Desire Goddess

I f***ing hate s*x. She thought this, watching a scented candle burn on the IKEA coffee table. She said it out loud too. Because it was always there in the corner of her mind, but she had been carefully avoiding it with excuses like “Maybe I’m just sad today” or “Maybe I’m not in the mood”... “Maybe I’m tired”. A lot of “maybes” honestly, and it had been so long that they couldn’t be the real reasons. The plainly admitted words, the truth, left her first empty, then after a while, relieved. Being empty felt desperate, but relief could be a new beginning. As a werewolf, this whole situation was improbable. All werewolves had an animalistic and instinctual drive for mating, especially at the full moon. It was very clear that something inside of her was not normal. She had no instinctual pull. And she had no idea what to do. She had a problem that wasn’t supposed to be possible. So there were no specialists or books to consult. Back to watching the candle, her thoughts filtered through the past. The pain of each recollection made her whole body shrink as if bracing for a hit. And she didn’t notice her breath had become short and shallow, like an animal under attack. She hadn’t always outright hated s*x. Before her first time, there had been a lot of sweet wishing, anticipation, and mystery. Back then, the imagining had excited her so much that she would become inflamed, swollen. And the swelling had made a wonderful aching pull along the membranes of her untouched inner areas. Maybe those had been the best of times - before the first time. When it finally happened, years ago, it was fun. It felt interesting. Although nothing major really happened to her. But for her s****l partners…a lot happened. She felt powerful with all their moans and praise, and soon, every thought of hers automatically trained on their pleasure. Because it was interesting. Because she was successful at that. And because she soon discovered, if they lost interest, they left. It happened like this a lot. A cycle. Somehow, her s****l performance was not enough to keep them around. After a while, they all moved on to the next new experience or a true mate. She never noticed that her body didn’t feel the way theirs seemed to feel. Instead, the urgency she felt to perform perfectly was all-consuming and she imagined it had been her own pleasure too. Werewolves all have a perfect mate. She was old before finding hers. Very old by werewolf standards, 33. Usually, one gets the scent by 18. Usually one also has their inner wolf awakened before that. Neither event had happened to her. A huge disappointment to her parents. And something which made the rest of the pack very suspicious. What was there to do if you didn’t find your mate or have an inner wolf? Work. It kept the shame and worry at bay for a few hours per day. She had chosen a job in a man’s world. Construction. Manual labor. Even though her body was short and slim, she liked the feeling of getting dirty and running large machines. Maybe the tough labor would also inspire her inner wolf to appear? A lot of women commented to her, “It can’t be easy being in a man’s world.” And it wasn’t, but not in the way they all assumed. The work was great. It was on-the-job politics that got her. Every project had a new set of demanding clients. She took everything personally. She let every argument, every ridiculous demand, every stupid conversation, get under her skin. To the point that she was now in less demand. People didn't want to work with her. Her mind snapped back from the past. She noticed her breathing had become tight and shallow and there was a horrible tension in every joint of her body. The candle on the table was half gone now and she sat back on her heels letting the same feelings of that time from years ago wash over her body. The memories brought it all back just as strong as when it all happened. Nothing had gone right one work day. Coworkers calling in sick, the client calling hourly yelling at her about the passed deadlines, continued lack of support from the head office...it seemed catastrophic, but it had become normal. Every day had been like this for months due to budget cuts and poor management. But for some reason, that day she stopped caring. She remembered the moment of making the decision not to care. It was surreal. She couldn’t really pinpoint why that day of all the days had been the end. Anyway, it had been oddly liberating. All her life she had struggled with this great consuming drive to be a success. You were nobody if you weren’t successful. She was already a failed werewolf; no inner wolf awakening, no mate. The pack looked on her as an outcast. She couldn’t also have a failed career. And mostly she had been successful - but only by the sacrifice of long arduous days. Analyzing it this night, absently watching wax pour over the sharp edges of the circular candle top and then pool and solidify at the bottom of the blue porcelain holder, she realized that the cracks in her life had always been there. She had managed success by applying filler to those cracks as fast as possible. But as she matured to more and higher stressful life demands, the filler had failed and life imploded. She was sure that nobody on the outside would understand it. She’d done a good job of coping for so long. It seemed a spontaneous failure. She had hidden it all, in the way she was taught since childhood. Always best face outward. Support the pack. Be tough. However, after her mental implosion, there was nothing. And she had decided to quit. She planned to leave the pack, her family. Disappear. That thought actually felt good. She literally didn’t care about anything anymore. She was adrift. At any point, if she felt scared or stupid or inadequate at work, she reminded herself…”I don’t care. In a few months, I’m done”. She just needed to save a bit more, figure out the complete plan. And numbness would sweep over her body and even her eyes would droop into what looked like a sleepy haze and she would smile. She would think, “I can’t feel pain now”. But of course, it was during this resignation, when she was finally inching to a better life, that her mate arrived. He was rugged, dark; a beautiful colored man. With thighs almost splitting his pants, a perfect 5’oclock shadow beard, and short, tidy dreads. He resembled a Greek god of some kind. Her few other women colleagues visibly salivated anytime he was near. Their ogling eyes were humorously obvious. But she hung back, hidden, determined to maintain her new, “I don’t give a f**k” attitude. Usually, when a werewolf meets their mate, they immediately smell it; are driven mad by it. But that didn’t happen to her. It was subtle, more like an annoying knowledge. Something she couldn’t push out of her head. But so what if he was gorgeous and tall and had an amazing cologne? So what if his pants were barely holding together around his thigh muscles? There was no way he would notice her. That’s not how her life worked. In life, she didn’t catch attention. She was always always overlooked by the beautiful men. He was working there on a temporary basis, for training before transferring to a new position and location. He was from some other country. Unfortunately, some of his training was scheduled with her. She remembered she kept it short and efficient. No fluffy crap. But he had concentrated on her with an intensity that was unnerving. She hated it actually. It made her fluttery inside and that felt stupid. This bastard flirt. After work, she felt relief to be finally walking to her car. A safe space to let out the breath she had been holding all day. But he suddenly appeared at her side. “Hey, I don’t know anybody here and it’s all quite strange to me. Could we get a drink?” How could she say no? It would be cruel and mean to say no. She saw her lady coworkers’ stormy faces out of the corner of her eye as he got into the passenger side of her car.