Annie Morphs 07

Weary Wolf

Annie lay with her head in my lap. We were having a lazy evening on the sofa, a bottle of wine and a channel showing old episodes of The Mentalist on the telly.

‘Annie,’ I said.

‘Huh?’ she replied, relaxed and unwilling to use more effort than necessary.

‘Can I stroke your fur?’ I asked.

‘Haven’t got any fur,’ said Annie.

‘I know,’ I said. ‘But I love it when you grow some. It’s very soothing running my fingers through it. Like having a pet cat.’

‘I am a vicious beast woman,’ mumbled Annie.

‘I know, but the principle’s the same.’

Annie was going to refute this, but instead began to wriggle out of her jumper.

‘Okay.’

With her top half exposed and still lying against me, she started grunting as if trying to force something. Her torso quivered and convulsed and in suddenly a small patch of silver fur eased over the nape of her neck. I was expecting more fur and grunting to come, but instead the tuft receded.

‘Just a sec,’ said Annie, and she shed her jeans, ‘my tail needs a bit more room. Right, one more time.’

A twitch and a shiver and the fur grew anew, this time accompanied by a a slowly growing full-bodied tail. Soon, Annie was covered and she relaxed again, happy to be more wolf than woman.

‘Scratch my ear,’ she commanded, twitching her lupine lobe.

I, contentedly, absent-mindedly, obliged.