Lonely, I Howled
Feb. 22nd, 2011 10:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwrnmnbsolTo my alternative lifestyle friends: I'm sorry, I had to do it.
I found myself on a barren moor, the full moon seeming to fill the entire sky. Though I did not wish it, I found my body once again undergoing the terrible transformation. My muzzle elongated and yellow fangs pushed their way over my lips; fur sprouted all over my body; my limbs twisted and hands turned to paws; my garments ripped and a tail snaked out of my trousers. My ears stood tall and my eyes glowed with their own inner light. I had become the creature again, half man and half wolf. I poured all of my frustration and misery into a howl that echoed over the lonely wasteland.
I dropped to all fours and loped over the grassy hillocks. What I sought I do not know; driven by some instinct or compulsion I could not name, I ran across the lonesome Scottish countryside. The wind brushed back my fur, but I loathed its touch; the grass flew beneath me as I ran, but my speed gave me no joy. In my deepest animal heart I remembered that I was born to be a man. My melancholy was complete.
I saw them in a stand of trees – my wolf brothers. Against all reason I went to join them, for even half-wolves are pack creatures by nature.
As I approached, I saw the wolves whisper amongst themselves and snicker. Here it comes, I thought.
“Hello, skinny,” one of them said cruelly. They took it as a great insult, but I bear the name with pride. Yes, I wear the skin of a man. Man is my true self, and I claim his skin as my own.
“You guys are all perverts; you make me sick,” grinned another wolf. “You skinnies all dress up in man-skins and have man-sex.”
“No we don’t,” I said. “But if two mutually consenting adults of any species choose to have sex in the way of men, I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”
“Gross, he admits it!” cackled the wolves. “Oh, man; skinnies are the lowest on the animal-nerd-chain. There’s tail-chasers and dung-eaters, but even they look down on man-humpers!”
Under my fur, my skin burned. Though they did not know it, I had been conducting a secret romance with my Gypsy lady, Esmerelda. She did not know of my curse, and I had no desire for her ever to find out about my shifting between the worlds of wolves and men. But what could possibly be perverted about the love we knew? And why did I feel such shame?
“You guys are such hypocrites,” I said. “Wolf culture is all about celebrating Man. When you sit in circles howling at the moon, you sing about how you wish you were as great as Men. When your pups play at hunting together, they pretend they are Men hunting in bands. Though you are wild beasts, a part of you sees domesticated dogs and thinks how wonderful it would be to be close to Men, to be part of their world. Why do you mock me and my kind for wanting to take the next step?”
“Because we don’t want to rut with some furless, tailless ape, you complete sicko,” sneered a wolf. “I don’t want to put on a skin that makes me look like a human and go to Skinny Conventions and rent a big suite so I can have Skinny Orgies and then all go out in a Man-car and order a Big Mac.”
“You’d kill for a Big Mac, you damned liar,” I said. “But I pity you. You’ll live in your narrow little world, never knowing what it’s like to live a life as something special. You’ve convinced yourself that this is about being a sex deviant, but that’s not it at all. This is about being who I am. This is about being a MAN.” And I rose up on my hind legs and roared.
The wolves fled. I felt some fleeting victory, but I could not stop myself from thinking about Esmerelda, her dark eyes flashing, her smooth skin under the night sky. Is it really about the sex, I thought? At least a little?
I loped to the top of a hillock and bathed in the moonlight. I have one paw in each world, I thought. My curse is not that I change between Man and Wolf. My curse that is I shall never truly be only one of the two.
Lonely, I howled.
I found myself on a barren moor, the full moon seeming to fill the entire sky. Though I did not wish it, I found my body once again undergoing the terrible transformation. My muzzle elongated and yellow fangs pushed their way over my lips; fur sprouted all over my body; my limbs twisted and hands turned to paws; my garments ripped and a tail snaked out of my trousers. My ears stood tall and my eyes glowed with their own inner light. I had become the creature again, half man and half wolf. I poured all of my frustration and misery into a howl that echoed over the lonely wasteland.
I dropped to all fours and loped over the grassy hillocks. What I sought I do not know; driven by some instinct or compulsion I could not name, I ran across the lonesome Scottish countryside. The wind brushed back my fur, but I loathed its touch; the grass flew beneath me as I ran, but my speed gave me no joy. In my deepest animal heart I remembered that I was born to be a man. My melancholy was complete.
I saw them in a stand of trees – my wolf brothers. Against all reason I went to join them, for even half-wolves are pack creatures by nature.
As I approached, I saw the wolves whisper amongst themselves and snicker. Here it comes, I thought.
“Hello, skinny,” one of them said cruelly. They took it as a great insult, but I bear the name with pride. Yes, I wear the skin of a man. Man is my true self, and I claim his skin as my own.
“You guys are all perverts; you make me sick,” grinned another wolf. “You skinnies all dress up in man-skins and have man-sex.”
“No we don’t,” I said. “But if two mutually consenting adults of any species choose to have sex in the way of men, I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”
“Gross, he admits it!” cackled the wolves. “Oh, man; skinnies are the lowest on the animal-nerd-chain. There’s tail-chasers and dung-eaters, but even they look down on man-humpers!”
Under my fur, my skin burned. Though they did not know it, I had been conducting a secret romance with my Gypsy lady, Esmerelda. She did not know of my curse, and I had no desire for her ever to find out about my shifting between the worlds of wolves and men. But what could possibly be perverted about the love we knew? And why did I feel such shame?
“You guys are such hypocrites,” I said. “Wolf culture is all about celebrating Man. When you sit in circles howling at the moon, you sing about how you wish you were as great as Men. When your pups play at hunting together, they pretend they are Men hunting in bands. Though you are wild beasts, a part of you sees domesticated dogs and thinks how wonderful it would be to be close to Men, to be part of their world. Why do you mock me and my kind for wanting to take the next step?”
“Because we don’t want to rut with some furless, tailless ape, you complete sicko,” sneered a wolf. “I don’t want to put on a skin that makes me look like a human and go to Skinny Conventions and rent a big suite so I can have Skinny Orgies and then all go out in a Man-car and order a Big Mac.”
“You’d kill for a Big Mac, you damned liar,” I said. “But I pity you. You’ll live in your narrow little world, never knowing what it’s like to live a life as something special. You’ve convinced yourself that this is about being a sex deviant, but that’s not it at all. This is about being who I am. This is about being a MAN.” And I rose up on my hind legs and roared.
The wolves fled. I felt some fleeting victory, but I could not stop myself from thinking about Esmerelda, her dark eyes flashing, her smooth skin under the night sky. Is it really about the sex, I thought? At least a little?
I loped to the top of a hillock and bathed in the moonlight. I have one paw in each world, I thought. My curse is not that I change between Man and Wolf. My curse that is I shall never truly be only one of the two.
Lonely, I howled.
