Self-Control

Things I like about changing into a wolf. #1, definitely, is running. I'm fast, I can run forever, I turn and stop quickly. And for balance and stability? Nothing like four legs.

#2. I'm not in an office with no windows. I don't have to worry about my boss staring down my blouse, or up my skirt, or at my breasts or crotch or ass. I don't have to worry about my anger showing or that I'm not kissing someone's ass enough. I don't have to drive to work in rush hour traffic, worried about how I look or if I'm going to be on time; I don't have to drive home in rush hour traffic, tired and frustrated. I'm outdoors, breathing fresh air, in the wild, and I'm beautifully, gloriously, free.

I ran into Michael a few hours ago. We've been running together. Number of leers: zero. Number of stares: zero. We're just being friends. He's a little bigger and faster and stronger than me -- there's no gender equality in the wolf world -- but we're having fun together.

I can send him thoughts, and read his. Number of dirty thoughts about me: zero. He just enjoys running and being outdoors, like me.

Chasing down a rabbit was the best! I loved our teamwork. And this is gross, and I mean really gross, and disgusting, most disgusting, but raw rabbit tastes really great, because I'm a wolf plus I've been burning calories all day. I try to reframe this rabbit as sushi -- raw, yet elegant. But there's blood on my paws, and I assume blood on my snout because there's blood on Michael's snout.

Is there blood on my face, Michael?

All over it, Heidi.

That's what I thought. I rip off the rabbit's leg and start gnawing on that, and I've already said how gross this is, but it still tastes better than any 5-star meal I've eaten. I try to make myself feel guilty by thinking about this dead rabbit's children -- but then I just want to chase them down and eat them too.

And now we've finished eating the rabbit, and I walk towards a nearby river, when . . .

Michael sniffs my butt.

Michael?

God you are sexy.

You're SNIFFING my butt, Michael. Grow up.

Vagina to be precise. It smells like heaven. I've never smelled anything remotely this good. Really. It's outstanding.

My vagina?

Apparently I'm more than a piece of meat, I'm filet mignon. I'm not thrilled about that.

And then I feel it -- excitement.

Overpowering me. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. I should run, I know that, but my body stops -- I have to stop. I just have to. I have to let Michael sniff me. I can't stop him, it feels too wonderful. Suddenly I love being filet mignon.

The only other time I went into heat while I was a wolf, I didn't realize what was happening. Two male wolves had been running with me, and all of a sudden they were all over me, and I wanted them so much, and they started fighting, and I was so happy they were fighting over me. And it was a vicious fight, but that excited me, then one of them started bleeding really bad, but I had eyes only for the winner, and he came to me, and then I realized what was going to happen, and why, and I started the process of changing back into a human . . . but I didn't have time, and I tried to get away but I couldn't, and he mounted me, and I struggled but he penetrated me, and it was so humiliating, but then my wolf emotions took over, I stopped trying to be human and I stopped fighting and I enjoyed being a female wolf, not that I had any choice.

Now I'm smarter. I know that because I'm a female wolf in heat, I can't move; I know I can't stop Michael from grabbing me from behind and penetrating me, and I can't stop myself from enjoying it. But if I focus really hard and ignore the pleasure, maybe I can change into a human before it's too late.

So I try that. Michael still has to finish his sniffing thing, and I'm posturing for him and can't stop it, and he's sniffing some more, and then I start to turn into a human. And when he grabs me from behind, I have the willpower to fight him. He's stronger than me, and even more determined, but as I get closer to being human, I stop being in heat, and he loses his attraction to me.

So, I'm standing in the woods, stark naked, with a wolf in front of me, staring at me. "Nice doggie" I say. I pet him. He has to hate that. And then he slowly turns into a man.

Young, handsome, chiseled. "Nice man, too," I say in admiration.

"You're beautiful."

I shrug, blush, and look down, now even more embarrassed to be naked.

He adds, "That's a pleasant surprise." He only saw me as a wolf.

I look up at him. "Um, no makeup, I'm all sweaty, and my hair is a tangle. I can't be too beautiful."

He smirks. "And the rabbit blood. Don't forget that."

I grimace and look down at myself, so gross, there's rabbit blood on me. I at least wipe my mouth.

He reaches out and puts his finger softly on my cheek, his arm muscles rippling . . . runs his finger down my face . . . neck . . . collarbone.

One of the things I like about being human is my self-control. I don't have to chase after a rabbit just because it's there, or howl at the moon just because everyone else is howling and I want to be part of the pack. I can make decisions. Good decisions. So I'm not overwhelmed with desire for Mr. Muscles, I can turn him down. Thank God I don't go into heat when I'm human.

His finger moves down to my breast . . . it runs circles on my breast, which does feel good . . . but I'm going to stop him when he touches my nipple. I want this to be fun, but I don't want it to go too far.

And he leans forward to kiss me, and he just ran with me and was my friend, so I let him kiss me. My decision. I can decide!

But when our lips touch, I'm flooded with pleasure, and I can't figure out why, because I shouldn't feel so much pleasure from a kiss, and then I realize he started fondling my nipple . . . and I want to look down to make sure I'm right before I push him away, but I want to leave my lips on his, because that feels so good too . . . and then my eyes close . . . and I can't stop them from closing . . . and he's still fondling my one nipple, but his other hand is now sliding down my stomach, destination obvious, and

all I can do is stand there and let him. Because I'm human, and I'm female, and he's gotten through my defenses. And I don't know exactly when he did that, but my skin and brain and nerve endings are all on his side, rooting for him to win. I don't have a chance.

And he's kissing my neck, and he says "Any requests?", and I summon the last bit of my rational humanness I can find, and I say "Not doggy style."

And he laughs and says in his deep voice, "I'm with you there." He picks me up, sets me down on the grass, his lips are on me, his hands are on me, he's spreading my knees. I can get out only one more request. "Make me scream."

He laughs again. "Howl?"

I try to answer no, but I can't. So I just shake my head no. And he enters me, and I cry out in pleasure.

He smiles. "That's not going to be difficult, is it?"

No.