Living in suburbia, my animal is growing restless. It’s clawing at me from within my skin, tracing its gnarled fingertips across my flesh. I’m marked by my own primordial desire - a reminder that while I play the part of a well behaved citizen, that’s not who I am - and that’s not who I’ll be tonight.
Tonight I’ll finish work, I’ll tear off my costume, shed my skin, allow myself to feel the ache that runs through my veins, coiling it’s way around my stomach and down to my cock.
Yet I’m as caged in as my own pets, confined to a space, unable to run through endless stretches of sun kissed fields of grass as I once did.
I long for that shared connection between similar frenzied primals. I long for a breathless run, heart pounding in my chest, my body slick with sweat and not a care in the world that I, or the kindred spirit beside me, is absolutely nude.
Perhaps we’ll find a clearing away from the world, collapse to feel the grass skim our bodies. Perhaps we’ll grunt and howl and growl as we wrestle, no holds barred, no judgement as spit and drool flies from our wet lips.
And if we fuck, so be it. Let it happen. Let it be unkempt and brutal and relentless, let there be nothing but the shared rhythm in our heads that drives us, my cock pumping, sliding, pounding into you - no chance to breathe, no time to relax.
Maybe you’re not even you, maybe some old spirits of the forest have possessed you - to please, to submit, to challenge if you dare, but to face the consequences of that challenge.
Can you feel it? The insatiable desire to undress, to run, to scream so loudly your voice cracks under the pressure. To succumb to the wild - bruised, spent and broken.
I long for the run, I long for the chase, I long for the wrestle. I long to transform again, completely.
I think of all of this while I finish work and face the nature of my reality.
