Christopher WunderLee - Moore's Mythopoeia

“Now, we’ll be watching you, anybody who goes out and buys more shoes or socks or stockings or what have you and we’ll be a knocking on your door. Understand? Today you’re barefoot — understood? All right, let’s go,” the wolf ordered and the band of robbers ran off the bus, just as they had boarded it.

The passengers commuting that Tuesday morning, after the masked marauders had left, did not know what to say. They stared at each other, as if they wanted someone else to tell them how to feel. The driver, shoeless and sockless, stepped on the gas pedal and drove on. The people itched their ankles, looked down on their naked feet, and tried to understand why four men had just robbed them of their footwear. At the next stop, two women and a college student got on and noticed the new trend. You could see the college student contemplating whether or not he should take off his shoes and socks. But he didn’t. He simply folded his feet under his knees for the entire ride. As the bus continued, more people boarded and noticed all the naked feet, but they did not ask why. They simply watched as the naked feet slapped on the floor when a passenger got up to leave the bus. The robbery had been a success.

* * *

Elisa was standing on the sidewalk outside her new home, in the city. The house had been sold and the surveillance wired into the penthouse she was about to occupy. Captain Vincent was in a large white van down the street, watching her through the rear-view mirror. She was standing with her hand on her hip, wearing a short red dress and a thin chain around her neck. Captain Vincent knew that she was wearing black underwear that had doily fringes and a crimson bra underneath. He’d watched her shower and dress earlier that morning. Her last morning in her beloved house near the Steamboat Saloon.

Elisa was holding a brown handbag in her arms. All we need is a hood. The cameras are not on yet. The satellite link up is not ready. Elisa’s waiting for the moving truck, it’s late, very late. There’s a wolf upstairs, waiting for her, in her new bedroom. His teeth are dirty, long fingernail colored teeth with razors attached to the ends, all of them canines. His paws are corroded; his claws are black knife blades. She has seen the wolf before, she knows him. She prefers him, enjoys how he stalks her (the impulse almost Lawrencian). This is the granite forest; this apartment in the fashionable district was Elisa’s grandmother’s. She often visited when she was a child. But there was never a wolf waiting for her.

Elisa grows impatient and goes up to her new home to wait. She does not check the lock or check the closets. The wolf sits in the wardrobe closet in her room. He growls in anticipation. He can smell her coming close, sniff, sniff, sniff. He knows her smell, that smell that makes his fur stand on end. Elisa looks absently about the apartment, it will have to do. Where shall she put the bed? Then, she hears the growl.

This is the sound of crimson moons and the crackling of leather. She is bound and gagged, on her knees in leather underwear with studs pointing in. He has a bouquet of roses, hoists her up by her arms, hanging behind her back and whips her with them, the thorns tearing tiny lines in her buttocks and lower back. She’s crying, the tears welling in her clenched eyelids, dripping onto her toes. He has ravaged the roses, the petals are littering the ground below her, the thorns blunted or stuck in her skin.

The growl is angry. Elisa smiles and goes toward the wardrobe. The doors are closed; she knows that he is in there, in costume, furry, angry, ready. When she opens the doors he will rush her, overtake her, what big eyes you have, what big teeth you have, what a big dick you have…

What will you do to me this time?

Captain Vincent must wait for her to appear again. He can see her shadow in the window, an impression of her existence, but he cannot see into her home. For the first time in months, he cannot click a button and watch her move, watch her sit on the couch, watch her wait for the movers, watch her with the wolf.

Elisa puts her hands on the wooden knobs, waiting…

Captain Vincent calls Unit 2 and asks when the hook-up will be ready. He cannot stand being without her, not seeing her.

Elisa tries to open the door, but it’s locked. She can hear him inside, growling.

In two hours.

She backs away from the wardrobe, it is shaking.

The feed is ready for Maija.

The wolf is coming; the doors fling open, flying off their hinges.

She’s not home, though. She’s on her way to help Elisa.

His yellow eyes and dirty teeth are coming. Elisa tries to run, but she cannot get away, not in high heels. He pounces on her, knocking her down. She’s on her hands and knees. She claws at the wooden floor, trying to pull herself away. He holds her with one arm, keeping her below him. His claws grip the neck of her skirt and tear it. He stuffs one long nail against her, pushing through her underwear. She writhes; she swings her elbows and wriggles against the floor. He turns her over, holds down her arms and sits on top of them. He grabs her skirt and tears open the neckline, grabs her bra and yanks at it, trying to pull it from her body. She shifts under him. He bites her bra and breaks it, exposing her breasts. He licks them with a carnivorous tongue, nibbles on them, sucks on her. He moves off of her arms. He tears the rest of her skirt, until its split in two and falls down the sides of her body. Only her underpants covering her, she tries to cover herself, but the wolf swoops his great maw down, reaching for her breasts. He sniffs her crotch, and when he puts his nose against her, she wriggles. He pushes two large claws against her and tears her panties down her body. She’s dying for him to do it.

“You have to say it. I’ll just keep going unless you say it, Elisa.”

She whimpers. He holds her hands over her head with his fingers around her wrists and spanks her, pushing her against the wall.

“Say it. Say it.”

He presses himself against her cheeks and nibbles on her neck, takes a paw-full of her breast. She spreads her legs and leans back against him, shimmying her hips. Already, she can feel him pawing at her insides. She can smell his breath against her neck.

“Say it, Elisa. I will keep going until you say it. That’s the rules. Say it.” The wolf spins her around, her whole body covered in sweat. She is exhausted. “Say it. Say it.” He licks her lips. “Say it.”

“You can have the goodies…” she pants, her chest heaving, “you can have the goodies in my, in my basket.”

All right. He pulls her towards him, straddles her, and pushes inside her, his arms wrapped around her shoulders, his snout between her breasts. She moans and takes off his mask. She kisses him finally. Lays her head back against the wall and opens her mouth. She cries out, screams, moans, grabs his shoulders and pushes harder. He speeds up. He violently pushes against her, within her. Her voice, in a guttural collapse of words, seeps out in a long groan and he collapses on top of her.

“Thank you.”

* * *

Graham Greene was no longer embarrassed about his attempted meeting with Haddie Springfield. He’d absolutely forgotten about it when she called to apologize. “Well that’s fine, my dear. I only wanted to ask your opinion on some material I was going to buy for my sister. You know, she’s a clothing designer. Yes, she’s moving to the city next month. That would be very nice of you, she needs friends. Oh, we’re going to sell that place. I would love to have dinner with you. Yes, I’ll bring some wine. Seven-thirty would be fine. I’ll see you then.”

They were engaged two and a half weeks later with both families’ blessings. Graham believed his plot had worked. Haddie believed her plot had worked. Both were very happy. The newspapers were happy. The magazines were happy. The world was happy for Graham Greene and the future Mrs. Graham Greene. There were only a few people not happy with the news, since Graham was a celebrity; there were those few women who thought one day they’d marry him. The news of his engagement was quite a blow. But, there was always the chance of divorce; you know how celebrities are. Graham left the arrangements up to his mother, fiancée and wedding coordinator. His only requirement was that it be grand, that it be a fitting ceremony for a Greene wedding. Of course, it would be on screens. It had to be a Vasarian spectacle. Haddie had to be Cinderella and Graham had to be Prince Charming.