Fast metabolism, Higher immunity to most health problems…it varies from wolf to wolf, depending on whether you’re a beta or an Alpha, pack lines your come from, that kind of thing… same as with human races, really…”
“But you’re still only five foot eight?”
I stared at her. Hard.
“That’s what you got out of all that?”
She was starting to smile.
I let out a heavy breath and felt some tension leave my body. Shook my head as I tried to hide a laugh. I was holding onto reservation about feeling like things were going to be good between us.
“Say it. Say the thing.”
“What?”
She was smirking at me. Totally diffusing my try hard build up of defensive anger.
Aimee’s five foot nine and there’s this thing she always says to rile me up, when we’re comparing body issues and the like.
“Okay, being tall is everything.”
Big smug smile at me.
“Are we good here? Considering your height challenging statement’s authority on matters of everything?” I asked.
“Yeah, Shorty, we’re good.”
Tags: Aimee, Alpha, friends, friendship, Hard Talk, life, Lycan, People, relationships, Shorty, The Reflex, were-wolf, werewolf, wolf
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Altijd Breukelen- I’m a Breukelen. Altijd.
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