I’d like to thank everyone for the great response and feedback on Journal of a Lycanthrophile. This round of KDP has been great, and I’m hard at work polishing its sequel. Enjoy it for free on KDP again over the next couple of days, 2-3 March, and if you feel led, please review and let me know what you think!
when the kink most forbidden is the monster that sates
About Journal of a Lycanthrophile
Jesse Holloman has a fetish for justice and a kink for werewolves. Together, his passions spiral into a world of pain, shadow desires, and an even more sinister, secretive sort of shapeshifter—the kind that changes without shifting.
From Journal of a Lycanthrophile
My first sexual experience was with a werewolf, which is weird to write. I mean, seeing it in words, yes, but also because journaling reminds me of gossipy diaries and schoolgirls, and this is neither. What can I say? I’m a guy with biases, a work in progress. Writing makes what happened to me tangible, helps me understand what happened better. Anyway, maybe somebody will find these notes and understand the real deal, or at least believe things like this happen. I would never have believed if it hadn’t happened to me. I was just a kid—nineteen—a couple of years back.
I was in my junior year at a stuffy boarding school in the foothills of Rainier. Had no fucking clue what I wanted to do with my life, and no real motivation to decide. Factor in how badly I sucked at academics, sports, pretty much everything, and that’s why I was stuck at a boarding school in the middle of no-goddamn-where.
So it’s no surprise I was out goofing off late one night. Goes without saying, the moon was full. I never bought into any of the stories about the moon making people crazy, or turning werewolves. Actually, the encounter started out pretty ordinary until I realized there would be sex. I was nineteen. Getting it on with a werewolf made no difference to me. Any sex is good sex. Guys that age will do just about anything—literally. Besides, it’s not like he was a wild animal that took advantage or anything. The opportunity just sort of sneaked up on us both. He could easily have killed me, and for a long time I didn’t know why he let me live.
I’d gone to a meadow not far from my dorm, an open field gone fallow, adjacent to a defunct ranch separated from campus by a forest of Western Hemlocks and Sitka Spruces. We weren’t supposed to go there, so of course we did, to get high, drunk, fuck, or to have some damn privacy. That’s why I was there, sitting on a big rock jutting out of the ground about four feet, minding my own business, when I heard a sound and saw movement in the brush to my left. I looked over, thinking the shadows and moonlight played tricks on the snow until I saw a really tall and wiry man there. When he noticed me watching, he crouched, and the half-light played over him enough that I saw he was naked. Close to the ground, he held super still, like primal, eerie still, which is what freaked me out.
When he finally moved closer, his silhouette fluffed into dark fur covering his entire body. I stayed put on the rock, thinking he was Bigfoot. He was so tall, though he wasn’t exactly over-sized, just furry. His feet weren’t tremendously big, though they splayed into beefy paws. His arms hung limp but sinewy, and his hairy hands curled into massive claws. Those claws and the enormous fangs pressing out of his frothing, panting snout clued me in he wasn’t Bigfoot. By the time he came within a couple feet of me, everything in me knew he was a werewolf.
It never occurred to me to run. In fact, I wasn’t even afraid. So stunned by what I was seeing, I thought he was some science fiction creature come to life or a myth walking right up to me. Kind of a stupid thing to say, because it was exactly the latter.
After a few moments of staring at each other, I slid off the rock and stood in front of him. If he’d reared up straight, he would have been a good two heads taller than me, and I was six foot two. Hunched down, he came maybe to my shoulders. His collar bones and chest tapered angular and gaunt to the vest of his ribs. He was all solid, lean muscle, with huge thighs and claws that curled into the soft snow. I couldn’t help peering behind him to see that there was no tail.
I was shocked when he came within inches of my chest. My heart raced, but still I didn’t think to run. Eyes black as his gums, when he inhaled, his insanely long tongue curled out from his leathery, stretched lips and licked at the air. He lapped several times, and I stood there thinking nobody would believe me, and I had no way to prove I’d seen him…