Date: Wed, 25 Jan 2012 15:41:41 -0800 (PST)
From: Queer Tribes <queer_tribes@yahoo.ca>
Subject: The Tenderness of Wolves - Chapter 3

THE TENDERNESS OF WOLVES

The following story contains sex acts between male teenagers where consent
is somewhat ambiguous. While these situations can be really hot in a
fantasy, they'd be absolutely dreadful in real life. This story is only a
fantasy, and it's not meant to be taken seriously, or to be condoning the
idea of forcing people to have sex. If such stories are not legal in your
locale, well... you know what you're supposed to do.

It's a werewolf story. People get killed. Flesh is eaten. If you don't like
horror mixed in with your smut, go read Playgirl. If the idea of something
primal and savage like a werewolf gets your juices flowing though... Read
on. ;)

The Tenderness of Wolves is an awesome musical piece by Coil. This is where
the title comes from.

Feedback and encouragement is welcome and appreciated. You can get a hold
of me at queer_tribes@yahoo.ca.

Have fun! :)

* * *

CHAPTER 3 -- Conrad

Scent alone could tell Connie that a morbid pall had befallen the
school. Marco Williams, Terry Hartigan, and Max Ballantine were loved by
many. The Wolves had struck close to home. Conrad made a special effort to
appear less nonchalant than usual. After yesterday's fun, it was better to
refrain from shocking the mourning. There was enough rumors about him
already, and he saw little need to excite the crowds further. He was
already taking enough of a risk by trusting Jules Rodrigue with their dirty
little secret.

Mrs. Mortimer was droning about French verb tenses. She did her best to
sound chipper, but her efforts fell flat. Students paid little heed to her;
many were doodling, others were texting discreetly, phones hidden under
their desks. Conrad could smell the bad cologne that Mitchell White had put
on this morning; maybe he hoped it would open a female's legs for him, or
at least distract people from his zits. The teacher's cheap perfume teased
his nostrils; she put it on every day, out of habit -- there was no
passion behind it, no secret desire to arouse male attention, just rote
routine. There were a lot of subtle body odors: adolescent sweat buried
under deodorant, unwashed cum from chronic masturbators, sweet pussy juices
clinging to the human girls who had made out with their beaus this
morning. Someone had farted, and it hung in the air, thankfully at an
appreciable distance from the werewolf boy. But behind it all lingered the
scent of quiet terror.
 The young humans had been reminded that death could swoop down and take
them at anytime, and that I would come from a beast hidden among their very
midst. Conrad gave thanks everyday that he was spared from knowing that
fear, that he was the hunter rather than the hunted.

He was doing his best to ignore his cock. Whenever he shifted position in
his uncomfortable plastic chair, his dick rubbed ever so slightly against
the fabric of his black jeans, and it made him horny - again. The
hypersensitivity of his tool was driving him crazy at times. He knew it was
the heightened senses with which Wolves were blessed that caused it, but
Catherine liked to tease him by saying it was just him being a normal
teenager. He had fucked her good and hard after she'd said it again this
morning; the residue of her cunt juices still caked his cock. When it came
to fucking, Connie could give as well as he could take, and Cat most
certainly appreciated it, especially considering his was the only natural
cock in his new pack. He was glad Cat, Chad and him were fucking -- it
did help bring them closer. It was so difficult for them to trust him, and
he couldn't blame them -- he wouldn't trust himself either.

He sighed. Chad had gotten angry when he had told him about the three
humans he had murdered. He'd made his tight face of his that he puts on
when he's pissed off. "Too close to the school", he had said. "Don't kill
near your den." Then Conrad had told him about Jules. It had been
difficult; he'd had to push himself not to lie. You mustn't lie to the
pack. Chad berated him, insulted him. "Are you fucking stupid?! He knows
who you are, what you are, and you let him go?!" Something had snapped in
Connie. "It's my fucking life! You're not the boss of me!" He'd done it --
Chad had changed all the way, his muscles expanding and bursting through
his clothes, his nostril flaring with barely contained anger. Even Cat had
pulled back, realizing this was a fight in which she wanted no part. The
still focus of danger had fallen on Connie. He had almost changed
himself. He could take Chad. He could take anyone.

Instead, he had bowed his head down in submission. "I'm sorry, Chad."

Chad had snorted and changed back to his human form. He'd then stormed off
to his room, naked, leaving Connie with Cat. She had been nicer about the
whole thing. Truth be told, she did enjoy flirting with danger, and she
occasionally entertained human lovers who were aware of her nature. These
flings rarely lasted long, and few of these humans had a good track record
of staying alive. "I can't blame you for keeping a chew toy", she had said,
"but you should stay away from humans who know too much about you." She had
plopped down on their old couch. "Should we trust your judgment?"

"I know what I'm doing", Conrad had replied.

She had shaken her head.

"You're such a pup. Sit down, come watch some Doctor Who."

The school bell rang. It was not an actual bell, but an electronic chime
that hummed the ancient, iconic five-note tune from Close Encounters of the
Third Kind. Da-dee-duh-doo-daaah. Conrad doubted most of the students had
ever even heard of Spielberg's old flick. Ignorance had a knack for
disappointing him. He stood up calmly, while the human kids rushed out of
the class. He took his earphones out, put them on his ears, and pressed
play on his worn-out MP3 player. Febrile bass sounds strummed against his
eardrums. He walked out. The school hallways were awash with adolescent
apes, heading towards the cafeteria for lunch. The scents weaved an
intricate tapestry, and Conrad could tell that the sentiment of freedom
that accompanied lunch hour had subdued the previous moodiness that haunted
the school grounds -- at least for a while. The lives of the human
teenagers around him saddened Conrad somewhat. The world was such a big
place, yet these people's
 universe felt so tiny. They did what they were told. Many resented it,
many fantasized about the day they would leave. A few disobeyed, although
their transgressions were almost invariably insignificant: skipping class,
throwing a fit at a teacher, shoplifting, getting drunk, smoking dope,
picking the occasional fist-fight -- kid stuff, really. Violent Femmes
hummed in Conrad's head, the ugly singer reminiscing about a girl he had
hated more than any other girl in the world. School bored Connie, but at
least his presence here was his decision.

He entered the cafeteria and wrinkled his nose. Fish. Not a hearty tuna
steak nor a mouth-watering slice of smoked salmon. It was cheap, overcooked
sole filet. Thankfully, he had packed a lunch, a decadent roast beef
sandwich -- a monster of a thing trapped inside a sliced-up crusty
baguette, seasoned with horseradish and onions. He would not lower himself
to eating cafeteria chow; his dignity as a predator demanded it. He spotted
the two guys with whom he usually hung out, Joey and Frederic, standing in
line waiting to be served. He waved at them, and they waved back. He
motioned towards a table, and they nodded back. He headed there and sat
down, then searched his backpack for his lunch. He was hungry.

Joey and Fred had decent taste in music, and they were fun, in a harmless,
PG-13 sort of way. They smoked weed and cigarettes, talked about sex a lot
(way more than they had it), and Fred could get a good laugh out of
Conrad. Joey was actually quite well-read, and Connie enjoyed discussing
politics and anarchist philosophy with him. Both boys were human; neither
suspected his predatory true nature, and he had no intention of revealing
it to them. They were a convenient cover, a pretense of a social life in
school. Conrad did feel a genuine fondness for them, but it was a detached
sentiment, akin to the affection one might experience for a plant you water
everyday, or for a video game that kept you entertained on rainy days. Joey
and Fred were aware of his homosexual inclinations and didn't mind. Conrad
had actually sucked Fred off on occasion. The young man was straight,
smelled straight, but he apparently enjoyed blowjobs more than he cared
about the
 sanctity of his heterosexuality. As for Joey, his looks were a bit too
peculiar for Connie's taste, and he'd never done anything sexual with
him. He could smell a horndog hiding under the dorky facade though, and he
felt a bit sorry that the human boy didn't have some pussy in which to bury
his dick. Joey had actually met Cat and Chad once (Conrad had introduced
Catherine as her cousin, and Chad as her boyfriend), and Connie had
considered asking Cat to fuck the poor virgin. Cat had a habit of breaking
her toys though, and in the end, he would be sad to see Joey hurt (or Fred
for that matter), so he'd let it be.

Conrad had had a couple of bites from his sandwich by the time his two
companions sat down next to him. He made a face when he smelled the fish.

"Guys, anything that smells like that hasn't seen the sea in a long time."

"Wanna trade?", asked Fred. "Your sandwich looks awesome, man."

"Over my dead body. The only fish I eat is pussy."

Fred snorted through his grape juice.

"Man, like you're the expert. Pussy that tastes like fish hasn't seen the
sea in a long time either."

"Sea?", asked Joey, his eyes never leaving his busy work on the
plate. "Work on that one, Fred."

"You know... Sea, water, bath, washing. It all made sense in my head."

"I'm glad I'm not in your head."

"Maybe you'd be getting more pussy if you were."

Conrad peered behind Fred, who was sitting across him. He had just spotted
Jules, on the other side of the cafeteria. The Haitian was sitting with his
younger brother -- what was his name? He squinted, trying to remember.

"Man, you're making funny faces", said Fred.

"What's Jules Rodrigue's brother called?"

"Jacob", replied Joey. "He's an eight-grader. That's a bit young for you,
isn't it?"

Connie smiled, and took a sip from the bottle of red Powerade he'd stashed
with his sandwich. To be honest, the younger brother had gotten a better
deal than Jules in the looks department, and he knew how to cultivate them
better. He was growing dreadlocks that gave him an easygoing charm, and the
young human obviously worked out -- his biceps bulged whenever he flexed
his arms. He was a chick magnet: he sold weed in the park nearby, and was
almost always in female company when he did. He wore some dreadful gangsta
clothes, however, although he didn't flag a gang. Still, he was a
looker. Conrad wondered if the boy put out at his age.

"You know what they say: if there's grass on the field, play ball", teased
Conrad.

"Man, that's sick. He's like 13", chuckled Fred.

"Anyway, I'm more into the older brother."

"You dig Jules Rodrigue? He's such a fucking nerd", said Joey.

"Like you're better. He's a lot less goofy-looking than you."

Joey shut up, and Conrad picked up whiff of self-consciousness from him. He
was understandably sensitive about his looks, being the forever-alone
type. Connie cared little for human egos, and he didn't feel like
apologizing. The three of them always picked on each other anyway.

His eyes hadn't left Jules. He was chatting with his younger sibling while
nibbling on a sandwich. Jules kept his shoulders hunched, and spoke
quietly. His brother seemed more agitated, perhaps even a bit angry. Connie
wished for a moment that he could shift to the feral form to eavesdrop on
their conversation; the more animalistic humanoid form granted excellent
hearing. It would stir quite a commotion in the cafeteria though, to say
the least. Conrad wondered at times how the other students would react if
he ever shifted all the way to the bestial form right here, right now. He
had never been seen by a large crowd in the monstrous werewolf form, and he
was curious about the extent of a panic that a single Wolf could cause. It
would be a howl.

Suddenly, Jules raised his head and noticed him. They locked eyes for a
moment. Although the Haitian boy was doing a good job at maintaining his
composure, something in his gaze wavered. Conrad gave him his wickedest
smile. Jules looked away, seemingly bringing his attention back to his
brother.

Jules Rodrigue... He had been curious about the boy for a while. School did
little to keep Conrad truly busy -- he knew a lot of the stuff already --
so he spent a lot of time human-watching. That sort of observation took on
a whole different meaning when you were a Wolf. Wolves' greatest asset as
hunters of humans were their ability to mingle unnoticed with their
prey. Paying close attention to a group of humans and noticing the way they
interacted was important to hunting, but also to a werewolf's safety. It
was all about noticing who was well-liked, who gravitated around whom, and
who was left out. Humans were ruthless when it came to their
outcast. Wolves used that to their advantage, but also needed to take care
not to end up themselves in the position of the outsider. Truth be told,
Conrad took risks with the big punk look, but it did also attract friends,
other marginals who had things in common. People like Jules Rodrigue,
however, who were
 clumsy when it came to fostering friendships, were another story.

So it was almost his natural instincts as a predator that had led Connie to
notice the quiet, nerdy boy. He didn't have much in the way of friends,
besides his brother. Other students had a lot of vicious fun at his
expense. It seemed like a faceless, arbitrary form of bullying, one boy
performing a cruel jest, a different one pulling a disheartening
prank. Sometimes a girl would mock flirting with Jules just to humiliate
him. It was terrible, really. The Haitian boy did his best to feign
indifference, to remain stoic in the face of these attacks. Yet it did not
take a Wolf to notice how each stroke of the knife left a cut, how it
inexorably whittled away at his resilience. Most Wolves would have seen an
easy picking in Jules: engage, befriend, betray, eat. Instead, Conrad saw
wasted potential, and that angered him.

Jules was intelligent. He excelled in class. Despite his inability to stop
the relentless harassment that he faced, he always gave the impression of
being on to people. He did not take anything at face value and could ask
clever questions. But it seemed like the people surrounding him were well
intent on making sure that he'd never flower and thrive. Connie remembered
his days of being human. He too had had to fend against a hostile
environment, like a vivacious weed that kept growing back despite being
constantly pulled out of the ground, but which was never allowed to grow
fully. It had hurt, and he still carried the memories with him. The Change
had freed him of much of that pain -- Wolves entertained a quiet serenity
about many of their hardships -- but he could not pretend that seeing it
done to others did not bother him. It did, and he could not stop wondering
what sort of being Jules Rodrigue could become with the right... guidance.

Yet his feelings towards Jules had been merely a vague sense of injustice
and a sort of curiosity, nothing strong enough to prompt Conrad to actually
get involved in the human's life. But yesterday, he had overheard Williams
and his cronies talk about how they were going to do Jules in after
school. Beat the fag, show him his proper place. Ice-cold focus had poured
into Conrad's mind when he'd heard those words. With a quiet resolve, he
had known what he would do. He would keep close tabs on the would-be
attackers. If they ever crossed the line, he would give them a taste of the
powerlessness and fear they hoped to visit on Jules -- he would murder
them and refuse to show the slightest hint of mercy. Less then an hour
later, the human boys had sealed their own fate by stalking Jules and
ambushing him in the Girard alley on his way home.

Snatching Jules in the aftermath of the attack had been a
spur-of-the-moment decision. Cops were coming; someone had probably seen
the attack and called 911. Jules would have had a hard time to explain why
a werewolf had just slaughtered three people and left him alone, so Conrad
had chosen to spare him the trouble. Also, the smell of the terrified,
frantic teenager had aroused him deeply. He had wanted to play, and taking
the things he had taken from Jules had been delicious. He could tell that
the instinctive, sexual part of the black boy's brain had wanted it too; to
Hell with however Jules' rational mind would cope with the experience
later. It's the animal that he wanted to feed within Jules -- not the
puny human reason that never ceased to limit itself.

Connie stirred in his chair to accommodate his growing erection. He was
remembering the taste of the thick, dark cock he had sucked along with the
sweet arousal that had kept seeping from it. He longed for it again.

"Man, you totally are staring at him. People will notice."

Connie breathed in quietly, struggling to bring his instincts in
check. Part of him wanted to grab a hold of Jules, rip his pants down, and
show the whole school in what manner the Haitian boy's cock deserved to be
serviced. He hungered for them to see how Jules Rodrigue was superior to
most of them, and why he would thus have every single one of his sexual
desires thoroughly met, no matter how shocked or disgusted it would leave
the meek human audience. He could do it, right here, right now, and no one
would have the power to stop him. Maybe he could even maul a pretty boy,
and offer Jules to partake in the succulent flesh along with him. All
Conrad had to do was to shift in the mighty bestial form, stand tall, let
nature run its course.

Instead, he gave a chuckle and took a bite from his sandwich, savoring the
juicy meat. He shuddered.

"Like I fucking care if they notice", he mumbled, chewing. "Let them
talk. That's all they do anyway, talk and gossip all day."

"Fuck them", agreed Joey. "You want him, at least you should be able to get
an eyeful."

Connie glanced sideways, sizing up his companion. It was a bold statement,
coming from Joey; the boy could be a bit tame.

"I'll make sure to let you know if I ever catch a girl wetting her panties
looking at you like that, Joe."

A slight, reddish hue flushed the teenager's cheeks. Connie caught a faint
aroma of longing. Poor Joey -- girls never looked at him like that,
Conrad was quite certain of it.

Fred stirred in his seat.

"You guys think the Were was somebody from school? The one who did it for
Williams, Hartigan, and the other guy?"

He had blurted that out all of a sudden, in a hushed voice. He darted his
eyes around, as if he feared his words might call forth the terrifying
beast. Maybe he was just concerned someone else would catch him partaking
in school gossip. Fred liked to think of himself as being above that,
although Conrad and Joey both knew well that he wasn't.

Connie shrugged.

"I'll bet you it's Mrs. Mortimer. She killed them because Hartigan couldn't
read for squat, Ballantine always texted dirty jokes in class, and Williams
wouldn't pound her pussy because she's too old, even though he'll fuck any
girl in school that'll spread her legs for him. And she always douses
herself in perfume to make sure she doesn't smell like a wet dog."

Fred howled in laughter. Even Joey gave an amused snort.

"Con, I'll never look at her the same way again. What has been heard cannot
be unheard."

"You'd better do your homework from now on, Joe!", roared Fred. "Or
Mrs. Mortimer will eat you."

Conrad snickered. Joke about who's the werewolf, and people won't think
twice that it might be you.

"I gotta go", said Joey. "I have a math exam this afternoon, and I need to
reread my notes."

"Boohoo. Boring Joey", complained Fred. "No wonder he can't get his dick
wet. Always studying."

"Some of us have ambition, Fred."

"See ya later, Joe", said Conrad.

Joey picked up his books, nodded, and left. Fred sat there in silence,
picking at the rest of his plate. Eating the pale fish seemed to demand a
fair amount of abnegation. After a moment, he spoke.

"Man, you want to come to my place after school?"

Conrad didn't answer. His nose was having no difficulty picking up the
horniness exuding from Fred.

"My parents won't be home", added Fred.

It was codeword for Fred wants a blowjob. Connie recalled their past
encounters -- Fred lying on his bed, his pants down, his pencil dick
thrusting his way to orgasm between Conrad's expert lips. He was fun to
suck, a randy boy who was unafraid to lose himself in pleasure. He kept a
chocker chain tied to his bed post; he would always grab a hold of it and
wrap it around his hand when he blew his load in Connie's hospitable
mouth. Conrad had always wondered if he did the same when he jerked off by
himself. Fred would be a happy boy if he ever found himself a kinky
girlfriend.

Connie glanced over Fred's shoulder, checking out on Jules. His brother had
left. The teenager sat alone, eating his food in silence. He would steal an
occasional, nervous look in the werewolf's direction. The Haitian boy
seemed to fidget a bit in place.

"I don't know, Fred. I have homework to do."

He picked up the last of his Powerade and took a swig.

"We can do homework together."

Annoyance crept on Conrad. Fred's insistence gave off a hint of pathetic
desperation. Werewolves didn't dig "pathetic".

"It's not homework you want to do, Fred. Some other time."

Conrad wasn't even looking at his companion. His attention was once again
focused on Jules Rodrigue. The human boy had noticed and struggled to
ignore it.

"I'm... I have to study too", said Fred.

Connie nodded, keeping his eyes on Jules. Fred stood up in silence and
left, leaving a scent of disappointment behind him.

Minutes went by. Conrad pulled a book from his bag -- Dhalgren, by Samuel
R. Delany -- and delved into it. It was a difficult read. Connie loved
difficult reads. He could go crazy if his neurons didn't get enough
stimulation, and high school offered little of that. The protagonist of the
story, Kid, was unwittingly becoming the leader of a street gang that
haunted an abandoned megalopolis, which had been struck by unknown
calamity. At this point in the storyline, Kid had a cute runaway boy giving
him head. Connie liked that.

Barely contained fear. Trepidation. Buried desire. A deep, musky aroma in
which Conrad had buried his nose the day before. Conrad took his eyes away
from the book. Jules Rodrigue was standing in front of him. The boy tried
so hard to look brave. He held Conrad's terrible gaze. Blood made its way
to Connie's member; it was swelling, trapped by his jeans along the length
of his leg. The werewolf realized that he wanted to break that boy. He
wanted to hear him beg and plead. He wanted to make the young man face his
own naked lust, to take away his defenses against it, to force him to
acknowledge that he was nothing more than an animal in heat. He longed to
tear from him any pretense of humanity, to free him from the hypocrisy of
Man as a higher being. They were all animals -- the apes, the wolves.
Conrad hated it when anyone pretended otherwise, Wolf or human.

"About tonight...", Jules started.

The human's voice was faint. The werewolf said nothing, remaining perfectly
immobile, staring at the boy. Jules took a deep breath.

"You're on", he said at last.

TO BE CONTINUED