The Origin of Werewolf
The Origin of Werewolf
Sometimes, I barely remember the day I found myself standing outside the Oasis club for the first time, but other times I remember it vividly. Today was one of those latter times.
I had only just recently turned 17 - I was 22 years old now - and my parents had kicked me out of the house after catching me with some guy's dick in my mouth. I guess walking into your son's room and discovering a picture like that would be every parent's worse nightmare; mainly because of the shock, I guess.
I regretted it at the time, but I also resented them for lacking any understanding at all. True, I'd been sucking the guy off in their house, but it was in the privacy of my own room. I can never remember if I'd actually locked the door by the bolt, but I blame them for not knocking first and seeming to just barge in with reckless abandon.
It was bound to happen one day. I'd had plenty of guys in my room before, and this time, I was just unlucky. It didn't help that the guy wouldn't keep quiet.
It wasn't as if they hadn't known I was gay; hell, everyone in the damn street knew I was queer after an ex started a screaming match with me in the early hours of one morning the year before, about how I wasn't good enough, how I lacked dignity. Tch. Dignity. I had plenty of that, but he didn't like the fact I wasn't above begging when it came to sex.
I'm a sub, and naturally, a people pleaser. It's hardly my fault when I want to beg for something; give the person what they want when fucking. I thought that was what he'd wanted, this ex, but he'd just thought it was low, and pathetic. Slutty, in a bad way.
I'd watched through my bedroom window as my father chucked that day's conquest out onto the street by the scruff of his neck, and once he started stomping back upstairs I quickly chucked a few measly belongings into a rucksack, lugging it onto my back as he flung my bedroom door open again, face flushed with anger, and I can still see the hint of betrayal glittering in his narrowed eyes, even now.
Sometimes it haunted my dreams.
Following suit to the random guy who I'd never even bothered to ask the name of, my dad grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, frogmarched me down the stairs, only catching one last, disappointed, glimpse of my broken down mother who was sat on the arm chair in the corner of the living room, before chucking me out onto the streets. And that was that. Done.
I never did bother trying to see them again.
It wasn't long until I found myself wandering to the other, darker, side of town, my rucksack a complete dead weight on one of my shoulders, my eye caught by neon lights; a sign proclaiming 'Oasis.'
There was even a little neon palm tree sticking out the top of the name. Cute.
I looked at the front entrance, shaking my head. I was, technically, still underage, and so I slowly turned, deliberating where I should go from here. After a few moments of looking around, trying not to look conspicuous, feeling a deep tugging within me that had me wanting to be inside the place, I was lucky enough to stumble across the side entrance. I slipped through the door and made my way down a long corridor, eventually ending up at the entrance to an office door; an office in the future months and years I'd come to be a regular visitor of.
The man who I'd come to know as Charlie; or more often Master, Sir, or even Daddy; opened the door after a curious rap of my knuckles on the woodwork. He looked me over, tilting his head and licking his lips slowly. I blushed slightly as he looked me over, most likely checking me out to see what I had to offer, if I did indeed have anything to offer, to see if I had potential, before nodding slowly, beckoning me inside his office, his lair, a place I'd come to feel was a second home to me; much like the whole place.
We talked, he gave me a drink, and more importantly, a job. I told him my name - Sam Withers, or, to Charlie, I'd be known, in our private affairs, as Sammy - and he gave me a nickname without a moments hesitation, a stage name that I'd come to be known as for however long I decided to stick to working here; Werewolf.
He was the only one who knew my real name; he always would be. It was like we had a small bond, something I'd come to grasp at to stop me from running away from the place in the first few months of just hanging around, getting adjusted to the place, always terrified of being turfed out again. It was just nerves, that's what I continued to tell myself, until I was brave enough to stay sticking around the place. There was no need to be afraid anymore.
I was young, curious, a lost boy. Training to be a pet. Soon to become one of Charlie's favourites.
I had only just recently turned 17 - I was 22 years old now - and my parents had kicked me out of the house after catching me with some guy's dick in my mouth. I guess walking into your son's room and discovering a picture like that would be every parent's worse nightmare; mainly because of the shock, I guess.
I regretted it at the time, but I also resented them for lacking any understanding at all. True, I'd been sucking the guy off in their house, but it was in the privacy of my own room. I can never remember if I'd actually locked the door by the bolt, but I blame them for not knocking first and seeming to just barge in with reckless abandon.
It was bound to happen one day. I'd had plenty of guys in my room before, and this time, I was just unlucky. It didn't help that the guy wouldn't keep quiet.
It wasn't as if they hadn't known I was gay; hell, everyone in the damn street knew I was queer after an ex started a screaming match with me in the early hours of one morning the year before, about how I wasn't good enough, how I lacked dignity. Tch. Dignity. I had plenty of that, but he didn't like the fact I wasn't above begging when it came to sex.
I'm a sub, and naturally, a people pleaser. It's hardly my fault when I want to beg for something; give the person what they want when fucking. I thought that was what he'd wanted, this ex, but he'd just thought it was low, and pathetic. Slutty, in a bad way.
I'd watched through my bedroom window as my father chucked that day's conquest out onto the street by the scruff of his neck, and once he started stomping back upstairs I quickly chucked a few measly belongings into a rucksack, lugging it onto my back as he flung my bedroom door open again, face flushed with anger, and I can still see the hint of betrayal glittering in his narrowed eyes, even now.
Sometimes it haunted my dreams.
Following suit to the random guy who I'd never even bothered to ask the name of, my dad grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, frogmarched me down the stairs, only catching one last, disappointed, glimpse of my broken down mother who was sat on the arm chair in the corner of the living room, before chucking me out onto the streets. And that was that. Done.
I never did bother trying to see them again.
It wasn't long until I found myself wandering to the other, darker, side of town, my rucksack a complete dead weight on one of my shoulders, my eye caught by neon lights; a sign proclaiming 'Oasis.'
There was even a little neon palm tree sticking out the top of the name. Cute.
I looked at the front entrance, shaking my head. I was, technically, still underage, and so I slowly turned, deliberating where I should go from here. After a few moments of looking around, trying not to look conspicuous, feeling a deep tugging within me that had me wanting to be inside the place, I was lucky enough to stumble across the side entrance. I slipped through the door and made my way down a long corridor, eventually ending up at the entrance to an office door; an office in the future months and years I'd come to be a regular visitor of.
The man who I'd come to know as Charlie; or more often Master, Sir, or even Daddy; opened the door after a curious rap of my knuckles on the woodwork. He looked me over, tilting his head and licking his lips slowly. I blushed slightly as he looked me over, most likely checking me out to see what I had to offer, if I did indeed have anything to offer, to see if I had potential, before nodding slowly, beckoning me inside his office, his lair, a place I'd come to feel was a second home to me; much like the whole place.
We talked, he gave me a drink, and more importantly, a job. I told him my name - Sam Withers, or, to Charlie, I'd be known, in our private affairs, as Sammy - and he gave me a nickname without a moments hesitation, a stage name that I'd come to be known as for however long I decided to stick to working here; Werewolf.
He was the only one who knew my real name; he always would be. It was like we had a small bond, something I'd come to grasp at to stop me from running away from the place in the first few months of just hanging around, getting adjusted to the place, always terrified of being turfed out again. It was just nerves, that's what I continued to tell myself, until I was brave enough to stay sticking around the place. There was no need to be afraid anymore.
I was young, curious, a lost boy. Training to be a pet. Soon to become one of Charlie's favourites.