Short Fiction Experiments

the werewolf’s mistress


He made a small fortune developing an app that filters your Facebook friends by physical features such as body type and hair color. I wanted to ask him if I could search for “jawbones that look like ripped quartz shards”, or “lips that take on the shape of fresh fruit as they tell me that they’ve never loved this way before”.


Instead of waiting for me to remove my shoes he dives hard at me, his tongue salmon-colored and rough against my inner thighs, leaving oil slicks between my legs and then beckoning so firmly against my core that all I can do is clutch onto handfuls of his hair. In the spasm of my nerves exposing I don’t even feel his claws tightening sharp into my back.


I am lost in a pool of still water that I call by his name. Broken glass midges form a footpath but the ends trail off into something disturbingly silent, which sticks to my shoes and squirms. Once I brought a wet wrapped lunch to his office and waited in the lobby for fifteen minutes until he came down. I must have seen him put on that suit in the morning, but somehow it was as if I was seeing him in it for the first time.


Baring his teeth, he bit into the hand that I offered him and the red running down formed dark rings around my elbows. I folded his shirts and closed all the windows. I thought that way I could keep in the smell of thick meat and maybe retain some soft fur.

This entry was published on February 15, 2017 at 12:29 am. It’s filed under Fiction, uneasy world carnival and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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