The Wolf Wants Curves
I felt something powerful the first time I saw him. Some deep longing unfurled like a flower inside me. I had felt this kind of attraction before, but I had always stifled the feeling before it could grow. For my own protection.
But this time, it was unstoppable.
I was standing at the edge of the man's property, which was adjacent to the national park that I was visiting for my photography work. He was cutting wood outside a small, quaint cottage, repeatedly slamming the ax down, slicing through the logs like butter. He was shirtless, and his tall, muscular body glowed golden in the afternoon light. With each swing of his ax, the bronzed muscles of his abdomen would contract, bunching into a six-pack that made me weak at the knees.
I was mesmerized.
The reason I usually quench such attraction as it dawns inside me is simple: men this handsome never seem to return the sentiment. Sure, I have a pretty face, but not the stick-thin body type that's so popular. Men like this simply don't seem to see me. I had learned to ignore my feelings.
But this time was different. For once, I couldn't push the attraction away. I couldn't swallow it down inside myself.
The man paused before swinging his ax again, and then turned deliberately to look at me, as if he had been aware of my presence the whole time. I felt a flush fill my cheeks. I must look like a pervert , I thought. How embarrassing . I waved awkwardly, then made my way over to him.
As his facial features became more apparent, the feeling inside me grew. He had tanned, olive skin, and bright, intense eyes that seemed almost golden. His jaw was strong and peppered with stubble. A scar ran from behind his ear, down into the stubble on his neck. Goose bumps pricked up on my skin as I took in his beautiful features. As I walked towards him, I felt like a magnet drawn to steel. My legs seemed to move of their own volition towards the muscled stranger.
What was happening inside me?
“Hi,” I said, uncertainly. The man lay down his ax and looked at me calmly. My heart beat nervously in my chest, directly opposing the stillness that emanated out from him. He examined me for a moment before replying. His rippling body was coated in a thin layer of sweat, which ran in rivulets down his abdomen. I struggled to keep my eyes on his face.
“Can I help you?” There seemed to be a hint of suspicion in his deep, husky voice.
“Um, I'm just here to visit the national park,” I said, my high-pitched tone betraying my nerves. My tongue seemed to be tying into knots in my mouth as I struggled to continue. I felt weighted down by his blazing, golden gaze.
“I'm a photographer.” I said. I lifted the camera around my neck as I spoke. “I'm hiking up onto the mountain to take some photos of the moon tonight. I work for a nature magazine.” The moon was in its closest position to the Earth for the entire year tonight – and this event was coinciding with a full moon. It was going to look enormous in the sky.
The man's face darkened as I spoke. His jaw clenched, and the scar on his neck tightened.
“You want to stay the night there?” he asked.
I nodded, uncertain. I could sense power emanating from the man; it was palpable. Amidst the attraction that I felt, a hint of fear swirled. Was he dangerous?
I motioned to the bag on my back, which contained my tent. “I'm going to set up camp out on the mountain.”
“I don't know if that's a good idea,” the man said softly. “It's dangerous out there.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as he spoke.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “What's dangerous?”
“The animals,” he said. “Wolves.”
“I've done my research,” I told him. “They stay away from people. And I have a can of bear repellent. I'll be fine. Who are you, anyway?” I asked, a little indignant.
“I'm the park ranger,” he said. “My name's Mark.” His face softened as he spoke. “Look,” he continued. “I'm not
I felt something powerful the first time I saw him. Some deep longing unfurled like a flower inside me. I had felt this kind of attraction before, but I had always stifled the feeling before it could grow. For my own protection.
But this time, it was unstoppable.
I was standing at the edge of the man's property, which was adjacent to the national park that I was visiting for my photography work. He was cutting wood outside a small, quaint cottage, repeatedly slamming the ax down, slicing through the logs like butter. He was shirtless, and his tall, muscular body glowed golden in the afternoon light. With each swing of his ax, the bronzed muscles of his abdomen would contract, bunching into a six-pack that made me weak at the knees.
I was mesmerized.
The reason I usually quench such attraction as it dawns inside me is simple: men this handsome never seem to return the sentiment. Sure, I have a pretty face, but not the stick-thin body type that's so popular. Men like this simply don't seem to see me. I had learned to ignore my feelings.
But this time was different. For once, I couldn't push the attraction away. I couldn't swallow it down inside myself.
The man paused before swinging his ax again, and then turned deliberately to look at me, as if he had been aware of my presence the whole time. I felt a flush fill my cheeks. I must look like a pervert , I thought. How embarrassing . I waved awkwardly, then made my way over to him.
As his facial features became more apparent, the feeling inside me grew. He had tanned, olive skin, and bright, intense eyes that seemed almost golden. His jaw was strong and peppered with stubble. A scar ran from behind his ear, down into the stubble on his neck. Goose bumps pricked up on my skin as I took in his beautiful features. As I walked towards him, I felt like a magnet drawn to steel. My legs seemed to move of their own volition towards the muscled stranger.
What was happening inside me?
“Hi,” I said, uncertainly. The man lay down his ax and looked at me calmly. My heart beat nervously in my chest, directly opposing the stillness that emanated out from him. He examined me for a moment before replying. His rippling body was coated in a thin layer of sweat, which ran in rivulets down his abdomen. I struggled to keep my eyes on his face.
“Can I help you?” There seemed to be a hint of suspicion in his deep, husky voice.
“Um, I'm just here to visit the national park,” I said, my high-pitched tone betraying my nerves. My tongue seemed to be tying into knots in my mouth as I struggled to continue. I felt weighted down by his blazing, golden gaze.
“I'm a photographer.” I said. I lifted the camera around my neck as I spoke. “I'm hiking up onto the mountain to take some photos of the moon tonight. I work for a nature magazine.” The moon was in its closest position to the Earth for the entire year tonight – and this event was coinciding with a full moon. It was going to look enormous in the sky.
The man's face darkened as I spoke. His jaw clenched, and the scar on his neck tightened.
“You want to stay the night there?” he asked.
I nodded, uncertain. I could sense power emanating from the man; it was palpable. Amidst the attraction that I felt, a hint of fear swirled. Was he dangerous?
I motioned to the bag on my back, which contained my tent. “I'm going to set up camp out on the mountain.”
“I don't know if that's a good idea,” the man said softly. “It's dangerous out there.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as he spoke.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “What's dangerous?”
“The animals,” he said. “Wolves.”
“I've done my research,” I told him. “They stay away from people. And I have a can of bear repellent. I'll be fine. Who are you, anyway?” I asked, a little indignant.
“I'm the park ranger,” he said. “My name's Mark.” His face softened as he spoke. “Look,” he continued. “I'm not
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