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He walks me to his car and after stowing my guitar in the back, we go for the tacos. I direct him to the small unassuming restaurant that has been around for decades. I always stop in here when I'm in town. The exterior does not do justice to all of the incredible smells that escape from inside. We step in and I lead him to a table near the back.
The restaurant is bustling with people, but all conversation revolves around the incredible smells and flavors that are present in each dish being delivered. I order for us, and when our meals arrive, I can hardly contain my delight at how Curt obviously finds it appetizing. Two big plates of tacos with the small tortillas, beef, white onions, cilantro, and nothing else. Of course, there's red and green salsa served on the side, too. The waitress returns a few moments later with some beans, not refried but frijoles charros, cowboy beans. Their recipe here uses bacon, chilis, and a whole lot of garlic and cumin.
The first bite sends him into rapture; I watch as his eyes close, and he lets out an appreciative sigh while savoring every flavor on his tongue. I love seeing someone else appreciate something I enjoy so much but I really, really love seeing Cut enjoy it. After he takes his first bite, I happily dig in. The food here is just as good as ever.
He eats heartily but still manages to keep up conversation with me throughout the meal. We talk about my music, exchanging stories about life experiences and traveling. Of course, I've only traveled to the United States and a little bit in Canada.
He traveled through Europe and Asia because of his father's business. At twenty-two, though, once he graduated, he became a firefighter and he's been one now for almost sixteen years.
In this moment it feels like we're old friend catching up on time spent apart and not strangers who only met just now. In any case, I spend the whole drive to the RV park desperately hoping he'll kiss me.
Then, alone that night, I spent fifteen minutes ticked off at myself because I'm an adult, and I could have initiated the kiss that never happened!
I still masturbate like crazy thinking about him that evening.
Chapter Two
Curt
The forest is alive around me, and under ordinary circumstances, that life and the sense of it would provide me with the calm I want. We shifters are, of course, animalistic, but we're not like our animals completely. I know there are some shifters who can shift and their wolf or lion just drives away all of the cares of their human side. Shifting, for them, works better than any therapy ever could. I understand that. I've never known a shifter in therapy, in fact.
I can't deny that when I'm overwhelmed in a human sense, some time as my cat does wonders.
But it doesn't make the human go away, and that's what I find frustrating at the moment. Three nights in a row I've driven this girl home to her RV, and on each of those nights, I've desperately wanted her. I've not only desperately wanted her but I can tell as we talk that she wants me as well. She's waiting for me to make a move. She's waiting eagerly for it. It's an oddly traditional kind of response from her, waiting for the man.
If she kisses me, I won't be able to hold back. This is exactly why it's a foolish thing for me to drive her home in the first place. I'm captivated by her, though. That's understandable from a purely physical perspective, of course.
Denise is absolutely beautiful. She's ethereal and slender with long hair that looks like spun gold in the sunlight. Her face is a perfect oval, her eyes almond-shaped and a deep golden brown like maple syrup. Her lips are full, pouting slightly when she smiles and playing up to the dimples on her cheeks.
She wears little makeup, but even so, I find it incredibly hard to resist imagining leaning forward and slowly pressing my lips to hers when we stop at red lights or when we sit at one of the restaurants she suggests. When Denise talks about her music, her whole face lights up with enthusiasm; it's one of the most attractive things I've ever seen in someone.
And her music... damn.
I don't know if I'm a savage beast. Perhaps it's the air of superiority most tigers have played at my thinking, but we're not as savage as other shifters. We don't have the aggressive wildness of the bears, the over-the-top self-conscious self-important constant existential crisis life of wolves (And yes, they're all that way, even the ones who aren't. How many times do I need to hear about how hard it is to break away from this alpha tradition or that mate arrangement or how much love they feel for wolf culture while they fight against following it, for fuck's sake?), the appropriation of all shifter worries on our shoulders like the lions, or any of that.
We're refined, far more refined.
That's not a judgment call on my part. It's cultural. Perhaps it's instinct. I don't know. Bears crave the constraints of the wild. Wolves crave freedom. Lions crave peace. We tigers crave order. We like things to be where they're supposed to be. We like steps four and five to happen after step three, exactly how it's planned. We like to wake up at the same time every day.
In short, we like everything about life that can be measured and controlled to be measured and controlled.
And this is why my obsession with Denise confuses me. The woman is beautiful, of course. She's also incredibly sweet and smart. She's talented. For fuck's sake, she's talented. And that's why I'm thinking about savage beasts. That old saying tells us that music soothes the savage beast, right? Well, that's actually wrong. The quote is from an English playwright and it's been misquoted for a long time. "Musick has charms to soothe a savage breast to soften rocks or bend a knotted oak."
1967.
You'd imagine it would be much older than that, wouldn't you? Well, it was in the late 1960s, and it wasn't even talking about a beast but a breast. Music works on savage hearts but not savage beasts.
The point, I suppose, is that even if you were to suggest that I'm enamored of Denise (and I am) because I'm a savage beast (and I'm not) and music soothes the savage beast (and hers could); it wouldn't even be an accurate quotation of the damned concept in the first place.
That meandering mental gymnastics performance there is another thing we tigers do. I clear my mind and continue my journey. I only have an hour or so before I must return to civilization and want to make the most of my time.
As a tiger, I stalk my way through the forest, my yellow-gold eyes scanning for any sign of danger. My whiskers twitch as I take in my surroundings, noting small details with a feline precision. The earth is so rich beneath my feet; the smell of pine and dampness heavy in the air. The rustle of leaves and crunch of twigs are music to my ears even before I notice the faint sound of birds singing in the distance.
I pause every few steps to take a deep breath, tasting the coolness on my tongue and understanding more about what's going on around me through what I smell rather than what I see. I detect hints of deer nearby; their musky scent mingles with that of wildflowers and fresh grass to create an aroma that speaks volumes.
The sun shines bright through gaps among the trees, creating rippling patterns on the ground: a welcome contrast to the darkness that lurks in its shadows. In these moments, it almost feels like time stands still – like nothing can ever touch me here and there’s no need to rush anywhere else or worry about tomorrow night or next year. This is a refuge from all other pressures in life, where I'm able to clear my mind wander at ease without worrying about anyone or anything else.
And because I can clear my mind of the situation with Denise, I realize that I've already made my decision. Denise is a free spirit. I am not. Denise has no plan nor feels a need to have one. I am the opposite. Denise lives without security and without any desire for it. She is the opposite of me on a fundamental level.
