A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn


June 16, 2010
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When important things happen in your life, you catalogue them internally. There are instant reactions and sensations that your body does that make them, that much more memorable to you.

When I spied Vargr, the world pretty much stopped on it’s axis. I mean, I didn’t hear a sound for a good twenty seconds. I was so focused on him.

I could barely remember what he looked like, because the mugging had happened so swiftly with movement and motion. I’d never got a clear look at his face, or a lock on his scent because of the adrenaline surging through me. Because I’d been reacting.

It was the sight of him and the realization, that I was finally catching up to my mistake. That’s what had me frozen beyond all other comprehension.

“This crypt’s taken find your own.” He muttered at us, as we entered the mausoleum he’d decided to camp out in. Then slowly, as if he realized something, he turned his head and sniffed. Jumping up to his feet. Looking at me and Conall with renewed interest. He knew we weren’t homeless bums looking for a place to crash. “Don’t I know you?”

“You ought to. About a year ago, you mugged me, stole my handbag, my ipod, my wallet.”

His eyes brightened. “Lady, you could be anyone, muggings happen all the time. New York’s not a safe place these days.”

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” Conall asked him stepping towards him. The damp air in the crypt suddenly felt tense. And still, I couldn’t get a fix on Vargr. Mould, dampness and dank, rife air that felt like it’d been compressed for some time, was showering my sense of smell. We’d already been in the cemetery too long, not to get overwhelmed by the mixture of it’s essence, which was essentially rot and decay, a smell animals know strongly.

“Who are you, man?” Vargr said tilting his head and putting his hands on is hips as he moved towards Conall. Not the least bit intimidated by Conall or me. He was rather smug about stepping up to Conall.

Conall stood still. Also not the least bit intimidated or worried about Vargr.
Vargr glanced back across at me.

“Oh you her man? Is that it? You come to make sure she’s going to get her stuff back from me?” Vargr said laughing as he backed away again slowly, his arms out wide. “Well you’re a little late, I don’t have it lady, I don’t have anything to give you!” He said slapping his arms down by his side.

I needed to get closer to vargr, to get a fix on his scent. I was struggling to figure out what we were dealing with other than a shady street criminal in a crypt.

“So what are you going to do about it?” His eyes twinkled. I know that look, it’s rather gleeful and simmering. It’s the ready to rumble look. Vargr was ready for a fight. I got the impression he wanted one. Maybe to test himself out, against us. To test his new abilities. Whatever they were.

“I’m pretty sure you remember me. I bit you on the collar bone when you mugged me.” I moved past Conall and kept walking towards him. His grin got bigger.

“Lady you got some balls on you, I’ll give you that.”

I inhaled him. I got past the dankness of the room, the stench of his body odor, the grease of his hair, and the stale smoke and beer smell his clothes seemed to be coated in. I got a faint tint of animal. But Conall was right. Not fur. Not exactly. Feathers? Fluff? Something else. He wasn’t a lycan.

Vargr wasn’t a lycan. Definitely not a lycan. Maybe this wasn’t vargr. Maybe we’d got the wrong guy. I mean, what was the likelihood we’d ever run into the mugger again?

“Oh, now, I remember you.” Vargr stated, locking eyes with me. “That bite, stung like a bitch with the clap.”

Some sort of animal, but why couldn’t I figure it out. It wasn’t coming to me clearly. Something about him. Vargr, I wasn’t making out.

“About that bite, did anything happen afterwards? Did you get sick? Have body spasms, anything like that?”

“Why, you try to infect me with AIDS or something?”

I hadn’t created a lycan. A small part of me was relieved. This guy would’ve make a psycho lycan. Which would be, so beyond bad. I heard Conall shuffle forwards and saw vargr’s eyes dart towards him.

“Not Aids. Lycanthropy. It’s not lethal.” I lied. It was only lethal if you didn’t survive it’s initial infection into the bloodstream. Vargr had survived it, clearly. “But you’d have had symptoms.”

“Lycanthropy.” He muttered softly back at me. Before chuckling. “Well now, that explains a few things.”


He was a lycan? What things did he mean? How could he be a lycan? Why was my sense of what he was, so screwed up? I wanted to glance at Conall. But if he’d have figured it out, he’d have muttered something to me. We were both at a loss as to what Vargar was.

“What do you mean?” I asked suddenly nervous.

“So you’re what a lycan looks like, huh?” He said slowly circling around me, visually examining me.
Okay, so vargr didn’t know about werewolves.

“Werewolf.” Conall muttered angrily at him. I would’ve let the insult slide, with his ignorance, not armed him with information.

“And you too, am I right?” Vargr said looking over at Conall, who gave no response, other than a stoic face.
“So I mugged the wrong woman huh? I got myself bit by a damn werewolf in New York. Well now, that is a first.”

“You seem to be taking it pretty well, considering you stole from one of us, your in a confined room with two werewolves, and we’re blocking your only exit out of here.” I replied as vargr stood opposite me again. He was about my height, hard to make his build under his layers of baggy clothing. But two werewolves against one man, the odds were in our favor, should we fight. Not that I wanted this reunion to come down to that.

“Why wouldn’t I be lady? No harm, no foul. I mugged you and I got bit. It’s my own fault, hazard of the job. I don’t have your stuff with me. But you can help yourself to whatever I do have that might be of value to you.” Vargr said indicating his latest stash pile of no doubt, assorted stolen items.

I frowned, not liking the sound of his words. A gnawing feeling of tension built in my gut. It wasn’t about the stolen goods, he was trying to fence me. It was about what he wasn’t saying, about why he was so at ease with being infected with lycanthropy, with being confined in a room with two werewolves and no way out.

Why he didn’t fear us, especially when Conall was there, doing his dark scowling thing.

Maybe it was because Vargr didn’t know about the other side of Brooklyn. The world, he and I belonged in, more than the regular, human world. The world that came alive at night and was inexplicably linked by the moon and it’s lunar cycle.

Was that why he didn’t fear a werewolf? The thought kept playing over in my head as I stared hard at his features, trying to figure it out. He knew I was trying to decipher what he was.

“I got handbags, I got wallets, you like leather?” He asked slipping back into con mode. Conall glanced at me, silent but clearly expecting me to indicate what we should do next. What the plan was.

Animals tend to live in a hierarchy system. There’s usually something bigger, and badder than they are and that’s what they fear. It’s the difference between Predator and Prey. Like when I get close to a domesticated dog or cat, they sense my werewolf and freak out, getting their claws out and going crazy. Like that children’s poem about the fly. The fly gets eaten by the spider.

“Will you walk into my parlour said the spider to the fly.”

Vargr stopped rummaging through his stash and looked over at me. He looked at me as If he knew I’d just figured out the puzzle that was him.

There’s only one thing I’ve ever come across that like a werewolf, lacks fear of a predator coming after them, because they can become a predator, themselves. Only, Without only being bound to the one shape.

“You’re a shape shifter.” I blurted out.

Conall looked over at me, frowning. “Are you sure?”
I ignored Conall.

Shape shifters aren’t obvious to pick up because of their multitude of shapes they can become, so their scents mingle and mix a lot. It’s been my experience, that shape shifters don’t tend to be seen in public, a great deal. They don’t act like lycans or behave like werewolves. Us werewolves, really don’t know that much about them, as a result of our limited interaction with them.

But I’ve come across three in my lifetime. Vargr, would make four.

Vargr straightened up and looked back at me. “Yeah, I believe that’s the name for my uh, condition.” He replied back at both of us grinning broadly. “Mighty useful.”

The Dead World

June 15, 2010
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I have this thing about cemeteries. I don’t like them. They creep me out. I mean, I’m not afraid of walking into one. I’m just…well, hesitant about it.

See being a werewolf has certain abilities, that carry over for me, when I’m in human form. Like ultra good hearing, strength and sense of smell, in particular. The thing about cemeteries is, it’s the smell. To humans, it’s not detectable, but to animals and me, it’s the one place, for me, that smells worse than a junkyard full of rubbish.

I’m not the only one who has this…well, I guess you’d call it sensitivity, to cemeteries. It’s actually quite common amongst beta werewolves for us to avoid, ever having to step into one. The abundance of scents, that come from within are just too much for me to handle, for all that long. So I guess, it’s why I never considered looking for vargr in one. Last place I’d want to go look-see.

Bones have a smell you know.

I deal with scents everyday, in the busy, busy, hustle and bustle world of New York. But not like this. I don’t know how to explain it, but cemeteries, are just, different.

I met Conall at the entrance to Greenwood Cemetery, he was waiting on the outside of the grounds. I wasn’t surprised to see that, considering the place was most likely smelling to him like fumes of the dead and rotting, or it was probably making his skin feel like it was being polluted in a toxic way.

Still, he was supposed to be tracking vargr. Not letting him out of his sight. I had to speak to vargr, had to confront him.

Being a lycan isn’t nearly half as fun as being a werewolf. Yes, there are distinct differences. Lycan’s aren’t allowed to live in werewolf territory. It’s pretty much every werewolf’s duty to make lycans aware of this and then to make the leading pack Alpha’s hierarchy aware of this, so they can be dealt with.

At the very least, I had to make sure Vargr was really okay, from what I’d done to him a year ago. You know, turned him into a lycan in the first place.

“Hey,” Conall greeted me with, flicking a bit of hair out of his eyes.

“Thanks for doing this.” I said walking up to the Greenwood Cemetery entrance and looking out in front of me. Even my feet seemed hesitant about me moving in there. Like my body was on alert, and knew it wouldn’t be pleasant if I stepped over the threshold of normalcy into the dead world, glazed over by perfectly manicured lawns.

“Where’s superman? Thought he’d be by your side.” Conall said looking away from me quickly. I’d have growled at him in annoyance at mocking my boyfriend Paris like that, but it wasn’t the time or the place to get into why he had to constantly be a prick to me about Paris.

“Let’s just do this, okay? No personal life melodrama. Just pack business, that’s why we’re here.” I replied

We walked in and kept walking. To the humans of Brooklyn and beyond it’s grounds, Greenwood Cemetary is rather beautiful.

To me, it’s a place that’s makes my skin crawl. I hate it.

Sure the concrete statues and marble mausoleums look innate and harmless enough. But what they don’t get is the smell. The cemetery smell of the earth mixed, leaves, rotted flesh, ash, dirt, fennel bitterness, tin and mould are amongst the first few scents that hit me when I take a deep breath and inhale. It’s how werewolves scent in the open. We get all the smells and we differentiate between them for what we are looking for. Then we can kind of lock onto it and track it.

You know, I can even tell when a cemetery ground has been consecrated. That’s got a distinct smell to it.

Of course, Conall was leading me to Vargr’s location anyway, but if Vargr, now a new lycan was able to sense us, he might consider two approaching werewolves a threat. In which case, if he was smart, he’d probably run. Conall and I would then have to give chase, on foot. So we needed to both be able to scent him if a pursuit was to follow.

More smells hit me. Mostly the repugnant smell of decaying bones. All around. Of course, I couldn’t see them, but the smell to me was being flooded throughout my entire body. I remained steadfast and kept walking, normally and with purpose, Conall by my side. He was doing just as good a job of ignoring the heeby-jebbies the cemetery was giving off.

“How did you come across Vargr?” I asked him, as we set off deeper into the cemetery grounds.

Conall shrugged his shoulders loosely. “The dude just walked past me on the street and I just caught the faintest whiff of your scent. Thought I had it wrong, so followed him and sure enough, I got your scent mingled with something else …I dunno, couldn’t put my finger on it exactly. Kind fluffy. I knew it had to be Vargr because your scent was entwined in it.”

“Fluffy?” I glanced at Conall. “What I bit him so now he’s a giant teddy bear?”

Conall gave me a look that silently told me to stop being so stupid.

“No, it’s something else. Kind of makes me think prey, but maybe not. I didn’t smell fur.”

I raised my eyebrows at this news. All werewolves and lycans, have a tainted fur smell to their physical being, even in human form. It’s just how it is. How could vargr not have a scent of fur to him?

“Maybe you didn’t get close enough, or he just was to fast moving for you to get a lock on all of him.”

“Hmm, maybe.” Conall muttered. His tone of voice letting me know he didn’t believe that was the case at all.

Claws and effect

June 14, 2010
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Karma is a concept of cause and effect. But perhaps in my case, that should be claws and effect. In layman’s turns, most people will say to you, when speaking of karma “What goes around, comes around.” In otherwords, you’ll get what’s coming to you in the end. It usually implies all manner of bad behaviour and doom and gloom. And it never specifies the timeline for your karmic retribuition to be layed down upon you.

In other words, karma, my friends, is a bitch.

If you don’t live your life well and good and treat your fellow beings with the same respect you show unto yourself, or would like show unto you, then you’re screwed sunshine.

I got a phone call from all people, my ex boyfriend – Conall. Yes, I know I should have deleted his sorry name from the existence of my cell phone. But I haven’t. I guess I forgot. I should have put a block on it also. But I guess I forgot to do that too.

Although now, after the phone call I received, I think I’m rather glad I didn’t block his number.

Don’t get me wrong, pack, is pack and always will be, with us Breukelen werewolves. But Conall and I will never be together again. However, despite our differences, you could say, we still look out for one another, because we’re of the same kind. Werewolves, Breukelen werewolves.

The point to pack, is this. Protecting one another. I guess that’s why he called me.

It was a shock to my system to get his call. After all the stuff that’s gone down lately, and just when Paris and I seem to be closing the gap on our own little spat together. We couldn’t be more solid, especially since Paris told me he wants to help me find out who the lycan hunter was. He’s promised to help me, look into that lycan.

Then I get this voicemail from Conall.

“I know you’re going to be tempted to erase this message when you hear my voice. But you need to call me. This isn’t about me, It’s related to Vargr.”

You know how people will describe having something like chills run through their body at the sound of bad news or having a sinking feeling about some approaching badness? Yeah well, Vargr is my bad thing. My doing.

When Conall said that word, the hair at the back of my neck stood to attention and pulled, like a screaming child, fighting the hand that holds it still.

I swear I felt my wolf, kick me with her claws, internally. Bile rose in my throat. Not a normal reaction to a phone call, Conall or bad news for me.

But that’s because Vargr is my doing. I still carry the shame of biting a non around with me. I couldn’t come up with a solution to the problem of me possibly infecting this human with lycanthropy that didn’t involve time travel.

What was done, was done. Even if it was in self defense. Still, that’s hardly an excuse for a werewolf. We have to be in more control than some sort of reaction state.

I bit vargr in human form. So I hoped like hell, that the lycanthropy wouldn’t carry through to his bloodstream. Although, I probably broke his skin, with my supposedly “human” teeth. I bit down so hard, I hit bone and chipped my tooth.

I’ve never known any werewolf to pass on lycanthropy to a non in human form. As far as I am aware, you have to be in your tribal werewolf form to do that.

But who knows? Not me.
So I called Conall.

“I uh, got your message. How do you know it’s vargr?” I asked him nervously.

I was alone when I was mugged. So how could Conall know who vargr was?

“His scent, it had something familiar in it. Like the lightest trace of you.” Conall replied back at me. “I’d know you’re scent anywhere. You know that.”

Of course I knew that.

Werewolves can lock scents into their systems, human or animal, for their whole life and recall, the memory associated with it.

Then again, Conall and I did go out for a long time also. So I guess you could say he knew me well.

“Shit.” I decided panicking was in order.

My mind raced. So vargr, the mugger, I had initially bitten in self defense had survived the lycanthropy. But I’d created a lycan. Seriously bad news.

“I’m following him now.”

“Where are you now?”

“Headed into Greenwood Cemetary.”

No wonder I hadn’t been able to find vargr when I’d tried tracing his where about after the mugging. I’d never thought to look in a cemetery.

Why would I?

“I’ll hop on the subway, and meet you there. Just keep your distance following him. We don’t want to spook him.”

“Sure, but what are you going to do once you’re here? With him?”

“I don’t know.”

And the thing was, I didn’t. I’m not the strategist in my family, that’s my sister Bodil. She’s got the smarts for that.

“Alright, keep you posted. Get here soon.”

“On my way.” I disconnected the call looking at the phone stupefied. My mind awhirl of mixed emotions.

What’ve I done?

The Hunter

May 1, 2010
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Talk about a bad day.
Remember how I mentioned werewolves scent things?

Once we have a scent it’s like a play back movie in our memory banks, whether you want it to be or not. I can automatically recall, everything about that person, time, place, thing, all because of a scent.

There is a particularly strong difference between humans and werewolves.

If a human experiences trauma, they can blank it out and eventually forget it all together, if need be. The human mind is designed to be, kind like that. The memory gets harder to keep over time and doubt can set in, things become vague. Where as on the other hand, if a werewolf experiences trauma, it’s more often than not, going to be locked in our minds, because of scent.

See, when our hides are under attack or in a bad situation, the wolf takes over the thinking for us. The survival instincts kick in and all our senses become our weapons. So even if we’re not deliberately trying to scent, more likely than not, we’re doing it unconsciously. Like recording the details of the event, so we will know what to do or how to get out of it.

I fucked up once upon a long ago, in my life, big time. Well, we now know it’s more than once. But before the whole Vargr incident.

When I was fourteen, something happened.
Something bad.
I was nearly killed.

Needless to say, I clearly got through it, because here I am. But that was because my father, the Alpha of the Breukelen rescued me. I’m under no illusions that’s why I survived being hunted. Problem is, we thought we’d dealt with those responsible for trying to hunt me.

Even though, years have passed since then, I can still be transported right back to the day, all because I got the scent of those responsible, locked into my animal side. It’s like keeping the post traumatic stress of the event. One moment I am normal, the next I am thrust back into the trauma of the moment, the assault, the terror.

So imagine my shock, when I’m the subway and a group of people get up to exit at the next stop and I smell, ash, hay and wet fur tinged with copper.

The scent of the hunter who took great fun in turning me, into summer time sport.

Now it’s my turn to go hunting.

Two for one

September 27, 2009
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There is a duality involved in being me.
Two lives lived at once by the one and same person.That is a constant for me and now, I’ve possibly made it the same for Vargr. Like some kind of stupid, irreversible, two for one deal.

I don’t mean like all those freaks on twitter. I mean, there’s a constant struggle of being me, and who I am to those around me.

I’m supposed to be the golden child of the family. The caring one. But I haven’t spoken to my father, the Alpha, about Vargr. I don’t know how to and now, it seems worse because time has elapsed. So not very golden of me.

I’m supposed to be a responsible Breukelen pack wolf. But my actions could be considered the opposite of that.

Perhaps there is a duality in all of us really. I mean, I know people who would say they are a different type of person when in their work environment, then when at home. It’s what’s required of them. It’s just how it is.

But for me it’s a little more involved than that. For a few days each month, I’m asked, to accept, major differences in me. Differences that are driven by a powerful force within me, that doesn’t want to listen or adhere to the human side of me.

This is the thought that runs through my head as I gear up for another lunar week, fast approaching and I find myself in the company and bed of my pack partner Conall Wakely, again, on most nights. With my mind wondering occasionally to a boy called Paris and the mugger Vargr who I bit.

There is a security in knowing who you are.
There is an unshakable certainty if you have the self-belief and the knowledge to accept all there is about you.

I grew up a werewolf. I always knew I was a werewolf. My loving parents explained it to me as soon as I could speak. So it got ingrained me, and I grew up knowing with certainty that this is what I am. So when my first shift took place, I understood why it was happening to me.

But what I am, does it make me who I am? I think that’s debatable, after all, Vargr mugged me. Is a criminal, a mugger but that doesn’t help me figure out any less who he is, his name or who he is as a person.

I have nothing to go on, other than he was in my neighborhood and he didn’t know I was a werewolf. Otherwise, I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t have picked on me. Still, maybe he thought he’d risk it. No, I’m pretty sure he’s just a criminal who saw a prize catch in the chance to rip me off.

It’s not like the police record would necessarily have him on file either. I mean mugging, seems petty and small time doesn’t it? Doesn’t mean he’s been caught before.

So that’s all I have to go on. I mean, it was dark, and I didn’t get a good look at him and there was nothing distinguishing about him. I remember the direction he ran off in. But there’s nothing around there to indicate where he would have gone or why. I have no trail on Vargr’s where-abouts, no clue as to who he is.

So how can I prepare him for who he might become, or more correctly, what – a Lycan.

The upcoming lunar cycle, will bring about the first lot of symptoms in his body, if I infected him with my bite. From what information I can gather, it takes roughly two lunar cycles before a shift will kick in for a Lycan. Before they go full moon furry.

Being born a werewolf, it’s a little different. The body has to adjust to grow into it’s form, so shape shifting usually hits us around puberty. Like getting through puberty itself isn’t enough to deal with and high school on top of all that…Sheesh.

So Vargr can expect to feel all manner of odd next week. But that still doesn’t help me find out where he is, or who he is. I mean, it’s unlikely this guy would go to a hospital to check himself out and if he did, well let’s just say it’d be a bad move.

Werewolves don’t really need healthcare most of the time, but when we do require medical treatment, we don’t just go to normal hospitals or clinics for obvious reasons.

Besides, the symptoms that Vargr is likely to experience, which will feel quite extreme in itself, wouldn’t be something he alone couldn’t get through, if he knew how to remain calm and not fight them.

If he knew what to expect, and had someone with him, to help his transition.

Which would be my responsibility to do if I was going to be responsible Breukelen werewolf and try and make things as right as can be, considering what’s happened already.

Hope So

September 22, 2009
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Aimee and I were trying to work through my avoidance issues over some cocktails at Ava Penthouse.

Well not so much working on the avoidance issues as more about the how to solve the problem that that is my possible….what we call that? If I were a vampire he’d be my sire, werewolves don’t have such a term for turning a Non.

I’d say my legacy but that sounds fairly horrible considering, legacy should mean, good things and what I did, was a very bad thing. Potentially deadly thing.

I could have fucked this guys life up royally by biting him. Of course, since he’s already going around mugging people for their handbags and iPods, then I’m guessing his life might already be on the road to fucked-up ville, without my help. Still, there’s no need to make a fucked up situation worse for someone right?

Let’s just call him, Vargr, it’s old Norse word for outlaw which also roughly translates down to wolf. Which essentially as a criminal and a potential Lycan, my mugger/Vargr is.

So there we are, sitting up at the bar, wracking our brains on what I should do, trying to figure out this predicament I’ve got myself into, when who walks in, but Paris, Booker’s friend who I met at Hotel le Bleu a while ago.

I kind of had one of those moments where everything stops and you forgot what your saying or even, that your speaking. I forgot that we, I, had a problem that Aimee was kindly trying to help me solve. Because all I could focus on was Paris, as he strode over towards the bar.

Paris is rather magnificent. He has a presence about him.

Maybe it was the charcoal grey, corporate suit that had me so distracted by him. It looked good, very good. He filled it out well. Broad shoulders, tall, totally handsome with a slight tan to his skin. A bit of stubble across his jaw and beautiful midnight blue eyes that honed in on me. I felt a heat wave wash over me, from under his gaze.

Guess it might have been hard to miss me, since I was staring at him so hard. Possibly drooling too. I mean, I’m sure my mouth was open. Also, there was a high possibility that I was panting. Aimee nudged me out of my haze and I managed to blink back into reality in time to see he was really heading over to us, sitting at the bar. Maybe he was going to wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth, that he was the cause of.

He nodded his head at us and looked from me to Aimee. I swear my heart beat picked up like a crazy, little marching parade inside me.
“Evening ladies.”

Aimee smiled at him and nodded her head. I just kept smiliing.
He looked back down at me. I swear his eyes darkened, and there was a glint of mischief in them.

“Fancy running into you here.” I tried for cool, casual, cheeky, when actually what I felt like was a dork in front of him. He’s older than me.

“I could fancy that, a lot more often.” He murmured in a low voice with a smile, signaling the bar tender over. “Can I get you ladies another drink?” He ordered something for himself and looked back at me.
I should’ve said no for so many reasons. But I said yes. Mainly because Aimee was kicking me, ever so sneakily, in the ankle. On Purpose. She would’ve hobbled me if I’d said no.

He ordered us another cocktail.
“What brings you over this side of town?”

I had to speak. Coherently.
“Ugh, Aimee works over this way, so we thought we’d catch up.”

He nodded his head and kept looking at me. Aimee not so discreetly excused herself from us, while she supposedly went to the ladies room.

Paris is so hot.
Oh my god! What is wrong with me? Must be the suit.
Love a man in a suit. It’s classic, stylish, sexy and hot!

“It’s good to see you again.”

All I could do momentairy was nod my head in return. The man is so hot. Really hot on the eyes.
Then I remembered my manners.
“Thank you for the drink.”

“Your welcome.”

Just as I was about to open my mouth and try speaking to him on a social level, without being a complete dork, a group of guys walked in, talking and laughing loudly. We both looked over at the suits who signaled to Paris to join them.

“You’re colleagues?” I asked looking back at him.

He looked over my shoulder at Aimee re-appearing and back at me. He hesitated, like he didn’t want to go, but had to. Prior engagements, what a mood killer.

“I’ll see you around.” He said flashing me a brilliant smile, before heading over to the suits on the other side of the room.

I may have happened to check out his fine form in that suit as he walked away and let my eyes linger over his terrifically taunt derrière.
“Hope so.”

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