[Patreon Exclusive] WEREWOMAN: Chapter 1 (Patreon)

Two Americans backpacking across the Scottish Lowlands are jumped by an aggressively horny wild woman. Lester is the only survivor after a mob appears and kills his friend and the woman who jumped them.

Had they noticed the blood on Lester’s neck, they would have killed him, too. Because he’s been infected with the curse, and at the next full moon he’s going to find himself in a woman’s body with cravings that are far too intense to ignore.

Chapter 1

The original goal was to hike all the way from Edinburgh to Carlisle, camping in the thousands of acres of the Scottish lowlands. Tony and I had been planning the trip for months. We’d saved up for months at our part time jobs to afford the flights from Kansas City to Edinburgh, and to buy the hiking bags and the tents and the sleeping bags. If we were going to do it, we were going to do it right. It was supposed to be the first of many epic hikes across Europe. We planned on hitting up Italy next. But we never made it to Italy. We never even made it to the medieval castles of Carlisle—not together, anyway.

We were only two days into our hundred mile hike when we were attacked in the middle of the night by a seemingly rabid woman. We didn’t see her coming—it was dark. It wasn’t until she pounced on me that we realized she was there, and by that point it was already too late. Tony started screaming and he started running away. I screamed out for him to help me, but his voice continued to vanish into the Scottish night. The woman was holding me down with impressive strength and then she started to kiss me. I tried pushing her off, but my attempts were hopeless. She started ripping off my clothes. “Don’t you want to fuck me?” she asked. “C’mon, baby. Give me some of that big cock of yours.”

It wasn’t until Tony came running back, yelling my name, that I realized the woman was completely nude. “Lester! Are you alright? Where are you? I can’t see you!” The woman jumped to her feet and looked around. I felt my neck. There was blood on my fingers. She’d bitten into my neck and broken skin. Her nails had dug into the skin of my wrists and drawn blood. She was a wild woman.

The woman took off running towards Tony. I heard Tony scream. I pulled myself to my feet. My heart was beating ferociously. I started looking around for him. “Tony! Where are you?” He’d stopped screaming. It was pitch-black out and I couldn’t see shit. “Tony!” I called out again.

And then I found him. She was on top of him, holding a hand over his mouth, riding him like a horny pornstar. “What the hell is going on?” I said. She looked at me with wild eyes but she continued, Tony’s cock deep in her pussy. Tony’s eyes were closed and his head was rocking from side to side. He was moaning, muffled by her hand. He seemed to be enjoying the fucking.

“Tony!” I yelled. “Get up, man!” I started running towards them. And then I heard the gunshots, and the woman slumped over. Tony sat up quickly and looked down at the now-dead woman—who wasn’t a woman at all. We were both staring at a naked man, complete with a cock and thick body hair. The wild woman had transformed before dropping dead. Everything about it was so impossible, yet there it was—happening before our very eyes.

Another round of gunshots and Tony was dead. “Tony!” I spun around and saw the mob coming towards me. Some held guns, some held torches.

“Get away from them, son! Whatever you do, don’t touch those bodies!” I stepped away from the bodies of the strange man and my dead friend. The mob came up. One man tossed gasoline on the bodies and another threw a match. The Scottish Lowlands glowed orange that night.

The men didn’t see the trickling blood on my neck because if they had, they would have killed me, too. They didn’t know I was infected, as I later learned. And I didn’t know that, come the next full moon, I would be the one running around in the body of a woman, looking for men to fuck.

I didn’t know what had just happened. I felt sick. I stumbled away from the corpse-burning mob and I started to wander through the darkness. They didn’t notice me leave. My head was spinning. A nausea started to plague me. I don’t know how long I was wandering alone, trying to get as far away from that mob as possible—maybe an hour, maybe two, maybe not even ten minutes. But eventually, I fell to the ground, too weak to go on. There was something wrong. I couldn’t stay awake no matter how hard I tried. And then there was just black.

The face of that wild woman haunted my vivid nightmares. She was always there, no matter what I was dreaming about. In one dream, I was back in Kansas City, going up the elevator to Tony’s apartment. Just a few floors up, the door opened and the wild woman stepped in. She was completely naked, but aside from that, she wasn’t acting crazy. She just stood next to me, silent, looking over at me occasionally with a sly smirk. The elevator ride seemed to last forever, constantly moving up and up and up. But the elevator never stopped. The woman wouldn’t get off. I became increasingly nervous.

She had a nice body—fit, nice perky tits, and a plump ass. But even in my dream I knew she was dead, and I knew she wasn’t really a she at all. But what the hell was she? When she was shot, she turned into a man—what the hell kind of voodoo magic was that?

In another dream—or I should say, nightmare—I got out of bed after my alarm went off and I wandered into my bathroom. I brushed my teeth, spat into the sink, and looked up. Staring back at me was the woman. She was me, her long hair cascading down my shoulders, her perky tits sitting prominently on my chest. I reached down to feel my crotch, but my cock was gone. My God—I was a woman! My heart began to pound so ferociously that I became light-headed and weak. I stumbled back and sat on the edge of the toilet seat.

And then I woke up. But I didn’t wake up in that field I’d passed out in. I woke up in a hospital, with little tubes sticking out of me in every direction. The room was beeping. There were white curtains all around me. I sat up quickly. When I turned my head to look around, I realized my neck was bandaged up. A nurse came in. Her attention was on a clipboard. She didn’t realize I was awake. When I said, “Where am I?” she jumped and clutched at her heart.

“You’re awake,” she said.

“Yeah. Where the hell am I? What happened?”

“You’re at the Carlisle Hospital. You were found on the curb, drunk and naked. You’re lucky to be alive.” She had a thick British accent and she spoke to me in a condescending tone.

“Drunk?” I said. “I don’t drink—and I’ve never been to Carlisle.”

“It’s none of my business, to be completely honest. But you need to be more careful from now on. You were severely dehydrated and you managed to get a pretty nasty cut on your neck. A few inches to the left and it would have been your jugular. Like I said, you’re lucky to be alive.” She scribbled some notes onto her clipboard and she moved on, leaving me alone.

How had I gotten to Carlisle? I was easily fifty miles from Carlisle when I’d blacked out. And how had I ended up naked? And was I really found drunk? I hadn’t had a sip of alcohol in five years, since that night in high school that I’d gotten such a bad hangover, I vowed to never drink again.

No one could give me a reasonable answer as to what had happened. Even the doctor said I came in drunk. “Did I smell like alcohol? Did you do blood tests?” I asked.

“No, we didn’t need to,” he said. “If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck.” That was all he said before, “You can go home now. Just try to handle yourself better next time, okay?”

“What about Tony? I was with a friend. I think he was shot.”

“We found you alone, on the curb, naked. We haven’t had a gunshot victim in probably three years.” I had nothing, not even clothes to wear out of the hospital or money to buy clothes. They let me take my gown—it was better than nothing.

I was stuck in a strange city with nothing but a head full of strange memories. I was starting to doubt those memories now. Maybe the doctor was right. Maybe I had gotten drunk with Tony, passed out and somehow ended up in Carlisle. Maybe we were hitchhiking. Maybe we’d gotten split up. Or maybe we really were attacked by a crazed wild woman—but that didn’t explain how I ended up naked and passed out in Carlisle.