What does one wear when one knows one is going to transform into a massive werewolf killing machine later in the evening? And, yes, that works as both a "werewolf that is a killing machine" and a "werewolf-killing machine" except not a machine, per se. I don't need Thomas suddenly appearing in a puff of disgusting, putrid stench to tell me that "Surprise! You were a robot all along! Lolz!" I can handle a lot of stuff but I think that would be my breaking point. So, what does a young sexy werewolf lady wear? Something you don't particularly care about? Something that rips easy? Something with easy movement? Oh gosh. I can see myself showing up in one of the cute new skirts I bought, scowling and growling and kind of tossing my hips back and forth all sexy and sassy. Freedom of movement, less fabric to tear when changing and, hey, check out my ass and legs! I'm sure it'd go a long way into terrifying the bad guys into submission.
Bad guys, huh? Last week the bad guys were the people in my own company - the ones harassing me to release credit holds on customers so they could try to sell shit to them. That was that. Bad guys exist in books and movies and are so far away from my life that it might as well be another country. Okay, I suppose there are bad guys in real life. Terrorists and drug lords and gang members and so forth. It happens, right?
I have some time before Tyler comes back and it sounds like Elaine and Stephen are getting in some time alone so I just sit naked on my couch. I can feel the cold air coming in through the gaping holes of the front door but this body of mine runs hot and I'm assuming that's the werewolf side. It's a nice addition, especially with the cold slowly creeping in at nights. I feel my longer, thicker hair against my right ear and my hand automatically goes to tuck it behind the ear. It's funny how quickly that little habit took hold. I pause and wonder, though. Is it Hannah taking over or is it actually just me getting used to having hair like this? My reaction or the ghost of a reaction from Hannah? I never liked theoretical philosophical questions of the whole "Is this really reality" and the thought kind of upsets me so I put it aside. Until and if I feel her changing my actions then she's dead and I just happen to look exactly like her. I sure the hell am not going to start thinking of how I'm living in her skin. This is me. This is who I am now.
When I look down my body, I see perfection. Or, near to it. Hannah was a beautiful woman. I'm hunched slightly and I can see the very tip of my vagina. The clit guy. The awesome guy. My favorite little guy, actually. My tits have a very, very slight sag to them but that's because they're so damn big and gravity is gravity. Huh. I think the left one might actually be slightly bigger than the right. That's normal, right? Sometimes? I cradle the bottom of both of them with my long fingers and gently rub against the soft skin. I feel their heft when I lift up. My nipples are down a bit and pointed off to the sides. They're currently a bit flat and that's pretty cool. When my nails scratch against my tits, I have to twist a little on the couch. I like the way that feels and I watch the darker skin around my right nipple tighten, pushing the little guy out. I can feel the skin move around when I watch and concentrate on it. That's also nice. Mesmerizing, even.
Another thing I enjoy is the muscles along my stomach. I haven't done a single sit-up but running my hands slowly down my side feels like I'm rubbing a slightly padded rock. Even hunched over slightly, I have very little extra skin bunched up. Below my belly button are fine blond hairs tracing down to my sparse brown pubic hair. The little blond hairs are slightly ticklish when I gently run my fingertip along them. I wonder if the blond is from my male side since I used to be blond or if it's normal for the small hairs to be different color. My pubic hair is a finger-width line that fans out slightly above my clit. That hair is almost like a bristle.
I can smell the scent of my vagina even if my legs weren't open and bare. I'm hoping that's also a werewolf thing and I make a note to ask Elaine about it... if it doesn't start a conversation about stroppy vaginas. It's almost a different scent each day now that I've had it for more than a day. Very subtly different but sometimes stronger and sometimes more faint. I pull my legs up to my chest and the scent becomes stronger. My legs are smooth against my chest and I don't feel any strain like I would've had as a man. I'm way more flexible and the absence of a penis seems to let my legs bend more easily. It's hard to describe the difference but I remember a slight pull against different muscles when I was a man. My legs have those little tiny blond hairs, too so I guess it's a normal thing. In a strange way, I really look forward to finding out all the "normal" woman things that happen. Messing with my hair, maybe learning how to do makeup, trimming my fingernails and, well, hell, who knows? Being a woman. Hopefully it's not all creepy dudes staring at you in the stores and things like that.
I glance around but there's nobody there so, with my knees bent and against me, I extend my right leg out and up. And up. All the way vertical and it doesn't even hurt. Okay, now I'm impressed with myself. The muscles in my thigh look like they were etched in marble - solid and perfectly formed against pale skin. I push my toes straight up and my calf muscles shift. I bring the leg slowly back down again. And then up, watching the way everything works. I'm enjoying this. I haven't spent enough time just looking at myself as a woman. Too many creepy wizards and hypnotized squirrels and hot naked men and women. Well, one of each of those in particular. The hot naked man and woman. The view straight down my body is like something out of one of the few wet dreams I've had. And, sure, I'll admit - I turn myself on. A lot. If the mood was different, I'd probably be masturbating furiously right now. It's just hard to get myself over the edge sexually when there's a little girl in danger and Hannah's killer suddenly on the stage. Still, I look down and try to capture the view for some night when I'm possibly alone and in the dark and want to play with myself. Like right now but not right now.
And then, werewolves. I assume that's why Thomas' little divining rod led him to me. I have a thing for werewolves so his sticks or bones or whatever the fuck they were said "Hey, try this guy. He's a fucking creep and gets off on werewolves." Not that I'm complaining. No fucking way. I'd say it's a toss-up whether the werewolf part of me is a bigger draw than the female part of me. I think the werewolf edges the woman out but the more I'm in her body, the more I wonder if that is completely true. Of course, I have yet to find a bad thing about... oh, right. Period stuff. That's supposed to suck really bad, right? I've known some ladies over the years that have said they barely feel it but the vast majority seem to rank from "Ouch, that sucks" to "I will murder you if you talk to me this week." What kind was Hannah? Will I get whatever kind she had or does any of my biology come into play?
Hell, is any of my biology left? Are there any little strands of my DNA wandering around Hannah's body affecting things or is it my consciousness placed in her body and that's that? That might explain the odd thoughts at the beginning. Wondering what having a cock in me would feel like and everything else. My old brain mapped into Hannah's brain and then merged together. Huh. That's actually kind of creepy when I think about it. When I think that my own body maybe just, what? Dissolved? Or is it like, shit, what was that comic I read when I was a kid? Miracle Man? Miracleman with one word? Where he swapped his normal body with a superhero's body and it was an actual body swap? With his normal body transferred into some weird dimension? Magic is weird shit and that's just accentuated by Thomas. If that's what happens to everyone that dabbles in magic then count me the fuck out. I'm not even sure he's alive any more. It looked like he was just an empty shell of a host to a bunch of creatures.
So, here I sit on the couch. Naked. Wondering whether my male body is hanging up in an interdimensional closet. I poke at my forearm a bit. Thick muscles under a slightly soft padding of smooth skin. No way there's a weird fucking layer of fur under there. And where do all the muscles come from? Actually, I could almost understand changing into a werewolf in real life; it's the changing back that makes no sense. I get bone growth and all of that because that can actually happen with real people. Just, you know, way way more slowly. What I can't see is how the wolf's jaw goes away. How does it know to put everything back just the way it was? Where do the bones and muscles and fur and tendons and skin and everything go?
Tyler is coming back. Now that I've smelled him again earlier, his scent is remarkably easy to track and I pick him out of the background smells two minutes before he knocks politely on the door. My voice (Elaine says it's a really sexy husky female voice and that I should be a phone sex operator) sounds too abrupt in the relative silence when I tell him to come in. The man moves the door to the side and sidles past it. His eyes lock on to my body and then immediately look away.
"S... sorry," he tells me. I can almost hear the whimper in his voice. I think it's gotten worse since he's met me.
"I'm naked. You're a guy. I'd think there was something wrong with you if you didn't look." I stand and look at him in the corner of my eye. Sure enough, he sneaks a couple more glances my way and my nose tells me he's very interested in what he sees. I'm surprised he's not exploding with all the hormones he's putting out. "But, I suppose if I want you to focus at all, I should get dressed."
"I mean no disrespect but you are beautiful. I haven't seen a female werewolf since I left my parent's house and, maybe I don't remember right or maybe it's because you're an Alpha but I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." He's still not exactly looking at me. Not exactly.
