The Wolf and the Mirror

He disappeared without notice sometime that evening, like a lone wolf dipping into the shadow of the forest after he had the fill of his prey. An empty rectangle of a gravel parking spot replaced his silver sedan. I could have found him if I wanted. Nobody could hide for long in today's connected world. But he wouldn't have wanted it, and it seemed beside the point.

Maybe he returned to a wife or boyfriend. Maybe he lived a solitary existence, finding perfect contentment in life by the fleeting moments of wild abandonment, as when he howled and grabbed me tight while leaving part of himself deep inside of me.

I spent the rest of the summer with a hidden smile beneath my newly grown beard. When my mind would wonder to that passionate night, and I could no longer focus on where I was, I would reach my hand behind me and touch the mark he had left with his teeth on my neck. The scar was hard to see in the little mirror in the shower. I could only imagine its shape from the touch of my fingers. I imagined the bite mark formed a lotus blossom, the pure white flower that grew out of mud and filth and passion.

I closed my eyes and sighed. His smell lingered from his powerful hands stroking my young stubble. I imagined his large hands holding me at night, as he pressed tightly against my back, using me whenever he wanted. His hand held my mouth tight so that I could keep my vow of silence, but inside, my mind and body moaned loudly. I moaned and smiled imagining the smell of earth and smoke and cedar.