Little Wolf

Ch 5 A Father/Son talk

"I don't hate you."

A partial truth. He was my father, and I loved him. I just hated his ongoing sermons and training. He was a wolf living in a human world.

I was a human who merely also happened to be able to live as a wolf. I grew up human, despite our family excursions as wolves. I was part of a deep and cultural human community. I had family beyond just him and mom. I was part of my mom's tribe, a connection with society Dad never had, and possibly, I realized, a connection he couldn't completely comprehend. I had an identity beyond being a wolf. I honestly couldn't see myself having any trouble out in the world.

My dad was right about me sharing mom's desire to learn, and his too. Teacher he might be, but in his heart, Dad was an eternal student.

Dad gave a little hmmph as if he knew what I was thinking. He probably did, as often as we'd yelled it back and forth. But then Dad grinned a bit as he walked over and put his hand behind my head. He pulled on me until our foreheads met.

"You're my son, and I love you. Now go get cleaned up so we can go shopping."

A quick shower, a pair of jeans and a black tee-shirt dad had set out, his way of telling me to keep out of his room, and I was ready to go.

Dad drove, asking me about my job prospect the whole way over. It was an easy conversation for a change, both of us avoiding the word choices that usually set things off.

Two hair cuts later (Dad had insisted I needed one as well), a quick second breakfast while we were out, then on to the local grocery store.

Looking at our full shopping cart, I realized we'd managed a whole morning with no arguments. That sense of camaraderie was back, if slightly strained. Dad sent me out to load up the truck while he went back in for something.

When he came out, he went to the passenger side, letting me drive, much to my surprise. It seemed he was trying to do what he said and treat me like a man. He was quiet, almost pensive, for the ride home. He kept fingering whatever he had gone back in for in his far jacket pocket.

Groceries finally put away; I started to head out of the kitchen when Dad stopped me by grabbing my arm. He put that small bag from his last-minute purchase in my hands.

"You're going to be on your own," he started nervously, "and you're going to be looking for companionship." Dad paused, looking out the kitchen window before he started talking again.
"You know I've always told you to be cautious, to be vigilant..."

He took a deep breath, giving me one more glance before fixing his gaze out the window. He kept one hand on my shoulder to prevent me from going anywhere, the other hand splayed across the kitchen counter as he explained how I should use his purchase.

I looked in the bag, extremely surprised by the boxes of condoms in there. Closing the bag tight, I tried to get away, quickly realizing I couldn't, not without physically fighting him. Dad's grip on my shoulder pushed between the muscles. My attempt to move caused him to tighten his grip even more. I tried not to wince as the hint of claw tips pressed into my shoulder muscles.

Dad's talk continued into female anatomy, the basics of different methods, the reason certain motions were more intense than others as they stimulated pleasure points. I was embarrassed. Most of it, I knew.

He finally changing his lecture to the proper care needed to control my passions to avoid the wolf, the use of scents placed about the room to override the female odor, how the overpowering smells would temp me to do at least a partial shift; how the craving to taste might overwhelm me as my tongue sought action, threatening to bring out the wolf.

Beyond embarrassed, I was mortified, locked in place by the death grip on my shoulder.

He started in again with the caution I should use to avoid a pregnancy I might never be made aware of, one that, even if terminated without my knowledge, might provide too much information to today's sciences.

His eyes never looked away from the window; he never loosened his grip on my shoulder. I could feel a slight trembling in that grip. His voice was steady, however, as it just kept droning on, going into more details than I wanted to know.

I wanted to disappear into the floor as I got more uncomfortable. My slight squirm had the curve of his claws pushing deeper into my muscles.

He spoke of the wolf, being with another wolf.

Fascination coupled with embarrassment, knowing my dad was speaking of experience with my mom... or had he been with real wolves at some point? I didn't want to know, even as I did want to know. This slow death by embarrassment was torture!

Dad went on to describe how the wolf reacted to certain things, especially a human woman in heat. I tried to protest that one, claiming to have been around plenty of girls in high school and college, but his claws ripped my, well, his shirt that I was wearing. His grip pressed deeper into my skin, but still didn't draw blood.

"They do," Dad said, still keeping his gaze fixated on the tree outside the window. His free hand had claw tips digging into the wooden counter, "just differently than animals. There is that period when the egg is released, right before her menstruation begins when a human woman is most likely to conceive. You'll notice when you start getting... intense, with a woman. Her body releases pheromones too subtle for a human to identify, but the wolf within you will want to breed. The last thing you want to do is become a rapist. So just keep listening."

And he went on. And on. I went from mortified to embarrassed to fascinated back to mortified many times during that very long, mostly one-sided talk.

He finished by withdrawing his hand from my shoulder, patting it a few times, giving a more fatherly squeeze to my shoulder as he finally told me to put the now very, very crumpled bag in my hand away.