A Bultungin in Ottawa

In the myths and legends, the light of the moon transforms men and sometimes women into wolf-like beasts, and they roam about, ravaging the countryside and preying upon the unwary. Makes for lousy storytelling, the moon-based dependency that these fictional creatures operate under. The truth is that shape-shifters exist in many cultures, from the Native American Skin-Walker myth to the Lycanthropes of Europe, and it irks me that my kind are so often overlooked.

"Bultungin, does that word mean anything to you, dear reader?" I ask you with a sly smile. Of course not. I am Vaughn, a six-foot-tall, young-looking man with dark brown skin and a smooth shaved head. I hail from the Caribbean, and both African and Caribbean blood flows in my veins, among other things. I am a shape-shifter, blessed with the ability to turn into a hyena, albeit one significantly larger and more anthropomorphic than anything produced by the African wilderness.

There are quite a few of us Bultungin or Were-Hyenas roaming this world, forever disguised as ordinary men and women. If you saw me walking the streets of Ottawa, Ontario, my current stomping grounds, you might think that I am a young man on the prowl. I check out the pretty ladies, especially the ones with nice round butts. I also notice certain fellas, especially the masculine ones with strong bodies and deep voices. No flat-booty gals or effeminate males for me. This bisexual gentleman adventurer has specific tastes. Kindly walk away if you don't meet my standards.

Walking around the City of Ottawa is a pleasure for me. People tend to notice me because of my allure which is distinct, masculine and predatory. In turn, I notice...everything. Especially fellow predators. There are so many predators in this metropolis, and they're awash in ordinariness, just like me. I like to hunt predators, not because I care for justice but because I like they smell and taste. Every predator must have a niche, and mine is other predators.

I stand in a corner of a west end shop, not far from the train and before a large marketplace. I am waiting. For him. The old man with the kind smile. He befriended the lonely widow because he's fascinated with her sons. The old man's heart skips a beat whenever he sees the widow's sons. The widow, Tiffany, has her hands full with her sons Jason and Todd. She thinks of the Old Man, Jeffrey somebody, as a father figure. If she only knew...

"Thank you for watching them for me," Tiffany tells Jeffrey, who smiles. Last week, Jeffrey took Jason and Todd to a hockey game. That's how predators work. They befriend you. They earn your trust. They move in for the kill. Women are so used to dealing with predators who want them for their bodies that the idea of a male predator targeting the men in their lives doesn't occur to them. Lots of gay men befriend forlorn women just to be around their handsome husbands or boyfriends, whom they secretly desire.

"Anytime, we had fun," Jeffrey tells Tiffany, but he looked at Todd and Jason while saying it. At this point in time, Todd and Jason still think of Jeffrey as their mother's overly nice older male friend. He hasn't done anything creepy yet. Jeffrey is average-looking, dark-haired, fifty-plus, blue-eyed and Caucasian. He looks like a college professor, a bank manager or the guy who does your taxes at H & R Bloc. Jeffrey looks harmless, that's the secret of his success.

Jeffrey has lived all over North America, from Boston to New Jersey, and now he finds himself in the City of Ottawa, Ontario, after a lengthy sojourn in the City of Merida, Mexico. Wherever Jeffrey goes, he repeats the same pattern. He befriends a lady, usually one who is widowed or divorced, and has sons. The lady and the sons are later found dead. If they're found at all. Jeffrey is a serial killer and has been doing this for decades. He's good at it...

I wait until Jeffrey parts from the lovely company of Tiffany, Jason and Todd, then goes to his car, parked in front of Loblaw's grocery store. While on his way, Jeffrey sees me, a tall, dark-skinned young man in a long dark coat. I look to be in my late twenties. In this part of Canada, African immigrants and Afro-Caribbean people are becoming a common sight, so Jeffrey's gaze doesn't linger over me. As he gets into his car, I flash him a predator's smile. Jeffrey senses something amiss, then turns. I'm already gone...

I don't need to follow Jeffrey since I already know where he lives. Tonight, Jeffrey will go missing. He likes to go for long walks late at night because he's an insomniac. Sometimes he goes to parks, and sometimes he ventures into bars and pubs. Like me, Jeffrey likes to bring both women and men to his bed. I like that about him. In a world where a man is limited to only banging one sex or gender because society is rigid, Jeffrey's bisexuality is admirable. I might have bought him a drink, his hobby not withstanding...

"What the fuck?" Jeffrey gasps as I toss him to the ground, after attacking him from behind, of course. Jeffrey falls, and rolls on his back. He looks up at me, eyes filled with surprise, but not fright. I stand over Jeffrey...and smile. He recognizes me from before. I nod, and then I let it happen. In the movies, shape-shifting is either grotesque or downright artistic. In real-life, I am simply shedding my disguise. I'm not a man becoming a monster. I'm a monster disguised as a man. Some things it's better to do au naturel...

"I'm the angel of death, with fur," I reply to Jeffrey, as I will myself to become the seven-foot-tall, muscular, furry, spotted, hyena-like yet humanoid, fanged and clawed beast that I've always been. Jeffrey gasps in shock, and I get to work. A lot of predators like to toy with their prey. I tear Jeffrey to pieces, and then I devour him. Waste not, want not, I guess. I don't leave any traces. Not a speck of blood. Not a single strand of unnatural hair. No bones. No strips of flesh. I consume my prey, and satisfy the ravenous hunger that I've been feeling for so long...

Like I do after each kill, I go for a run. There's a wooded path not far from here, and I run through it. I don't howl at the moon like a CGI-generated werewolf in a lousy horror movie or cheap television show. I leap from tree to tree in a manner that Tarzan would envy. And I do it while listening to my favorite song, Linkin Park's classic What I've Done. I'm a stylish and tasteful sort of monster, not a barbarian. I don't hate humans. I consider myself a shepherd of sorts, with humanity as my flock. Sometimes, it's necessary to cull the bad sheep from the rest of the flock. Humanity is better off without the likes of Jeffrey, believe me...

The next day, I return to my job. I work at a call center. I walk the halls, and soon I am awash in humanity. There's William, the ginger-headed office pretty boy whom a lot of the local black ladies, including big-booty, curvy African goddess Marla, seem to like. William wears tight pants but otherwise plays it straight. Of course, William makes too much eye contact with other men to be totally straight, and I'm convinced that he and his buddy Alexander are more than friends. I feel bad for Marla, she's one of those sisters who craves white boys. Too bad many white boys crave each other.

"Quit staring," I told William when he came sniffing after me, early on in my tenure at the call center. Men who like men, and men who like both men and women tend to make lots of eye contact with other men. As a Bultungin, I have sharp senses and can smell things normal humans cannot. William's scent is often on Alexander and vice versa. I could care less. I just don't mess around with co-workers, female or male, straight or gay. William got the message and amuses himself with Alexander and his legion of unsuspecting black female admirers. Let them have their fun. I just don't care to join the game.

William walks past me with Alexander and Marla in tow, and I allow myself a smile. Marla has a nice big ass that seems ready to burst out of her dark gray Capri pants. I've fantasized about sliding my dick into her pussy while smacking her ass. Marla can get it every day and twice on Sunday. Of course, this will remain only a fantasy. Bad things to gentlemanly monsters who get involved with ladies who are purely human. It never ends well. Thanks but no thanks.

"Salaam, Vaughn," comes a female voice, startling me as I get some water at the fountain. I turn and smile, for it's Miss Nora. The cute, curvy young Lebanese gal with the long dark hair and enchanting smile. Bronze-skinned, dark-haired and mighty fine, Miss Nora is sexy without even trying. The gal can look hot in a fading crimson track suit. Too bad Miss Nora is usually accompanied by...Randy.

"Hey Vaughn," says Randy, the skinny, spiky-haired gay Indian dude who works as a trainer at the call center. He's often in my vicinity, trying to make eye contact. I ignore him because he doesn't meet my standards. Randy sounds like your aunt when there's a sale at the mall. I'm sure he uses his position as a trainer to get close to attractive young men working at the call center. I have zero interest in Randy and purposely ignore him while smiling at Miss Nora. Randy gets the hint and walks away, looking forlorn. Serves him right.

"Salaam, Nora, we missed you around here," I reply, and Miss Nora nods, and then launches into a tirade about her weekend. I don't always find mortals easy to hang around but Miss Nora is one of my favorites. This cute Lebanese gal is into black men and doesn't hide it, in spite of the grief that Arab men usually give to Arab women who cross the racial divide. Miss Nora has the kind of butt that porn star Sara Jay, one of my favorites, would envy. I think she's delicious...pun intended.

"Vaughn, you should join me and my friends for movies tomorrow," Nora says, and I frown. Nora makes a habit of bringing Randy everywhere and Randy has probably guessed or sensed that I am bisexual. Gay men hate losing bisexual men to women, and they sabotage bisexual male/straight female relationships every chance they get. If Miss Nora is dumb enough to invite Randy to any gathering featuring myself, I may need to rethink my high opinion of her...

"I've got plans," I reply coldly, like the bastard I am, and I hear Miss Nora's heart skip a beat. My superhuman hearing makes detecting such things easy enough. I wish Miss Nora a good day, and walk past her. There are many people at the call center who wonder about me. I am tall, handsome and masculine, with a deep voice and intense eyes. I seem cool, yet somehow other. Women feel drawn to me, and so do lots and lots of men. I don't need the drama that either side will bring at this moment, so I keep to myself.

It's lonely being me. I am so many things at once. I am not above bouts of sentimentality, so I sometimes lament my fate. Of course, fate had plans for me. I am no more immune to fate's whims than you are. I am heading to my work station when the elevator doors swing open, and a solitary figure walks out. A tall, curvy woman with dark skin and short hair. She's decked out in a black leather jacket, red turtleneck shirt, and blue jeans. She's smoking hot, but that's not why my heart suddenly skips a beat...

"If your heart beats any louder, I might have to come over here and deck you," says the alluring lady, flashing me a too-bright smile. I freeze, and look her up and down. I've seen stunningly beautiful women and strong, handsome and masculine men. I've been known to take both to my bed. No mortal can affect me to this extent. Oozing out of this lady's every pore is a scent sweeter than anything I can imagine. The scent of the African wilderness. The scent of the unnatural. The scent of the shape-shifter. The scent of the Bultungin. My scent.

"My lady, Esther, is it? I'm Vaughn," I reply, having read the lady's company-issued ID which hangs on a lanyard around her lovely neck. Esther looks me up and down, and when her golden brown eyes meet mine, I repress a shudder. Folks, among Were-Hyenas like myself, the females are stronger than the males. Not some feminist statement, I'm talking about being actually stronger. I am drawn to Esther, but I must tread carefully. You know how it is...

"Well, Vaughn, you're on the third floor so I take it you're in small business affairs? I guess I'm your new boss," Esther says with a cold smile. I sniff the air to make sure and yes, I was right, this lady is far from human. Esther locks eyes with me, and for a brief moment, her eyes turn solidly black, like the eyes of the Matriarch of a Hyena Horde. I nod, and hold her gaze, and she sniffs the air, inhaling my scent. I bow my head gently and hold the door.

"Welcome aboard," I reply like the perfect gentleman, and I hold the door for Esther as she walks onto our work area. I discretely check out the lady's derriere, which nearly pops out of her too-tight blue jeans. Mama's got a booty, I thought to myself with a smile. I've been in Ottawa for quite some time and have rarely seen my own kind. There are literally hundreds of thousands of us, but we are scattered around the globe and tend to get together only to reproduce or for those rare but necessary internecine wars. Don't ask, it's simply our way...

"Vaughn, you seem like a smart young man, I want you to show me around," Esther says softly as approach the cubicles packed with human beings of all hues. Africans. Arabs. Asians. Latinos. First Nations people. Transgender women. Gay men. Lesbians. Bisexual men. Bisexual women. The call center doesn't openly discriminate and hires all kinds. Esther and I are two of a kind, and not just because we're a couple of tall, attractive and dark-skinned professionals operating in the Canadian business world. We're also monsters in disguise...

"Esther, trust me, you're in good company," I reply, and Esther grins and brushes her arm against mine as we go greet our co-workers. It's Esther's first day as the new manager for the small business division of the call center and she definitely makes an impression. I'm her guide as we walk around the floor, meeting and greeting the mortals. Randy stares hard as he spots me with Esther, and so does Miss Nora. I smile at Esther and ignore them. Beyond race, beyond sexuality, beyond gender, is where my true loyalties lie. I love my own kind more than I could ever love anything human. Nature made me this way.

"Thank you, for everything," Esther says to me at the end of the day, and she hands me her business card, complete with her personal digits and email address. I smile at Esther and shake her hand. I'm about to say something else when I sense...him. A tall, bronze-skinned male with a bald head. He steps out of a shiny red Mercedes and walks up to Esther and I as we stand in front of the call center's corporate office. The bozo is no more human than I am. He's a Were-Hyena, and he's none too happy to see me with Esther...

"Hello Antonio," Esther says as she greets the balding bozo with a hug and kiss. Antonio kisses Esther like a man asserting his dominance and then places himself between Esther and I. Esther smiles and introduces Antonio to me. I smile politely as I am introduced as though I am just another co-worker. Antonio looks at me the way a man looks at the excrement left on his lawn by his careless neighbor's dog. This is going to be fun...

"Nice to meet you Antonio," I reply and I grip his hand, with superhuman strength, even as my eyes turn solidly black, just like his. Esther watches the exchange between Antonio and myself, then clears her throat. I've chased women, and men, and I am usually predatory in my pursuits. I let nothing get in my way. It's the alpha male predator in me. Still, I am a Were-Hyena male, and irking the female of my species is suicide, so I relent, as does Antonio...

"Be seeing you, bro," Antonio calls out as I hop into the Uber that I've summoned to get my ass to the suburb of Orleans, Ontario. I sit in the back, and sigh. I've lost count of how many big-booty women and manly hunks I've brought home to kill the boredom that plagues my nights. Male or female, straight, bisexual, lesbian or gay, or even transgender, the humans are dull, boring and limited. I miss my own kind. Esther is fierce, arrogant, beautiful and dangerous. Everything I like. Too bad Antonio is around...for now.

Interesting time are upon your favorite Bultungin, dear reader. I am Vaughn, just Vaughn, bisexual gentleman-about-town, adventurer, and stylish monster. For the longest time I've been alone, seeking others like myself. All of a sudden, I found not just one, but two fellow monsters. I find Esther quite interesting. Antonio is...a problem. Unless, of course, they're willing to join me in my bed for some awesome, no-limit fun? Nah, probably not, but a monster can dream, can't he? I'll tell you the rest of the story later...