FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The standard getting-to-know-you questions in college, annoying as they might be, are usually the following: name, major, and something interesting about yourself. I might as well do the same to start this story. John. Undecided, and yes, I am aware I can’t wait forever to decide. I am a werewolf and I might be trans. I never tell people that last part, either one. Instead, I might mention that I like to speed run video games and have managed to get close to a few world record times, but that results in blank stares more often than not. So now I just say that I’m left-handed, which isn’t exactly common but isn’t as interesting as mountain climbing or playing the standup bass or travelling the world like seemingly everyone else says. I should probably address the werewolf thing. It only happened a few months ago. I was walking back to my apartment, a cookie-cutter student housing block advertised as ‘luxury’, with lumpy carpeting and water spots to immediately prove that a joke, but cheap enough that those could be overlooked. I have a night class because I waited too long to enroll, and all the earlier classes had already been filled, my last remaining gen ed course before I have to finally pick a path for what I want to devote my life to (no pressure). Class doesn’t let out until after dark, and the cracked sidewalk leading the mile and a half to my apartment runs right next to an old-growth forest, prime real estate somehow spared from business or residential development due to some property rights and red tape fiasco that won’t be resolved anytime soon. Street lights work intermittently through that area and it gets dark pretty early since the sun sets behind that forest, foliage so thick it seems to absorb all sunlight. The moon was full, though, casting a ghostly glow. It was late September, finally fall, but so humid it hardly felt like it. I was on auto-pilot, walking with my head down and going through a mental checklist of upcoming projects, how long I could stretch my supply of ramen and peanut butter, and if I could squeeze in a new speed run strategy over the weekend, so I didn’t pay attention to the rustling of the leaves or the shape moving in the shadows until it was too late. I turned my head in time to see that shape flying at me, limbs splayed, glowing eyes catching the floodlights from the dorm across the street. I didn’t have time to think, let alone react, before I was on my back, my fall only slightly cushioned by my backpack filled with overpriced textbooks. A growling maw hovered above my face, hot saliva dripping onto my neck, a revolting smell of wet dog and the iron scent of blood making my stomach roil. A dark, furred body was pressed against my own, lean muscular limbs and a strong core pinning me to the ground. I inhaled to scream, but the sound died in my throat just as the claws tore through my clothes to turn my body into a scratching post, teeth clamping down on my neck. The creature dragged me into the woods at breakneck speed as though I weighed nothing, alternating between two and four limbs on the ground. It was pitch black, the forest canopy blocking out all light, and I could do nothing but blindly flail my weakening arms and legs, the briars and branches flying by only adding to the scratches on my body. It had happened so quickly that the full weight of the situation didn’t seem to register, and the adrenaline now racing through my body made the pain a far-off sensation, like someone was describing it to me rather than feeling it myself. The brain works kind of funny when you think you’re going to die. The main thought running through my head was [i]Dang, I’ll have to go to a walk-in clinic tonight, so that means my free time before going to sleep is gone.[/i] I didn’t die, as I hope this account makes clear. I was dropped into a grove of trees in a clearing where the moon shone through, illuminating the creature for the first time. It rose up on two legs a stride away and howled, hot breath billowing upward like steam from a power plant, shaggy fur damp with my blood. My next thought was just as unserious as the first: [i]Oh, I didn’t know wolves were introduced around here. The ranchers won’t like that.[/i] A sheering pain finally tore through my body, unblocking my vocal chords. The sound made my own ears ring; I had no idea I could make such a renting, guttural sound. The pain wasn’t just what the wolf had done to me. My body was shifting, changing. Bone lengthened and contorted, hair follicles by the thousands shot through my skin, fingernails lengthened and curved into claws, my skull molded itself into a muzzled point, and a tail grew from the bottom of my spine. My clothes lay in tatters beneath me. All of a sudden, the pain and pressure was gone, and a new world of sensation broke open. I breathed deep of the night air, and could identify just about anything within the forest by smell alone: excrement from squirrels, rabbits, and birds, the composting scent of fallen leaves, trash from the nearby apartments unceremoniously dumped into the woods, and so much more. I could hear scurrying footfalls of small woodland critters racing about, smell the scent of fear at our presence. Voices and music from phone speakers near the apartments sounded just as clear as a leaf falling two hundred feet in the opposite direction. And my eyesight turned the pitch-black wall of forest into a plethora of grays as clear as daylight. Including the wolf standing on two feet ten feet away. My new senses turned her into an open book. Beneath the smells of dirt and blood on her fur, I could make out the brand of body wash she used, the turkey sandwich and orange slices she had had for lunch, her lavender laundry detergent, and, a shining beacon above all else, the eye-watering stench of fear. “Oh my god, I am so sorry,” she said, a normal human voice emerging from the body of a beast. She stepped lightly at my periphery, as though wanting to comfort me while also staying out of my reach, unsure of how I would react. “How did… What?” I muttered, the words coming out strange from my new mouth. I knew how to make the right sounds on my palate, but my mouth was different enough to slur my words, the long, pointed teeth not helping with clear diction. “I’m such an idiot!” she said, gripping her ears. “Are you okay? I mean, besides –[i]wait[/i]!” I ran. What else could I do? I had been mauled by a werewolf, one who seemingly had the good graces to apologize for it, but still. It was all too weird and my senses had kicked into overdrive, adrenaline still coursing through my body. I ran deeper into the forest on two padded paws, which somehow felt right and wrong at the same time. Twenty years of bipedal motion made the action second nature, but the new, curved shape of my legs drew me down into a sprint on all fours. Neither felt completely comfortable, on top of the onslaught of senses pounding my brain. I didn’t know where I was going, only that I needed to get away, stumbling through briars and undergrowth. It was only a matter of time before she caught up to me and, sure enough, she tackled me into the dirt, calling out to me in a halting manner that couldn’t settle on a way to start a conversation. I writhed under her body, pinned beneath her strong, lithe limbs. “My name is Sandra!” she exclaimed, panting and straddling my body. I stopped moving, stunned at the banality of the statement. It didn’t seem real that a werewolf should have a name. As if on auto-pilot, I gave her my name; it was the polite thing to do. “John. If I let go, do you promise not to run? I just want to explain.” I nodded, and Sandra slowly let go, standing up. My pawed, clawed hands made their way to my face, taking in each new detail. “I’m… Because of me, you’re now, [i]damn it[/i], you are a werewolf. I didn’t mean for this to happen, please know that. I-” Leaves rustled nearby, and my nose picked up the scent of two canines approaching. Any guesses on what kind? One carried a slab of meat--prime-grade chuck--in their jaws. My mouth watered in spite of myself. “Sandra, are you okay?” a male voice called out. “I brought some- Oh, no.” The two additional werewolves slid to a stop in the clearing, one gray furred, one black, eyes darting in my direction. The black wolf, holding the raw meat, tossed it to the ground like it was a piece of trash, palms then covering his face. The gray wolf slowly approached Sandra, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to do it, I swear,” Sandra said, hugging herself and starting to sob. “I just didn’t have… I couldn’t get any meat in time to stop myself. I’m so sorry.” The black werewolf knelt beside me, ears laid flat atop his head. “Are you doing okay, miss?” His voice was soft and deep, paternalistic. “You aren’t alone in this, trust me. We’ve all been exactly where you are now, and it gets better. We’ll help you get through this. I promise.” “I’m just trying to take this all in. I’m- wait, what did you call me? ‘Miss’?” I wasn’t offended, just perplexed. If werewolves could see and smell better than humans, wouldn’t he know the difference? I patted my chest. “Look, I’m as masc-” Something was wrong. I was covered in fur, sure, but my hand had brushed against some kind of protrusion that hadn’t been there before. I checked again and, sure enough, my fingers brushed against a swelling on the left side of my chest. A twin sat on the right. A sheen of sweat broke out beneath my fur, making me feel like a wet mop. Despite the wide eyes on me, I reached between my legs, only to find my manhood gone. The culmination of the assault, the transformation, and this latest revelation finally overwhelmed me, and I passed out. I woke up the next morning in an unfamiliar living room of wood paneling, shaggy carpet, and Thomas Kinkaid prints adorning the walls. The smells and sizzles of cooking bacon beckoned from a nearby kitchen, and silverware clattered as it met tabletop. I was laying on a plaid brown couch, nestled beneath a quilt with fall colors. Unfamiliar pajamas clad my body, oversized and smelling of mothballs. I was human again, and a quick check inside the pajamas confirmed my anatomy was just as I remembered it, coincidentally free of wounds and welts. Just when I thought the night before had been some kind of elaborate nightmare, a voice called out from the doorway to the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready, champ,” a kindly voice said, the same as that of the black wolf. I sat up and looked at its owner. He was a tall, heavy-set, middle-aged man clad in khaki pants and a polo shirt, looking like a dad on the first day of vacation up at the crack of dawn. I obliged, following him into the kitchen. None of the appliances or décor looked like it had been updated in twenty years, but it was clean and cozy, one side of the countertops bearing an empty egg carton, a half-full gallon of milk, measuring cups, and bowls, while the counter opposite the gas stove held portioned plates of pancakes, eggs, toast, and bacon. At a dark brown kitchen table sat two women: one in her thirties, the other in her fifties. The woman in her thirties stared at the floor, blushing. “Come on and take a seat,” the former black wolf said, motioning me to the table. “You must be starving. Most everybody is, after their first time. Get you a full belly, then we can talk.” I did as instructed, taking the nearest seat, and a full plate was set on the Thanksgiving-themed placemat in front of me. Every plate was set, the black wolf said grace, and I dug in, literally wolfing down my breakfast until I could see my reflection in the plate. My stomach had rumbled like I had forgotten the concept of food for a week. Everything on my plate was delicious, the sweet and savory melding together into a warm, gooey meal. It was all fresh, a stark contrast to the on-campus dining and pre-packaged, frozen meals I was used to eating on my lean budget. After each plate was cleared then cleaned, the former black wolf rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward, expression serious. “You… remember last night well enough, don’t you?” I nodded. “Then I’m sure you have an idea of the kind of situation you’re in now. You’re not alone in that, son. You see, we’re all in the same boat.” He spread his arms, gesturing to each seated at the table. “We’re all werewolves.” Spoken out loud in the clear morning sun, in a quaint cozy kitchen, the word sounded preposterous, like a grown man playing pretend. But I felt the truth of it deep down, as vividly as I could recall the claws raking my body and the teeth rending my flesh. “You shouldn’t be here, and that’s my fault,” the woman sitting across from me murmured. Her head was down, the half-eaten contents of her plate growing cold. “You’re Sandra,” I said, more to myself than to her. She nodded. “Steve can explain it better than I can, but I should be the one to tell you, since I’m the one who… since I bit you. It’s what you might imagine. Every full moon, we change into what you saw last night. Now, normally, a spot of raw meat will keep your wits about you, but…” She sighed. “My kids have had colds, coughs, you name it since school started back, and I’m behind on rent, and I could have sworn there was a cut of chicken at the back of the fridge but when I couldn’t find it… I went feral. Ran into the woods while I still had my mind so the kids wouldn’t see me or get hurt. Now, we usually check on each other before the full moon, but I didn’t have enough time. They got hold of my scent and Steve and Cheryl here were kind enough to bring some meat, but it wasn’t in time.” The tears started to flow. “I told myself I wouldn’t let it happen again. You need to know that there is no cure for this, not that any of us know of, and we sure as hell have looked. You’re going to have to deal with this every full moon for the rest of your life.” Sandra lowered her head and sobbed. The woman at her side, I assumed Cheryl, embraced her, shaking her head. “But like I said last night, John, you aren’t alone in this,” Steve said. “We’re here for each other. This is just one part of our lives and it sure doesn’t define us, like my bad knee or Cheryl’s carpal tunnel. You can absolutely still live a normal, productive life. In fact, I-” “Why was I a girl?” I asked. Looks were exchanged across the table and a thick silence followed. “Well, I don’t rightly know,” He replied. “I’ve been a werewolf for close to twenty years and I’ve never heard of something like that happening. It doesn’t matter who bit you or anything like that. Sexes don’t just change like that.” “But it did to me.” “I can’t deny that. While I have been a werewolf for quite a long time, I don’t pretend to understand it. There sure wasn’t a book on the subject, and I could only rely on what others told me, and what others told them. It’s a game of telephone going who knows how far back, so I can’t say I know even half of everything. Maybe, I don’t know, maybe it won’t happen again? We change two nights in a row every full moon. Tonight might tell us if it was some kind of… fluke?” Steve hardly sounded confident, and he was presumably the most knowledgeable person there. Was this my life then? Changing into not just a werewolf, but a female werewolf twice a month? Steve drove me back to my apartment after breakfast, after phone numbers had been exchanged with everyone at the table. He had my backpack and scraps of clothing, collected at some point after I had passed out. He had a spare set of clothing close to my size, taken from a box in storage belonging to a son now grown up and moved out. Phone, wallet, and keys were still present with my stuff, thankfully. After giving him my address, we sat in silence the length of the drive in his old gray pickup truck, as I processed everything that had happened. He would be back later in the evening to pick me up, offering for me to be with the others when it came time to transform again, in a safe, controlled environment this time. I ascended the trash-strewn stairwell to my third-floor apartment, part of my mind glad that it was Saturday, meaning I hadn’t missed any classes due to transforming, the other part of me upset I had lost precious time away from classes. Key entered lock and I was back in familiar territory, a space shared with two other college sophomores, guys I had gone to high school with. They were both in their respective bedrooms, doors closed, presumably gaming with minimal interruption since the night before. We weren’t exactly friends, but knew each other, which was good enough to co-sign on a lease together. They had their majors already figured out, too, so our lives were already starting to diverge. I entered my own bedroom, closed the door behind me, and hopped into bed, staring at the off-white popcorn ceiling. Outside of a quick trip to the bathroom, I didn’t move for hours, processing how the last half day had completely changed my life. It wasn’t the werewolf part of it that I couldn’t stop thinking about, though. I had been a girl. One covered in fur from head to toe, mind you, but a girl just the same. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around how that made me feel. The incongruence with my body should have been horrifying, but I had felt a twinge of… something. Maybe too much to call it happiness after being nearly torn to pieces by a werewolf, but, as I looked down at my body, it had felt almost right. Maybe more right than I felt now. I couldn’t quite say what that meant. The thought had come unbidden every now and then for as long as I could remember, the ‘what if’. What would it be like to be a girl? While puberty had given my male classmates in middle and high school an interest in girls, I had felt, I don’t know, admiration? Envy? Girls looked so confident, so stunning, so [i]whole[/i], in a way I had never felt. Once or twice a year, I have a dream where I find myself in a female body, and the sensation feels like the end of a story, if that makes any sense. Like I’ve gone through all kinds of hardships and conflict, with the plot reaching a fever pitch where it seems like there’s no way the story could turn out well in the end, then it resolves in a way that sticks with you, like coming to the end of your favorite book. That’s how those dreams made me feel, simply existing as a girl. But dreams fade pretty quickly after you wake up, the feeling lingering just a few minutes while the memory dissipates as quick as morning mist. It was a thought for daydreaming, nothing more. After all, while I didn’t mind my body, as gangly and awkward as it could be sometimes, it didn’t fill me with dread or self loathing. I could make do with this body. Yes, I could make do, and being the only werewolf to turn from a guy into a girl didn’t mean anything. That evening, I was back at Steve and Cheryl’s home, on their back porch in a fenced-in backyard that faced the woods. The shrubbery was well manicured, the lawn a vibrant green. A ring of evergreens along the fence line offered privacy from the adjoining properties. There were six new faces in addition to Steve, Cheryl, and Sandra, enjoying a game of corn hole and cracking open a few beers while Steve worked the grill. What stood out the most was how unassuming they all looked, just regular adults who worked jobs and paid taxes and talked about current events around the water cooler. Zero indication that everyone present would turn into beasts overnight under the full moon. Steve waved me over, smiling wide. The smell of sizzling steaks made my mouth water; I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I glanced at the strangers. Catching my gaze, Steve nodded and said, “They’re like you and me. When the full moon falls on a weekend and schedules allow for it, I like to invite everybody over for a little get together. Some meat beforehand keeps folks grounded. Just so happens that it’s a special occasion: getting to meet you, John.” “Everybody looks so… normal. This still feels like some kind of dream. Are other things real too? Vampires, witches, mummies, stuff like that?” Steve chuckled and shrugged. “If they are, I haven’t heard a peep of them since I was turned. There’s no grand war between supernatural creatures, no kingdom of werewolves, as far as I know. Just regular folks trying to live their lives, granted, with a condition they have to keep tabs on. And part of that is keeping a low profile on the hairy side of things, you know? It’s human nature to get worked up over things we don’t understand, so we try not to give people a reason to worry about such things. Besides, there are enough coyotes and wild dogs around to not make folks too suspicious.” “Seems like you’ve got a good handle on things, and people listen to you. Are you the… what, alpha?” Steve let loose a peel of laughter that drew the eyes of everyone gathered. I offered a painful grin, my cheeks burning red. When he recovered, wiping away tears, he replied, “That’s not real, as far as I’m concerned. I’ve been a werewolf the longest, sure, but that doesn’t mean I know half of anything, or that anyone has to pay attention to what I say. We’re more or less independent here, getting together at times for things like this, offering help when we can, but living our own lives otherwise.” The steaks were delicious, juicy and medium rare, and I mingled with the gathered crowd as evening turned to night, sparing frequent looks at the sky. I was the man of the hour, it seemed, with everyone gathered introducing themselves and asking about me. It was more mingling than I was used to and I felt my social battery running low pretty quickly, so it was a welcome reprieve when my heart started to race, pinpricks of fur growing out of my body. All along the backyard, skin turned to fur, bodies lengthening into lupine forms. The transformation still hurt, but it wasn’t preceded by a mauling, so it wasn’t quite as bad as the night before. Now that I knew what was coming, I stared down at my changing body with the benefit of a floodlight and stringed tiki lights this time, anxiously waiting to see if the secondary transformation would happen again. I don’t know what I wanted the answer to be, but a fluttering in my stomach seemed to answer for me. Sure enough, as the thick gray fur enveloped my body, breasts protruded from my chest, just a hint of a curve beneath all that hair. My manhood shifted, shrunk, reverting back into my body. While my form was lithe and lean, made for running great lengths on all fours, the places it deposited muscle and fat was new to me, curving in the feminine. So, that aspect of last night had returned, not a fabrication and not a dream. I looked up, oblivious, to see nearly every set of eyes staring at me from transformed bodies. A range of emotions dotted each face: curiosity, confusion, sadness. Steve approached, towering over me in his black-furred form, and rested a pawed hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, son. This is a new one for all of us. I wish I could tell you a way out of this, but… maybe it’s like being a werewolf in the first place. We each got used to what happened to us. Maybe this is just an extra part for you. Keep your chin up, though. It’s only two nights every lunar cycle, right?” “Yeah, I guess so. I already have to get used to being a werewolf. What’s one more thing on top of that?” As Steve walked away to converse with some of the others, I lightly touched my neck and muttered softly under my breath. Yes, my voice was lighter, higher-pitched than it was as a human. [i]Like a girl’s voice.[/i] I couldn’t help but smile at the change I hadn’t noticed the night before. A call from the rest of the werewolves shook me from my reverie. Clothing was being carefully folded and deposited on the porch, freed bodies dancing in the moonlight. They stood at the edge of the tree line, beckoning me into the woods. The smells and the sounds of the forest beckoned, and my lupine body begged to explore. After removing my own clothing, I lowered myself onto all fours, as natural a position as if I had been born to it, and joined the pack, running into the woods. Steve’s property backed up into a three hundred acre nature reserve, prime real estate untouched by humanity. Hunting licenses were granted for deer later in the fall, but the land was unoccupied this time of year, which I’m sure was an intentional decision on Steve’s part when he moved there. God, it felt magical. The crisp night air was like a cool drink with every breath, and my enhanced vision turned the landscape into a canvas of details taken in and processed in seconds. I padded along slower than the others, my footing less self-assured, but they took it slow and waited for me. I tend to be a bit of a loner, with most socialization coming from a chat window on a computer screen, but the intimacy of running in a pack and experiencing what must be a runner’s high together is a feeling next to none. By smell alone, I understood the others, and they surely could understand me just as innately. When any werewolf howled, I joined in by instinct, moving as one piece of a running, breathing whole. I didn’t want the night to end but, in time, I found myself back at Steve and Cheryl’s house as the morning sun started to creep behind the horizon, coloring the landscape with oranges and reds. Fur shifted to skin, bones shrunk and twisted, and my feminine aspects reverted to the masculine. I hummed to myself as it happened, feeling in real time as my pitch dropped an octave. I was back, human and male. And naked, same as the others. I quickly threw on my clothing, every other werewolf doing the same. Maybe it was just part of my senses growing weaker, feeling in real time as the bounds of my awareness shrunk around me, but I felt so… limited. Like a sixth sense had been removed. I felt… lesser. Perhaps sensing this, Steve approached, back in his human form as well, khakis and polo firmly in place. “Feels strange, doesn’t it? Like your ears need to pop or you’ve got a sinus bug all of a sudden. Don’t worry, it’ll pass. Just part of being human again. How was it? You see why we like to meet up every now and then, huh?” I nodded, thanking him for inviting me. It was an experience I didn’t want to forget, in more ways than one. All of a sudden, it was Sunday morning and the whirlwind weekend was almost over. Walking back to my apartment on Friday night felt like a lifetime ago. The events of the night were starting to catch up to me, and I struggled to keep my eyes open. I stayed awake on the ride back to my apartment, courtesy of Steve again, and managed to make it back to my bed, where I collapsed and slept like a brick all day and night. My alarm went off before the crack of dawn, signaling the return of the school week. Due to my lack of planning, again, I had an 8AM class on a Monday morning, and struggled to get out of bed and get dressed for the agonizing walk to campus. I had had zero time to work on any assignments or projects over the weekend, but I wasn’t too behind on anything, thankfully. My classes throughout the day dragged on and I didn’t process a word of any lecture, my thoughts firmly set on my new reality as a werewolf. The night before had been too short, too magical, the next lunar cycle too far away. Every sensation, every feeling within that lupine body had been exhilarating. Espe- …Maybe even the female aspect most of all. I hadn’t even done anything particularly girly; running and howling was a gender-neutral experience, after all. But what did it even mean to do something girly? I walked by a campus bulletin board on my way off campus at the end of the day, a broad canvas containing scores of printouts and posters detailing clubs and upcoming events. Nothing was ever taken down, just stapled on top of, so it was a sea of creased, ripped pages going back to the previous semester. But one paper caught my eye, containing a pixelated jack-o’-lantern and cutesy clipart movie monsters. A fraternity and sorority were teaming up to throw the mother of all Halloween parties, a doozy spanning three adjoining houses on sorority row. I had heard about the party my freshman year, but I had preferred an evening playing scary video games from the comfort of my dorm and wasn’t affiliated with a fraternity, so I skipped it. Even with headphones on, I could hear the pounding bass from a few blocks away. From the broken blinds of my darkened dorm room, I saw scores of people making their way over that night, more often than not dressed up in whatever costumes Party City or Goodwill had in stock. This year’s Halloween party was just a few weeks away. I don’t know why, but I pulled out my phone and checked the dates of the next lunar cycle. Day two of the full moon fell on Halloween night. My pulse quickened and I stepped away from the bulletin board, hands clamped onto the straps of my backpack. My next chance to be a girl would fall on a night when you were expected to wear a costume, the more elaborate the better. I could surely pass off a werewolf body as an elaborate costume, right? And beneath all the fur, I could mingle and party with my peers as a girl. Days passed and I agonized over the idea, backing out then jumping right back into it in equal measure. I never partied; I was a wallflower at any social gathering in high school, mingling with other wallflowers and watching the extroverts dance and party and laugh with abandon, living a more elevated life like something out of a movie. How would this time be any different? For one, I would be clad in my new, furry armor, a stranger to everyone. If the night went terribly and they all laughed in my face, well, I could stick to the woods for every other full moon. No one would know it was me, if I ever got over the embarrassment. But that was quitter’s talk. What if things actually went well? Not that I imagined being crowned the Halloween Queen and the most special person ever. But a night of partying, where everyone just wanted to have fun and let loose? Why not hope for something good? College was all about new experiences, right? My mind was made up. I was going. But going as just a werewolf seemed incomplete. Halloween was about wearing costumes, right? My fur was thick, but not wearing any clothes still felt like being naked, and that was a step too far, despite how tentatively adventurous I was allowing myself to be. What kind of costume would work? I scrolled through Party City costume ideas on my phone from the safety of my bedroom. The thought of looking at costumes for women in person made me so anxious it almost hurt to breathe. My phone was safe, though, a rectangular box that was a peek into another world, as well as something I could turn off and put away. A costume on top of being a werewolf seemed like overkill, right? Way too busy to be a ghost or a pirate on top of a werewolf. I needed something more normal, paradoxically. If it was a party, why not a party dress? I opened Amazon in incognito mode, entered the search term, then closed the tab more than once, agonizing over the thought. I returned again a few hours later, my brain reduced to mush from heavy studying, my inhibitions seemingly lowered. Entering the search term, scrolling through the results, I was overwhelmed. It was like peeking into another world, despite that world making up half the population. Every model looked confident, secure, posing in brightly-lit scenes. Dresses came in so many colors and shapes and patterns, a triumph and celebration of human expression and creativity. Clothes to me were practical, a necessity to keep your body warm in winter and cool in summer, made in only a handful of dull colors. Maybe clothing could be something more? But if it was all about self expression, I felt utterly unequipped, my sense of self a blank slate. And all the styles and terminology might as well have been another language, warranting a slew of searches online. I chipped away at search terms until I found a design that didn’t scare me too much: a ruffle trim tunic dress that, god help me, had one open shoulder and no sleeves. Maybe a bit shorter than I would have liked, but it came in a swirl of blues and yellows that I thought looked cute. I had blue eyes, so that would at least match, right? Wait, did my werewolf body still have blue eyes? I didn’t know. But another wrinkle just had to present itself. What size was my werewolf body? I struggled to think back to my transformation. Had I grown taller? Shorter? Steve had looked the same height, in relation to me, and my clothes had stayed around the same size, albeit puffing out a bit because of my fur. The Amazon listing came with a sizing chart containing a list of things I couldn’t exactly measure at the moment, but could approximate. I went to my closet, which was jam-packed with half-empty boxes, dirty clothes, and clutter tossed inside to give my bedroom a somewhat ‘clean’ look, and dug out a toolbox. My dad had insisted I take it, despite me saying repeatedly that the apartment had a staff that would take care of any maintenance issues that might pop up. It was part of being a man, he had said, dropping it with a clatter on my mattress. Turns out it was useful after all. I took out the tape measure and, double-checking that the blinds were closed, fought with the unwieldy plastic to measure the various parts of my body, getting an approximate number for each. I returned to my computer and found the next larger size, trying to take my fur and feminine features into account. I hovered my finger over the Order button, heart pounding. What if I picked the wrong size? I couldn’t exactly bring it to a tailor or adjust the measurements myself; I didn’t know the first thing about sewing or altering. Despite my swirling thoughts, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. This party was a leap of faith, a chance to branch out and do something fun. Ordering this dress was a leap of faith too. I quadruple-checked that the package was coming to my apartment and not my parents’ house, and that the packaging was discrete, just a plain brown box. My roommates weren’t nosy and hardly bothered to open their own packages, let alone snoop into mine. A simple click, and the dress would be on my doorstep in three to five days. My dress. I felt giddy just thinking about it. Still, it was a costume, nothing more. Intended for one night of possible fun, then probably donated to a thrift store jammed in the bottom of a trash bag or thrown away. Nothing that would stay with me for long. I got the delivery notification while I was still on campus, two classes left to go, sweating bullets until I got back to my apartment, fighting off a plethora of nightmare scenarios in my head of someone finding and opening my package. But, thankfully, there it sat on the doorway, whole and undisturbed. I didn’t even check that it was the right size or even the right piece of clothing. It could have been a paperback of [i]War & Peace[/i] as far as I knew. I buried it in the bottom of my closet, unopened, with two weeks to go until the party. The night before Halloween arrived, both slower and quicker than I anticipated. The semester was already halfway over, and my grades were… average at best. Okay, I was slipping. But how could I concentrate when there was a whole month in between werewolf transformations? It made me feel alive like nothing else, with every other moment a countdown to that event. Steve, Sandra, and the others reached out every now and then, calling and texting to check in on me. Steve had even shown up yesterday with two single-serving packages of raw prime steak, prepared for the upcoming nights. Sandra texted quite a bit at first; I think she still felt guilty for biting me, but life as a single mother kept most of her attention rightly elsewhere. It was late evening, the golden glow of dusk a paradoxical chill. The leaves were at the peak of their fall colors, the cold, bare branches of winter not far away. The full moon pierced the late-day fog. I had barricaded myself in my bedroom, desk chair pressed against my door to boot, and sat in my bathroom, package of meat uncovered on the counter. I was down to a roomy pair of boxers, preferring not to potentially tear apart any of my limited clothing. The seconds ticked by painfully slow. Just when I thought it would never come, pinpricks of gray fur dotted my skin, kick starting a month-long anticipation. Sure, it hurt, and I pressed a towel to my mouth to hide my grunts and groans from my roommates, but this was just the bridge from one state to another, better one. Before long, I stood upright, lupine and female once again. I had to choke down a howl, giddy and hopping in place, toenails clacking against the faux tiles of my bathroom. I stared at my reflection in the part of my bathroom mirror not covered in soap scum or flecks of toothpaste. She looked happy, happier than I had felt in a month. A thumping sounded against the open door. I turned around and chuckled to myself. My tail was wagging, brushing against the doorknob. The package was still in the bottom of my closet, untouched. I dug it out, tearing open the box with a fingernail like a box cutter, and pulled out the vacuum-sealed plastic housing my dress. Tearing open the plastic resulted in a faint hiss, and my dress took shape, fanning out like a sail. I aired it out, harsh plastic smell acrid in my nostrils, taking pleasure in watching its fabric slowly flutter down with each motion. I suddenly felt weak, despite the muscles and power of my werewolf body, and stared around my room, almost certain that a host of strangers would leap out from under my bed, ready to mock me. But within these four walls, alone, I was safe. I slid the dress over my head, taking care not to puncture its smooth fabric with my claws. Getting it over my muzzle was a challenge, but once that was done, I shimmied it down over my body, where it took the lead and fanned out by itself. On initial impression, it wasn’t too tight, despite my fur, yet wasn’t too loose, showing a decent impression of my shape beneath it. It felt close to perfect, as well as I could have hoped for from a blind purchase online. It fanned out at the back due to my tail; a simple cut would take care of that. Heart pounding, I returned to the bathroom, scared to look at my reflection. When I finally worked up the courage, my hand flew over my mouth and my vision grew watery. My body wracked with sobs, the fur on my face streaked with tears. It felt even better than my dreams of being a girl, of feeling… right. My body wasn’t just some vessel housing my mind, hollow, rudderless, drifting about at the mercy of the currents. It was something that could make me feel happy and alive, in tune with my mind rather than resigned to operate against it. Yet, with that euphoria came the knowledge that dawn was inching ever closer, that this lupine body wouldn’t last before it reverted to human, male flesh. I shoved those thoughts from my head, willing to bite their heads off if they had physical form. I had all night in this body and the woods beckoned. My nose and ears created a sonar-like map of every person in the apartment block. I could make it to the forest undetected and enjoy the night. I slipped out of my dress, carefully hanging it up in my closet, and left my bedroom and the apartment, free and alone. *** My wolf ears picked up the bass from my bedroom, a solid three miles from sorority row. Night had fallen and I was dressed and ready to go. I frowned at my reflection. I had been so preoccupied with the dress that I hadn’t considered any accessories. I didn’t know anything about jewelry, rings, brooches, handbags, hairclips, anything that might have complemented my dress, but it was too late for that. Cosmetics? Out of the question and nothing I had ever attempted. Maybe I was overthinking things, and wasting time within the safety of my bedroom. The previous night had been wonderful, but I had enjoyed it alone, running in the woods. This would be my first interaction with regular people, none of whom were werewolves. But I had had the entire lunar cycle to prepare for this, I had wanted this, and I would do this. My roommates were staying in and playing video games, and no one in the apartment complex bothered with trick-or-treating, so I could at least make it outside without being seen. I made it out the door, head held high, paws thumping down the metal stairwell steps, drinking deep of the night air. The airflow under my dress was like nothing I had felt before, and nothing afforded to pants. The night winds seemed to guide me along, the motion of my steps swaying my dress back and forth. As I made my way down the sidewalk, I passed by other residents from the apartment, people I recognized but had never spoken to. I got a few strange looks and a “nice costume,” which was better than the alternative of running and screaming. Sorority row was lit up in fall-themed lights. Inflatable skeletons and jack-o’-lanterns dotted each manicured lawns, and the porches were lined with kitschy plastic statues of various movie monsters. It was also full of people, and a low murmur of conversation was constant, intermixed with speakers from each house playing staples of Halloween playlists. Most partygoers were dressed up, with various levels of effort apparent; cheap costumes from Party City or Spirit Halloween were interspersed with works that wouldn’t have looked out of place at a comic con. I slowly approached the host house, smoothing out my dress as a nervous tic to keep my hands busy, remembering why I didn’t go to many, okay [i]any[/i], parties. Circles of conversation dotted the lawn and porch, full of people I didn’t know, people who looked cool, confident, and well-dressed. I couldn’t exactly worm my way into a group of strangers and wouldn’t know what to say if I did. Multiple sets of eyes turned in my direction, warranting a few eyebrows raised and snide comments, resulting in laughter from the respective groups. My cheeks turned red, which at least wouldn’t show up on my fur. I could feel myself spiraling, and I had only just arrived. What did I think would happen, that years of being a loner would suddenly equip me to be a social butterfly? That despite my transformation I wasn’t the same person on the inside? Maybe this night was a mistake. My bedroom was safe and had videogames; I could spend the holiday the same as any other. “Girl, that fursuit is amazing!” a voice called out. I turned to see a woman dressed as a she-devil, face beaming, standing in a ring of partygoers with similarly impressive costumes. An empty space stood next to her in the ring. Hearing ‘girl’ made my heart flutter, and I approached. “Oh, thank you!” I replied. “Seriously, that hair looks good enough to be real.” Her eyes ran up and down my body, and I suddenly felt like the subject of a cross examination, straining a smile. “No seams, no lines, and your voice isn’t muffled at all. I can’t imagine how much that must have cost.” I shrugged. “You know, just the pound of flesh,” which immediately sounded weird and antiquated coming out of my mouth. An awkward silence followed, then a man dressed as Indiana Jones brought up a piece of salacious gossip about some economics professor I didn’t know, which sparked the conversation again. I mumbled something under my breath about getting something to eat, and bowed out of the group, worming around various partygoers to make my way inside. Nearly every inch of floor was occupied. A million conversations were in progress, mixed with a living room converted into a dance floor, strobe lights flashing. Partygoers danced, gyrated, jumping in time with the beat, red cups sloshing liquid everywhere. Couples made out, some looking moments away from going even further. I somehow made it to the kitchen, my apologies lost to the music as my tail brushed against everyone I passed. A selection of finger foods awaited, most still sealed in their plastic packaging, untouched. The bulk of the counter space was made up of dozens of bottles of liquor and cans of beer. I didn’t really drink, but found a cider that I had had before, one that didn’t taste too bad. The lights, the music, the smells of body odor and cheap costumes and alcohol combined into sensory overload. I could see a small patio area out back, one mostly unoccupied and illuminated with a dull, solitary floodlight. Getting outside helped my senses immediately, and I sat down hard on a plastic patio chair with enough space in the back for my tail to pass through. I sighed heavily, looking down at the can of cider in my paws. An intrusive thought popped into my head. Giving in, I used a claw to poke a hole into the top of the can, just to see if I could. I nodded to myself, licking the resultant foam from my claw. “That kind of a night, huh?” A voice asked immediately to my right. I hadn’t noticed that the patio chair next to me was already occupied, by a woman wearing an amalgamation of clashing fabrics and patterns, mostly black, that gave the appearance of a bat’s wings. My mind jumped to the name Stevie Nicks, one I only knew from my dad’s collection of Fleetwood Mac CDs in his car when I was a kid. Any bare skin was covered in tattoos, in numerous art styles and designs. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there,” I mumbled in reply, getting up to leave. Someone sitting alone in the dark probably wanted to be alone, right? “I didn’t say you had to go, wolfie,” she replied. “Parties like these aren’t really my thing, but it’s hard to beat free beer and an excuse to dress up. I would have said that I went all out this year, but you clearly have me beat.” “Oh, this? Just something I wanted to try out. It’s as good a time as any, I guess.” My eyes fell on a tattoo on her forearm, one of an 8-bit pixelated character sprite from a video game. “[i]Celeste[/i], right?” She nodded, smiling. “Sure is. Are you a fan?” “I’ve only played the first few levels before giving up. The art and gameplay and music are pretty great, though. I keep meaning to try again, but the difficulty jump gets me every time.” “Trust me, it’s worth it if you keep at it. I’m Luna. What’s your name, wolfie?” “J-” I stopped myself before I gave out my name on reflex. “Johanna.” It was a name I had thought about a few times over the years, in a conceptual way of wondering what my name would have been if I had been born a girl. Everyone has thoughts like that, right? I chuckled to myself, then said, “With my, uh, costume being what it is, maybe we should trade names.” She laughed politely, shaking her head. “Funny, but I’ve found you feel more ownership over a name when it’s one you choose for yourself, Gonna have to fight you for it, sister.” “Can’t argue with that.” I looked up at the sky, at the full moon shining. “Beautiful night for your namesake.” “Sure is. You feel like howling at it?” “A little, not going to lie.” My eyes fell on another tattoo, close to her right shoulder. “What does ‘HHTBFF’ stand for?” “It means ‘Happiness has to be fought for.’ A bit long to fit the whole thing, so the initials had to do instead. Seems like you’re a gamer, girl; play any [i]MyHouse.wad[/i]?” “I’ve heard good things about it, but I haven’t played it myself. I’m more into platformers than first-person shooters.” “Then I won’t spoil it in case you decide to play it. Highly recommend it. The phrase is a bit of a spoiler for the end of the mod, but they’re good words to live by. Enough to get it memorialized on my skin.” “Your tattoos are really nice,” I said. “Can’t say I have any myself.” “Don’t want to have to shave the fur first?” she asked, smirking. I chuckled. “I don’t really know what I would put, if I did want one. I kind of feel like a blank canvas, maybe in more ways than one.” Luna and I spoke at length, mostly about video games and movies and TV shows we liked. She was a junior in computer science, joking that she was living the stereotype, and it took me a minute to understand what she meant. In time, her friends joined us, similarly clad in 70s-style Halloween apparel to make up the members of Fleetwood Mac. Luna theatrically threw an empty red cup at her housemate, Tyler, dressed as Lindsey Buckingham, and I laughed as hard as everyone else at the joke, thankful for at least something from my dad. She talked me up to her friend group, giving me as good an introduction as an emcee, and they fell over themselves praising my, uh, costume. At odds with the real Fleetwood Mac, the group were close friends, living in a house together not far from campus. Juniors, seniors, and grad students, they seemed like a world away from where I was, older and more self-assured. I practically felt like a toddler compared to them, but each person throughout the night included me in the conversation, asking my thoughts on whatever topic at hand and not dismissing whatever I had to say. Was this what having real friends felt like? As much as I enjoyed it, a small voice in the back of my head wouldn’t shut up. [i]They’re making friends with Johanna, the werewolf, not you. The clock is ticking, John. The night is almost up, then you’ll be human, and male, for another month.[/i] Partygoers disappeared or collapsed into sleep as the night wore on, and the fun and festivities of Halloween turned into November. I exchanged phone numbers with Fleetwood Mac, claiming I wasn’t active on social media, when in fact my barely-used Instagram account had my name and face all over it from classmates tagging me in photos from high school. “It was nice meeting you and getting to know you, wolfie,” Luna said before she and the others left, dawn not too far away. She reached out and squeezed my hand. “Let me know if you want to hang out sometime. I’d love to meet the, uh, less hairy Johanna.” I mumbled a response, aware of the ticking clock, and left as well, walking as quickly as I could without looking weird in the opposite direction. I made it, unnoticed, up my apartment steps and into my bedroom, with no time to spare before my bones shifted and my fur and tail vanished. In moments, I was in my bathroom and staring into my mirror, human, still in my dress. Being Johanna, being a werewolf, had let me play at being someone else, maybe someone I pictured myself as conceptually being. It was such a comedown seeing myself now, all angles and edges and a shapeless rectangle with a dress draped on top of it. But, despite that, part of me still felt good at seeing myself, at feeling the fabric on my skin for the first time without the fur in the way. My armor was still the same, even if the body was different. If I could be a werewolf two nights a month, why couldn’t I also- No. I couldn’t do that. Couldn’t [i]be[/i] that. *** Weeks dragged on, and my body barely dragged with it. Luna and her housemates texted me every now and then, at first saying how much they had enjoyed meeting me at the party, then casually asking about arranging a movie night sometime. I responded with halfhearted mentions of projects and my upcoming finals, knowing full-well that their projects and finals were much tougher. The thought made my head hurt; I had somehow made a new group of friends, none of whom had seen me as a human before. If they had any suspicions that I was a real werewolf and not in some elaborate costume, I didn’t hear a word of it. Could I wait another month for real, human interaction, again in ‘costume’? I wouldn’t have the backdrop of Halloween to try to justify it. The name ‘Johanna’ wouldn’t leave my mind. A memory arose from high school of my older brother, three years older than me, taking part in the school’s musical production of [i]Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street[/i]. He played a side character with few speaking lines, but Mom was so proud she invited all the extended family to opening night. The more gruesome aspects of the musical gave some family members pause, but a love song had stuck in my head, even then. [i]Johanna[/i]. A song of yearning and the distance between unrequited lovers. I lay on my bed now, headphones on, eyes closed, playing the song on repeat. In my mind, it wasn’t a love song, but a haunting call of earnest longing from one part of my brain to another. “[i]I feel you, Johanna[/i],” John calls out. “[i]Do they think that walls can hide you? Even now I’m at your window.[/i]” It’s like the concept of Johanna resided somewhere within me, locked away, waiting to be freed. If only I could do it. I began to accept the fact that I might be trans, that the emptiness inside me didn’t have to last forever. I had felt a taste of it as a werewolf, with a body I could find happiness in. But, as a human, transitioning wasn’t consigned to thirty seconds of pain then a body that made me happy. I researched terms new to me: HRT, voice training, bottom surgery, FFS. Waiting times, the chain of doctor approvals needed, insurance. All of that before even touching the social implications. Part of me wanted to settle, to concede that my life was fine as is, actually. I could make do with this life, this body, despite how empty it felt. The news gets scarier every day. Politicians whip up their base into a frenzy over trans boogey men, pledging to roll back the modicum of progress made in letting trans people simply have the right to live as themselves. My state’s governor, both senators, and most representatives feel the same way, wanting trans people dead or back in the closet. The closet I resided in. I was scared, and I hadn’t budged that closet door open an inch, let alone take a step out. Was it cowardice or self-preservation to want to stay inside, to know I would at least still be alive even if I felt dead on the inside? Luna was out and proud and had put in the work to claim her identity, inch by agonizing inch. I felt like an imposter. These thoughts swirled in my head like a maelstrom, threatening to pull me down with them. I couldn’t keep it to myself any more, or I would go crazy. I finally worked up the courage to text Luna back, telling her there was something private I needed to confide in her, hoping that she wouldn’t ghost me for acting weird after we had only met once. To her credit, she texted me back soon after, as polite and cordial as ever, and we arranged a meeting at her shared house the next day. I didn’t know how I would explain myself, and I was terrified of scaring away the first friend I had made in forever. The next day, I parallel-parked my car across the street from her rented house, thankful for the small mercy of a space I could pull into directly. My heart pounded and I rested my head on the steering wheel, dreading the possibilities of what might happen. After a deep breath, I exited my car and walked across the pothole-marred street, hands shoved into the pockets of my jacket, feeling very male. The house was a nondescript, mid-century rancher, a cookie-cutter home thrown up with the dozens of others just like it when university attendance had first exploded decades ago. It had its own touches of originality, though; a hay bale sat on the concrete porch, a sun-faded scarecrow sign smiling beside it. A rainbow mat sat in front of the door, reading ‘All Are Welcome.’ I rang the doorbell. Footsteps sounded on hardwood floor inside. A pause, then two clicks as a pair of deadbolts was undone. The door opened with a squeak, revealing Luna in an oversized hoodie, hair up in a messy bun. I offered a strained smile. “H-hi, Luna,” I said. Her face betrayed no reaction. She stepped to the side and gestured inside. “Hi, Johanna. Come on in. Can I get you something to drink?” I followed her inside, the mention of the name enough to rouse my courage. I declined her offer, taking in a cluttered, modest living room and kitchen made up of IKEA furniture and thrifted décor. We sat on opposite sides of a particleboard coffee table, her on a torn leather armchair and me on a sagging couch. She was silent. My mouth had gone dry, my prepared speech evaporating from my head as I made a few halting attempts to start. Any sense of disappointment in her expression and I probably would have left immediately, but she simply sat there, hands clasped in her lap, staring at me. “L-listen. There’s something I need to tell you. I wasn’t… totally honest with you at the party.” I told her everything, with a number of tangents and false starts along the way, of my transformation into a werewolf, a female werewolf at that, the sense of euphoria it brought, and my struggles to feel that way again. She listened quietly, not saying a word, nodding at intervals. “I don’t know what to do,” I said in summary. “I’ve never told anyone these things before. I feel scared out of my mind, afraid to be where I am but afraid to move, too. This is so much to throw at you, and I’m sorry to just dump it all out when you don’t even know me.” The tears welled up, and I tried unsuccessfully to blink them away. Luna sat down beside me, taking my hands in hers. They were so soft, and she smelled of vanilla, nice and calming. “I’m starting to know you, and I like who you let me see,” she said softly. “Thank you for telling me. That took a lot of courage. I… wow. [i]Werewolves[/i]. I knew I smelled something weird that night.” I chuckled, enough to pull me out of my spiral. “How do you do it, Luna? Live as yourself?” Luna let go of my hands and pulled up the sleeve of her hoodie. The ‘HHTBFF’ tattoo stood out on her skin. “I may have a lot of them, but I don’t ink for no reason. Each tattoo means something important to me. ‘Happiness has to be fought for’ isn’t just some empty platitude. It takes hard work, a lot of it still left to go to be where I want to be. But it is absolutely worth it. I was in your exact same spot, Jo, so I want you to know that you are not alone. Myself, and so many others, have felt everything you are feeling right now, and taking that first step has made all the difference. It is absolutely hard as hell; I can’t lie to you. But I promise you that feeling truly alive for the first time is so worth it.” Reality was starting to set in, on who I could become. “I don’t know the first thing about being a woman. I’ve never… How do I even-” “There’s no wrong way to be you. I had to pick up on so much I was never taught. But, through that, you find what you like and what works for you, and say ‘screw that’ to the rest. If you can-god-if you can handle your body becoming a werewolf, I fully believe you can do this. Maybe… I don’t know anything about werewolves, outside of some… [i]choice[/i] romance fics,” she said with a poke to my ribs, “but maybe this curse thing, maybe it knew what you needed. When it changed you.” She gave me a hug, and I felt more at ease as a human than I had in a long time. We talked for hours. I had so many questions, and she dutifully answered each and every one, about social interactions, hormones, doctor visits, personal styling, and more. She directed me to clubs and organizations on campus, many of which she attended herself, full of people like us. Us. It was such a comforting thought. I wasn’t alone, werewolf or human. I knew full well that the journey ahead was going to be a long, difficult one, but I had endured so much already. I had a taste of what life could be, and I wasn’t going to deny myself that joy, politicians and society and the world be damned. *** Okay, the standard three questions: name, major, something interesting about yourself. Johanna. Computer science, concentration in game design. My life has gone through some… big changes recently. And that’s not the half of it.