Falling for Change

  Falling For Change

  KC LEE

  All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To All My Readers:

  Thank you for taking a chance.

  - KC LEE

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1 (Nudity and Theatre)

  Chapter 2 (Red Red Wine, Diddling, Make Me Feel Fine)

  Chapter 3 (Balls and Bigotry)

  Chapter 4 (Bull Dagger)

  Chapter 5 (Or is it Just a Hit and Run?)

  Chapter 6 (Too Femme to be Butch)

  Chapter 7 (Mac and Cheesey Linguistics)

  Chapter 8 (The Dog Knows All Your Secrets)

  Chapter 9 (Bride to Be)

  Chapter 10 (Well That’s Awkward)

  Chapter 11 (Surprise Visits)

  Chapter 12 (Toaster Ovens)

  Chapter 13 (Coming Out)

  Chapter 14 (American Werewolf in the Kitchen)

  Chapter 15 (Chasseur)

  Chapter 16 (Exes Stink)

  Chapter 17 (Party Crashers)

  Chapter 18 (Rotting Fire)

  Chapter 19 (Pete the Snake)

  Chapter 20 (Weird Mates)

  Prologue

  Sweating despite the strong breeze the man wiped his brow. It was two days until the full moon. Two days before he would hunt. He was getting antsy waiting on his uncle. There were storm clouds rolling in quickly. The air was humid and the first strike of lightning hit with a loud bang of thunder. He jumped and felt his pulse quickening. He hated storms but his anxiety was stemming from the job he had to do.

  His family was counting on him just like they did his father and his father before him. His older brother was gone now. It’d been five years and he still had nightmares. He’d awake on stormy nights breathing heavily covered in sweat. Images flashing through his mind. Lightning making the path through the woods clear for a few seconds. His brother running towards him. The inside of the truck getting wet as the rain slashed down through the windows. Another lighting strike. Himself screaming for his brother to run. Another lightning strike a large brown wolf gliding through the air. His brother’s blood curdling scream, louder than the rain and louder than the thunder.

  He’d driven away as fast as he could. His father had been taken the same way when he was eighteen. He drove down the dirt road faster than he should have, his truck tires sliding in the now muddy road. He drove until he reached his uncles house. The next morning his uncle and cousins went back to the same spot he’d been in the night before. There was no sign of his brother and the wolf tracks stopped once they got to a well-known hiking trail. He knew they’d never find him.

  Now he was standing on another stormy night in a parking lot of an abandoned warehouse outside of the small town he was sent to make his home. The town was friendly enough and he’d already met a few nice women. He’d found a house to rent not five miles from the national park that bordered the town. Just as he was about to get into his car and leave he saw the headlights of a small pick-up pull into the lot. His uncle was finally here.

  “I have what you need. Do not use these for practice. It’s taken your cousin three days of working non-stop to supply you with an ample amount of bullets.”

  “Thank you uncle.”

  He took the box and pulled out a bullet. The carving was there wrapping around the tiny metal. The druid symbol for fire. The image was slightly distorted from the roundness of the bullet but there it was passed down from generation to generation for many millennia. He placed the bullet back in the box and set them in the trunk of his car.

  “The full moon comes in two days. Are you ready now?”

  “Yes uncle. I won’t let you or the family down.”

  “Be sure that you don’t. Get as many as you can that night and cover your tracks. If too many moons come and go before you find the clan they will catch on. They may have superior senses but you have trained your whole life for this. You are ready to be on your own.”

  Chapter 1 (Nudity and Theatre)

  The Full Moon was shining brightly through the tree branches hanging overhead. The wind was blowing lightly but the air was still warm. I could smell pinesap and dirt on the breeze. Four thick, black, furred legs pushed off the damp ground over and over propelling me through the forest. An owl hooted and tiny wood creatures scurried away knowing a predator larger than them was out tonight. As the smell of the stream got stronger I knew I was nearing town. I veered right towards the stream. I lapped noisily at the water. It tasted clean and was cold as it went down my throat. I greedily drank until my thirst was gone. There was a slight metallic after taste.

  Taking off again at a more leisurely pace, I stopped at the sound of breaking twigs. It was so slight it had to have come from a mile away. Hearing nothing else but my own breathing and the breeze in the trees I kept going. Coming to a sudden stop at the edge of the wooded area I turned my snout to the air and breathed in deeply. A new smell was in the air tonight, a light, sweet smell like fresh cut flowers with an underlying musk. Curious I wanted to know where that smell was coming from. The scent seemed to get stronger as the breeze picked up and it took over my senses. I needed to know. But I couldn’t leave the safety of the woods. A whine came from my throat as I paced with tiny steps back and forth wagging my tail. I longed to follow the scent but knew leaving the safety of the woods was not a good idea.

  It wasn’t a good idea for several reasons; one I had shifted into a wolf because of the damned Full Moon and therefore could not shift back to human form until dawn. Two a wolf walking down the small city streets would probably scare the old lady, who spent her nights sitting in the park crocheting and talking to herself, and then what audience would the ukulele player with the yellow cut off shorts (he must have several pairs because he has never been seen wearing any other bottoms even in the dead of winter) and hippy hair as her grandmother would say, have every night? But most importantly I was remembering the first and last full moon I was caught in public.

  Twelve years ago I was running wild with my older and much bolder sister Becca. For hours during the full moon she convinced me to chase a red rubber ball that was dancing down the street being taken hostage by a strong wind. When I finally caught the ball in the park I was growing tired and had decided to stop for a long lap of water from the fountain. The fountain was a mermaid with seashells covering her tits and Becca’s favorite place to sit and eat lunch when in human form. She had just dragged me there earlier that day for pork roast sandwiches. She loved eating in front of that mermaid because to Becca, there were no two better things in life than food and tits. Growing up we ate there nearly every day during summer break. Was it any wonder that I grew up to appreciate the female form way more than the male form? She still ate lunch there nearly every day and still she’d leer at the stone titties covered by shells, punch me in the arm and tell me, “Ya know Blue, nothing is better than food and titties.” As I lapped up the cold water cascading down the mermaid and into the fountain I realized that Becca was no longer with me and knowing her love of the fountain I knew something extremely important would have to happen for her to leave her favorite place in the park. Then as I felt my skin tingle, I realized the sun was coming up and I’d be changing back to my human form in the middle of the park, miles from my clothes and double the miles from my house.

  In my 28 years the only time I have been caught naked and in public after the full
moon was when I was 16 and my sister left me in the park just before dawn staring up at the mermaid fountain in thought. She told me later she knew what I was thinking and I deserved to be humiliated or at least extremely inconvenienced for thinking the best parts of life were food and titties.

  My older sister by four years, I remind her every chance I get that she is now over thirty, has always acted however her mood strikes her and then smacks you in the face with some life altering lesson.

  “Becaauusse, you are sooo easy Blue. I can’t resist,” she has said more times than I can count.

  I spent an hour running from tree to tree trying to fashion my own clothing from leaves and a couple of bags littered on the ground. Obviously, I was inspired by the mermaid fountain. I looked up to find Becca fully clothed rolling on the ground, her long curly blonde locks full of leaves and dirt. She was laughing so hard she was about to wet herself.

  “What the fuck do you have wrapped around your waist you idiot? Is that a bag full of leaves? Jesus Blue put some clothes on.” Becca laughed throwing a backpack at me.

  Becca may believe herself to be a teacher of all things important in life but I know she really just loves to laugh and make others laugh, especially women, and I give her an unlimited supply of material. Remembering that night I consciously reminded myself to stop giving Becca stories to make her dates laugh and therefore fall more easily into bed with her, as if she needs the help.

  I took one last look out of the forest. Across the park sat several two-story brick apartment complexes. The second story of each had balconies. The lights in all of the buildings were out except for one. It was too far for the human eye to see me in the dark forest across the expanse of the park but I still crouched low to the ground. The breeze picked up again and a curtain blew wrapping itself around the glass door of the balcony. Ahhh. The smell was coming from that apartment. With one last deep intake of breath through my snout I forced myself to turn and run back through the woods the way I had come. It was still early in the night for me but well past time for the small city to go to bed. Judging by the position of the moon it was just after midnight.

  *****

  “Ugh, I hate men. Seriously, are there no normal men left in the world?” Anita said aloud to no one as she walked up the steps of her apartment building. Hopefully, Phoebe is still up I really need some advice from my best friend. She knocked twice on the door next to hers and was quickly ushered in by the 5’4” red head and handed a glass of red wine. Phoebe was wearing men’s boxers and a white V-neck t-shirt. Her ginger hair was pulled back in a messy bun pieces in the front hanging around her face. She had her black, rectangular reading glasses on. You could see the handful of tiny freckles on her nose and cheeks. She was definitely in for the night. This was evident because she always wears her contacts outside of her apartment and hides her freckles under cover up. Phoebe thinks it’s bad enough that her lot in life is to be a ginger but the freckles she says is taking it too far, especially when she isn’t even Irish.

  “How was this one? Let me guess one of his eyebrows was bushier than the other or no wait he had an annoying habit of pulling your chair out for you and picking up the check.” Phoebe laughed at herself and shook her head.

  I slipped out of my black heels and groaned at the pleasure of finally being off my feet for the night.

  “I know you think that I find something wrong with every guy I go out with but this guy was a serious doozy way worse than the other two and I have finally decided I am never dating again.”

  Sitting on the couch Phoebe said, “Come, sit and tell me all about it. We can drink, laugh at your misfortunes and make fun of men. You know how I love doing that!”

  Settling on the overstuffed brown suede couch I tucked my legs up underneath me. “Well first off he talked with food in his mouth and believed himself to be way funnier than he was. In fact he went as far as to laugh out loud and tiny flecks of food flew out of his mouth and across the table. He farted at the table and thought that if he dropped his fork onto his plate at the same time it would cover the noise. Lastly, he tried to give me a goodnight kiss outside the restaurant and when I turned my head he pretended to trip and instead mauled my breasts.”

  Laughing, well more like snorting Phoebe bent over and forced herself to make sense, “ Well… Snort… he still… snort… doesn’t beat… gulp… Pete the Snake… snort”.

  Peter Travis, two first names should have clued me in on what a snake he would turn out to be. We broke up after three months when I found out he was dating me and three other women ranging in age from 18 to 25. And as if being a cradle robbing cheat was not enough for Pete to aspire to he was also a liar who used his ailing grandmother to cover up his lack of monogamy. When Pete and I went out on our first date he kept getting calls all throughout dinner. In his defense he put the phone on vibrate for the rest of the night and did not answer one call. As we were waiting on the check to come he told me that he had a wonderful evening and would love to see me again but needed to cut the night short because his grandmother was very sick and he was the only family left to take care of her. Apparently, those calls throughout dinner were from her. He got up leaving quickly with my okay, leaving me with the check, which I only realized after the break up.

  From then on we would go out twice on weeknights. He seemed interested in me. He asked questions about the clinic. What types of animals I saw. If anyone ever brought in wild animals as pets since we were so close to the national forest. We’d make plans to spend a weekend together but somehow his ailing grandmother always needed him. One weekend I decided to stop by his house where he was presumably taking care of his ailing grandmother with homemade chicken soup for dinner. Looking through the bay window I was astonished to see that his grandmother was barely legal, blonde, long legged, big breasted and he had his tongue down her throat. That night I found out there was no ailing grandmother and three other girlfriends and Pete the Snake was born.

  Rolling my eyes I took another sip of my wine, “Pete the Snake is not the marker for a good relationship. Ah hell, the bearded lady ranks above him. She’d probably smell better too. My god he wore so much cologne I figured he bathed in it. I’m just done dating men. Period.”

  “So if we are done making fun of men would you like to hear about my date last night?” Phoebe’s eyes widened as she clapped waiting for my response like a child on a sugar high about to open Christmas presents.

  “S’pose you’ll tell me either way.” I said a little tipsy.

  “Well we went to the coffee shop on Main Street for Women’s Night. Listened to some live music, talked, laughed and then came back to my place.” Phoebe’s eyebrows rose up and down suggestively.

  “Ugh, I knew I wasn’t hearing things last night. Jesus Phoebe. I thought you were watching one of your beloved action flicks with all the loud banging and screaming I could hear through the walls. Did you not hear me banging and yelling for you to turn it down? I finally had to put earplugs in to fall asleep! That is it! I’m through with men for good! I’m going to try dating women!”

  Gasping for air through her laughter Phoebe choked out, “Anita! No… no way you can’t just date women because you haven’t found a suitable guy in a while. That’s not how it works.”

  “Why not? You date women why can’t I? Am I not attractive enough to date women?”

  Phoebe looked Anita up and down. Long blonde hair with just enough body that it always seemed to bounce when she moved, sparkling blue eyes, a trim figure and boobs that were big enough for a handful and a half. “No. I mean yes you are attractive but I am GAY, that’s why I date women. You are STRAIGHT that is why you cannot date women. It is not fair to them. No lesbian wants to fall in love with a thesbian only to be left for a man down the road.” She leaned over and refilled her glass from the half empty wine bottle on the distressed wooden coffee table.

  “A thesbian? You mean lesbian? You are drunker than I thought huh?” I giggled feeling proud of myself bec
ause I’m always the first drunk and Phoebe never lets me live it down.

  “No. I. Am. Not. Drunk! A thesbian is a straight girl pretending to be a lesbian. And they are the worst kind of straight girls. I refuse to take part in this.” Phoebe folded her hands across her chest.

  “But I don’t know any other lesbians and I don’t want to be a thesbian! How am I going to know what to do or how to act? How am I going to find women to date if you don’t help me?” I cried out and sniffled for good measure.

  Just as I knew she would Phoebe relented with an, “Ok. Okaay. I’ll help.”

  She never could resist my tears. In our younger years I noticed this one day while Phoebe and I were playing in the back yard with my older brother. He was fourteen and we were eleven. Minding our own business swinging and picking animals out of the clouds on a warm sunny day, Brad came out the sliding glass door yelling at us to go in the house so that he and his friends could play soccer in the yard. Phoebe ready to relent saying she did not want to watch some yucky old boys play soccer anyways jumped off the swing and headed towards the house. But I refused wanting to stay outside. Since I refused he decided that the only way to make me listen was to ambush me with his super soaker. I jumped off the swing crying because he got my new dress wet and ran towards Phoebe and the house. To my surprise Phoebe ran straight for my brother and kicked him in the shin yelling like a banshee. As the years went on I tested my theory and every time anyone or anything made me cry Phoebe was there to kick its ass into submission.

  Thinking back to that summer day nineteen years ago I sniffled one more time for good measure. “How about you give Bob the Builder another try he is a he and not a she after all. There is your help! And don’t think I haven’t caught onto your little crying act missy. No way. I will not help you with this.” Phoebe deadpanned.