A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn


October 24, 2010
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On the night of the full moon, all the werewolf knows is that release will come. Freedom will elope the form of it’s cage. One soul into another and then there is just the wolf.

The moon’s presence will strum along my skin, prickling it, testing it, taunting inside me, with a fiery blood that wants to surge to delight.

It’s the touch of another, wolf, my packmate Paris that abates this for me and fuels the urgency to shape shift.

There will come a crucial point in the night, when I can not hold back any longer. When I know, my body will break, if I do not succumb to the shape shift.

So we do what we must. We tease and coax one another. Because what better way is there to come into our own? It’s fun, it’s enjoyable, it’s eventual. It makes the process of the shape shift smoother.

The night after full moon, and sometimes, it still feels the same to me. I still feel the urge, the need, but my body doesn’t command me without choice. But it doesn’t mean I won’t play under the moonlight, in the embrace of it’s pressence.

The best part of lunar week, is the indulgence. The sense of escape. Burning hot with everything, that you control and slowly rid yourself of. Shackled heavily with heightened sensations and emotions.

The lust in the air is so thick it could be considered stifling, if I didn’t like the sensation of being wrapped in it. The werewolf population will ride out a lunar week, as long as they can. It’s our fun time.

The tip of a tongue trails down the back of my neck slowly.

Jules finishes speaking beside me and Paris mummers “Mmhm” against my skin then pulls away to answer Jules. I’m sitting in front of Paris, closest to Jules, as the boys lean back behind my shoulder line to talk.

Werewolves are used to close confines, to being around one another when they’re dripping in moon heat, lunar lust. But it’s the small touches, innocent enough, that set me off.

It’s familiar that pack wolves do this, rub and touch against one another. Regardless of who they are.

Jules doesn’t mean it, but my brain is elsewhere having very naughty thoughts, as the two men behind me, talk, their heads close together.

Jules’s finger tips, rest right at the side of my thigh. Just touching, barely touching. Resting on the seat we all sit on. His shoulder, brushes against me as he holds his conversation behind my back.

I have no idea what they’re talking about, I haven’t been paying attention to that. My mind is firing on touch, scent and building want. Still. I need my fill, again.

I need to get a grip.

I pick up my champagne. The cool glass is heaven to touch and gives me enough focus again, to drag my mind out from the after glow of two and half days of having the Manhattan Maen Alpha all to myself.

It doesn’t matter that we’re back in the thick of pack again, because when the evening closes down on us all, I will have him again. And that’s what keeping me patient right now. As Paris’s hand slips under one side of my dress and around my leg. I find myself moving my leg slightly, more open for him.

Encouraging him to do what I think he’s going to do, right there under Jules nose, out of sight, under the table. Because he can sense my relentless want to keep this fire between us going.

You see it’s the touches. Small touches, that burn, drive and sate us. It’s the small touches, his touches on me, my touch against him, that contain, control and release, us, and our werewolves.

Crest the night

September 25, 2010

There’s a Santana song playing somewhere near us, throughout the night, I recognize it, even as I’m distracted by Paris who’s just as eager as I am, that there’s no softness. No slow teasing and delaying now. Not tonight.

“I really thought you wanted Aaron’s blood.”

We’re under a moonlight night sky, the only place I feel I belong in this world without question, under a moonlight night and in Paris’s embrace.

“I did.” My hands slide up his chest. Committing the touch of him to memory.
“But I was practicing that thing, what’s the word for it…” I pretend to think about this as my lips race over his neck. “Control.”

Paris laughs lightly and my hands keep skimming over his chest. “When you asked me what I wanted to do to him, what I told you, was exactly what I wanted to do to him.” Paris flicks my hair out of the way and kisses me hard and breaks apart, panting heavily.

“I was letting you, you know.”

I know he was. I know that, but my wolf doesn’t. She wants out of me, has made me restless, angsty and frustrated since being denied the opportunity to let loose on Aaron. As much as my wolf side wanted the blood. I’d have hated myself afterwards. That guy was rude. It’d be like having a regretful one night stand I’d be unable to wash out of my mind. That was why I didn’t take the pass Paris was giving me.

Paris pulls me to him.

His mouth on mine and we’re shutting out the rest of the world. Whatever there is of it outside under the night sky. We belong here, together, with each other, for each other. We’re good together, real good. His arms lift me so he can guide me onto him.

That craving for blood and flesh is still there, I still flash back and recall the scent of it. With delightful ease. It’s like having a craving. Wanting candy and not acting on it, but wanting it all the same. I’ve been running an obsessive replay of it like play of the day in my head, over and over again. Lunar week and when a thought as erotic as allowing my true werewolf self to be out and about, doing primal stuff like licking up human blood is in there, it’s hard to think about much else. Kind of fuels my stupid restlessness.

Paris is helping me build a rhythm between us and all I want is harder, deeper and faster. As I try to eradicate that sensory overload of blood fuelling my brain’s memory. My wolf’s need. There’s a Feeling like I’m being turned inside out with sanity. Want to ride this night out, till I’m completely weak and sated of every bit of energy I’ve got coursing under my skin. To my mind grey’s out.

Paris’s hands move from my hips, to my ass and he groans deep in the back of his throat. We move with desperation, urgency. Driving need to touch, be touched, to enjoy and reach heights of passion that are there to be indulged in and not drawn out. Now is not the time for control. Time to let it go, give it up and forget about it, to really find the release this werewolf is craving as the moon heightens every fibrous being inside and out of me. Survival by any means necessary when the sensors are overloading me and my passion is swamping me.

Heat. Lust. Love. Blood. Sex. Moonlight. Rush, rush rush. Crest the night, hold tight.

I throw back my head, my hair flying out behind me and slapping down my back as I howl myself into the night air along with Paris’s underneath me. And the echo of our howling, lingers on the air before we relax, into each other.

Heated panting, heart beats drumming, as the temperature around us simmers from our body heat and I close my eyes, my mind preparing to shape shift so the werewolf in me, can come out and play.

My Wolf

May 28, 2010
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In the dim light of the bedroom, we move together. Silent and eager for reconnection and touch. Outside the shutters, the wind whips the trees and cast elongating shadows into the room, flickered by moonlight.

Paris’s hands on my hips, his breath matching my own, before his mouth finds the skin of my neck and licks along the length of it as I arch further back towards him. Limited time for the good stuff before the shape shifting has to begin. But we were doing the best we can, given the short time span we have to be together like this again.

His hips dig in further, deeper into me as I sigh lightly at the touch of him inside me. Why hadn’t I wanted this before now? How could I possibly be without this? Passion is befuddling if anything. It sweeps you up and lets you coast along and makes you forget all other stuff, like sensibility. Reasoning. Or maybe it just puts it all into perspective. It has no problem drowning you in it, because while you’re drowning, you’re the happiest you’ve ever been. It’s all you know and all you want to consume.

“My wolf.” He growls his voice getting huskier, into my ear, before nipping it with his still human teeth. “My wolf.”

And we keep moving.

His reaction to the words he says outloud is to pick up the pace even more. He likes saying those words and I like hearing them and being them.

When we’d gotten back to Paris’s place, I’d barely been clothed. Paris had pretty much stripped me in the doorway as he was unlocking the front door. Pesky house keys, delaying us, ever so slightly in our rush for gratification, and make up sex. Guess that’s why I was partially covered, by his jacket around my shoulders.

“Your wolf.” I grunt as my body soars and I start drowning in a haze of feelings that fill me. I’m wanted, I’m loved, and I belong. All with this werewolf behind me.

This werewolf is the one I should be focused on, the one that made my insides do flip flops in a good way. The one that made me really smile, the one that would be mine and mine alone.

It’s all he could handle, those two words. The touch of me beneath him, around him, with him. As he throws his head back and howls, a very wolf noise into the dim light, echoing around the room. From a human male body that is making love to me. A howl of joy and possession. A howl of happiness and unity.
A howl for me, because of me.

I’d howl too, but it’s hard when you’re breathless and I don’t want to wake the neighbors, if Paris hadn’t already. Normally he’s the one in control. Not the other way around.

“I want to shape shift with you now.” He mutters tiredly happy, flinging his arm across me as we disentangle.

I roll my head to the side, trying to get my breathing back under control, looking at him, laying on his back. He has a big grin over his face. His eyes closed, his chest rising and falling quickly.

He doesn’t have to.

Paris doesn’t technically, physically or even remotely have to want to shape shift until full moon. That would be the night he couldn’t resist. But he wants to complete this with me. A proper connection, a real reunion of us together. He wants to shape shift because I need to. He wants to do it for me, with me, to be with me in my true form. Because he loves that form, and that wolf as much as he loves the werewolf woman still panting on her back, entangled in the sheets on his bed.

“My wolf.” I mutter back at him.

The night is young

May 24, 2010
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I stand up to leave and Conall shoots up beside me just as quickly.

“Stay.” He says kind of softly. I almost believe it’s a plea.

I pause before I look at him, noting his friend with the drinks tray heading towards us. Along with Davey and some skank who’s eyes are flickering from me to Conall and back again.

She looks un-amused, even though she’s dressed like a total whore to capture everyone and anyone’s attention in the club. Werewolves, never afraid to flaunt themselves. Part of the sexual liberation we have I guess.

I still think she’s a skank.

I turn to look at Conall.

“I got you a drink.” He says nodding head towards the oncoming gang reunion. Davey is practically growling at me.

Guess Davey’s none to amused about seeing me and Conall in such close proximity again. Last time we were this close, we were a fur breath’s way from having a full on physical dominance fight at his party. Maybe he hasn’t forgiven me for standing my ground like you should and not being a cowering she wolf. Maybe he doesn’t think I’m worthy of being there or being next to Conall.

Well fuck him.

“I’m outta here.” I respond and start walking straight towards Davey and co. I can see him tense up as I move.

Fuck Davey, he flatters himself if he thinks I want to bitch slap him around on a lunar night.

I’ve got better things to do, even if it does involve just me alone with my own body. I’m normally not so easily affected by lunar nights, until it gets closer to full moon. But I’m not immune to lust and I can see temptation in the club and that’s enough to stir up my wolf and make me think of what I could be having with Paris right now, If I hopped the subway to Manhattan and maybe begged him to put me out of my sexual misery.

“Let me walk you home.” Conall offers falling into step beside me as we pass Davey, the skank and drinks boy.

“Werewolf remember? I’m the scary thing that goes bump in the night and there are no dark alleyways on my way home.” I keep heading for the front of the club. My heart beat is beginning to pick up. Bit like my pace.

“Still, two werewolves are better than one.” He says walking beside me as we exit the club.

“I’d ask for what but I don’t want to know the answer.” I reply as we hit the sidewalk and start walking in the brisk night air.

The sensation of moonlight hits us, even though the moon is not yet at it’s highest peak for the evening.

You can tell these types of things when you’re a born werewolf. It’s like a natural intuition linked to your biology. It feels like excitement being stretched out in every muscle of your body. Taking you further and further to the edge of whatever it is you’re looking for to complete the ride. Which reminds me about Conall.

He needs to shape shift tonight, he’s always had to shape shift every night of the lunar week. Unlike me.

So why’s he out walking me home instead of making out with some skank wolf in the clubs, getting ready for the shift?

My eyes flicker over to him and look away again as we walk on in silence beside each other.

Conall the werewolf being Conall the good wolf. Showing me he’s not sleeping around on a lunar night, walking me home like old times. And I feel restless, edgy, that’s why I decided I wanted out of that club. Conall’s like a pressure on that edge that I don’t want.

Oh this is not good. Not good at all.

And the nights young.

Werewolves under moonlight

April 28, 2010
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When werewolves of today, such as myself shape shift during lunar week, it’s usually done indoors. I shape shift because of my werewolf biology that balances with my human side. My body has a compelling need to be something much more free than the whole human part of me.

Shape Shifting for me is mostly done in the company of others and I do it indoors. Mostly because it’s what I’ve conditioned myself, my wolf self to put up with. Because I live in a city. Which is about as natural to a werewolf as a desert is to Eskimos.

It’s a natural progression throughout time and our history that werewolves would evolve from beasts of the forests to counterparts of the urban city jungle. But there’s something to be said for being outdoors in werewolf form. It’s somewhat of a luxury and for me and mine.

There’s a sense of natural instinct and train of thought for the werewolf when its on solid ground, sniffing at dirt and animal scents on the cool night air. The feel of grass and dew underfoot is somewhat of an indulgence. Whenever I shape shift outdoors it’s like a new experience. It’s exciting. Probably because I don’t really do it all that often. After all, the New York werewolf packs have a big, old, golden rule about not shape-shifting in public, in front of humans.

Can’t freak the dears out.
Or get caught on video and become a you tube star.

Still some of us *whistles innocently* on “occasion”, get the urge to be one with our wolf outdoors. It’s these kinds of urges that a werewolf should not ignore. Because being a werewolf requires more than a semblance of self control. Bad shit can happen to you, those around you if you allow yourself to become feral and wild without true thought. And nobody wants to deal with the bad stuff. Just ruins the party.

If I were in Manhattan and felt the need to run and romp, I ‘might’ head out and hideout around Central Park, fairly late at night. Or if I were in Brooklyn, I’d probably sight prospect park as good place to get in tune with my natural self. The parks have a few hundred acres of nature and woodland for us to sniff and whiff around and enjoy under the cover of darkness at night.

Paris and I were making out under a tree, like a couple of hormonal teenagers, as we roughly yanked and pulled clothing off one another. The mixture of night time, a sense of urgency as the moon rose higher, made him harder and me hotter as we kept the contact of one another together. I straddled his lap and he eased me down as his mouth consumed sensitive skin that tightened against the cold night air. I was oblivious to the feel of cold, because the heat he was generating, was like pouring fuel onto an already full fire, that was my body.

We moved, hurriedly and Paris bit his lip, hard, to keep quiet. We didn’t want to attract any attention, human or wolf alike. We wanted to mate outdoors, in the comfort of night and under the essence of the full moon. Before we shape shifted and wandered around the park. For us, being so carefree and outdoors, doing the things we would do indoors at nightclubs was like the equivalent of being at Disneyland.


We moved together with a synchronicity of werewolves who were fated together in this life and every other. His body warmed and encouraged mine, as I increased the pace of our fevered outdoor adventure. We’d decided to sneak away from the regular club scene, for the last part of the night. The latest part of the night as we could make it, before I would shape shift first, before him. I always felt the pull of the moon and the shape shift much earlier than he did. Just how it is being a beta werewolf.

Paris warned we couldn’t be out in the parkland all night long. He said only an hour or two. Which would mean, he would need to bring me out of my shape shift later on so I could get redressed and humanized to leave the park, or he’d have to carry my furry rump out of their without looking like he was kidnapping a wolf. Either was, it was apparent he was trying to be the Alpha leader he was meant to be. To do the right thing, and not get caught. But he was also trying to please his pack mate, me by allowing me to indulge in our little down in the dirt, romp. I think he found the risk of getting caught, exciting.

Typical adrenaline junkie. It’s all about the rush. Who was I to complain? I was loving the ride and of course the illicit secrecy of what we were getting away with. My body was suddenly seized by building pleasure racking it. I gasped, throwing my head back, my hair flying out around the back of me like a wave of night itself. Paris could no longer contain his quiet and he cried out, his voice filling the otherwise silent air as he joined me in riding out the sensation of our being together. We could no longer hold back our pleasure or wanted to. Paris howled , filling the night around us as I slackened in his embrace and rested my head on his pounding chest.

The feel of his heart, thudding against his skin. A sound of something that’s mine. Telling me it was racing to met the moon, as it had met me, made me smile.

Werewolves under moonlight, is there anything sexier?

21 grams of moonlight

March 19, 2010
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I read an article the other day from the online newspaper Fortean Times that screamed “Where have all the werewolves gone?” as it’s headline.

My first thought was rather automatic – Twitter, dude, twitter. We’re social creatures as well as, creatures of the moonlight and supernatural world. You’d be surprised who you can find lurking around in the twitter-verse.

But then the article’s sub heading-tag line thing kicked in – Did the arrival of Darwin’s theory of evolution put paid to wide-spread belief in half- human creatures?

Then I really, felt the need to speak back to this article. On behalf of the half-breeds.

Assistant Professor, Brian Regal states – there are no werewolf-hunting organisations. So – where have all the werewolves gone?

First of all, if you were part of a werewolf hunting organisation (and I seriously hope your NOT) do you think this would be a publicly advertised organisation? think about it for a moment.

Werewolves like the Breukelen pack and Manhattan Maen, the Bronx Brown wolves and the like, are well integrated into today’s society. Which speaks volumes for the love and understanding that people give us. We’re a part of it and we do our part. Just because we’re a werewolf, doesn’t mean we aren’t entitled to live our lives in the open with the rest of society.

Secondly, if there is an organisation for such hunting, don’t you think by publically announcing said organisation that would in fact make the organisation in question, perhaps, a target for retaliation from those they were hunting – the werewolves? It wouldn’t be a smart move.

Werewolves are not idle creatures, as much as Taylor Lautner and co might make us look that way. Hunters are not ones for grand standing, unless something gets in their way. They have the mindset of being focussed and intent. So they don’t necessarily need to be an organisation as such. Just a collection is enough.

Besides, those who are werewolf hunters, well lets just say, they ain’t like your average duck shooting, deer hunter. No it takes a whole other devious mind set to go after a werewolf.

We have been known to be sport and in some cases, are still considered as such. Not everyone likes us. Not everyone believes in the legends, and almost all who hunt my kind, have a reason that is always, in their mind, justified to their cause, or action, as more than casual sport.

Regal, goes on to say that various social ideals put to rest reality’s existence of the werewolf due to, mainly, Charles Darwin’s theory on natural selection.

Well clearly Brian, you don’t get out much. I’m still here, and believe me, I know plenty of werewolves, and they know plenty of werewolves and whilst we might not go running around the streets in full tribal form, snapping at the jaw and howling at the moon, it doesn’t mean we haven’t become more savvy in our own existence.

Seriously, think outside the square dude. Past lives have paved the way in our history for changes in our dealings with our animal nature. Give us some credit for ingenuity and street smarts.

Besides, Darwin wasn’t exactly the most unbiased man to talk on the subjects of werewolves, since he was probably a Lycan to begin with. Didn’t you read my previous post on this?

The article goes on to write about theological debates over whether the human soul could become bestial.

First of all, you’re assuming all humans, are given a soul. Just one soul.

Secondly, you don’t know what a soul, is, literally/physically what is this concept that we all carry from birth?

Thirdly, when a werewolf shape shifts, to its tribal form, it’s like opening the door for the animal side of them to come to the front. Everything changes and blends, one to the other and gives us the end result of whatever it is, that makes that werewolf up individually.

So if humans have souls, is it not fair to think that animals too have souls?

Otherwise how do you explain the social nature and personality of many domesticated pets, like cats and dogs? Is this dependence on humans because of their souls too? Surely it’s not just behavioural because if you take out the human concept, they act, as if they were us, on some level, which contributes to their co-dependant existence with us.

So if animals have souls, does that make them beasts? and by beasts or saying a soul becomes bestial is that implied evil? Werewolves are not necessarily evil as most beasts are not. More often than not, they are misunderstood or feared.

So what if the werewolf, as a hybrid being, in fact has two souls? That of the human half and that of it’s animal nature?

Or if not, then surely the soul given to humans is far more advanced than given belief. Perhaps it’s purpose is to ‘provide’ its integration into Werewolves, lycans and shape-shifters and other beings, not 100% human.

It could be said, that when human souls truly become bestial, they are the ones that turn out to be the psycho serial killers, leaders with unlimited power. Those that see genocide of races and people for death for just being, like Idi Armin, Stalin and Adolf Hitler, who come, very much from the human world.

Or do we refer to bestial in it’s simplest form, that is to say, just an animal soul, doing what it must as any soul must, to survive and exist?

So do beasts, werewolves, get their 21 Grams of worthiness – ie, a soul, bestowed upon them too? Or is that just moonlight we feel course through us on a full moon?

Well if the werewolf is part human and we’re all given one from creation/birth then you’d have to imagine that it is there. Which would mean, the body found a way to handle the human and the werewolf and co-exist in the one body.

Regal goes on to write, towards the end of his article, “Admittedly, this thesis about the demise of the werewolf has its flaws. Darwin and evolution did not banish belief in werewolves completely”.

Of course not. Darwin was a smart man, although it doesn’t take a genius to know you shouldn’t piss off a werewolf or it’s pack if you expect to live a long life!

To quote David Bowie “Is it any wonder, I reject you first?”

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New York Moon

February 25, 2010
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The New York Moon is high, and staring down at us. The sound of traffic is like an urban harmony.

Not too loud, but never quiet. Always someone going somewhere, a honk of horn, a whistle for attention, the echo hollow of heels on pavement like a tattoo drumming its way down the sidewalk.

Always some kind of ambient noise in the night. And it’s early, the wolves of new York haven’t even started to howl yet. We left the strip club because on a lunar night, it’s just too easy to bait the wolf inside. Really, it’s like a perverse kind of pleasure.

Make yourself as horny as can be, and watch your pack mate do the same, turn each other on. Without even touching or saying a word.

Being around naked bodies, that do the most graceful movements that are designed to tantalize this kind of thinking…well, you see were I’m going with this? Then unleash yourself onto one another when you can no longer bear to be in control.

My body quivers with need, and touch to it is like instant pleasure because my body just drips in sexual need on nights like these.

The way Paris looks at me, would make anyone watching or silent exchange of heated looks, blush from their toes to their face. Pheromones coat the air and this is what it’s like to be wrapped up in a base pleasure.

A wildly wanton urge that’s only ever going to be sated by the Alpha male before me.

I think he’s desperate.
I think he wants his fill.
I think I’m it.

Neither of us has said a word to one another since before we left the club.

He pulls me around the corner and into a darkened, closed, doorway. We’re out of sight from the immediate view of the street around us.

“You think you’re going to do me here?” I taunt him. He stops inches from my neck, which he was about to ravage and I watch him fight for that leash of control he wields most of the time, so tightly and well. He pulls back and looks at me expectantly.

“You’re not going to do me here.” I smile at Paris, pushing off the door and walking back out around him.

I hear him swear in a low voice. Something rather crude in French if I’m not mistaken. But I think it was directed at himself though, for falling so easily into his own desires and caving in to the lust that’s rising in him.

Which makes the wolf inside, not just restless, edgy. Dangerously edgy. He prefers it when I’m the one that’s the closest to the edge of desire and he’s in control. He walks back over to me and we continue on our way. It’s not that far to his place.

If we can make it back in one piece. If the two wolves inside us can stop fighting ourselves and the attraction to one another long enough, to let us get back to his place.

He signals for a cab so we can get there faster. Get where we really want to be. Only, I’m in a ‘mood’you see, I want to play.

And I’m straddling his lap and pushing my warm, soft body against his. Unbuttoning his shirt and licking his collar bone. Grazing his neck with my teeth.

He tells me later on, the cabbie kept glancing in the mirror at us. But we didn’t put on a full show. Not then, not there. Finally, he truly gets me alone and I’m beginning to think by the look in those dark blue eyes, that maybe, I’m at his mercy.

Because the look in those midnight cobalt eyes tell me Paris is really, ready to play now and perhaps I shouldn’t have pushed him.

We fall back on the bed and one of my high heels falls off my foot I kick the other off loosely as he’s suddenly looming above me, over me and I realize I’ve gone to far back on the bed and my head is hanging back over the far edge, so it can’t rest on anything.

But it exposes my neck perfectly to him. And he starts kissing me, fast, hungrily and under my jaw and I realize I’m about ready to start begging for more contact. And he pulls away. Leaves my neck cold and bare and bereft of his touch.

I lift my head to look back up and over at him. He’s pulling at his shirt, getting it off his body as quickly as he can. The way his muscles move as he rips the clothing haphazardly from his skin, is like, grace. And I find myself automatically clenching my thighs and holding my breath. When the shirt is gone, the rest of his clothing falls and follows.

He is magnificent. A dark sculpted silhouette against the night sky behind him.

Paris opens the blinds to the bedroom so the room is filled with the light of moonlight. I sigh, Paris growls with a little smile on those lush lips.

Accentuated playfulness twinkles in his eyes and I’m beginning to think we’re in for a long, slow, memorable night ahead.

I hope my skin bruised those lips, made them puffy from moving so quickly over me, as to tantalize my memory and deny my body it’s craving of him.

The man smolders before me, as the night backlights him. His hands on those narrowed hips, staring down at me. Contemplating my fate. Making him seem even more tantalizing, dangerous to me.

I want to kiss the moonlit outline of his body. See if I can taste moonbeams on his skin, smell the scent of his wolf bathed in the night time glow.

This last thought has my wolf getting happy. I can feel the sensation of her pacing. Waiting for me to leap at the Alpha male before me. Telling me to literally, jump his bones.

He senses my need and can probably scent the wolf inside, so close to the surface of me. It’s like a double dosed aphrodisiac.

Before I can rush him, he grabs my ankles and yanks me across the bed, back towards him, so I slide across it. But as I do I move with liquid speed, that us werewolves can posses. And I’m up in his arms, against his chest, as we fall back towards the wall, nearest the widow.

And it’s on, between us.

Mouths and lips and skin and heat. Hands and fingers, and hips grinding and my clothing tearing and falling and we’re rushing one another. Because we no longer need to hold back, want to hold back.

Somewhere in the rush I get turned about and put on the widow ledge. I can feel the moon light dancing across the back of me, as my legs wrap around Paris’s hips and we move together quickly.

It’s a sensual soft heat, radiating against my skin, a stark contrast to the feverish touch of his chest, pushing against my chest. His legs slapping against my skin.

I bite back a moan and he tells me to howl for him. Howl into the New York night.

Moonlight & a bad shape-shift

November 30, 2009
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I felt a rush across my body as the night air hit my burning skin, and arched my back upwards, as far as it would go, gasping, as if taking in air for the first time.

Moonlight sears me.

Arms grabbed a hold of tightly. I knew those arms, the strength in them, the warmth from them, was almost nothing against the fever that was ravaging my body and burning me up from the inside out.

“Can you hear me sweetheart?”

My eyes rolled backwards and flickered back and forth. I was trying to focus on the voice. The sound of him. I was trying to see him. But my body was just not letting me.

It’s what happens when you’re in a loosing battle, fighting a shape-shift, you don’t want to happen.

“She’s gonna shift man.”

Another male voice said. It sounded familiar too, but I couldn’t be sure. Couldn’t be sure of anything when I was loosing control from within myself.

My temperature was only rising more. How long till I would be boiled in my own skin? Sweat poured off my body. And I began to feel the first stirrings of my skin moving. Preparing for the shape-shift.

If you were observing it, it would be like a shimmer of sorts across my skin with the quickness of the movement. That’s before the bones break and the muscles tear.

My shoulders rolled forward. I felt those strong arms lay me out on the front stoop of my house. I recognised the scent of the family home.

“Must have been the moonlight, look,” the second voice said again.

Not the voice of the person the arms belonged to, I knew that much. Not that I knew what was happening to me, how I came to be fighting a shape-shift, only my first instinct was to fight it, hope I could hold it at bay.

“It’s in prime position now.”

I groaned as my shoulders seemed to collapse. The snapping of bones breaking and re-aligning themselves, was deafening in my own ears.

A small sound not unlike a whimper came from my lips, I was loosing sight as my eyes continued to flutter, rolling back and forth.

I couldn’t stop it.

I thrashed about I caught up in some sort of soft material. My legs kicked out automatically.

A werewolf’s growl could be heard by me and them. My shape-shift had to be close to completely itself.

“You know, I don’t know your tribal name yet. I guess you were going to tell me when you’re ready, like when you’ll share a shape-shift with me.” He said.

The werewolf was thrashing, tearing at the material draped over it, but letting me, part of me retain some semblance of memory of recognition.

“Addison, lock those gates now.” His voice said softly. “No sudden movements or she might try to bolt or rip my throat out, neither of which is appealing to me.”

A small part of me, stuck in here, knows that voice is Paris’s. But it’s getting consumed by the werewolf tearing me up.

Then for the briefest of time, I felt everything and nothing, sound left me then it rushed at me, in heightened stereo as the shape-shift completes.

He said it

August 13, 2009
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There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls.

– George Carlin

Last night

August 4, 2009
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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.

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