I wake to grey light filtering through the blinds in my room. It’s utterly quiet outside. My head is pounding and my throat is completely dry. I feel like I haven’t had water in days. I work my mouth a few times, croaking and trying to make spit happen. It makes me cough and I roll over to my side and pull myself up to kneel. My head aches from the movement. I close my eyes against the pain at my temples. When I open them, I see it. I’m back. To me. To old me. I close my eyes again and almost feel like crying. I don’t even know why but I can feel a lump in my throat and the threat of tears starting. I breathe deeply with my forehead against the bed until the feeling passes. I don’t even know why that just happened. The only thing I can come up with is it feels like something is missing. A part of me. Some important thing that’s gone. For a half second, I wonder if I dreamed all of last night but I know my dreams and how they work and that’s impossible. Plus… when I sit back, I touch my leg and feel the dried cum. Even from here I can smell it and I know it’s not just mine. Not just my old cum. I taste my fingers and I feel the stirrings of my erection. The switch from pussy to cock is surreal. Earlier is a blur but it was such a strong feeling that I can feel the echo of it even still. My brain is having a hard time remembering the feel of a wet pussy. My dick throbs from the memory of it and there’s this strange disassociation that my brain is doing. It’s trying to put me in the place of a man fucking the she-wolf rather than me being the she-wolf and masturbating. It’s trying to compensate for what happened. Trying to reconcile it with me as a man. It takes 5 seconds to cum while jacking myself off. I almost feel pathetic. I don’t even try to stop the cum as it spurts all over the side of my bed. Only then do I notice a large dried spot on the floor where I was laying. I lean down and smell it – it’s the she-wolf’s scent. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m rubbing the side of my face against it, a small growl escaping my lips without a thought. The cheap carpeting is only very slightly wet now. I almost cry again but I put it away quickly. The suit! It has to be somewhere. I search frantically. The bedroom is empty except for the plastic wrapping the suit came in and the shattered box. I don’t remember breaking it. Nothing under the bed, in the closet… In my rush, I step on glass from the broken dresser mirror and it hurts badly but I ignore it. Hallway closet, kitchen, bathroom, living room – all are empty. The lid for the box is in the living room but that’s it. I peek out of my front door onto my steps but no new box waits for me. I can feel the lump in my throat yet again but I push it away and make my way to the shower. Sleep won’t be coming again tonight. This morning. Whatever damn time it is. Not after that. I notice the small bit of glass in my foot when I step onto the bathroom linoleum. I bite back a curse and sit to pull it out. The seat is cold on my ass. I feel drained. Of energy and everything else. The shower heats up quickly and I step into the warmth, closing my eyes to water cascading over my face and hair. Memories of the night hit me almost physically, forcing me back. A small whimper escapes my lips and my knees buckle. I sit before I can fall from it. Clutching my knees to my chest, I let my mind go and ignore everything except the steady stream Ankara bayan escort from the shower head. I don’t know how long I sit like that but I can feel the water starting to turn colder. I stand and start my routine – shampoo worked into my blonde hair. Bar of soap, lathered with my hands and then… when I accidentally brush my soapy hands against my small nipple, I feel a tiny jolt of electricity shoot down to my balls. My dick works at becoming hard but it’s too soon after jacking off and it stays mostly limp. I turn with my back to the shower head and lean my forehead against the shower wall. My finger tweaks my useless nipple and I feel the tickling electricity building at the base of my dick. I know it’s useless but I touch the spot between my balls and my ass with my other hand and press against my skin. If I pretend hard enough, I think I can feel a faint echo of last night’s pleasure. But, I’m fooling myself and all I’m feeling is the ticklish pressure building in my balls from the nipple. I stop and rinse off, sighing heavily. Five minutes to finish brushing my somewhat crooked teeth. My parents could never afford braces and, now that I’m older, there’s other things I’d rather buy. It’s when I’m pulling my pants on that I notice – I’m thinner than I was before. My excess fat is gone. Everywhere. No developing beer gut, no slightly flabby arms and I can see the faint trace of muscle on my legs. Not actual toned muscles but there’s no fat to hide what’s there. My pants are loose enough for me to notch up three more holes on my belt. My polo shirt is noticeably loose but I have nothing tighter – I donated all of my old smaller clothes to Goodwill years ago. I sit and think about it while rubbing my leg. Why? Burning calories for whatever happened last night or something else? I don’t feel different otherwise. No strange bursts of energy, everything else looks the same. Same moles, same few freckles, same pimple on my left arm and everything. I couldn’t even begin to guess. My bedside clock tells me it’s getting close to 6 in the morning so I decide to check for any messages from the dating websites I use. Primarily OKCupid but I’ve had a few nibbles on Craigslist as well. Lots of freaks and fake people on that last one but I’ve become good at sniffing them out. Takes me a bowl of sugary cereal to make my way through new ads. I almost respond to one ad on Craigslist but then I stop. What the hell? Did last night seriously happen? What the fuck am I doing? I stand and hunt for the packing slip from the box… crate… thing. I find it on the floor next to the couch. It’s empty. Completely blank – my name isn’t anywhere on the sheet of paper. Nothing. No faded ink, no impression from any typewriter or anything else. Just a pure white piece of paper. But, the paper exists. And the box. And the plastic bag. I’m not losing my mind. I’m not. The cum on the carpet, too. I didn’t make that up. I didn’t run a marathon in my sleep and burn off all my fat somehow. My alarm startles me and I drop the paper. Shit. It’s my warning to start heading to work. Should I call in sick? And then what? Mope around my apartment? No, no. Not that. Work will distract me. I’ll take some time to puzzle things out and I can tackle things again when I get home. I grab my wallet, keys and jacket and head out. My car is a humble little Honda that Escort bayan Ankara gets me going fast enough to barely beat the morning traffic rush. Nearly 180,000 miles and still going. It was a graduation present from my parents and I’ve tried to keep it in good shape. The best I can, anyway. There’s usually not too many people in at this time of the morning and today’s no exception. The receptionist doesn’t get in until 8 and my boss gets in whenever the hell he wants, so I make my way quietly to my desk. We have a fancy coffee and tea machine with free packs of both but coffee is disgusting so I load up my huge mug with hot water and a packet of green tea. Work passes. I’m barely there. It’s the same thing as most every other day – pressure from the sales team, my boss hiding and letting me take most of the hits. I’m counting the minutes until I’m done. When I finally am done, I bolt for it. But, rather than follow my routine and head home, I sit in my car. A few other people make their way to their cars but I lean my seat back and close my eyes, breathing in slowly. I try to let the stress from work just wash off of me. Instead, my brain helpfully offers of imagery from the night before. Like an asshole. Last night is hard to remember exactly, but I get little flashes of things. Looking down at… my breasts. The incredibly intense feeling of the pussy and clit. The fur and tail and muzzle and – but, no. Little flashes. That’s all I can remember. It’s not that the memories are fading, they’re just fuzzy and broken. Pushing the memories aside, I find I’m rubbing my dick and chest. Except not really rubbing my dick at all. I’ve got my hand cupped around where my dick and balls are in my pants with my two of my fingers brushing against the area below the balls. I’m massaging my balls, dick and that one spot. And moaning while arching my back ever so slowly. The hand on my chest is pressed against my pec – right where the bottom of some imagined tit would be. I flush and stop. Except to scratch my chest below the imagined breast – the shirt feels loose and itchy against my skin. It’s a good scratch, too. I feel it all the way down to my feet, through my balls. My feet twist in response. Damn. A decision is made. New clothes! For some reason, the thought of going home like usual does not work for me right now. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts. Not right now. Going back home, being near the bedroom… I think having experienced what I did and then losing it is not something I want to face right now. It’s like learning your favorite childhood home was bought by someone else. You don’t want to go and see what they’ve done to the place – the memories are too painful. Traffic is somewhat light and it only takes me ten minutes to find a parking spot in the sprawling mall parking lot, near the JC Penny side of the mall. I feel nervous being in public. Anxious. As if everyone looking at me knows what happened last night. Knows about my fetish, the werewolf stuff and the… the… whatever happened. That I was a woman. She-wolf. Whatever. It feels like they’re all staring and judging me. Dammit. I don’t usually get creepy paranoia but it’s hitting me pretty hard and making my heart pound in my ears. I almost decide to go back home after all. Almost. I feel weirdly self-conscious and that’s never happened. But, no, I keep going. The Bayan escort Ankara store is slightly busy. As usual, the entrance dumps me into the women’s section. I think it must be standard policy for department stores to have the men’s section out of the way upstairs or in a small corner. And then they hide the escalators. It takes me a moment to spot the way upstairs but I do and I make my way there. Through the lingerie section. I can’t help glancing at the mannequins. It’s a thing – like spotting a pretty girl at the corner of my eyes. So, I look. And I turn red. And stop. Did I look like that? I feel my dick stirring in my pants and I’m thankful they’re loose now. The mannequin in slim. From what I remember last night, I… I turn red even thinking of it. Thinking of myself in that way. As a woman. Like the mannequin. But, no, I was more fleshed out. I don’t know if it was because of the werewolf bit or something else but I remember the size of my thighs. The size of my breasts. I wish I’d seen myself as a plain w… I stop again. Jesus. What the hell? No. No, I’m not going to be ashamed of it. I was a woman. A she-wolf. Temporarily. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to have seen what I looked like as a woman. It doesn’t change who I am. I just… looked a lot different. And wished I could’ve seen myself better. So I look at the mannequin and wonder. And feel my erection throbbing. Did my ass look like that? My ass as a man is somewhat flat and simply there. Did I have wider hips? I think I did. Dammit. The she-wolf. I can’t make up my mind to think of it like “Did I…” or as “Did the she-wolf…” I was the she-wolf but there’s a difference there. Something I won’t see again. Something that wasn’t entirely me. From what I remember of looking down, my (I was in that skin so they are mine, not the she-wolf’s – why quibble about it?) breasts were definitely bigger. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a department store mannequin with big breasts. Or even decent sized. I’m scratching my chest again, subconsciously, but it feels good so I let it go. I find my eyes drawn back to the ass of the mannequin. The ass and where the pussy would be. I can remember my fingers between my thighs, rubbing my pussy and I can almost remember how it felt – the wetness on my fingers (paws?) and the electricity of those same fingers on the… my pussy lips. I imagine the mannequin on its knees, fingering itself like I did, leaning forward with one hand on the ground. I have to physically shift my feet around at the memory and visual. My face must be bright red right now. And then, in my imagination, the mannequin goes to both hands, ass in the air, pussy wet and waiting for me and I feel the ache in my balls. Only it’s not me. It’s not me behind the mentally animated mannequin. I’m placing myself in the mannequin’s spot and someone else is behind me. Me on my hands and knees, ass up. Me with a dripping cunt. Me waiting for … for what? For what? For who? I don’t… I don’t know how this ends. It has to be a woman behind me, right? But it’s not. My fucking brain keeps pushing a picture of some faceless guy on his knees behind the mannequin… me… the she-wolf. FUCK! It’s confusing as hell. I don’t go for woman-on-woman porn. I enjoy watching the penetration and watching the woman get fucked. Not fake porn star stuff but amateur videos where the couple is actually enjoying themselves and making really hot, honest noises. Yeah, I get hard watching two women go at it. Sure. But I’d rather watch a guy and girl do it. Or dig through my werewolf stuff for a good picture to look at. Some random woman transformed half-way into a werewolf, naked and turned on from the change. My brain isn’t helping.