Taken By the Werewolf
Jillian Cumming
Published by Jillian Cumming at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Jillian Cumming
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My Private Dick and His Big Prick
High in the nighttime sky, the moon was full and bloated. Jeremy shivered in the night cold. He rubbed at his bare arms. All he had on was a tight, white t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and his runners. Brent had convinced him to come out on this hike to the forest, but he hadn’t seen Brent for hours.
Brent had disappeared some time after they noticed that the moon had come up. He seemed really scared in a way that had made the hairs on the back of Jeremy’s neck stand up. Right before he ran off, he’d been talking to Jeremy about what good friends they were, and how it was great just hanging out like that, the two of them together.
Jeremy had just smiled. He always thought Brent had a little bit of a crush on him. They were both in their second year of college, so he figured some guys were probably looking to experiment.
Jeremy stopped and put his hand out against a tree trunk. Sometimes, when he walked through a particularly dense collection of trees the moon became blotted from view, and with it went the light. He squinted ahead. He’d already tripped twice over seemingly invisible roots.
“Brent?” Jeremy called out.
A piercing howl split the air. The blood ran cold through Jeremy’s veins. He’d heard wolves and coyotes in the night before, but this was something different. It had sounded almost human, yet he knew in his bones that it was not. He couldn’t explain how, he just knew.
Jeremy also knew that he needed to get out of those woods, right then.
It was then that Jeremy realized that all the normal noises of a forest at night had stopped – no hoots of owls, chirps of insects, not even the patter of tiny feet scurrying about.
The air felt charged with some sort of horrible energy, just seeking release. For some reason, Jeremy felt a tinge of excitement along with the expected fear. In spite of himself, he felt that he was getting a little hard in his pants. Somewhere behind him, there was a rustle of leaves. He spun around.
“Hello? Brent, is that you?” Jeremy whispered.
A deep, feral growl was the reply.
Jeremy turned and ran, heedless of any obstacles. Branches seemed to reach out and grab at him. The cold night air whipped at his face and whistled past his ears. His breaths came quickly.
He didn’t know if the thing had followed him, but to him it felt like whatever had growled was now right at his heels. This spurred him to greater speed.
Jeremy chanced a glance over his shoulder. He saw nothing behind him except blackness and the silhouettes of trees. His lungs felt like they were burning inside his chest. Slowly, he came to a stop and knelt over, bracing his hands against his knees. In the coolness of the night, his breath misted in front of his face.
“What was that?” He said, straightening up.
In front of him, no more than a few feet away, stood a sight that instantly made his mouth dry and his stomach clench up.
It was huge, and was covered in dark, shaggy fur. It had the head and muzzle of some horrific wolf, but also looked like a man in some ways. It stood on its hind legs, and long-clawed hands curled at the ends of its muscular arms.
What was most unsettling were the eyes, with which it was now studying him in return. They looked human in the moonlight. More, they looked familiar to Jeremy.
The things he first thought were different colored patches of fur on its body turned out to be the torn remnants of clothing. Around the werewolf’s waist and legs were the tattered remains of a pair of shorts. For some reason, Jeremy wondered if the thing still had its man parts. And if it did, had they changed too?
All thoughts were driven from him, leaving Jeremy with only cold fear and that strange tinge of excitement.
The next instant, he found himself running again. Something reached out and raked his back with long claws. The fabric of his shirt tore. A tree branch snagged the fabric at his shoulder and he spun around, stumbling. When he regained his balance, he had no shirt on. There was nothing between his bare skin and the cold wind, or the tearing claws of his pursuer.
Despite that cold wind, as he ran a thin sheen of sweat appeared on his skin. His lungs began burning again, and he couldn’t remember how long he’d been running.