bay was the absence of light: pools of blackness.
Could he really see all the way to the hills of Marin? It seemed so. It seemed he saw their outline way beyond the Golden Gate. But how was that possible?
He looked around. He could see all the details of the room with remarkable clarity, the old plaster crown moldings, even the fine cracks in the ceiling. He could see the grain in the wood of his dresser. He had the oddest feeling of being at home in the artificial twilight.
There were voices in the night. They sizzled just below the level of meaning. He knew he could pick out any one and amplify it, but why could he do that?
He got up and went out on the deck, and put his hands on the wooden railing. The salty wind iced him all over, quickening him and refreshing him. How invulnerable he felt to the cold, how energized by it.
There was a limitless reservoir of heat inside of him, and now it broke out on the surface of his skin as if every hair follicle on his body was expanding. He’d never felt such exquisite throbbing pleasure, such raw, divine pleasure.
“Yes!” he whispered. He understood! But what, what did he understand?The realization escaped him suddenly, yet it didn’t matter. What mattered was the wave after wave of ecstasy passing through him.
Every particle of his body was defined in these waves, the skin covering his face, his head, his hands, the muscles of his arms and legs. With every particle of himself he was breathing, breathing as he’d never breathed in his life, his whole being expanding, hardening, growing stronger and stronger by the second.
His fingernails and toenails tingled. He felt the skin of his face, and realized that it was covered in soft silky hair, indeed soft thick hair was growing out of every pore, covering his nose, his cheeks, his upper lip! His fingers, or were they claws, touched his teeth and they were fangs! He could feel them descending, feel his mouth lengthening!
“Oh, but you knew, didn’t you? Didn’t you know this was inside of you, bursting to come out? You knew!”
His voice was guttural, roughened. He began to laugh with delight, low and confidential and utterly yielding to the laughter.
His hands were thickly covered with hair! And the claws, look at the claws.
He tore off his shirt and shorts, shredding them effortlessly and letting them drop to the boards of the deck.
The hair was pouring out of his scalp, it was rolling down to his shoulders. His chest was now completely covered and the muscles in his thighs and calves sang with ever-increasing strength.
Surely this had to peak, this orgasmic frenzy, but it didn’t peak. It went on and on. He felt his throat open with a cry, a howl, but he didn’t give in to it. Staring up at the night sky, he saw the layers and layers of white clouds beyond the mist; he saw the stars beyond the reach of human eyes, drifting into eternity.
“Oh, God, good God!” he whispered.
On all sides the buildings were alive with pulsing lights, tiny busy windows, voices throbbing inside, as the city breathed and sang around him.
You should ask, shouldn’t you, why this is happening? You should stop, shouldn’t you? You should question
. “Nooo!” he whispered. It was like reaching for Marchent in the dark; it was peeling back her soft brown wool dress and finding her naked breasts beneath him.
But what is happening to me! What is this that I am?
An imperative as strong as hunger told him he knew, he knew and he welcomed it. He’d known it was coming; he’d known it in his dreams and in his waking ruminations. This strength had to find its way out of him, or it would have torn him limb from limb.
Every muscle in his body wanted to leap, to run, to spring loose of this confining spot.
He turned around and, flexing his powerful thighs, sprang up to the ledge beneath his parents’ window, easily springing from that to the roof of the house.
He laughed it was so easy, so natural. His bare feet hugged the
Could he really see all the way to the hills of Marin? It seemed so. It seemed he saw their outline way beyond the Golden Gate. But how was that possible?
He looked around. He could see all the details of the room with remarkable clarity, the old plaster crown moldings, even the fine cracks in the ceiling. He could see the grain in the wood of his dresser. He had the oddest feeling of being at home in the artificial twilight.
There were voices in the night. They sizzled just below the level of meaning. He knew he could pick out any one and amplify it, but why could he do that?
He got up and went out on the deck, and put his hands on the wooden railing. The salty wind iced him all over, quickening him and refreshing him. How invulnerable he felt to the cold, how energized by it.
There was a limitless reservoir of heat inside of him, and now it broke out on the surface of his skin as if every hair follicle on his body was expanding. He’d never felt such exquisite throbbing pleasure, such raw, divine pleasure.
“Yes!” he whispered. He understood! But what, what did he understand?The realization escaped him suddenly, yet it didn’t matter. What mattered was the wave after wave of ecstasy passing through him.
Every particle of his body was defined in these waves, the skin covering his face, his head, his hands, the muscles of his arms and legs. With every particle of himself he was breathing, breathing as he’d never breathed in his life, his whole being expanding, hardening, growing stronger and stronger by the second.
His fingernails and toenails tingled. He felt the skin of his face, and realized that it was covered in soft silky hair, indeed soft thick hair was growing out of every pore, covering his nose, his cheeks, his upper lip! His fingers, or were they claws, touched his teeth and they were fangs! He could feel them descending, feel his mouth lengthening!
“Oh, but you knew, didn’t you? Didn’t you know this was inside of you, bursting to come out? You knew!”
His voice was guttural, roughened. He began to laugh with delight, low and confidential and utterly yielding to the laughter.
His hands were thickly covered with hair! And the claws, look at the claws.
He tore off his shirt and shorts, shredding them effortlessly and letting them drop to the boards of the deck.
The hair was pouring out of his scalp, it was rolling down to his shoulders. His chest was now completely covered and the muscles in his thighs and calves sang with ever-increasing strength.
Surely this had to peak, this orgasmic frenzy, but it didn’t peak. It went on and on. He felt his throat open with a cry, a howl, but he didn’t give in to it. Staring up at the night sky, he saw the layers and layers of white clouds beyond the mist; he saw the stars beyond the reach of human eyes, drifting into eternity.
“Oh, God, good God!” he whispered.
On all sides the buildings were alive with pulsing lights, tiny busy windows, voices throbbing inside, as the city breathed and sang around him.
You should ask, shouldn’t you, why this is happening? You should stop, shouldn’t you? You should question
. “Nooo!” he whispered. It was like reaching for Marchent in the dark; it was peeling back her soft brown wool dress and finding her naked breasts beneath him.
But what is happening to me! What is this that I am?
An imperative as strong as hunger told him he knew, he knew and he welcomed it. He’d known it was coming; he’d known it in his dreams and in his waking ruminations. This strength had to find its way out of him, or it would have torn him limb from limb.
Every muscle in his body wanted to leap, to run, to spring loose of this confining spot.
He turned around and, flexing his powerful thighs, sprang up to the ledge beneath his parents’ window, easily springing from that to the roof of the house.
He laughed it was so easy, so natural. His bare feet hugged the
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