Jessica Sims: Bear Naked

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“Come on. You have to have options.”

I gave him a level stare, my pocketed hands clenching into stubborn fists. “I’m going into heat in the next week or two, Mikkel. So unless you want to be a proud papa, this is the only route I have.”

He blanched at my suggestion. “God, Niko, that’s gross.”

“I know it’s gross,” I said, calmly staring out at the distant snowy island. “That’s why I said it.” We were cousins, but our families were so close we’d been raised as brother and sister more than cousins. The idea was as repugnant to me as it was to him, but I was running out of options. “Look at it this way. I’m a bear shifter. The cold won’t bother me. Considering that my temperature is running a few degrees hotter right now because of the heat thing? It really won’t be a problem for me. I have food supplies enough for two months. There’s an abandoned base. No one’s going to bother me. And if Leif isn’t here, it’ll just be a lonely month for me and I’ll be well out of the way of anyone and everyone that might be affected by the heat.”

Poor Mikkel still looked unconvinced.

I reached out and patted his sleeved arm. “I’ll be fine.”

He shrugged my hand off. “Just, uh, don’t touch me. The heat thing. It makes things…weird.”

I wrinkled my nose, the hoop in my nostril chilly in the brisk weather. “Sorry. I keep forgetting.”

“Me too.” He grimaced. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ll be perfect.”

And I would be, if Leif was truly actually on Half Moon Island. What I remembered of Leif was vague, but I recalled that he was a kind, dreamy boy. I remembered he’d loved to sculpt figures in wood. I still had one of those tiny figures he’d given to me. It was tucked into my bag at the moment. He was an artist. Polite. Friendly.

Which was ironic, because I was cranky, ballsy, and stubborn. I figured if I met him here, I’d be the one that got my way.

And if I didn’t, well, I had a nice, long solo vacation…and a bullet vibrator.

I sighed, staring out at the lonely island. If he wasn’t out there? It was going to be a long, long heat cycle.

By the end of the next afternoon, I was on the shore of Half Moon Island, waving goodbye to Mikkel as the ship pulled away. The small inflatable raft I’d used to get to the shore was temporarily parked on the beach, and Mikkel had instructed me to hide it at the abandoned base so no ships passing through the area would see and think the place was inhabited.

If someone did stop in, I had plenty of camera equipment, forged permits from Mikkel that showed I worked for him, and a cover story that I was filming a documentary on chinstrap penguins that inhabited this island.

As I watched the ship pull away, I rubbed my nose. With my shifter sense of smell, I was already trying to pick up the scent of another bear. Unfortunately, all I smelled was penguin and penguin shit. It’d take a few days for my nose to adjust to the ‘common’ scents.

When Mikkel raised a hand to wave, I returned it until I could no longer see him.

Then, I was entirely alone on a remote Antarctic island. Yeah. I grabbed the hauling rope on the front of my raft and began to drag it inland.

Half Moon Island was pretty. Pretty bleak, that was. There were weird tufts of dried-looking grass stuck between rocks, and there was snow. Lots, and lots of snow. But other than that, it was vast, silent, and empty. There was no sound but the wind and the distant caws of penguins. The beaches were rocky and cold, and I could smell no other inhabitants. I lifted my face to the wind as I walked and circled the island twice, but there were no signs of anything other than an army of chinstrap penguins. There were three long buildings, but I avoided them. I didn’t want the smells of other humans contaminating my nostrils, not when I was trying to find the delicate scent of one particular shifter.

That, and where there were buildings, there was also the possibility of someone showing up to check out those buildings.

So I set up my small tent on a sheltered inlet, between a few large rocks that would protect me from most of the wind and out of sight of the bay. The ground was hard and unforgiving, but I unrolled a small mat for under my sleeping bag. It’d have to do.

I’d been camping dozens of times as a small girl surrounded by a horde of brothers and cousins. I knew how to build a fire and fish, and set up a tent. I wasn’t afraid of being out here on my own.

I was terrified I wouldn’t find what I was looking for. That thought scared me more than anything.

The air was incredibly dry, and my face felt chapped by the end of the first night. The weather was bitterly cold, but as a were-bear, I was more tolerant to the weather than most shifters, and with a heavy jacket on, it wasn’t so bad. I spent my first evening on the island bundled in my tent with my camping blankets tucked around me, an electric lantern set up in the corner as I checked and rechecked the camera equipment I’d brought for my cover story.

Morning came soon enough, and I bounded from my chilly bed and did a quick circle of the island, sniffing for hints of unfamiliar were-bear.

All I smelled were penguins, more penguins, and my own familiar scent.

I was disappointed, but I wouldn’t let it bring me down. I had plenty of time.

Three days passed without luck. Three long, miserable days. If Leif was here, he was acting like most natural bears did and avoiding human contact. My smell - despite the were-bear scent of it - would stink of unknown predator, and he was probably avoiding me.

Time for a new tactic.

I dug through my laundry, pulling out my dirty clothes. My panties were fragrant with my scent, thanks to the copious filthy dreams I’d been having (which hadn’t stopped now that I was in Antarctica, but had only grown stronger). Just pulling them out of my laundry bag made my small tent saturate with the smell of musky, needy sex. I flushed with embarrassment. God, was this what I smelled like to the other were-bears when I was in heat? That was…awful, and far too intimate. It was a good thing I was far away from everyone at the moment.

I took my hunting knife and ripped the panties into shreds, sucked down my pride, and rubbed them on my groin one last time to get the scent nice and fresh. And then, I scattered the scraps around the island. “Come on, Hansel,” I said bitterly. “Come on and follow Gretel’s breadcrumbs.”

The heat was coming on to me harder and faster with every passing day. If there had been uncertainty before as to whether I was truly going into heat, there was no doubt in my mind now. My breasts ached and I was sensitive to the slightest touches. Just a dirty thought could be incredibly arousing.

If Leif was in the vicinity, he’d smell me and come to check it out. He’d have to. His hormones wouldn’t be able to resist.

The weather was cold, but clear. I elected to sleep outside, just in case Leif could smell me and wanted to come check out the source for himself. I bundled up in my sleeping bag, stared at the bleak, chilly ocean, and waited in the darkness.

Being all alone and on your own is exhausting, though, and I was unable to keep my eyes open. I fell asleep before an hour passed, lulled by the distant sounds of penguins and waves.

My dreams were naughty and full of unfulfilled desire, as usual. It was formless, mindless need. Thanks to the sheltered life I’d led as the were-bear daughter of a bear-clan leader, I was a virgin. The bear clans were not the most forward-thinking of families and certain parts of our lifestyle dated back to, oh, the Middle Ages. Things like arranged marriages and keeping your legs together until your arranged marriage were a given. Anything else and – you guessed it – exile from everything and everyone you knew.