When I heard in January that werewolf butt-rapists were in the neighborhood, that they had already taken 6 guys as their victims, I admittedly got a tad excited. I had never had another werewolf's cock in my butt before, though I had thought about it many times. Especially during a long, Mid-western winter when I get so lonely and depressed, sitting here in my apartment watching my own werewolf turds as they sit quietly there in the kitchen sink. Sometimes I get so bored that I shit there. I sit my hairy ass over the sink, staring out the window at the snow-covered ground. The stark, barren trees outside are always standing there with their writhing, jagged, many legged branches that seem like hairs sprouting out of a werewolf's ass. It made me think of my own immortality, that even if I wanted to I can never truly die. I am a hair on a werewolf's ass, a branch on a tree. Even if I perish the trunk will stand erect. My cock gets hard as the shit slithers out my hairy ass, plops almost soundlessly into the hard, shiny metal sink as I emit a sad, lonely monotone howl, sitting there with my werewolf mask on as I defecate and feel the January, winter blues in my animal soul. I like to wait awhile before turning on the faucet to wash all the feces down the drain, like an aloof God who answers the prayers of his children as soon as the football game is over.

The heavily favored Minnesota Vikings had just been defeated by the Atlanta Falcons in the 1998 NFC Championship game and, being a big Vikings fan I was horribly depressed. My gay friend, Melvin from the Virgin Islands was there at the sports bar with me, preparing to give me a ride to Wal-Mart so I could get me some new thermal underwear. It was late January and the weather had become frightful, cold and a snow-capped sort of dreary. On the way to Wal-Mart in Melvin's little car, he could tell I was very sad because of the game. And, having divulged to him that when I get very depressed I fantasize about having a cock in my ass or mouth, he began to get ideas even though he knew I was "straight". "So you thinking about it?" Melvin asked.

"Dude, I can't believe that the Vikings just got their asses beat and all you can think of is sticking your dick inside my hairy werewolf ass."

Melvin was a nice looking guy, had a light caramel shade of skin; tall; intelligent. He was a law school student. He and I would hang out sometimes and he was okay to go out to dinner with occasionally, have a drink with, but he had such an insatiable libido, was so obsessively and compulsively addicted to sucking cocks; getting his cock sucked and fucking ass/getting ass fucked, that he was annoying, almost obnoxiously so, the innuendos he would constantly make; all the suggestive remarks of how he'd like to have sex with me. He was so annoying, actually, that he had few friends and I was about the only person who would hang out with him. He took the fact sometimes, that I was willing to do this, as a sign of vulnerability on my part. He thought that he could perhaps someday talk me into "doing it" with him, that my willingness to be his companion was a sign that I secretly "liked" him, when in fact I was just as lonely as him and simply wanted someone to hang out with. It didn't hurt, either, that he had a car and received a seemingly endless flow of cash from his well-to-do family back in the Caribbean. I would look at Melvin sometimes, stare into his face when he spoke in his high-pitched, excited effeminate voice; and when his eyes were glazed with compulsive lustfulness, the rest of his brown face looked like a hairy werewolf ass. His arms looked like the dead, reaching branches of dead, ice-covered January trees and sex with him, in the winter; out in the cold, it would have to seem cruel on his part whether he meant it that way or not.

We were in Wal-Mart and I was searching through the thermal underwear section, wondering what color to get, when it was Melvin who convinced me to get one of each color! He volunteered to pay for 3 of the 6 pair, so it was a fine, joyful afternoon when, returning to my apartment we set all six pair out on the bed: red, white, black, blue, green and yellow, like a rainbow. I was feeling a bit better about the football game, had entirely forgotten about it actually, as Melvin sat on a chair in my bedroom and watched me try on all the different colors of underwear. I had my werewolf mask on and there was a point when I was feeling very daring, and I decided to "mix it up" a tad. I put on a red top, then complemented it with a green bottom! Hee!

"Oh, Christmas is over, you silly werewolf!" Melvin said, waving me off with his hand, being playfully dismissive as I laughed. Melvin said, "C'mon, let's see what you look like from the back." And I turned around for him, showing him my green butt, dressed in these Christmas holiday colors even though the holidays were long gone. The thing I liked about Melvin is that, even though he often took it too far, he would often compliment my looks to make me feel better. I realized he did this trying to manipulate me, get into my head and his dick into my werewolf butt. But sometimes I sensed he was being very sincere and it made me feel good. Just then he said: "You've got a nice behind, Taco. Damn." It made me blush behind my werewolf mask, but yet it also made me laugh, forgetting all about the cold; forgetting about the Vikings loss; and forgetting about the tree branches outside, those eyes that, even if plucked from a werewolf's hairy ass; even if a branch is broken from a tree, the trunk remains; the werewolf's hairy ass stays and here I remain, condemned to eternal service to the moon above that rules me.

A while later, I decided to stay with the yellow thermal underwear for the rest of the night because it seemed to go best with my werewolf mask. Melvin and I were having a drink, just talking, and the conversation got a little serious. "So what do you think about this thing with the neighborhood werewolf butt-rapists?" Melvin said. "Doesn't it scare you that you don't have a car and have to walk everywhere? I read an article in the newspaper about it and it said that werewolves that go around butt-raping other men often travel in pairs. A big werewolf to pin the victim down, and then a tiny werewolf, often with a bigger dick, sticks it in."

"Yeah, it's all pretty interesting, I think," I said, "and a little scary. I guess 6 guys have already been raped in just 2 weeks, all straight guys. And it's hard telling how many got raped who were too embarrassed to tell the police. I have to admit that lately, when I'm walking around town, if I see a big guy and a small guy walking together, coming towards me--and if they look a little hairy in the face-- I go to the other side of the street, just as a precaution."

Melvin laughed. "Yeah, well if you go out in town wearing them yellow underwears, honey, you are going to get raped for certain!"

"You think so?" I asked, being rather coy. "I'll be sure not to wear them then, I guess."

The following night, though, I still had the yellow thermal underwears on. The moon was full and all through the neighborhood you could hear the awful howling of the werewolf butt-rapists a they went about looking for another butthole to invade. I was needing a pack of cigarettes real bad, though, so I decided to risk walking to the convenience store nearby. It was dreadfully cold out; we had just gotten five more inches of snow, but since the store was right next door I figured I'd just put on my coat and werewolf mask and not bother with any pants, just wear the yellow long-john bottoms, and I would be back safe and warm in no time. I got out the door, felt the bitter wind in my face. It blew clean through my thin, thermal long-johns, through the pee-hole in my crotch which caused a piercing draft that instantly made a tiny nub of my penis. I had to cut through a small wooded area to get through the store; it was routine and I did it all the time. But tonight was different, there was dread in the air as I stared ahead at the tall, menacing trees with their branches like the hairs on a werewolf's butt, watching me. For a second I thought about turning back to put on some jeans, remembering Melvin's warning about the werewolf butt-rapists and how they were attracted to yellow underwear. Even in the dark, the fluorescent lemon yellow color of my long-johns was visible and made me an easy target. If the werewolf butt-rapists happened to be hiding in those woods, I would get it for sure.

But I decided to make the trek anyway, perhaps secretly wanting to get butt-raped by werewolves? I didn't want to think about it, simply blocked any motives from my mind and trudged through the snow, through a bowling alley parking lot until I arrived at the edge of the wooded area, freezing, my legs shaking and wobbling as I entered the ominous gathering of trees, leaning forward and squinting my eyes, trying to make out the path that all the people who lived in my apartment complex used to walk to the store. To my shock, about half-way down the trail, I noticed a large lump that seemed to be a body lying in the snow! Frantic, I wiped the snow from this lump and found that it was my neighbor, Hal. Hal was this real big, muscular guy, a real "manly" type who worked as a plumber and had a very hairy butt. He was sobbing as I helped him to his feet. A sudden rush of adrenaline blazed through me as I saw he had no pants on! His big, thick wool coat was over his torso, but from the waist down he was totally naked.

"Oh, shit, Hal," I said. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Turn back, Taco," Hal said. "It's not worth it, man, get your cigarettes tomorrow in the daylight. The goddam werewolf butt-rapists are in these woods. They fucking got me a few minutes ago, stuck their dicks and a broken branch up my ass, hurt me real bad. Please don't tell anybody about this, okay?" And just as Hal said this, I looked ahead of me to see two looming figures approaching. I heard the broken January branches on the cold, snowy ground crack as they were stepped upon. As the figures got closer, the light of the moon shined upon them and I saw two men, one big and one small, and they were covered in hair. They both had their werewolf cocks out, shaking them to intimidate us as they howled, and even in the cold, frigid air, despite the hissing, merciless wind they were both rock hard. They both also held a broken branch in the other hand that was covered in blood, Hal's blood, and as I watched Hal, being unable to stand, try to crawl away on his hands and knees there in the snow, I noticed he had a big, bloody branch sticking out of his hairy ass! Blood covered his hairy butt cheeks as he screamed and tried to scamper away, saying, "No, please! I can't take any more of it!"

The werewolf butt-rapists laughed, totally uninterested in me and my thermal yellow underwears. One of them said to me, "Nice mask, you poser," and then they pushed me aside and pounced upon Hal. "What, you think we was done with you?" the big werewolf said. Then I saw the little werewolf drop to his knees behind Hal's uplifted hairy ass. He started pulling the stick already in Hal's asshole in and out, torturing him. "You like this broken branch up your hairy butt, boy?" he said to Hal. "Just because a branch done broke don't mean the tree is dead. Like just because a person dies don't mean he aint done living in a hell. Our dicks in your damn hairy butt gonna feel like forever before it all over with." Blood started gushing from Hal's hairy butt as the weasly little werewolf wiped it all over Hal's ass cheeks, all over his fur-covered back as the big werewolf held him down, rammed his face into the snow. Then the little werewolf looked back at me and smiled, his hideous rows of sharp teeth sparkling in the January moonlight. His eyes started glowing, yellow like my underwears, like hairs on a werewolf's ass as he said, "Pluck a hair out of my butt and my ass is still there. You gonna be wearing them yellow britches longer than you think." Then he got back to his horrible, hairy business, rammed his cock into Hal's bloodied and battered hairy asshole, started fucking him like crazy. Hal howled a muffled howl at the moon as his own hairy moon got invaded, his throat getting clogged with dirty snow. I didn't know what to do, felt I was watching something beyond my control and understanding, just started walking away, further down the trail toward the convenience store until I came to a small clearing I was familiar with. I felt extremely confused that the werewolf butt-rapists didn't attack me, and secretly a little hurt and disappointed. It seemed this clearing was the scene of the initial attack upon Hal. I saw his blue jeans lying near a big log, his steel tape measure, and his work boots. The poor guy had probably just been walking to the store to get a can of Campbell's Chunky Soup or something. There was a big pile of broken, bloody branches near his pants. The branches were broken, but looking up, I saw how the trees they had fallen from were unshaken. You pluck out the hairs on a werewolf's butt and his ass is still there, all these people are just butt hairs, just branches; all these asses and hairy butts, such immense forests of trees, the broken branches on the snow-covered ground. My yellow underwears. Nothing fades away, nothing truly dies, the feelings never go away, this incessant, unrelenting werewolf lust, this desire, and this yearning for having a werewolf cock in my ass will never leave me and no butt-rape would ever change that. I knelt down before the pile of bloodied, broken January branches that night, Hal's blue jeans, and prayed. Then I cried. Then I got my pack of cigarettes at the store and when the cops interviewed me later that night, I hid my werewolf mask from them and told them I hadn't seen a thing.