A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

After dusk | May 29, 2010

The thing about being a werewolf in today’s modern age, is balance.
Knowing how to balance all the aspects of who you are with what you are.

I mean, the werewolf has needs that you, the human you, has to accommodate in some usually, alternative way.

It’s a weird thing, knowing your baser nature is really, literally and figuratively, animalistic and that that’s ingrained, instinctual and unrelenting. There will always be a need to be the werewolf, to shape shift to your tribal form, and to an extent, do things that the werewolf wants to do.

After recent events, Paris thought it a good idea that we get some perspective. Get some balance and realign ourselves with who we are as well as each other. In other words, we were getting rid of the bad feelings, negativity and stress. We were going to indulge in being werewolves, the way werewolves should be. The way they used to be, before concrete cities took over the landscapes.

We drove out to the Appalachians for this reason.

A mountain range that stretches throughout New York and other states, into Canada, is the perfect area for a free fur romp with nature. Plenty of room for running, stretching our hind legs, for feeling free and forgetting about the rest of life for awhile.

A mini-escape from reality was needed and Paris was the one to lead the charge for us, to recharge.

We park the car and walk into the mountain range with army green packs. A subtle camouflage for us to ditch our clothes in. Even though there are more in Paris’s car, should they be needed.

The problem with shape shifting in the open, or public places like this is of course, one of the most basic things you could encounter. People. We have to be naked to shape shift.

Sure you can do it with clothes on, but don’t expect to get your clothes back in any wearable piece. They get shredded and torn and ruined completely. Besides, if you’re wearing them when you start the shape shifting process, you may find they restrict you and then you lose focus and you can get the body mechanics into all kinds of stupid trouble then. Which can be rather humiliating.

So it’s easier with nudity.

Of course, then we have to consider the whole, ‘other people’ part of the equation. As in, ‘other people’ might see you being nude. Generally speaking in one way or another, that causes problems too. So we do the sensible thing, bring a pack to hide our gear in, then stash our pack out of the way, hope it doesn’t get found by some trail hiker who then thinks some poor walker’s gone missing and…well you get the picture.

So we start off on a walking trail and when no one is around, wander off it, into undergrowth, until we’re sure we are far enough out of sight that we can no longer see the path.

Of course, there’s no point in rushing the nudity part unless of course, you are in an absolute hurry and on a deadline for some reason. But we’re not. We’re just a guy and a girl outdoors, exploring. Each other. And then shape shift and go for a run, through the ranges. Of course, the best time to do all this is after dusk has settled. The more we have the cover of darkness, the freer we can be out there, with one another. Darkness of night is a great equalizer like that.

Paris puts a finger to my lips, silencing me with it as I rest my back against a tree.

He starts with my top half and unbuttons my cardigan and quickly slides it down and off my arms. He lets the material drop carelessly to the ground. His fingers brush under the edge of my t-shirt, tantalizing the skin there with the lightest of touches. Before his hands slid up to cup my breasts through my bra. He pushes the t-shirt up and pulls it off over my head, and again, it floats away from covering me. Hiding me from him. He sighs heavily and looks down at me. With a deft flick of a finger, the front catch on my bra springs open. Then it too is gone. He moans lightly as he looks at me.

Still, he continues to just look and feel.

His hands move around to the waist band of my skirt, tickling me as they go around me to find the back zip in the material and unzip the skirt. Still I remain quiet. We were alone there in the dark, with nothing but nature surrounding us and the slow ebbing sounds of night time coming to life.

I can hear Paris’s heart beat thumping as he slides the skirt down over my hips, letting it fall where it may. His eyes linger over my underwear for a split second before he hooks a finger under them too and sends them down to join the skirt.

The softest of sighs, a moment of restrained pleasure sounds in the night air and he drops to his knees before me.

The man is focused, on me.

Then is mouth is on me and mine opens automatically to let out a light sigh at the instant pleasure I’m receiving for being so utterly complacent. His tongue strokes me and my hands fist and then reach to grip, air, clenching and unclenching, searching the tree either side of me, for a handle, a grip, something to help me keep upright and stable. Something to hold onto as Paris indulges me, in me. Something to hold to distract my mind from wanting to start making loud noises of extreme gratitude for my oncoming orgasm.

I don’t know how I stay upright, when I want to buck up off that tree, when my legs want to buckle and my stomach tightens. When my hands ended up in Paris’s hair, twisting and holding him there. When I bit my lip so hard to silence myself it starts to bleed.

When reality returns to my brain, I’m resting against Paris who is grinning like a big bad werewolf, that parent’s really should warn their daughters about. So proud of himself. Somewhere in the aftermath of my climatic haze, he’s cuddled me to him, so I don’t sink, bonelessly to the ground.

“Ready for a run now?” Paris asks me.

I frown looking at him, still fully clothed. “What about you?”

“This Manhattan Maen wolf will take his fill when he see’s his favourite Breukelen wolf.”
Ahh, so that’s the plan.
Hope we’ve still got the energy then for the run afterwards.

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