Drat Those Lying Mayans!

Two goats sprawled on a flat rock high atop a mountain overlooking a tree-blanketed valley. They chewed spindly grass and watched the sun go down. As the last ray faded from the sky, one of the goats went, “Maaahhhhh.”

This, translated from the mountain goat, means “shit.”

The other goat shifted. Still chewing, he asked his companion, “What’s up with you?”

The first goat swallowed and shifted. He hugged his knees to his chest and stared morosely at the spot where the sun had disappeared. “The world never ended. We’re still here.”

“I told you not to believe that Mayan prophesy. When have they ever been right about anything? Let me guess: you didn’t bother to pay your car insurance.” He shook his head. “Jeez, Stan. You didn’t really think the world would end, did you?”

“Well, I was kind of hoping, after … ” Stan trailed off.

After years of observing Stan’s many evasive maneuvers, Bradley had his shorter-horned brother pretty neatly pegged. “After what? What did you do?”

“Uh … ”

“Is it worse than car insurance? Do you need bail money?”

“It’s nothing like that. You know that Mrs. Wembly, the widow down in the valley?”

“The cougar?”

“She prefers puma. Well, everybody swore up and down the world was going into the toilet, so—”

“Dude. You didn’t.”

“Why not? It’s not like I expected to ever see her again. And she’s got experience, y’know? It could have been my last time ever. I didn’t want it ending up a fumble fest.”

“Dude! She’s old enough to be our mom!”

“She’s not that old. Sure, she’s no spring kid, but jeez. It’s not like I could’ve knocked her up. Anyway, she’s the one who agreed to it. I didn’t force her to. The hard part was trying to leave. She kept clawing at me."

“Dude!”

“Yeah? So what did you do for your last day on earth?”

“Not much. Went down to Talbot’s Peak and wandered around town. Sat on a bench in the park. Ate a hot dog. What? I wanted to see what meat tasted like. Assuming there’s any real meat in a hot dog.”

“Couldn’t land any real action, huh?”

“I wasn’t looking for ‘any real action.’ I never believed the world would end.”

“Which is why you ate a hot dog. Right.”

Somewhere below, an owl hooted. From out of the dark rose the scream of a hunting cat. A large, tremendously frustrated cat.

Stan leaped to his feet. Bradley snickered. “Nervous?”

“No! I’m just, you know, it’s getting dark and all. Too hard to see the trail. We should head back.”

“Yeah, I’m sure Mrs. Wembly will give up trying to find you eventually.”

“One more word, Brad, and the world will end for you. I guarantee it.”

...I'm Screwed

“Hello, Ranger, I’m screwed.”

Riker stared at the little bit of a thing in front of him and prayed he could maintain his stalwart expression when all he wanted to do was smile.  Though her voice was cultured and she looked to have been pampered most of her life, she had a sense of humor.  She’d have to have, to be standing in front of him bare naked, trying to cover the bits and pieces all the while cracking funny with her introduction.  He could like this woman…gawd, he hoped she was a woman.

“Well ma’am, you don’t appear to be screwed—yet, but you definitely have some questions to answer.”  Like what the hell she was for starters.  Was she human or alien?  Did alien’s blush?  ‘Cause right this moment she was redder than a currant berry and not just in her cheeks.

“Officer—Ranger?”

“Riker.”  Yeah, he wanted to hear his name roll off her plump pink lips, right before she went to her knees and…oh hell.  Riker slammed closed the visual of this brunette beauty naked and kneeling and tugged at the collar of his uniform.  It was fall, in the mountains, there was no reason for him to be this warm.

“Ah yes, well Ranger Riker, I dare say we are both doomed to disappointment.”

“And why is that, Miss…”  Riker crossed his arms over his chest and tried to strike an imposing stance, one that would assure her he was not going to allow there to be any disappointments between them.

“Doe.”

“As in Jane?”   

“Of course.”  She purred, actually purred, Riker thought.  As if a human could sound anything like a cat.

***

“Well then, Miss Doe. “  Ranger Riker’s tone was clearly disbelieving, but Evelyn had no choice but to fib her way through this faux pas of grandiose proportions.  There was no way she could tell this young man who she was, let alone what she was.  It was the first rule of the pride, when dealing with humans—one should always lead with a lie.  “Two questions…first, where are your clothes? And second, what the hell are you?”

“I beg your pardon!”  Righteous indignation rose up inside her at his rudely asked question, even though it was to be expected.  She had dropped, in her human form, fifteen feet down from the far up branch of the tree behind her.  Humans didn’t do that—ever.  Yet she had, and now she had to somehow explain it without telling him the truth.

“Oh beautiful, you have not yet begun to beg…”

Evelyn stepped back as Riker stepped forward and leaned down into her personal space.  For a human he was much to imposing.  Sun-lightened hair, piercing green eyes with full lips she would love to nibble.  His shoulders were wide; his hips were trim and if his feet were any indication…well any girl would be happy with a man whose feet were that size.  More than that was his aura, his demeanor.   This was a dominant male—a human male who was currently turning her wild cat into a domesticated she-kitten.

 “Now, Jane, one last time…what are you?  And remember, you’ve already lied to me once.  Don’t do it again.”

Calling All Cougars - pt 2

“Are you sure you signed up for the cougars and cubs camping trip?” Kevin asked incredulously. He eyed the woman in front of him. She looked to be about mid-forties, tall, slender and in decent shape. She was also wearing pink Prada espadrilles, a pink and black Juicy Couture velour track suit, and was toting a Louis Viton bag—pink and black, of course—that was bigger than she was. Oh, and she was definitely human.

To his horror, she gave him an annoyed look, then dug one of the flyers his mom had printed up out of her purse and handed it to him. He had not actually handed any of them out because the population of cougar shifters in the US was not really big enough to need it. Word-of-mouth advertisement was more than sufficient. That was the whole point of this camping trip, actually; to bring the younger generation together in the hopes of building connections that would help their species thrive better in the 21^st century. Somehow this blond haired, blue-eyed Geriatric Barbie Doll had gotten ahold of one. Then it hit him. Middle aged human Barbie. Cougars and cubs.

Oh shit.

She thought this was a dating thing.

“Ma’am, I think we have a bit of a misunderstanding,” Kevin chuckled nervously. “This camping trip is for mothers and children, not grandmothers with boyfriends young enough to be their children.”

“I assumed as much,” the female said angrily, flushing. Damn, now he’d offended her. This was exactly why he didn’t want a mate. With males, you said what you meant with none of this “how are they going to take if” crud. He was a cat, no a psychologist. He didn’t want to have to think his words over before opening his mouth.

“We;;,” he hedged looking for a way out of this that wouldn’t land him with a lawsuit. She definitely looked like the kind of Southern Cali woman who would sue over any little slight. “Your shoes!” he declared, looking at her feet triumphantly. He looked back up at her face, smirking.

“What about my shoes?” she asked in that quiet, too sweet tone of voice females of every species used to let a male know he was on thin ice.

“Well, your shoes,” he began again, gulping nervously. “They are very nice but this is a camping trip. You can’t hike in those frilling kind of shoes.”

“We aren’t hiking yet, though. Are we? Seems to me I’m still trying to check in.”

“Um, well, ok,” he shuddered. “What about a tent? We won’t have—“

“I understand the point behind camping, young man. That’s why I packed everything I needed—including food and a sleeping bag—in my duffle. I admit I didn’t bring a tent, but there isn’t likely to be any need for one this time of year.”

“Look,” Kevin finally said. “I’ll be upfront with you, lady. This isn’t the kind of thing women like you would enjoy, so—“

“Hell will freeze over before I leave now, sonny,” she said with a remarkably feline snarl.

Damn, damn and triple damn! he swore. How in the name of Lycos was he going to keep this silly human from finding out about shifters if she was underfoot all weekend? The point of holding a camping trip in early fall was so they could have the forest to themselves and so the cubs could be, well, cubs? The camping trip which he’d been looking forward to was no longer looking like fun anymore.

Vacation in Yosemite Week

(This week at Shapeshifter Seductions we're doing our take on the photo up there, generously provided by Larry Alexander, history buff and author of Shadows in the Jungle and other WWII nonfiction. He likes to send me dirty jokes and pics like this. Larry, this week is for you. I'm forwarding this post to your wife.)

Look What the Cat Dragged In

Felicia awoke with a pounding headache, in a strange tree on a mountainside she didn't recognize. "Hairballs," she muttered. "What the hell did I do last night?"

She tried to get up and nearly slipped off the branch. The rough bark bit into her naked skin. Felicia swore with more imagination. Where the scat had she stashed her clothes?

Extending her claws for a better grip on the branch – her head made it feel like the whole tree was swaying – Felicia steeled herself and looked below. No clothes. Just great. A rumpled black-and-silver fur coat lay in a heap at the foot of the tree. Okay, better than nothing.

The fur coat stirred and yawned. An enormous black-and-silver wolf got up and shook himself. Would you look at those cat-damn teeth. Instinct got the better of her, and she loosed a hiss before she could stop herself.

The wolf looked up, surprised. He spotted her and wagged his tail. Rising up on his hind legs, he shifted into a hunky, blackhaired man. Felicia groaned. Man? Better make that puppy. He couldn't have been older than 23, unless she were very lucky.

“Hey, babe.” The wolf-shifter grinned up at her. “You ready to go another round?"

Another? Oh scat. Felicia rubbed at the cannons going off inside her skull. “Give me a minute.”

“Sure thing, babe.” The wolf scratched his hairy crotch. His big, youthful, healthy, hairy crotch. Definitely to her taste, even on a wolf. That explained the “round” last night. Or “rounds.” Where was memory when you really needed it?

Felicia leaped from the branch and landed on all fours beside the wolf. He looked even younger up close. Are you even old enough to shave? she wondered. “I don’t suppose you know where my clothes are.”

“Back at the jeep, I guess. That’s where we left ‘em.”

A jeep. Transportation. Finally, the morning had a plus. She slipped a peek at his crotch again. Fine, then. Two plusses. “Okay. Where’s the jeep?”

“Um, in the parking lot?”

Getting there. “Where’s the parking lot? I mean, where are we? Big picture.”

“Oh, okay. We’re in Yosemite National Park. My pack rules the river valley and half the mountain.” He looked around nervously. “This half, I hope. I don’t know how far we ran last night. Oh scat. If we’re in Bigfoot’s territory he’ll have my ass and your tail.”

“Yosemite?” Not Talbot’s Peak. Not anywhere close to Montana. “How the hell did I end up in Yosemite?”

“You tell me. You’re the one who showed up at the bar last night.”

The bar. Right. Finally, memory decided to tease her with a few ill-chosen hints. She’d left Talbot’s Peak in search of male companionship. Between all the wolves and the recent tiger invasion, the cougar population had made itself scarce. Even the bobcats had left town. Wolves were okay in a pinch, but a steady diet of them wasn’t part of Felicia’s life plan. So she’d packed up her jeep and headed west, in search of new mountains and, hopefully, whatever lions might roam them.

Instead she ended up at some dive of a shifter bar and yet another wolf bed-buddy. Fan-scattin’-tastic.

“Look,” she said, “Hoover – ”

“Harper.”

“Harper. Right. My memory’s a little fuzzy.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. You were really knocking ’em back last night. I never saw anybody down so many Rocket Launchers without, y’know, upchucking. Not even Bigfoot can chug a Rocket Launcher. Babe, you were so awesome.”

Accessing memory. Rocket Launcher. Straight-up Irish whiskey, beer chaser, catnip garnish. That explained the head-pounding. “Who was buying?”

“You were. You had a table by yourself and said, ‘Just keep ’em coming.’ So we did. I was supposed to take you home because we were closing. My cousin owns the place, so I get to hang there. I, um, may have joined you for a couple of drinks.”

“I’ll bet. And afterwards we drove out here and … ”

“And decided to work off the alcohol.” His pleased expression vanished in a puff of panic. “I didn’t take advantage of you. Swear to Lycaon.”

“Relax, pup – I mean, Harper. It’s cool.” Her memory might be a little fractured, but she had no doubts who must have initiated last night’s post-bar activity. Felicia had climbed too far up the tree to be picky any more, drunk or sober. This Harper seemed like a nice pup, and he was definitely easy on the eyes. Where were you when I was 16, she thought. Or 25. Or 30. Or 35. No need to ask where he’d been last night.

Now the time had come to face the dawn. “I need clothes,” she decided, “and some really strong coffee. Can you get us back to the parking lot? I’m a bit turned around.”

“Sure, no prob. Uh, Felicia? You don’t feel pregnant, do you?”

Felicia laughed. “Don’t worry, sport. I don’t think our species can mix. Tell you what: you get us to my jeep and I’ll buy us breakfast. Agreed?”

Food always set a wolf’s tail to wagging. Harper brightened at once. “You bet. I think we came this way.”

Suddenly a chorus of howls broke out from just over the rise. Felicia tensed. She knew the sound of a hunting pack when she heard it. The tone of this one said, “Whoopie, we just found a cat to chase.”

Harper went white. “Bigfoot. We must be on his turf.”

“Would running help?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

“Let’s go.”