I’ve never bitten you yet.

But you are licking your teeth.

You excite me.  I would not trade that for the satisfaction of blood that I am free to draw anywhere.

I hope the temptation won’t become too much for you.

Would you indulge me if I were to ask?

If I’d let you get your teeth close to my bones and taste me?

That tells me that wolves turn you on.  I think time will tell that those in your box were coyotes.

Maybe, they’re just fodder. I never said Ihadn’t eaten them up.

Want to know why I didn’t bite?

Yes and no.

The thought of your teeth turns me on so much. I had to make you snarl to see what that would do. I am not disappointed. Every bit as hot as I thought it would be.

So, I am a fox?

Definitely, look at the slowness of which you **** your mate! I like watching. Don’t tell me it’s hard to picture how curious you must seem to something that thrives on the chase.

Make sure you don’t chase your own tail though, mine would feel left out.

Now you have to tell me if that was ***** or poignant or both.

Both, but mostly I just want to *******, and bite you a little during.

For hours and hours, your face in the mud, rear end up, I would not stop, if not for the fact that the forest is poorer without foxes.

You see I would be squirming to escape but the problem being there would only be one way to push, that I would only have one direction to go, Like any animal pinned by the neck. And that would be back. This is an unexpectedly cruel torture from you.

Ah but the squirming to escape is only enticing with ******* in heat. Why **** a fox if not for the fact that it so understands and enjoys the bite?

Breathless arousal is quite befitting, the ache of it all.

Tell me what is about wolves with you, that they are similar but not quite? That they can rip you to shreds? Or is it because their ***** are just too large for little foxes that get curious?

You are a very dangerous animal!

And you would endure much, you’ve earned all the bites and **** you can take

If only to get closer, eventually the wolf realises, the fox is more worthwhile than the others, another wolf would become insignificant.

No wolf is as tight, nor as pretty. The aggression makes us *****.

So does the fear.

Even the mere possibility of it.

I’d let you sink your teeth into the bone and rip me to shreds for just a second of that.

Is it because of that? That you want the wolves to believe that they are Gods to you? So that once they find the truth, they will forget themselves for that glorious moment?

Yes.

Oh, if only you knew how much less it takes.

But the fox wants to be devoured, and destroyed by it of course. Break  her until she isn’t a fox any more.

Describe it.

So there is nothing but the act itself, so there isn’t a wolf and a fix. Just emotion in its rawest form and there is no separation. And pleasure and pain and love and hate all exist together in the same moments.

You see a wolf in a clearing, it’s twilight, what do you do?

Torment it, making it chase me around, letting it close enough, but not close enough to grasp.

I do enjoy the chase.

So does the fox, and the fox is quicker.

Nimble yes, and more flexible.

When you catch me, there would be a battle, there would be claws and blood, you would get nipped and scratched, but you would better me, and I would cry and squirm to get out of your grip, but it would be too late. There are very few ways to make a fix submit, but you know that.

I’m glad I have you.

As hard as you would be with me, just before. There would be a moment, the world would just be silent and the only thing to be head was blood. And that’s when the fox would stop squirming. In that pause.Even though your teeth would sink in a little more. Just before.

Would you hold still no matter how hard I bite?

Yes, that would be the submission.

That’s why dogs and other wolves are boring.

But that moment, and in that moment there wouldn’t be anything besides everything at once.

But why a wolf? What if he really hurts you?

It wouldn’t matter, it would be worth it, if he hurts me it wouldn’t make me need it any less, it wouldn’t change how much I loved every second of it all.

But a dog can pretend to need what a wolf needs. Why me? Would you sense the extacsy in the blood even if it was your own?

Because I’ve never encountered someone who can make me feel with the kind of intensity that makes me shake. Even if it means going from nausea with sheer anxiety and terror. Absolute fear and then absolute arousal. Yes.

So stick your head into the jaws and trust that they won’t close because it doesn’t matter to you if they did?

No one has ever made me breathless, yes, as I said, worth every ******* second.

I like you fox, stick around. We are kin, not the same, but alike enough to make me want you.

If we were exactly the same you wouldn’t want me though, also I know that you are not pretending to be a dog. Because you are not one.

Can’t blame a young wolf for checking out the kennel from up close.

A degree of breathlessness never left even if I did disappear.

I knew you once.
I knew you a long time ago, just a mist behind the trees.
Just that idea out of the window I used to gaze for.
I knew you.
I always have.
I know you now.
I know you more than anything, it wasn't just a mist.
It wasn't a phantom idea I used to gaze at.
It was you.
I knew you once.
I have always seen you.
I never knew it was you.
I knew you just as an idea.
But now.
It was you.
I know it was you who I knew all along.

The world is on fire with you.
The colours are so bright.
I can see so far.
To the past.
To the future.
But the present, I feel so blind.
You invest in me.
You have never invested in anyone before me.
How has this happened.
I really cannot tell you.
I am glad.
I am so glad for you though.

For the first time I am comfortable. I do not worry. This will not leave.

When I talk about loving you it is not in the way that we taught to feel it conventionally. Or, I should say that others do? I don’t think that that way is real. I think that is how others comfort themselves, with trickery, because they have been told that that is what it is. So when I use that word, it is because I have no better one in which to say how I feel in a short sentiment.

Love is what all the literature, art, music and poetry speak of, but not in the way it seems. It is just an attempt to portray something that is unportrayable, after all why would so many write or create on it. It is just their expressions of something that they try to reconcile.

And people, they see this portrayal and they think that they understand it’s meaning, and they allude that they experience it. I don’t think they do, they don’t understand it, for them it is merely a finite thing with conventionally imposed limitations and it’s not free in any sense of the word. For them it costs. That is not love. But they believe it so, and that is not their faults. They settle in this. And the swells might come and go, but they never remain without a degree of effort. That is not what I mean when I use the word love. There should be no active effort involved.

I have loved before, in that sense and it never holds me past a while. The lack of realness behind it doesn't elude me for too long. But, I find myself happy to believe in the idea for a while at least. Like a vacation away from me. Yet, I always have to return home to myself and it has always been the most lonely journey back to the homestead where there is only me waiting for me. Although, it is always nice to vacation with someone for a small while, if only for the small moments where I am able to forget that I am alone. And, I have always resented that I can see it and others cannot even notice how alone they are here. Almost as though they are naturally obligated to feel that they are not. I find myself equally happy for them that they cannot see it. Happy so much that the realisation and guilt of pretending does never bare to touch them.

And this, it doesn't have suitable words and so I end up using the only one I can find that at the very least has a single gram of aptness for purpose. Yet, it remains to fall so very short and in so many ways only serves to misrepresent what I really feel about you, about us, about this. This is what I mean when I say that I have never loved this honestly, and that is because I never truly have. And that is the only thing I can define this as, because it fails to fit into anything and nothing comes close. So it must be? I have no other to compare it to and I am so blind. And I wish I was able to explain it to you so you would understand the truth in it with me.

I don’t want you to be fuzzy in it, or worry that you have guilt in mistreating me because you feel that you cannot mirror it.

Believe me when I tell you that my affections are not misplaced by any degree. I think that you do. In your way. Perfectly. And if we keep trying to understand this within our definitions from convention we never will be able too. I don’t think we are meant to even.

When you talk to me (I mean in any exchange) it is like I can touch you and in anyone I could talk to them and never be able to, not really. I look at them and it is like everything is at the front and if I look passed that there is nothing behind it. I’m not saying that they are less. Just that I cannot see, because for me there is nothing else to see. It’s a blankness that I find uncomfortable. Since there is nothing behind it, there is nothing for me to get close to, and with you, I am so close I feel like I can just reach a fraction to touch you.

I am not on vacation with you, I am still at home.

You said I was a stray, you might have been right. But now, I am not a stray. I have a pack, I am not alone, and I am free to come and go as I choose.

I couldn't have asked for this.

It is effortless.

It doesn't have gravity, well.

I don’t think I would have conceived that it existed.

I would have laughed at the idea, and called it foolish.

I don’t have any fear in it, because I know in the depths of me that it will remain, and that like you said, if there is others, it will lull but it will not change, it will always be there after. My love is the idea of that closeness, and being completely at peace with that, and these words still fail me.

But I just know that my soul sings for it.

And I am so glad for you existing.

reads* Thank you, I...I know you feel like this, but for some strange reason it is still beautiful to see it, to hear it.

It took so long to write because I am all welled up...even now as we speak

Yes, me too now, and you are right, I feel the same way, multiplied endlessly by knowing that you are happy and at home, not in bravest dreams did I think that it would come to happen.

Mine neither, I... you, you took my fuzzy away the other day, I wanted to do the same.

You know, at the core of things, my fuzzy was the same as yours.

yes, of course

An unfounded feeling of the sword still lingering in the air, the strike in the moment when I finally let go.

It's not there

I know

I know

It's the final demon, it will shrink and wither, and I will give up my foolish quest to destroy it. Thank you. It means so much to see you empathetic, and to see that they haven't managed to turn you into their selfish reflections. I think the fact that it is that side of you I love that makes it all the more surreal to witness it in front of my eyes.