Tenderness of Wolves

THE TENDERNESS OF WOLVES

The following story contains sex acts between male teenagers and adults and teenagers of all genders where consent can be 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.

There are also some elements that could be triggering for survivors of sexual abuse.

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 12 -- Conrad Nearly two years ago

Hustling involved a lot of standing around, waiting. Most people thought it meant being paid to have sex, but a more accurate depiction of the profession would be that you were paid to wait a long time, then have sex. Connie was not a patient boy. He wanted his dick sucked, and he wanted money.

Shoppers milled about the Dupuis Plaza mall. It was a Thursday evening, a busy night, and it'd be Christmas soon. Winter however was not the ideal season to pick up johns, and Conrad had been hanging out for almost an hour, trying to catch a man's eye. He'd had to leave his spot twice for a break, in order to remain moderately inconspicuous. He was in enough trouble with the law as it was. He entertained a bitter thought for Kevin Lohan. `Dumb kid who couldn't keep his mouth shut.' Now he had to spend the next year at the Mont Saint-Antoine Centre for Youth for "sexual assault on a minor" as a juvenile sex offender.

"Sexual assault, my ass", muttered Conrad.

Kevin might had been only 10, but he had been way too enthusiastic about their HJ&BJ sessions for it to have been anything but wildly consensual. Then for some reason, he had gotten into his head that Conrad was molesting him; he had told a teacher, and off to the youth centre the older boy had gone. `More like youth prison.' Everything was rules, and punishment for breaking them. The other boys could have shown solidarity, but instead they constantly picked on each other. Connie was grateful for last year's growth spurt; now he looked older than his age, and it made it that less likely that a kid would pick trouble with him. It's trouble with one of the "educators" that had made him run away instead.

Connie ran a hand through his freshly buzzed hair. He had bought a clipper with money from one of his first tricks and had decided to get rid of his longish mane. It was the first time he had gotten rid of all his hair. He liked it. The brisk ambient air was like a gentle caress on his skull, and he loved how soft the hair felt against his fingers. He couldn't stop petting his brand new haircut.

He wasn't so naive as to think he'd be on the street forever. Some dramatic kids escaped from the centre thinking they would never get caught again. Running away only lasted a time, and Conrad knew this. He had wanted a few days of freedom to think, and he'd had them. Weather was unusually warm for December, but it'd get cold eventually. He would return to the centre, in time. He'd be in less trouble if he returned of his own volition. But for the time being, he enjoyed the city and got paid to let older men enjoy what he packed between his legs. Life wasn't so bad.

Movies always showed young people hustling as having hit rock bottom, forcing themselves to do acts that filled them with disgust -- usually to pay for some nasty drug addiction. Connie kinda liked hustling. He didn't mind that the men were older. They were often gentle in their touch -- experienced, Connie liked to think of it that way. Many were lonely, he could tell. Things got weird sometimes. But there was an undeniable thrill to having men look at him with need and to have them pay good money to enjoy his hot bod. Connie was hot -- he had come to realize that in the past few months, as he walked on Sainte-Catherine in the gay village and men would check him out. It's on one of those strolls that he had decided to hang out in the park behind Club Sandwich, where guys picked up tricks, to see what would happen. It had been after the mess with Kevin; his trial would start in a month.

It had taken a while, but an older Arabic man -- he had given Conrad an Egyptian name, Tafiq -- had approached him. He had asked him if he'd been "working". Nervous anticipation had filled Conrad and he had blurted out a "yes". They had gone together, to the man's apartment nearby. All sorts of questions had gone through the boy's head, on what would happen, what they would do, when and how they should discuss price. He also wondered about his own safety, following a man like that to his place, without a soul in the world knowing where he was. The older man, in his late 40s or early 50s, slightly overweight with a rough stubble, didn't look like he could be a werewolf at all. Nonetheless, Connie was well aware a human could hurt him too. But it had been easy to let the thrill of the adventure chase away those concerns.

They had reached his john's apartment, some elegant condo in the northern part of the village on Alexandre-de-Seve street. His client seemed well-off. The place was clean, with abstract paintings hanging from the wall, crisp furniture, and mementos from his country decorating the place.

"How much do you charge?", had asked Tafiq.

Connie had picked numbers out of thin air.

"Forty if you want to blow me."

He had hesitated a second, then he'd added, "Eighty, and I'll blow you too".

"I just want to touch you."

"Forty then. Up front."

The older man had taken out his wallet and had sifted through what had appeared to be a thick wad of bills. He had handed two green twenties to Conrad. It had crossed the teenager's mind then that should he try to mug his client to take his wallet, he would probably get away with it, and the man would never go to the police. A tinge of shame had crept up Connie's chest for even considering this. The man had money, he paid kids for sex, but he had seemed lonely and in need of something the boy could provide. He did not deserve to be hurt. Conrad had simply grabbed the money and tucked it in his pocket. He'd then cracked his patented naughty boy smile.

"Show me to your room, man."

Tafiq had let him into a spacious bedroom. The walls had been tan and the furniture, made of polished wood. It had had the colours of the setting sun. There had been a king sized bed in the centre of the bedroom. Conrad had hoisted himself on the enormous mattress.

"Man, this thing is huge! You have all that to yourself?"

"I'm married. My wife is away visiting her family."

"Oh."

Connie had wondered then if it was alright to do this, to be part of this adultery. Then he had realized hustlers probably ran into those kinds of situations all the time.

"How do you want to do this?", had asked his client.

"You should get those pants off me. I'm sure you want to see what I've got hidden in there."

He had spread his legs open a bit and had grabbed his crotch to show the man where the fun was. He'd hoped he wasn't overdoing it. Tafiq had reached for him and had begun unbuttoning his pants, the older man's gaze avoiding him. Connie had been able to tell shame haunted the man, who had now been pulling the teenager's cock out. The hand felt clammy with sweat, but it nonetheless brought Conrad to an erection with little need for effort. Soon his client had been using his mouth to savour his manhood, his eyes closed, lost in the moment. The punk boy had run a hand through Tafiq's greasy black hair, as if to reassure him that what he was doing was okay. He'd said nothing -- he hadn't wanted to ruin the man's moment by saying something corny. His thoughts had wandered during the moderately skillful blowjob. He had been sitting there, in a stranger's bedroom, letting a man three or four times his age suck his dick, partly for money, partly for kicks.

He had pushed away thoughts that all of this was really fucked up. He was Connie Blackstone -- 'fucked up' was his middle name.

When he had come, he had shoved his few inches all the way to the back of his client's mouth. The older man had swallowed everything he'd had to provide, and he had made sure to lick his head clean, doing his best to prolong the contact. Connie had finally pulled away, hiding his goods out of sight. Tafiq had stood up, and so had done the teenager. Conrad had groped the front of the Egyptian man's pants, feeling a large bulge through the beige corduroy.

"I bet you want to get off real bad", he had whispered to his client. "Just a few bucks more, and I'll take care of that."

He had wanted the man to say yes. The money would have been neat, but he'd wanted to know what it'd be like to please such a mature man. He had pictured the brown-skinned erection in front if his face, ample, gorged with need. He had wondered if it'd taste different that Michael's, the only other adult cock he had ever sucked. Now that he had come, he was not so horny anymore, but he had wanted to do something raunchy. Blowing a man old enough to be his father, a man willing to pay a young teenager for sex, that was raunchy enough.

Tafiq had then taken the boy's hand and removed it from his crotch. There had been nothing brusque about his gesture; it had almost been tender.

"Please go. I want to be alone now. Thank you for letting me do this."

Connie had left then. As he'd returned to the street, everything had begun to spin around him. There had been a weirdness in his gut, and he hadn't really understood why it had gripped him all of a sudden. He'd had wanted this, to do this with this man. He shouldn't had felt abnormal about all this. Conrad had then put a hand in his pocket, and he'd fished out the money his client had given him. Forty dollars. By the time the teenager had walked to a downtown stored called The Labyrinth and bought the Rancid t-shirt he'd wanted for so long -- the one from the "...And Out Come The Wolves" album, with the beat-down punk sitting in a flight of stairs -- the lousy feeling had been gone.

After this, hustling had become an easy gateway to sex and money. Although Conrad was only 13, sex had been a part of his life for a while already, and he craved it as much as the older boys. Also, for the first time in his life, he could buy everything he wanted. He was independent, he was his own man. Now that he had a crime sentence wrapped around the neck, this had become even more important to him than before.

Tonight though, sex and money were scarce. There were days like that, he told himself. One of his favourite songs began playing on his iPod. He cranked up the volume and closed his eyes. He mouthed the words. "Black coat, white shoes, black hat, Cadillac... Yeah! The boy's a time bomb." He tried not to think about where he would spend the night if he couldn't find a hospitable trick. He did not want to return to the youth centre just yet. Freedom had not worn him out enough.

He opened his eyes, and he noticed a man sitting on a nearby bench staring at him. Caucasian, early twenties, clean-cut, wearing an expensive North Face autumn jacket, grey eyes, somewhat handsome, although he wasn't what Connie would have slept with for free. The man seemed to have some money though, or parents who did. The teenager made eye contact with him for a solid second longer than social norms allowed, then he casually looked away. When he glanced back a few moments later, the man was still staring at him. Conrad reached down and picked up his backpack, then he affected a casual stroll towards a spot near the bench where the man was lounging about. Connie tapped his fingers on his thigh to the rhythm of the music in his ears as he made his way there. He did not look directly at the man. A couple of meters away from the bench, he put his backpack down, opened it, and pretended to rummage through it.

"Hey kid. What would you say to making some easy money tonight?"

Conrad looked up at the man.

"Depends. How much, and what for?"

"Five hundred bucks for some fun at my place all night."

Connie had a start when he heard the amount his mark was offering. A smirk appeared on the man's face.

"What's the catch?", asked the young hustler.

"There's no catch. I have money, and I want to have fun. With you. You just do what you do with other people. There's booze, and other stuff if you want to get high."

The teenager was no fool. He knew when a deal sounded too good to be true. Five hundred dollars, however, was a tremendous amount of money. It could extend his freedom for several days, and it could allow for a lot more fun in that time. He hesitated. Several other boys, usually older, working the street in the Village had bragged of rich clients giving them that kind of money for a night of partying. It was far from being unheard of.

"How do I know you're not a werewolf or some kind of kidnapper?"

"If I'd offered sixty bucks to suck your dick, would you be asking those kinds of questions? I want you all night, and I can afford it. My parents pay for school in McGill. I can blow 500 dollars on a night of fun once in a while, and I'm sure you'll know how to put that dough to good use. Don't pass up a sweet deal when you wouldn't have looked twice at an ordinary one."

Instinct made Conrad wary. The promise of 500 bucks and a good time, however, tugged him the other way.

"Where do you live?"

"There's an apartment tower on the corner of Saint-Laurent and Sherbrooke. I live there. Pretty sweet view."

Connie had an inkling of the place his trick was talking about. It was a large building downtown, with security and, in all likelihood, hundreds of people living there. It was not like the man would drive him someplace in the middle of nowhere. Part of Conrad was aware that he was trying to talk himself into agreeing to the money, carefulness be damned. He hushed the little voice in his head.

"That's not far. We can walk there."

"Sure. What's your name?"

"Lucas"1, lied Conrad.

The man stood up.

"I'm Thomas", he said.

Thomas' place -- on the 15th floor, overlooking Sherbrooke Street -- was decorated in a way that blended modern and cozy. Walls were painted either in white or stark colours that contrasted tastefully. Abstract art hung from the walls, but it did not come off as tacky or easy; staring at it was actually pleasant. The couch on which Connie and his trick were sprawled was covered by supple, black leather; its cushions were so soft it seemed it had swallowed both males. Conrad wondered if it was the MDMA that did that, or if it was just truly an amazing couch.

His client had offered the drug, and they had both taken it. The younger boy had pretended it had not been his first time doing it, and he had not wanted to appear lame by refusing it. To be fair, he'd been curious about it too. So he had just swallowed the gel cap with a glass of tap water. They had been talking in Thomas' living room while waiting to come up. When it had begun, Connie had had a few minutes of anxiety. It had seemed that his heart was racing and his brain was fizzing. It had not lasted. Now he was relaxed, at peace. Thomas' strong hands were petting his exposed chest and rubbing plushy waves of niceness into his body. The teenager decided MDMA was awesome. He was one with the universe, devoid of fear and of the secret insecurities that plagued him. He had also become quite chatty.

Thomas had been talking too. He was from British Columbia, and as he had said when they'd met, he had come to Montreal for university. He was doing a MBA, and he sounded quite into it.

"It's not because we have a werewolf situation that business has to stop, you know."

"So what's this about anyway? What does somebody learn in a MBA?"

"Business is basically about organizing stuff and getting shit done. How to start from the few resources you have and do something big with those. It can be applied in a lot more areas than just making money, you know."

Conrad was staring at his own hand, centimetres away from is face. It appeared unnaturally blurry, as if the focal point of his vision had shifted. He blamed it on the drug.

"I used to be good in school", said the teenager.

"And what happened?", asked Thomas.

"Life. Life happened."

His grades had become piss poor ever since he'd ended up in juvenile court, and they had rockbottomed at the youth centre. He had stopped caring. Somehow, Connie could not conjure at the moment the bitterness he'd had lately for Kevin. Things had gone wrong. It happened. Now he had to deal with the situation.

"Aren't your parents going to worry that you're not coming home tonight?"

The boy looked up at his client.

"I haven't been home in a while."

"What happened?"

Some part of Connie thought it was unwise to let his guard down, to spill his life story to a john. It was usually the other way around, with his tricks eager to talk about their shitty lives. But all this carefulness, all this need to always be the tough guy -- it seemed so futile at the moment.

"I was sent to the Youth Centre. Juvenile delinquent bullshit. And I ran away."

Thomas' finger twirled around the teenager's nipple.

"Did anything nasty go down at the centre?"

"Yeah. One of the educators groped me. I know how weird that sounds... I mean, I'm here with you for money, and I have a history. But that, it was creepy."

"I don't think it's weird. I'm paying you, but you agreed to this. Pretty sure you didn't agree to him doing anything to you."

Connie's mouth was doughy paste.

"You got anything to drink?"

"Just look in the fridge. Grab a Powerade. They're great when you're high."

It took willpower to tear himself from Thomas' embrace. He had melted within the shape of the man's body. He wondered why people didn't spend their lives cuddling. Cuddling was fantastic. He walked to the kitchen, and he opened to stainless steel door to the refrigerator. It was sparsely garnished, except for condiments, leftover Chinese food, and drinks. He grabbed a squirt bottle of cherry red Powerade and popped it open. The liquid was happy and sweet and it seemed like his mouth and throat couldn't get enough of the sugary water. He chugged half the bottle, then trotted back to the couch. Thomas was waiting for him, sitting, shirtless. Conrad climbed on top of him, facing him, straddling his groin. He mashed his lips against his john's and probed the inside of his mouth with his tongue. The student tasted fruity and responded to his kiss by darting an agile tongue against his.

"You paid for fun", breathed Connie. "You should use what you bought."

"Stand up", said Thomas.

The boy granted his request. He nudged his hips forwards, taking the crotch of his jeans to his clients face.

"Suck it", ordered Connie. "Make it hard."

"I thought I was the client."

"You rented a bad boy. You do what I say."

There was always a hint of shyness that haunted Connie when he was with johns, a nagging fear of being too bold, of screwing up. That was absent from him at the moment. His dick was tingling from the drug, and he wanted to know what head on E felt like. He began grinding against Thomas' face.

"Suck it", he repeated.

Thomas obliged. He rubbed his face against the teenager's crotch, massaging it almost. Ripples of nice coursed through were he pushed. He nudged the boy hustler back a few inches, and he unbuttoned the jeans. Conrad was going commando -- he often did that when he was cruising for tricks. The john buried his nose in his pubic bush and inhaled.

"You're not as old as you look", he declared.

"Is my dick that small?", asked Connie.

He knew from having been with many men that his equipment rarely compared to theirs in terms of size. It intimidated him at times, although his clients were usually enthusiastic when it came to discovering his cock. Now Thomas' reaction simply intrigued him.

"Nah. I've seen plenty of grown men who had smaller than you. I can just tell by the way you smell. You almost look like a man, but you still smell like a boy. So, how old are you, really?"

Thomas had seized Conrad's soft tool between his fingers and had begun an unhurried stroke as he asked.

"You really want to know? I'm 13. You're breaking a whole bunch of laws right now, mister."

His client grinned. He brought the boy's dick, still soft, to his mouth. The warmth seeped inside the flesh, causing Connie the sigh.

"Oh yeah... Suck it, you pedophile."

He heard a muffled giggle in reply. Thomas kept giving him head for a while, with patient strokes from his lips and mouth. Unlike many of Connie's tricks, there was no rush or hint of desperation. Thomas was a well-off young man affording himself a treat. The young punk decided he didn't mind being a rich boy's plaything for a night. Good drugs and enjoyable head -- it was a pleasant change of pace. His lover's ministrations provided pleasure, and the MDMA stirred it into a syrupy mixture that twirled inside his groin. Despite all the delicious sensations though, Connie's cock remained soft.

"It feels great, but I can't seem to get it up", he whispered. "Sorry about that."

Thomas let go of him.

"No worries. It's the drug. It's very difficult to get hard on MDMA. I bet you're feeling amazing though."

The boy nodded.

"Hey, it should be your turn now", he said. "I wanna see what you're packing."

"Alright."

Connie knelt in front of the couch. He laid a hand on his john's knee and gave a gentle push to spread his legs apart. He moved his hands up to rub to cotton-covered crotch. He noticed right away that his client's manhood was engorged and hard, unlike his own. He unbuttoned the pants and freed the tool; Thomas also was not wearing any underwear. The cock was long but slender, the foreskin intact, with a strong curvature.

"You sure don't have any problems getting it hard", said Connie.

"I popped a Viagra along with the MDMA."

"You should have offered me one."

He wondered if it was true the little blue pills could make a guy hard for hours.

"Had only one left, sorry."

Conrad traced the length of his client's erect penis with the tip of his finger.

"You know what?", the punk asked, "You wanna pop my cherry? No one's ever fucked me before. I usually don't let clients do that."

"Oh, so I'm special?"

Conrad cocked his head to the side and smiled.

"Well, you're paying quite a bit of cash for me. Might as well make it worth your while."

It crossed his mind that this could hurt, that Thomas might not care about taking his time in deflowering him. In fact, Thomas might not care at all -- Connie was just his whore for the night. But he wanted to get it over and done with. He was on the run, enjoying whatever few days of freedom he had left before returning to the centre, and it was about time he knew what being fucked felt like.

"Just use a condom", the boy added.

He might have been reckless, but he wasn't stupid.

"We should move to the bedroom", suggested Thomas.

"Fuck yeah", whispered Connie.

Twenty minutes later, Conrad had his face buried into a pillow, muffling wails and moans. His john had turned out to be an expert at this. He had eased the teenage punk into it with patient, well-lubricated fingers -- first one, then two. He had taken out a slick, curved glass dildo that he'd then used on the boy. Connie had dreaded that the object would be too hard or uncomfortable, but with the lube it had sled inside him like his opening had been a wet, horny cunt hungry for dick, and the toy had kept pushing mysterious spots inside him that had made him -- along with the drug -- surrender. He was Thomas' pliable, willing plaything. There had been some discomfort when his john had finally entered him with his grown cock -- sheathed in latex -- and they both had held still for a minute. What had felt like an urge to take a dump receded, and now that the young man was pushing his dick in and out at a steady pace, Connie was helpless to be

anything other than his hole. He gasped whenever the hard thing plunged back inside him, always going inches deeper than he thought he could take. Whenever it nearly pulled out, all the boy wanted was for Thomas to shove it back in again, as hard as the man could. It was dirty, being a 13-year-old selling his ass to this guy -- and it turned Connie on even more. The boys at the centre sometimes risked calling him a faggot, and they were right -- men like Thomas and Michael, who had initiated him to the secrets of sex, were what got him going.

After what had seemed like almost an hour, Thomas pulled out of him. Conrad collapsed on the bed, spent.

"I can't come, sorry", said his john.

The teenager sucked in a few draughts of air, each running through him like gulps of ice cold water.

"I don't think I can either", he breathed. "I could fucking explode though."

He turned around, facing his client. Thomas was athletic without being a muscular man. His chest was hairless, but a visible chestnut fuzz covered his legs, and his pubic bush was unkempt. His face was not really Conrad's thing, but his body was pleasant to look at. He had nothing to say against what the man could do with his cock, however. Connie had had no idea taking it up the ass could plunge his brain into such a stupor. He wondered how much of it was the drug, and how much was the sex. Thomas reached over to glance at his phone, checking his messages.

"I have friends having a party right now. They'll be up all night. Wanna go join them?"

"Where is it?"

"Westmount, on the mountain."

If Westmount was a place for rich people, the houses on the mountain -- "mansions" was perhaps a more appropriate term -- belonged to the filthy of the filthy rich on the island of Montreal. Conrad had no idea how much money one of these was worth. He had been in the neighbourhood a few times on car rides, however. It was a place where the wealthy lived and congregated with their own.

"Aren't your friends going to ask some funny questions about me?"

"You're not the first teenager I've brought to a party with them. Just add three or four years to your real age, if anyone asks. You can look the part."

"I know."

Conrad wondered what kind of parties rich people threw. Some part of his brain advised caution; these people might not be above luring and raping a teenage boy for fun. He dismissed the idea quickly. Thomas had been a cool trick so far, and if he'd wanted to hurt him, he would have done so already. Connie hopped down the bed, and walked to the living room where his clothes lied strewn about on the floor and the couch. He slid back into his skin-tight jeans. The hefty roll of bills Thomas had given him filled his left pocket: five hundred bucks, all in twenties. The lump of cash that pressed against his thigh thrilled Connie. Good, easy money; he wondered what he'd buy with it. His john walked behind him; Thomas wrapped his hands around the punk boy's waist and drew him close.

"Believe me, these guys know how to party", he whispered to the teenager's ear. "You're in for a night you'll remember your whole life."

Connie grinned. It was a fantastic night already.

Thomas parked his car inside the garage, where five other vehicles were stored, including a white limousine. Garages Connie had seen so far in his life had had tools and a workbench. This one lacked these, and instead featured black lights and a bouncer - the kind that was straight out of movies, with a black tux, black shades, and an earpiece. This specific goon was a black man in his mid-20s, nearly as wide as he was tall, head shaved. `Mr. Cobra Bubbles', thought Connie, remembering the movie Lilo & Stitch. The man seemed the deadly serious type, but he cracked a wide smile when Thomas stepped out of the car.

"Hey, Thomas my man! Who's your friend?"

Connie had to strain his ear to hear him over the loud dubstep that was coming from inside the house. The car window next to him vibrated along with the bass. The thrumming made him want to groove, to shake his body to the music. He assumed he was coming up from the second MDMA Thomas had given him before they'd left his apartment.

"His name's Lucas. He's my date for the night."

The bouncer nodded. Conrad almost expected him to ask for ID, even though this was a private residence, and not a club. The man, however, merely opened the door and escorted them inside.

The were led through a plain corridor, also lit with black lights. The music became louder as they advanced. It sent ripples through Connie's body, the drug humming in synch with the low bass. Connie wasn't a fan of dubstep, but tonight it mattered little: he longed to gyrate his hips on a dance floor. They reached a large room where twenty or so people were carousing. The furniture in the room was covered with white sheets that glowed under the party lighting. There were three immense couches, each on a different side of the room, where half naked people were cuddling, fondling each other, or straight up making out. The rest were dancing sensually in the centre of the room, grinding their bodies in the same deliberate rhythm than the music. They were all beautiful people.

"I have to talk with my buddy who owns the place", said Thomas. "I'll be right back. Help yourself to the food."

His client gestured toward a table with plates garnished with sliced fresh fruit, multicoloured drinks, and sweets and candy of all kind. Connie dipped his head in understanding. His partner crossed the room and went through the other exit, nodding at another bouncer who watched the party nonchalantly, making sure it did not spill to other parts of the house. There seemed little danger of that: the crowd did not appear rowdy, and the carousers looked to Connie as if they were as high on MDMA as he was - mellowed out and enjoying the groove. The teenager put down his backpack in a corner of the room where other revellers had left clothes and bags, then he headed for the snacks table. He plucked a strawberry from a bowl and stuck it in his mouth. It tasted of summers spent in the sun, feasting on the wild berries in the field behind his grandmother's house when he had been a child. He hadn't enjoyed a strawberry so much since then. The berry's juice

was a caress against his tongue, a hug for his taste buds. He closed his eyes a moment to savour it.

When he reopened them, a girl was standing next the him. She was smiling at him. He smiled back; he was in a friendly mood. She appeared to be in her late teens, and Connie doubted she was any older than 20. He wondered if she realized how young he was. He noticed freckles on her white-skinned face. Her hair seemed red or auburn; he was unsure in the lighting. She wore a black tank top that hugged her tits tight, and a wavy mini-skirt.

"Hi", he said.

He could barely hear the sound of his own voice above the music. She grabbed his hand and mouthed something.

"Come dance with me", he thought he heard her say.

She dragged him in the middle of the dozen of people who were half-dancing, half-grinding into each other at the centre of the room. She wrapped her arms around him, drew him close, and coaxed him into a slow dance. He relished the contact, the waves that the music sent through him, and he let her motion and the rhythm move him. He put his own hands on her waist, purposefully letting his fingertips brush the top of the curve her ass made. Conrad had always been uncertain as to whether girls were his thing or not. He had assumed this meant they weren't, but this, right now, was right. It was probably the molly. She moved in close, and her lips rubbed against his earlobe. His loins tingled. He lowered his hand and cupped her plump butt cheek. She made no move to dissuade him. If fact, she pressed her breasts to his chest. He wondered if Thomas would mind him doing this. His client had brought him to a party were everyone was high as a kite, he figured

this was fine. Hell, maybe the man who was paying him would enjoy watching them fool around or fuck, he and the girl. Two virginities lost in one night - his bottom cherry and his heterosexual one; there weren't a lot of johns who could brag about having gotten that from their whore. He had to remember to bring up the possibility when he'd see his trick again.

After long minutes of this lascivious dance, he spotted Thomas walking back into the room. His client looked cheerful, and his expression didn't change when he noticed Connie with the girl. He plopped down on the nearest couch, in an empty space next to two shirtless boys who were busy making out and groping each other. Thomas' eyes didn't leave Connie though.

"I came here with someone, and he just walked back in", he whispered into his dance partner's ear. "I'll be back, I just don't want to be a stranger."

She moved back a few inches, now looking at his face.

"Sure."

"What's your name?"

"Evey."

He nodded, and grinned.

"I'm Connie. Sure is nice to meet you. I'll be back."

She headed back to the snacks table as he left her. He walked to where Thomas was lounging.

"I hope you don't mind me enjoying the fine company."

"Absolutely not. Glad to see you're having a good time. Are you bi?"

Conrad shrugged.

"I'm into her. But I'm with you tonight. Unless you have something in mind."

"There's a friend I want to introduce you to. Come with me."

"Alright."

Thomas slowly extracted himself from the draped couch, and motioned towards the other door where he'd gone before. Connie walked there, but the bouncer stepped in his way.

"It's fine", intervened Thomas. "Derek wants to meet him."

The muscular man stepped aside, nodding. Beyond the door was a hallway, part of it heading to another room, the other part a flight of stairs heading up. Unlike the first hallway through which Connie and his client had been led or the party room, this part of the house had no black lights. Electric candelabras were sticking out from beige, bare walls and provided an amber lighting. The hallway and stairs were covered in a plush, maroon carpet; it massaged Conrad's feet through the soles of his sneakers.

"Upstairs", said Thomas.

Connie began the climb up, running his fingers along the varnished cedar of the staircase ramp. Up was another hallway, also scarcely decorated. It crossed the teenage boy's mind that it looked like someone had just moved into the place and hadn't put up any ornaments yet - either that, or someone had taken them down because they were getting ready to move out. There were three doors to his left. The first two were closed, but the third one was open, and yellow light came from it.

"Last one on the left", said his client again, right behind him.

As he passed the closed doors, Connie heard muffled sounds despite the music that came from downstairs. Moans, groans, whimpers. Mattresses creaking. Someone was having a good time. As he neared the final door, a deep voice, peppery like aged red wine, called to him.

"Come on in, Lucas."

It was always odd, hearing someone use his work name. He was becoming used to it, but there were still moments where it took a split-second for him to register that a person was actually addressing him. He always expected "Connie", or "Conrad".

The young hustler stepped through the door frame. This room was also bare, although Connie's attention was immediately drawn to the naked, Asian man who was busy rubbing with oils the body of a naked, black man, who was lying face down on a king-sized bed. The Asian man had a slender, nearly hairless body, short of a pubic patch that decorated his soft cock. He appeared older than Thomas, although Conrad was unable to guess whether he was in his early or his late twenties. He seemed absolutely absorbed in his task, as he did not even look up when Conrad and Thomas entered the bedroom.

The black man was bulkier and muscular, and his skin was ebony. He seemed to be in his mid to late thirties and had aged handsomely, despite a bald head. He was massive, and Connie thought of a cross between the Kingpin from Daredevil comics and Marcellus Wallace from Pulp Fiction - if that hybrid person had ended up ruling some decadent porn empire; at least it looked to the teenager that this man would be into that sort of business, with the opulent mansion, the naked manservant, and all. The recipient of the massage was smiling contentedly, his eyes closed, as the hands kneaded his back with precise, expert gestures.

"You havin' an enjoyable time?", asked the big man.

Connie presumed this was the Derek that Thomas had mentioned.

"Yeah, quite a bit. Beautiful people at your party."

"I'm selective about who gets in my circle. Thomas does a good job at sorting people out. He told me you're a hustler?"

Despite the drugs, embarrassment flushed Conrad's face. It was one thing to play it cool about his work with everyday people and guys and girls on the street, but suddenly he was concerned Derek would not approve of it. For some reason, he wanted the big man to like him, to allow him in his "circle".

"Yeah, what of it?"

"What would you say about gettin' more permanent work?"

"What, you want to pimp me out? Or you want to be my client on a regular basis?"

The thought of becoming some hotshot porn star also crossed the punk boy's mind; the idea was appealing, but he did not bring it up.

Derek chuckled. It was the sound either a classy R&B singer or a mafia don would make when amused. It was both elegant and dangerous.

"I got Déshí right here for pleasures like that. He's good, believe me, and he sure loves to please - he wants nothin' more. No, what I got in mind for you is more along the lines of the `once in a lifetime' opportunity, if you catch my drift. Tell me, Lucas, are you a man who's open to new opportunities?"

Connie let out a shy laugh. It was strange to hear a person like Derek call him a man. It flattered his ego. While he was uncertain he actually caught his host's "drift", what he did know is that he wanted to know more.

"Yeah, I sure am. What are you offering?"

"Power, if you've got the balls to seize it."

Derek then glanced up at Thomas, who had been standing close to the doorway, behind the teenage boy, throughout the exchange.

"Do it", ordered Derek.

Suddenly there was movement behind Conrad, a lunge. The teenager was taken down, and his nose hit the linoleum floor, hard. Pain seared through his nose as the impact crushed the bone, and his eyes saw white-hot spots. Connie cried out. He trashed around, terror and survival instincts demanding he struggled, but Thomas effortlessly pinned him to the ground. The man's hand, enormous, squeezed the back of his right thigh. Something that resembled fingernails tore the denim fabric, slicing open the soft flesh in the process. But fingernails should not have felt so long, not have been so sharp.

"Oh God...", the boy whimpered.

He glanced back, seeing a mass of matted, brown fur through the tears in his eyes, and he caught a glimpse of a frothing maw of fangs.

Conrad screamed. He was going to die, eaten alive by predators. That's all a boy like him was to the strong of this world, a young thing upon which to prey. An image of Michael, his initiator, his friend, his first love, flashed through his mind. He wished he was a small child again, snuggled in Michael's arms, and not against the hard floor, not in the grasp of a monster. His sphincter went loose, and a warm liquid spread through the fabric of his remaining pant leg. The ravenous jaw seized his leg then, and teeth rent the flesh, sinking in his soft muscles. His thigh was ablaze in pain, and all Conrad could do was scream again.

"That's enough", a soft voice said, above the terrified boy. "He'll need this leg someday to be of use to the pack."

The jaws let go. Pain receded but throbbed still. Connie went limp. There was no use in fighting. They were werewolves. They were death. He was only a stupid, drugged-up boy. That's all he had ever been.

It was the morning of the fifth day. Conrad knew because they had left him his watch, a cheap Casio thing he had picked up at Zellers, but which had a chrome bracelet he'd thought was cool at the time. There were no windows to the small room in which he was locked up in the basement of the mansion, and no way to tell the passing of day and night. But his watch was his point of reference in time, along with the bowl of cold Kraft Dinner and the bottled water that was brought to him twice each day, around 10 in the morning and 5 in the evening. Thomas was not his jailer, although his "client" (the notion was laughable now) had been the one to drag him to this room. The beast had carried Conrad effortlessly - he had not resisted, he had not even dared scream for help. Hours had passed after the thick metal door had been slammed behind him. The teenager had spent them shivering from the pain of his wound and the hard comedown from the drug. Eventually,

it had been Cobra Bubbles who had brought him his first meal, and the stoic bouncer had been the only human face - so to speak - he had seen since. Connie assumed the man was a werewolf also, although he had displayed no sign of the monstrous mutation, nor said anything to confirm it. In fact, he had said nothing at all, to the boy's pleas, questions, insults, or angry stares. Connie had meekly asked for clean pants at some point during the second day - his were torn apart and reeked of piss. But Mr. Bubbles had ignored this request also.

Connie was now intimate with his cell. There was seemingly little to become intimate with: a makeshift bed, a shitting and pissing pail, a dusty concrete floor, rust-coloured brick walls. But by the third day, he had known where cracks and dents marred the floor, what shapes he could imagine in the smears of his own dried blood that covered a small area of the ground, how many bricks there were in each wall, where mortar was coming loose between some of them (he had tried to pry them off, unsuccessfully), and where dried blood was caked on some of them - a subtle remain from a previous prisoner, a detail Connie had not noticed until his heightened sense of smell had evolved from the bite.

He was different now. His broken nose, which had tortured him throughout the first day, had already mended when he'd awakened on the second. That was his first realization that something monstrously wrong was happening to him. The bite was also gone hours later. It had not even left a scar, but Conrad sometimes got eerie shivers when he ran his finger against the spot that should have been a gangrenous infection by now; not pink, healthy skin. Eventually, his narrow prison had become a menagerie of scents; he now had a sense of smell he imagined only predatory animals had. He was changing, and the change went beyond his mere body. Although he had been utterly terrified on the first day, he had only been frightened on the second, and now the range of his emotions alternated between cautiously tense, depressed, and bored out of his mind. There was still a fear for his life tugging at his gut, but it was numb now, and he knew the numbness had something to

do with what was happening to him.

Conrad also tried to pretend he did not salivate when his scent sporadically focused on the coppery stench of the old blood that speckled his prison.

The news and the government had assured the population that the bite did not turn survivors of werewolf attacks into werewolves, that families and friends of survivors had no reasons to fear their loved ones. But Connie now knew this was bullshit. The Wolves had bitten him, and they'd left him in this room, this sturdy cell, waiting for him to become like them. It was the only scenario that made sense to the teenage boy. When he had first realized it, he had choked, and heaved, and thought he would die out of breath; it had been a brutal panic attack. He had experienced a couple more after that. Now he awaited signs of the violent metamorphosis, anxiety fingering his guts. The smallest itch on his skin freaked him out.

He'd also had plenty of time to reflect on his own foolishness, on his own smallness. He should have kept his head down, despite the stupid boys at the centre, despite that pervert of an educator, and done his time. But no, he'd had to be him. He had left to make a statement, to prove to the world and himself that he was the boss of him... and now he'd gotten what he deserved. He was an idiot. His parents had never cared much for him. Michael had showed him love, then he had left - Connie probably had not been the first boy he'd touched, and there was probably another boy now, and there had been probably many. As for Kevin... Connie had wanted some fun, and some closeness with someone. It had been supposed to be harmless. How could things have gotten out of hand like this? Other kids didn't have problems like this. He was a fuck-up, this was the only answer he could come up with. Now he was stuck in the basement of a Westmount mansion, a den of

werewolves, because he was a careless, little fucking whore. To top it off, the monsters had not even bothered to take away the roll of bills that sat in his pant pocket; it stayed there, to remind Connie of what he really was. He was worthless. Soon though, he would be far worse.

It was the morning of the fifth day, and sitting on his bed, staring at the smallest of the bloodstains on the floor, Conrad was singing softly to himself. Singing songs he was fond of had become the one thing he clung to for comfort. He hummed the words, barely audible:

"So messed up I want you here In my room I want you here Now we're gonna be face-to-face And I'll lay right down in my favourite place And now I wanna be your dog Now I wanna be your dog Now I wanna be your dog"

He stopped when he heard footsteps in the corridor. They were not those of Cobra Bubbles - he'd also become intimate with the sound they made. They were lighter, more energetic. As the steps approached the door to his cell, a person scent wafted to him, familiar. When the door opened, he already knew to expect Thomas. The man was not a beast, but he was not human either - his eyes were those of a wolf, and his features had reverted to something primitive, atavistic. It was a werewolf form Connie had seen only once before, in a YouTube video - most of the time, it was the monster that the news showed. This form was not as frightening, but the face looking at Conrad was devoid of anything passing for a human emotion.

"Get up", ordered Thomas. "Come over here."

Many times during his time alone in the basement, Connie had imagined a moment like this - a moment where his captors would show up for more than a meal, for an actual purpose. He had thought of witty retorts, had resolved himself not to show any fear, to be above the situation. But now that he faced the Wolf, his mouth had dried up, his mind was blank. He stood up, and he walked to the door where Thomas was standing. Conrad no longer wanted to be brave, or clever. He just wanted not to die.

Thomas took hold of Connie's shoulder and spun him around. He grabbed the back of the teenager's naked thigh, where he had bitten him.

"All healed. Good. It worked."

The man's fingers crept up inside the jeans, reaching for the crack between the boys buttock. Connie wanted to wrench himself away from the loathsome touch, to protect any kind of dignity he had left. Instead, he remained very still, letting his former john do what he wanted.

"We had some good times, you and me. I bet I could show you some more fun. Your virgin ass was a tight little treat."

Connie contemplated the prospect of being raped by the werewolf. He had allowed this "thing", this monster have his virginity - the thought had haunted him also throughout his captivity, bringing with it a sense of foulness that clung to him and would not go away. Now, there was nothing he could do to stop Thomas should the man choose to force himself on him; Conrad would be helpless. He decided that if it came to that, he would just let the creature do everything it wanted. It would be easier that way.

Then suddenly, the hand was gone from his body.

"But we don't have time for fun. Derek will see you. He's upstairs, in the dining room. Come on. He doesn't like to be kept waiting without good reason."

Thomas shoved the teenager forward into the basement's hallway.

"And for fuck's sake, don't try anything stupid. I hate it when kids get stupid."

Conrad stepped forward, making his way to the flight of stairs going up to the main floor. The thought of making a break for it did cross his mind, but as Thomas had put it, it would be foolish. Fast legs were not what would get him out of this mess. The fantasy of some kind of heroic last stand crossed his mind, along with that of a clever ploy to outwit the beasts, to find a way out. It was pointless though. Even if he managed to escape, Conrad couldn't outrun the disease coursing through him. He was screwed.

Upstairs was a beige hallway, similar to the one he had seen before, on his first night there. There were doors left and right.

"Second door on the left. You'll love this. I bet you're hungry."

There were scents in the corridor, human, animal, intertwined. There was also the coppery scent of blood, now familiar. A shiver trickled along the teenager's spine. It should have been fear. It was something else, alien, worse. Connie had reached the doorway. He knew he should grab the handle and open the door, but his arm refused to move.

"Get in there. They're all waiting for you", whispered Thomas.

Conrad finally pushed open the door. Beyond it was a vast dining room, with one of those endless tables rich people had in those. There were werewolves around the table. They were all naked. In front of him, there was Mr. Bubbles, half-transformed like Thomas was; thick, dark, frizzy hair covered his wide chest, not enough to be fur, but too much to be a man's natural chest hair. Connie recognized the two boys who had been making out on the couch at the party, one in human form, the other, feral; the first was smooth all over, the other was covered in hazel fuzz. A large werewolf, fully transformed, with grey fur, stood next to them; its fangs were knives and saliva lathered its maw. Derek was sitting at one end of the table, his face human but his figure impressive nonetheless; he was broad and muscular, and Connie did not want to see what he looked like transformed. Next to him stood another Wolf beast, with fire-red fur; it stared intently at

Conrad, its figure heaving with each breath.

There was a corpse on the table. It was Evey. She was wearing the same clothes she had been wearing at the party. Her neck was bent in an impossible position, broken. Her gaze was frozen, and there was spit oozing from the corner of her mouth. Her body lied very still. There was a wound on her flank, just below her tank top, facing Connie, that was caked with black blood. It's what the captive teenager had smelled, he realized.

He remembered her alive, dancing, flirting with him. Now she was dead. They had murdered her.

"Do you know how someone becomes a Wolf, `Lucas'?", asked Derek. "If that's what you're called. I'll be damned if you were hustlin' with your real name."

Connie could not take his eyes off Evey. Thomas was standing right behind him.

"You killed her", murmured the teenager.

"Yeah, that's a shame; we hoped she'd join the pack too. But the bite didn't take hold. It happens, sometimes. Now, she's more useful dead than alive."

"You're fucking monsters."

Derek shook his head.

"A nation's gotta what it's gotta do to survive. For us, it means killin' humans once in a while. You'll understand that soon, I hope."

Insects were crawling through Conrad's guts. He wanted to throw them up.

"We're gonna eat her, `Lucas'", continued Derek. "Because we have to if we want to live. You should join in too. The bite's made big improvements on you, I'm sure, but you'll only become a Wolf if you eat the Flesh with us."

Eat her', thought Conrad. They want me to eat her.' He wanted to feel nothing, to dissipate, to disappear, to be gone from this horror. To close his eyes and reopen them and be elsewhere. This couldn't be happening. They couldn't want this of him. They couldn't make him do this.

His mouth should have been dry. Instead, he tried to pretend he was not salivating. It wasn't his body anymore. His body had betrayed him.

"I won't do it", he said in a hushed voice.

"It'd be worth it, for you. You wouldn't be such a weakling anymore. You'd become mighty. The apes would be scared shitless of you, and you my friend, you'd never be scared again. It's not just your body that would change, but your heart. No more shame, no more guilt, no more getting torn up over all the messy emotional stuff. I'm sure there's a lot you'd love to get away from. Boys who sell their ass the street rarely got happy childhoods."

Derek leaned forward and reached for Evey's face that lied but half a metre from him on the table. He stroked her livid cheek with his dark hand.

"We're going to eat her. Take this time to think about it, about becoming one of us. One bite, one swallow - that's all it takes. But don't take too long to make up your mind. Once we're done, if you didn't feed with us, if you didn't commit yourself to us, we'll kill you and eat you next."

Derek had not said those words in a manner that appeared threatening. He merely stated it like a fact, like he had been discussing evening plans. He turned to the other werewolves present.

"Let's be thankful things are good for us right now, my friends, and let's hope this kid chooses to join us in those good things. I don't know about you, but I kinda like him already. Now let's eat. I don't know for you, but I'm starvin'."

The monsters assembled around the table let out a loud cheer in response to their leader's speech. Thomas also hooted behind the teenager.

They're going to do it', thought Conrad. My God, they're going to do it.'

Those amongst the Wolves that were not already transformed into the monstrous shape began shifting. Conrad had to look away. They were going to eat Evey. He felt motion behind him, and he saw the clothes Thomas had been wearing hit the floor. The man walked past him, now naked, and the teenager watched him transform in a concert of bones cracking, flesh ripping, and muscles stretching. The werewolf approached the table, and the beasts began eating. They brought their maws to the corpse of the young girl, and they began tearing apart the flesh from her bones with their fangs. Blood splattered, and Connie averted his gaze again. He withdrew to the wall at his back. The thought of fleeing crossed his mind. Instead, he slumped against the wall and let gravity and despair drag him to the floor; he buried his face in his hands, broken. He was hearing the noises the creatures made as they ate Evey: snarling, rending flesh, swallowing. He longed to feel

nauseous, to throw up, yet his heart thrummed in his chest in a perverted, nervous excitement. They had put something inside him with their bite, something that enjoyed the carnage that was unfolding, something that pleaded to be allowed to take part in it. Connie swallowed. If he was strong enough, he just had to wait, and they'd put him to death. He would not be a monster. Tears were streaming along his cheeks.

Heavy steps approached him, making the hardwood floor creak. Connie dared not look up. The steps stopped right in front of him, and the teenager knew a black shadow loomed above him. The scent of raw, bloody meat - human meat - overtook his nostrils. He took his face apart from the palms of his hands, and looked. The gigantic face of the fire-red Wolf was but a foot away from his own, its fur caked rust-brown with blood. Between its teeth, it held a long, thick string of human flesh - a shredded piece of a muscle, dark red and streaked with sinew and fat - that dangled in front of Conrad. It was offering it to the teenager.

"Please, no...", whimpered the boy.

The creature made no sound, but it insisted, making a nudging motion with its head towards the human. The sounds and the movements of the nightmarish feast were still going on around the dining table.

Connie looked back down. He would die if he didn't eat. They would probably even devour him alive, in the cruelest of ways, unlike Evey, as punishment for his disobedience, for his choice of remaining human. But if he ate, he would live.

He raised his eyes to the piece of Evey that was in front of him, but avoided the Wolf's gaze. It's just a piece of meat', he told himself. Pretend it's just a piece of meat.' His hand was moving towards it. It should have been shaky, but the fingers were precise and steady as Conrad took hold of the torn flesh. It surprised him how warm it was, and he nearly recoiled from the contact. He closed his eyes, and inched his face forward. Without sight, his world was reduced to the growls and masticating sounds the monsters made, and to the heaving and breathing of the Wolf right in front of him. Besides this, all there was was the smell: bloody, potent, revolting, inviting. Connie took the meat to his mouth. The sliver of humanity inside him tried to rebel, to stop him, to cling desperately to decency.

But the urge to survive, and the darker need festering within Conrad, were stronger than this sliver, and it died the instant the boy tasted the Flesh.

TO BE CONTINUED