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Matthew considered himself a good man, but he was ready to sin. He slowed his pickup truck on the winding mountain route and turned into the visitor’s center, not bothering to use his turn signal since he hadn’t spotted another vehicle for miles. A sign in need of repainting greeted him as he entered the parking lot, declaring [i]‘Welcome to Ridgemont National Forest. Visitor’s center open dawn to dusk.’[/i] Dense evergreens towered above, and a short, paved walking trail led to an overlook of the lush valley below, undeveloped land protected by the park. The building, a plain brick square going back to the Truman administration, appeared to be closed already, the interior lights turned off and a park ranger standing on the sidewalk outside. The ranger, a woman with mousy, shoulder-length hair under her wide-brimmed hat, turned at the rumbling of the truck’s engine and waved him down, walking to the pavement. “Good evening, sir,” the woman said, the nametag on her green outfit reading ‘Clara’. “Evening, ma’am,” Matthew replied, peering down at her from his open window. She looked no older than himself as a twenty-something, but he had been raised right, raised to be respectful. “What can I do for you?” The combination of the woman’s height and his raised truck bed made her look like she was playing dress-up. Women in uniform always looked that way, he thought. The late afternoon sun made his sunglasses a necessity. Peering down the woman’s buttoned-up shirt also made his sunglasses a necessity. “The restrooms are open 24/7 to park guests, but we’ve had to close the visitor center early. The government shutdown, you know,” she added apologetically, as if she somehow had a hand in the eternal tug-of-war that was DC politics rather than working near minimum wage to give directions to lost tourists on the way to the casinos. “Ain’t that a shame,” Matthew replied, shaking his head. Gesturing to the tree line, she continued, “Folks can still enter the park and walk the trails, you see, but, with quite a few rangers furloughed, help might be a long time coming in the event of an emergency. Have plans in the park this evening, sir?” “Oh, just hoping to see the sunset when it hits the Concord Ridge. Always looks so pretty in the fall with the leaves changing colors.” Clara smiled. “It sure does.” Smile fading, she paused, staring off into the distance, as if weighing her next words carefully. “And… what about after the sunset?” Matthew hoped she couldn’t sense his confusion behind his sunglasses. Was she coming on to him? He was a strapping young man, true, but they had barely exchanged a handful of words. Best to play it safe. Besides, he had other plans for the night. “Maybe take in the night air for a spell, see the stars. Been spending too much time in the city, not enough back in God’s country.” “It’ll be a fine night for it, especially with the full moon. Only…” She took off her ranger’s hat and squeezed the brim, looking at the ground. “This is… I don’t believe any of the talk myself, but some folks are… Look, the past few months, on the night of a full moon, some campers come back the next day talking about some kind of,” the word came out in a barely audible whisper, “[i]monster[/i].” Matthew chuckled. “What, like werewolves or something? I thought all the merchandising was around bigfoot in these parts.” “Like I said, I’m skeptical of that kind of stuff, and if one sleep-deprived camper said something it would be one thing, two maybe if it was some shared delusion, but at least six independent, unrelated campers have reported seeing a creature of some sort, as tall as a tree and hearty enough to shake the ground when it walks. The park doesn’t want those kinds of rumors getting out—no sense in scaring folks over nothing—but it’s happened often enough that we’re at least letting people know. With tonight being a full moon and all, I figured I would mention it.” Matthew made a show of removing his sunglasses, a playful smile on his lips. “Well if I see said creature, Miss Clara, I’ll make sure it knows to have its park pass ready,” he replied, tapping the plastic tag hanging from his rear-view mirror. Clara offered a sly grin. “I’m sure it’ll have $20 plus tax on its person. Just, well, stay safe out there, sir.” “I appreciate it. Speaking of which, y’all didn’t charge me for entering the park. Something to do with the shutdown, right?” “Afraid so. Good for visitors, but that’s money we can’t afford to lose.” “Tell you what,” Matthew said, removing his billfold from his jacket pocket, “for taking the time to warn me of the cryptozoological dangers within Ridgemont National Forest, how about a photo of US Grant? I’m less than fond of his military exploits, but he [i]is[/i] legal tender nonetheless.” He pulled out a $50 bill and handed it to Clara. Eyes wide, she started to shake her head. “We’re accepting donations, sure, but this is way more than a day pass. I don’t know if I should-” “Then how about this is for Clara, rather than the park? Get yourself a nice dinner, then let the park have the change if you’re so inclined.” Clara reached out a timid hand and took the bill. “You’re too kind, sir. What’s your name, by the way?” “Matthew, like the first book of the New Testament.” “Well, Matthew, it’s been nice chatting with you. Thank you so much! And, just be careful, alright?” “Like they taught us as scouts, ‘be prepared,’” he replied with a nod, pulling ahead and backing into a parking spot at the corner of the lot, killing his engine. He pulled out an old park map and spread it out before him, sparing glances back at the park ranger in his side-view mirror. She got into a beat-up old ranger truck, one much smaller than his, he noticed with approval, and pulled out of the parking lot. When the sound of the truck fell away, he folded his map and deposited it in the glove box. He was alone. He glanced at the evening sun and knew time was short, but couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation, at the close call, not that she would have believed it. Exiting the truck and hopping down to the hot pavement from the great height, he felt an extra pep in his step, a rush like that of pocketing candy and slipping out of a convenience store unnoticed. Not that he had done such a grievous thing, of course, but he imagined the thrill was similar. [i]If only she knew the half of it.[/i] He double-checked that he had locked his truck before slipping the key fob into the pocket of his jeans and making his way down the gravel sidewalk to the start of the trail. This trail was less maintained than the others in the national park, full of ruts and dips and becoming a soggy, swampy mess whenever it so much as sprinkled, a far cry from the paved walkways leading a brief quarter-mile walk to a scenic waterfall favored by families with small children and retirees. It was marked red on the maps, denoting its status as a strenuous hike, dissuading most tourists looking for a brief dip into nature. It was a ten-mile roundtrip; any hikers who had taken the route would have already finished for the day, and no one would be starting so late, so he was most likely the only person around for miles. Perfect for what he had planned. He hiked up the start of the trail, the visitor center and parking lot soon disappearing from view. The setting sun cast stark shadows against the evergreens. Little sunlight filtered down through the thick foliage, rapidly cooling down the path. But Matthew moved at a brisk pace, hardly noticing the falling temperature. He carried a small, empty backpack and nothing else, cover in case another hiker came into view as well as a compact means of storage for later. Reaching a split in the trail, he veered to the side, where a series of wooden benches had been erected years prior as a rest stop. The tree line thinned out, giving way to a grassy embankment. Signs throughout the park implored guests to always stay on the clearly marked trails, both as a way to prevent hikers from getting lost as well as to protect the fragile ecosystems. Double-checking that no one was around, Matthew left the trail, enjoying the springy sensation the moss provided. Over a hill, around a bend, and through a canopy of trees to his secret spot. And just in time, too, as the sun had dipped below the horizon, deepening the darkness. The foliage was low there, the trees spread out enough to grant him easy passage soon enough. He stared up at the tops of the trees thirty feet above, insulted by their mocking height. But not for long. Despite the increasing chill, he stripped until he was totally nude, depositing his clothes into his backpack. Zipping it up, he deposited it in the underbrush beneath a tree, in the same spot as before. If campers were starting to get suspicious, he would have to move to a different location, maybe out of the park entirely. As careful as he tried to be, all it took was one phone with a decent resolution camera to blow up the story worldwide. But the mountains were so close, just an hour drive from the city, and there wasn’t anything else within driving distance that would accommodate his monthly predicament. No, predicament was hardly the word for it. It made life complicated, sure, and called for skipping town and making excuses to family and friends once a month, but, God, what a gift this ‘curse’ had turned out to be. He growled like a wild animal, hopping in place to keep himself warm while he waited. The cold air was just a momentary bout of discomfort presaging him from one state to the next. He stepped out of the shadows of the tree coverage into the open air, the grove illuminated by the rising full moon. He howled and hollered, welcoming his coy mistress after a long month apart. The first touch of the moon’s rays doubled him over, the rush of energy causing his body to break out into sweat. He was so hot, steam rising from his crouched form, as though an inferno raged inside of him. [i]Pain before pleasure. Pain before pleasure.[/i] he repeated like a mantra. There was audible snapping and creaking as his bones lengthened and expanded, ripping as his skin and muscle tore then regrew to try to match pace. He grew taller, six feet then seven, the skin of his back tearing open as sharp vertebrae split him open like a meat cleaver. The base of his spine tore out of his back, additional segments popping into place and muscle and skin growing over the lengthening appendage with a wet squelching sound. His skin darkened to red to black, hardening into interlocking slices of keratin like living puzzle pieces. Fingernails and toenails thickened and grew into curving claws, sharp enough to tear through tree roots as he clutched the earth, grimacing in pain. It felt as though a clamp had been applied to his skull, lengthening his nose into a pointed snout. His teeth sharpened into razor points, tearing through the flesh of his mouth to become fangs as plenteous as that of a shark’s. His short-cropped brown hair grew into a hearty, thick mane that cascaded down his back. The furnace in his gut roiled and raged, threatening to boil over and explode. He roared, his voice no longer human, letting loose a deluge of flames that let off some of the pressure within. The tree line shrank, his body reaching twenty, thirty feet tall, his clawed feet leaving deep, gashing imprints in the soil. Twin protrusions of flesh grew out of his hardened back, the knitting nerves a sea of pain as wings formed into two broad canopies. Lying on the ground, panting from the exertion of the rapid transformation nearly complete, Matthew managed to roll himself over into a supine position, craning his neck down to take in each remaining detail, a sight he did not want to miss. His vision had sharpened in this new form, the night growing as bright as day, in colors and textures beyond the limits of his human form. So he had perfect clarity as twin nubs grew from his chest, ballooning into sacs of fat that seemed to defy gravity as they remained perfectly pert despite their size. His hips broadened into supple, pillowy curves, thighs thickening into barrel shapes. The next change would have been a nightmare under different circumstances, but his eyes lapped up the sight like a desert oasis. His genitals had sized up alongside the rest of his growing form, his penis the width and girth of the surrounding tree trunks, his testicles two pendulous, fleshy boulders. But, just as quickly as they had grown, they started to shrink. His penis retracted within itself, shrinking as though the cool air was finally starting to affect it. At the same time, his testicles deflated like they were airbags pricked by a pin, shrinking to pruny protrusions against his crotch. Upon reaching his core, his penis retracted so far that it reversed itself into an opening, widening into a slit. Fleshy lips formed, his shriveled balls disappearing within their folds. More reshaping continued inside his body, out of view, as new organs formed and new tubes and pathways were constructed within. A fleshy pearl formed within the upper folds of his new vagina, a tantalizing cherry on top of the cake of his transformation. The changes ceased and he let out a draconic roar, back again, the earth shaking and trees shedding their branches in reply. Matthew, as much as he could figure, was a were-dragon. In stories, werewolves changed shape under the full moon, just as he turned into a dragon under the same conditions, so the moniker worked as well as any. He had been stuck with this ‘affliction’ for five months, long enough to form a routine around the disruption it caused to his life. The full moon had come on a Saturday night this time, perfect for a night on the prowl with no work to contend with the next day. It all started the previous spring when he was barhopping in the city one hot, humid night, eyes peeled for some female companionship. Each new bar, each fresh drink made him bolder, and he approached a lone woman at the end of the bar dressed in all black, eyes painted like wisps of smoke. Sidling up next to her, he said, “Beautiful women shouldn’t have to be lonely on a beautiful night.” Not looking up from her phone, she replied, “Some women aren’t lonely being alone. Which is what I’d like to be if you don’t mind.” “Maybe I do mind,” he replied, faking an easygoing smile. “I think you’ll find I beat the alternative.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “If you’re trying to hook up with someone, it helps to use your listening skills to figure out when you’re not wanted. You know, listening, that thing you learned in kindergarten?” Matthew glared, swallowing a cutting remark. She wasn’t pretty enough to be able to have such a mouth on her. Sure, goth chicks were usually better in bed, but the bar was teeming with women. He could have his pick of them if just one recognized what a specimen of a man he was. But before he moved on, this one needed to be taught a lesson. He laid a meaty hand over her phone and said, “And [i]you[/i] should have learned to look at someone when they’re talking to you.” The woman met his eyes for the first time, staring daggers. Her eyes were dark, looking purple, almost black in the dull florescent lights. She must have been wearing some kind of contacts, something to fit her goth/witchy look. “Let. Go,” she said in a glowering whisper. Even in his inebriation, he knew his time was running short and he couldn’t afford to escalate things further without soon eating the pavement outside. But the bitch couldn’t have the last word. He towered above her, grinning darkly. He finally let go, pointing in her face. “You think you’re so special and above it all with your spooky clothes and aloof attitude. But you really just look like you’re wearing a damn Halloween costume. Maybe you’d finally get a boyfriend and act normal if you didn’t have that shit all over your face.” The woman held up a finger and rummaged through her black leather purse, pulling out a chrome flask. She mumbled something under her breath as she unscrewed the lid and pressed the contents of the flask into her fingers. With a smirk, she flicked some kind of liquid into his face. He recoiled, spitting and wiping at his face. It had no smell and came away clear on his fingers. “What the hell was that?!” “Just some water, maybe,” she said, returning the flask to her purse. “But what it [i]might[/i] do is more interesting. Maybe I am some kind of witchy woman, and this look isn’t just because I like it. Maybe I don’t even know what it will do. It could be anything. But when the next full moon comes around, keep an eye out.” Matthew walked away, flipping her the bird. “Whatever. Crazy witch bitch,” he muttered under his breath. He did not wind up hooking up that night, waking up the next day with a hangover and only a vague recollection of his encounter with the woman the night before. A week and a half later, he was lucky to be in his backyard, nursing a beer at his fire pit, when the full moon rose, rather than being inside. And he was also lucky his backyard backed up into the nearby woods, his neighbors none the wiser. What a night that turned out to be. Lying in a grove of trees in Ridgemont National Forest, Matthew fondled his transformed body, reveling in a female form that couldn’t reject him. Meaty draconic hands groped yielding, pillowy breasts, squeezing them together, massaging them deeply, fingers tracing the contours of the pert nipples. Hands traced lower over a plush belly, a layer of fat covering hardened muscle like that of a bodybuilder. Arching up rounded hips, he ran his palms over the meaty contours of his rounded rear, over so much hearty flesh. Cheeks growing hot, with learned precision, he extended two fingers toward his crotch, to his new opening. No, that would come later. There was a whole night to enjoy first. Matthew sat up, aided by his trunk-like tail. With a grunt, he heaved himself up to his feet, wings stretching out to act as balance. His clawed feet tore deep divots into the ground, his swishing tail knocking over trees with barely a glance. His gaze reached over the tree line, granting him a birds-eye view of the mountains and valleys of the forest. He inhaled deeply, his sense of smell no longer hampered by his meager human form. Pine needles, fallen leaves composting, the scat of small mammals, exhaust from vehicles ten miles away, his nose took in it all, able to track each scent down to its source like he had a built-in GPS. But the one smell he was looking for, his prize for the night, lingered beneath the others, not too far away. His draconic maw curled into a toothy grin. [i]Humans.[/i] Matthew’s bipedal dragon body moved slowly, as though walking through water, but one stride easily equaled thirty of a human’s, meaning that he could easily outrun, or outwalk, anyone. He liked when they tried to run. He made his way down a steep incline, wings flapping to keep him balanced. The only downside to this body that he noticed so far was his wings, broad and imposing though they might be. The skies beckoned, tantalizingly close, but, try as he might, he could never manage to get himself more than a few feet off the ground. He supposed it made sense, as dense and weighty as his body was. He had gone through enough transformations at that point to ponder what changing into a female dragon might mean. Did that bitch at the bar know this would happen, or had it truly been up to chance? Had the spell or curse or whatever had changed him reacted to something within his mind or body, some subconscious yearning? It was his body, certainly, every brushy branch felt against his hardened skin, the wind whistling in the holes where his ears used to be, but at the same time it felt like he was piloting some giant robot, as though some distance remained between his body and himself. He was still a [i]he[/i], and felt like it, despite how good his female anatomy felt. And, damn, it felt [i]good[/i]. Access to his gargantuan fun bags, to the curves and soft flesh of a woman’s body whenever he wanted it? If this was a curse, he couldn’t imagine what a blessing must be. He gave a tit a squeeze for good measure. Wings outstretched, Matthew landed with a thud in the valley below, shaking the earth and sending loose rock cascading down the incline. Birds escaped from nearby trees, nocturnal animals scrambling away. On the other side of the adjacent ridge, a campsite buzzed with activity. He could smell their sweaty fear from a distance, hear them scurrying around, cooler heads calling for calm, that an aftershock was sure to follow the earthquake that was the only explanation for the shaking Matthew landing had caused. He took slower, more cautious steps, as quietly as this form was able to produce, grinning as he spied the group from so far away. There were three tents, six humans total. Their gear was plentiful and expensive and brand new, indicative of a long trip or enthusiasts or rich kids who bought the best of everything and hardly used any of it. He smelled the beer, the vapes, the marijuana underlying the campfire smells. But, good for them, their food had been safely secured and strung up appropriately to deter bears. Not that it mattered, when a much larger, more dangerous predator, was on the prowl. “I’m telling you, man, that wasn’t a fucking earthquake,” a barely composed voice called out, no less clear to Matthew’s ears from the distance. “Whatever it was, it stopped. Probably, I don’t know, a sonic boom or something,” another answered. “Just chill out and eat a damn s’more, man.” Perfect. A bunch of college kids, if his senses were accurate. Probably the sporty kind that looked down on a guy like Matthew. Cushy jobs already lined up post-college, trust funds, sorority girls flinging themselves in their direction, dating as effortless as breathing. Not like he could glean all that, even with his dragon senses, but he was sure he was on the right track. He stepped between the trees wherever space allowed, squatting as much as he was able along the way, until he spied the campsite from high above. With his jet-black scales, he blended perfectly with the night sky. Down below, the college kids milled about, the size of action figures, starting to calm down from the quake of Matthew’s landing. Until he stepped into the clearing, directly onto the fire, casting the campsite into darkness. Screams rang out as they scattered like bugs, blind. Matthew let out a laugh as one ran face-first into a tree, as another tripped and fell into a tent. A clearheaded man removed a phone from his pocket and turned on the flashlight, sending a dull beam of light upward at Matthew’s monstrous form. He let out an earth-shaking roar, letting loose a volley of flames straight into the air, illuminating his body for the miscreants below. A fresh set of screams reverberated, each camper sprinting into the woods. Matthew set his sights on one camper in particular running in parallel to his form, easily within reach. Bending down, he stretched out a scaled hand and swept up the camper, holding him tightly in a firm, clawed hand. Flashing a toothy grin, he raised the squirming, screaming, crying man to his head, marveling at how small the camper looked, and by extension how large he had grown in his draconic form. The camper, dressed in expensive cold-weather gear, stared at Matthew, eyes wide, attempting to speak but blabbering nonsense. Matthew pinched the man’s shirt with thumb and index finger, dangling him in the open air, watching him flail. He could smell the musky cologne mixed in with the fear and soiled pants, taking pleasure in watching the prick humbled so thoroughly. Working muscles in his throat, he called up flaming bile from the furnace of his gut, skilled enough to make it sit in the back of his mouth. The fire illuminated his prey, and he lifted the man above his head and opened his mouth wide, tongue lapping at the man’s feet. He had never heard a more pitiful, guttural scream, like the cry of a cornered, dying animal more than the vocalization of a human. It was music to his ears. When the tears started to flow, flailing replaced with morbid acceptance, Matthew clamped his mouth shut and leaned down, dropping the man to the ground. After a tense moment of confusion, the camper rose and stumbled away, hitting every root and rock along the way. The campsite was clear. Roaring again, Matthew tore through the clearing, stomping and lashing his tail against every trace of humanity until only tatters remained. He even lowered the food supply to the ground, available to any creature brave enough to find it. Matthew let loose another roar, broadening his wings, towering above the former campsite that now more resembled a warzone. He walked away through the tree line, each chuckle a bassy thrum. In conventional werewolf stories, the werewolf transformation brought about an animalistic, brutal change, often rendering the human side completely subordinate to the animal. Normal people lost themselves to the beast, causing havoc they often could not control or remember. In his draconic form, Matthew was in absolute control of his actions. There was no beast, no dragon spirit using his form as an outlet for its rage. He had perfect clarity, taking advantage of this ‘curse’ to accomplish what he only dreamed of doing as a human. He could rage, destroy, terrorize, become a monster with no consequences, his sins absolved at the dawn of the next day and return to humanity. Moving through the forest, scattering nocturnal wildlife in his wake, Matthew gave his tits another squeeze, the cool night air making him feel alive. The heat in his belly had slowly moved south, and moisture glistened between his legs. As magnificent as it felt to tower and terrorize, this was far and away the best part. He was intimately familiar with his body as a man and had no qualms about his personal time, but this was another world entirely, like experiencing a sixth sense. Making his way up the incline back to the site of his transformation, he ripped a tree out of the ground with hardly an effort and started running the claws of his middle and ring fingers on his right hand across the grainy, hard trunk. Bark fell away in long strips, slowly and minutely working to dull the claws down to a more manageable length. On the night of his first transformation, he had made the mistake of diving in immediately, a pain in a new, intimate place he would rather not experience again. When the tree was reduced to shreds, he tossed it away and tore out a new tree, nearing his destination. Back at the clearing, he inspected his claws, nodding with approval at their dulled length. His breath came hot and heavy, anticipation building with each step and the accomplished preparation. He lowered himself to the ground, wings splayed on either side, tail assisting in propping up his mighty hips. He craned his stocky neck down to gaze past his pendulous breasts and paunchy midsection at his crotch, the thick hairs around his opening already moist. Part of him still expected to find his male genitalia there and there was a brief flash of phantom pain from the realization that it was gone. The feeling passed quickly as he traced a finger around the fleshy folds of his opening, an anticipatory shudder passing through him. Slipping in a finger drew forth a moan, a sound that hardly seemed possible coming from a mighty dragoness. Matthew grunted, doing his best to silence himself. As a human, masturbating was a deed done totally silent, a behavior learned as a teenager from one’s bedroom at night, to be as stealthy as possible so parents and siblings wouldn’t catch on. Besides, those kinds of sounds were for women, not a pinnacle of masculinity like Matthew, present body notwithstanding. But, damn, the sensation felt so good, so foreign to the anatomy he was used to, that any attempt to stifle his vocalizations was useless. He inserted another finger, making a ‘come hither’ gesture that made his toes curl at the steady repetition. He had to restrain himself from speeding up, from plunging forward with reckless abandon as he had attempted on his second transformation, post claw trim, which did nothing for his libido and caused only pain and discomfort. Maybe that was what his dates in the past had always bitched about, not that it mattered to him; he climaxed just fine. Slowly and steadily he worked his female folds, trickles of pleasure radiating from his lower body. Any friction was gone, his fingers damp with his growing excitement. Massaging a finger against his clit sent his eyes back into his head, another moan forced from his mouth. Aided by his tail, he began rolling his hips in time with his fingering, pressure mounting. Little by little, surprised at his own restraint, he increased his speed, plunging his fingers deeper. Research was a weird word for it, but he had looked into proper techniques of self-stimulation for women after the lackluster second transformation, realizing his anatomy was close enough to a human’s for the action to be similar. And, on his third transformation moving forward, it had paid off in spades, sending him to heights of pleasure he had never known as a human man. Heights he was already surpassing as he rocked his hips, the ground below him soaked with his arousal. Pressure started mounting, his body steaming in the cold of the night, each gesture and rocking of his hips forcing moans from his mouth as if that would set off the pressure just a little. His other hand was on his breasts, massaging his nipples now extra sensitive and hard. His engorged clit lapped up his movements, each gesture sending a pulse of pleasure up his spine. Faster, harder, more intense, the rocking of his body shook the earth, sending pine needles and branches plummeting to the ground. His toes had curled so hard that he dug into the earth, tearing apart roots and rocks. Climax was approaching, barreling upon his like a steam train. He could have pulled back, extended the experience, but fuck that; with a body capable of multiple orgasms, he could go all night. His enhanced sense of smell was overwhelmed with the feminine musk of his own body, driving him wild. Moaning, rocking, fingering, panting, he reached the point of no return and plunged ahead. Matthew roared, body growing rigid and unleashing a volley of flames into the sky as he climaxed, waves upon waves of pleasure rolling over him. The force of his orgasm shook his whole body, making his vision blur. His tail twitched, legs quivering, and he could have sworn he had an out-of-body experience, watching as his great form panted, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth, a pool of his excitement spreading between his legs. Matthew lay sprawled upon the ground, spent, staring directly into the full moon as his vision returned and he basked in the afterglow of his orgasm. He smirked, giving the moon a wink. An entire month was a long fucking time, but the experience was so worth the wait. He was a beast out of legend, untouchable by the puny human world. He inspired fear and respect, a guarded secret among whoever laid eyes on him. And he would not be denied. As his breathing returned to normal, he tried to remember how much of the night had elapsed. His fingers were much too big for his phone, buried within his backpack along with his clothes. His fingers moved down his belly toward his crotch. He was ready for more, for as long as the night allowed. *** “…May the Lord lift up the light of his presence upon you and give you peace, now and forevermore. Now, go forth in His name, to love and serve others.” A chorus of amen’s resounded throughout the sanctuary as the first Sunday service ended. Clusters of individuals dressed in their fine church clothes turned to speak to their neighbors on nearby pews, while many attendees headed for the exits, intent on beating the post-church lunch rush, the sermon most likely already fading from their minds. Matthew lingered, dressed in his pressed khaki pants and button-up shirt, suspenders and tie completing his Sunday best. He offered a steady arm to his Memaw, ever the helpful grandson after the death of his grandfather and his Memaw’s many surgeries. “Let’s go talk to Belinda,” she said, gesturing to an open space a few pews ahead. “I need to thank her for the casserole she made after my knee replacement.” “Didn’t you send her a thank you note too?” Matthew asked. “Yes, but it don’t cost nothing to say it out loud. Besides, she brought her granddaughter with her today,” she said, giving Matthew’s arm a squeeze. “A good, Godly girl about your age.” Matthew chuckled. “I appreciate the matchmaking, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now.” “Nonsense. Your mother is already asking about grandchildren, and I’m the last in my ladies’ group to not have a great-grandchild. Besides, it’s not right for such a kind, good, handsome boy to be single.” Matthew walked his Memaw to a group of older women, most of whom fawned over his appearance and expressed similar good-willed disbelief over his singleness. “What can I say? It’s a sinful world and there are far too many young ladies who concern themselves with the physical and not the spiritual,” he said, earning a chorus of agreement. “Did you hear about what happened at Ridgemont last night?” Belinda asked the group. “Some sort of microburst is what they call it, like a mini tornado that tore right through the park. Downed a bunch of trees, just about killed some overnight campers, they said on the news.” “Just awful,” Matthew’s Memaw said, shaking her head. “The wildfires a few years ago and now this? A miracle no one was killed. I didn’t know there was any bad weather in the forecast, but you never can tell up in the mountains.” “Oh, here she is,” Belinda said, peering over Matthew’s shoulder. “Kelly, come say hi to Susan’s grandboy, Matthew. Handsome, ain’t he?” Matthew turned, face alight, ready for some banal conversation with a girl he would never see again, something to at least make his Memaw happy. Upon seeing her, he swallowed hard, trying to compose himself, certain his chipper exterior had noticeably slipped. Kelly had straight black hair reaching her shoulders and was dressed in a dull, conservative dress that looked like a costume on her with how awkward she looked in it. She wore the lightest mascara, just a touch of pinkish lip gloss, and carried a small handbag. But Matthew recognized her all the same, face growing hot. The last time he had seen her, she was dressed in all black, with heavy eye shadow and black lips. She met his gaze and her dark eyes narrowed, out of sight of the older women. “Matthew, is it?” she said, her tone even. “Pleased to meet you.” “L-likewise,” he replied, tugging at his suddenly too-tight collar. “My Nana is a wonderful judge of character. And you’re exactly right, by the way. Not enough girls these days focus on the spiritual, the eternal. I’d like to think I’m helping in that regard. Maybe you can help too.” Kelly drummed her fingers against her handbag, an unknown liquid sloshing within.