I Slept With The Wolf ManThe door to Trey’s studio apartment flopped open and there, there in the middle sat a bed,worn around the edges; a postage stamp really. Now I have to tell you that I am a tallwoman, six foot four inches tall, statuesque, a could-be contender in America’s Next TopModel some tell me. Whatever, I say.I liked Trey in high school. We knew each other slightly, no romantic interest then, butwe lost touch over time and now, here in the middle of my mid-life meandering, I soughthim out; like a scent, hunted him. Over drinks and dinner we caught up. He changed butnot much. Standing at the doorway to a room that was square with rounded dark shadowsfor corners, a slight hazy smoke wafting in the room like a Holy Ghost. We faced the bedlike newly-weds: all six foot four inches of me and five foot whatever of Trey. Thesudden thought of a Chihuahua mating with a Great Dane popped into my head. “Damnhead,” I thought and I shuddered at the idea of Mexi-danes being born. I stepped in.“Drink, Kenny?”“Kendra.” He liked the homoerotic nature of calling me Kenny, but really I only let people close to me do that. I knew Trey as a “trisexual” as in “he would try anything”when it came to sex. Now, side by side, facing the bed in the middle of the room andfeeling the corners stuffed with shadows, an enveloping feeling took hold. Arms and legsfelt like they were folding, begging Trey to open me gently, here on this bit of land of bedin a sea of dismal, all in a quiver, just a quiver that I know Trey could sense without eventouching me. When he did touch me, it was like climbing the first hill of a roller coaster,the car angled steeply back and there is that clicking of the chain that pulls the cars upfilling me up with suspense like a tea kettle. Just beyond a shadow, I could make out onefigure: that of a taxidermied gray wolf in attack pose, teeth bared, hair up, rear legs poised to leap. Trey saw me notice the stuffed wolf and offered no explanation of how hewas able to acquire such an illegal thing, as gray wolves were protected in these parts.“Like him? His name is Bart the Alpha male.” The voices in my head started: “Pleasedon’t let this get weird, please don’t let this get weird, please don’t let this get weird.”Then Trey: “Want to check on my collection of gray wolf scat?”Click “You know wolves have been known to nurse and raise other species.”Click-Click.“Want to try some she-wolf milk later?”Click-Click-Click Me (inside): “Please don’t let this get weird, please don’t let this get weird, please don’tlet this get weird.”I swear that my lips are moving as I internalize this, but Trey doesn’t notice or maybe Ionly think I am moving my lips. I spy a small kitchen area with a pot for coffee on a burner. “Coffee?” I say, trying to smile but am only able to manage a crack across my

face. “Please don’t let this get weird, please don’t let this get weird, please don’t let thisget weird.”We talk and he seems just as I remember him in high school: bookish, diminutive, nerdy but in a now-nerdy-is-hip sort of way. Once again, images of Mexi-danes dance throughmy head as I realize that sex in any position with Trey is going to be YouTube fodder for sure.“It’s been a while, Kenny.”“Kendra” and I am now worried that I don’t know to what he is referring as having “beena while”: sex for him (quite likely), sex for me (uh, yeah) or just the time that has lapsedsince we were in high school together (an interminable infinity).So the evening passes like the dull thud of city street noise: relentless and just below thethreshold of unbearable. Finally, he says to me: “So – “ and he lets it hang right there likelaundry. “I was sort of hoping…you know…” and now I find myself both drawn in and pushed away by the possibility of having sex with Trey. There is Bart and the wolf scatrunning like a toddler loose without parental supervision in my brain, but still I consent.Jesus Christ, what a girl has to do to get laid around here! And again like a Greek chorus:“Please don’t let this get weird, please don’t let this get weird, please don’t let this getweird.”I say yes to Trey, let’s – as though we were talking about painting the ceiling together. Islip into bed, into dingy sheets, a dinge I can see even in the dirty gray light strewn aboutlike clothing about the room. The darkness is not complete, it is veil-like, not hidingexactly, but rather revealing in small ways. Trey, now naked save for his thick woolysocks, ambles over and gently lifts Bart and places him under his arm. He brings Bartover and now I too am naked, beneath the sheets, eyes wide, my skin made paler by theway the mercury vapor street light outside stretches my skin. Trey pets Bart gently.“Please don’t let this get weird, please don’t let this get weird, please don’t let this getweird.”Trey places Bart under the covers. I am for a moment like a mountain climber losing mygrip, suffering from altitude sickness, and can anticipate the fall. Bart’s fur brushes upagainst my legs and crotch, my skin now at a full gallop. Somehow, Trey gets on theother side of me and spoons me. Like a sliver he takes up no space at all and crushedagainst Bart’s dead fur, I feel Trey’s warm springy pubic hair. “Please don’t let this getweird, please don’t let this get weird, please don’t let this get weird.”I settle back, breathe deeply through my nose to slow my heart, when Trey in almost aslow motion movement reaches over and with the gentleness of a loving mother, turns back the top sheet of the bed. “So he can breathe,” he says.So he can breathe?