I walked down Mason Street alone, my flip flops slapping against the sidewalk in an unfortunate rhythm, bringing to mind an overplayed Lady Gaga song. With the music irrevocably infused into my brain cells I found myself humming…“ Oh, wah, oh-oh, I’ll get him hot, show him what I’ve got.” Was it supposed to be Poker Face or Poke Her Face? I never was sure.
I passed a girl in heels leaning on her drunk boyfriend for support. As the two argued about who was more sober to drive, I passed an extremely thin man shaking more than Coco, my sister’s Chihuahua leaning against a wall, shifting his eyes nervously to both sides.
I knew downtown Whitbey, South Dakota was not a smart place for a five foot one girl in her matching pajama ensemble to be out this late at night. It wasn’t just junkies out here. There were more threatening things–namely monsters. These were the real deal, not the ones that sparkle in the sunlight or live in eternal teenage angst. According to the stories, these beasts would without qualms, tear you to pieces, lap up your blood, leaving just your limbs scattered across the pavement.
On this particular night, I wasn’t thinking much about monsters. I had once again stayed up too late by myself on the computer, sharing memes of cute mammals saying snarky things. And as always, when I stay up late, I find myself craving M &M cookies–the ones that only the Quik Stop makes just right.
Rob, my fiancé, was working late. He would have killed me if he knew I was out here at one in the morning. Being an agent with the Monster Enforcement Agency (MEA) he knew better than anyone how dangerous the streets could be.
Yes, I had read all the horror stories in the news about the influx of monster attacks since the crackdown last year, but come on, M&M cookies we’re calling me. Besides, I myself had never seen a monster. I figured my odds were slim.
I turned the corner and was greeted by a large window filled with ads promising slushies and Slim Jims at amazingly low prices. I had reached my destination. I opened the door to the store and the smell of glazed donuts and cheese dogs sent my mouth into a liquefied Pavlovian state. God, I loved this place.
I bought the cookie…okay two cookies…and a bottle of Perrier. I paid the guy at the counter and headed out. As my flip flops began flipping again, that Lady Gaga song returned and I resigned myself to facing a pop music montage the whole way home. But as I turned the corner I heard a loud rumbling coming from the alley way. I stopped. Curious, I peered into the darkness, to see two gangly legs and a long, thick tail slide its way into a dumpster.
I heard a rattling and a low guttural growl, then watched as a man (or was it an animal?) used the strength of his limbs to lift himself out of the dumpster. In his grasp was a half wrapped sub sandwich. He began to eat it, making the wild sounds of a B-movie monster. In the dull street light I could make out his massive silhouette. He stood upright like a man, but his face protruded outward like dog. Mayonnaise covered his fur and a stray banana pepper stuck to his chin.
I know I should have ran, screamed, or in the least handed him a napkin. Instead I stood there mesmerized. Was there really a real live werewolf, eating a roast beef sub—apparently with extra mayo, just twenty feet from me?
He glared at me and let out a single heavy breath through his nose. I kept still.
He lumbered towards me, the pads of his four wolf feet gently hitting the pavement, his chest rising and falling deeply as he took my scent in. Right beside me now, he looked into my eyes, growled, then pushed his nose towards my bag of cookies and took in a few sniffs. He snorted then licked his chops.
Then, as if Dear Abby had just come by to remind him of his manners, he lifted his body to standing, wiped his mouth with the fur of his arm and said one word,
“Hey,” I answered back.
‘Whatcha got there?” he asked.
“Cookies,” I answered.
“Bummer. I was hoping for snicker doodle.”
“Snicker doodles suck.” I said surprised to hear myself challenging this seven foot beast on his cookie preferences.
The wolf just growled, returned to his four feet and began walking around me, sniffing some more. Only this time he wasn’t after my food. His snout was just at breast level, which he apparently found very convenient as he approached “the girls” with ease. In fact, he was so close that I could feel his warm breath against my nipples. The two lieutenants stood to attention, as he gave the left one a nudge with his nose.
I backed away a little. “Whoa there guy.”
To my surprise he instantly became apologetic. “Oh man. Sorry. I’m not normally like this.” He gestured to his wolf body. “I mean, geez, I write software for a living.”
But he was still eyeing me and my pajama ensemble.
Trust me, there wasn’t anything particularly sexy about me in those penguin flannels…but I was without a bra, or panties and I did feel a little freer then I usually did when I go get cookies.
Apparently the wolf detected my sense of freedom—maybe when he did the boob nudge, because he was now at my crotch inhaling my scent.
“Sorry…I jffft can’t helpff myslfff,” he said, his mouth now muffled by my muff.
I suppose I should have backed away, seeing as this was not just a stranger in an alley, but a wanted monster. But the warm breath and wet nose pressing into my crotch, in this public space, in the open air was admittedly alluring. And for some reason—even though his breath did have a faint scent of Purina dog chow—I didn’t want it to stop.
I found myself suddenly pushed back to the wall by the strength of his limbs, the hard bricks pressing deeply into my skin. He grunted and growled in my ear and I felt my breasts swell, begging to be touched by his furry paws. He reached under my shirt and scooped them up, his soft fur arousing my skin.
His nose was on my neck now. I felt his smooth canines against my throat and though I loved those little bites, it occurred to me again that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I had read that werewolf bites, if not deadly, would have you PMSing like a demon dog for the rest of your life.
I heard myself speak..but it didn’t sound like me. It was all breathy, like Marylyn Monroe after a 5K run. “Oh. Oh….Um…this is really great..But uh, I really shouldn’t be doing this.”
The wolf backed up a little bit and looked at me apologetically. “Oh. Yeah. Right. Again I’m so sorry. I don’t normally do this sort of thing. You’re just soooo….” And before I knew it he was at my neck again with these little bites, sending blasts of joy to my lady region. I tried to resist but his fury fingers were already down below searching past the penguin pajamas. I felt a surge of electric joy and my knees went slack.
“Mmm,” I heard myself moan and my body took over. I slipped my hand in his boxers, wriggling it past the waistline, and found his fur covered cock, letting the bulge ripen in my palm. My hands ached with impatience and I rubbed harder and harder, allowing myself, Mina Minx, the dental hygienist, engaged to MEA agent Michael Kane to slip away completely. The old Mina had now apparently been replaced by a curious girl in a back alley giving a hand job to a particularly well endowed werewolf.
The wolf whimpered as he leaned towards the wall to keep himself upright. I continued to rub and tug and within moments he let out a crazy-ass howl, and was spurting wolf semen all over my PJs.
I heard the door to the Quik Stop open then close, followed by muffled voices like those on a radio. I peeked around the corner and saw two men in dark uniforms, pistols on their belts.
I stopped and looked up at my new friend to gauge his level of concern, but he was oblivious. He just kept staring upward to the sky with his blissed out puppy eyes. Then without any thought his paws had returned to my shirt. Wolfy was ready for more.
“I …I …think we better stop,” I said. I lifted my hand to show my engagement ring. “I’ve got connections to the MEA.”
“Dude. I didn’t know,” he said raising his paws up defensively.
“It’s okay. I mean this was all cool…and you really do have a way with those paws, but this probably isn’t the best idea.”
The wolf stood straight and smoothed the fur on his head.
“Okay. So we’re cool?”
“Well I’m Matt by the way,” he said holding out his paw for a shake.
“Mina,” I said returning it. I was tempted to say “good dog”, you know as a little joke, but I didn’t think that would fly. After all I had just met the guy.
“Well, goodbye Mina,” he said. “It was uh…fun.” I watched as his muscular wolf body turned away and headed down the alley. He looked back at me with a tad of longing, like I was a bakery that had just closed its doors, and some of my goods were still in the window, taunting him.
He may have been the hairiest guy I’d ever met and he did smell a tad like Coco the dog, but I certainly didn’t mind being his red velvet cake for the evening–in fact I couldn’t help but still feel hungry, unsatisfied in a way that I knew the M&M cookies would never cure.
“Thanks Matt,” I called to him, sounding ever so slightly sad.
“Yeah. Maybe I’ll see you around…” he said.
His silhouette disappeared into the darkness and I turned in the direction of home, letting the rhythm of my flip flops sing again to me: “I’ll get him hot, show him what I’ve got.”
Mina Minx grew up in Waunakee, Wisconsin, where as a child she raised injured animals, including a brood of quadriplegic squirrels and a one eyed crow named Wallace. She now works as a dental hygienist at Happy Teeth Dental Clinic in bustling Whitbey, South Dakota amongst bikers, cowboys, and the occasional werewolf. Miss Minx is the proud owner of an assortment of flannel pajamas and an extensive vintage Furby collection. When she’s not scraping plaque off of old women’s teeth, she trolls the downtown streets of Whitbey late at night, looking for M&M cookies and broad shouldered beasts. She prefers men with fangs, claws, or at least a little hair on their backs.