Part One - Introductions. We’re told over and over again not to worry about things in life, not to fear for fear's sake or dwell on the mistake we have, or are about to make. Yet every man worries about the size of his cock, the depth of his credit card bill and whether or not slapping the misses porno style really was a good idea. Life is too short, seize the bull by the horns, you could step out tomorrow and get hit by a bus. Such platitudes are ten a penny and arm chair psychologists are as prevalent as the clap in Birmingham. Bollocks to far off wars, debt drowned economies and the ever present TV ad charity begging bowl, get out and get a life. Live, everyone else seems to know how to, why not you? I’d heard it all my life. Well on the face of it, getting a ‘life’ sounds like a piece of piss but as with so many things it seems, it couldn’t be further from the truth. Ironically enough, life itself is more often than not the biggest obstacle in the pursuit of getting said ‘life’ or at least the life we want. I always took a little solace in obscure facts like the two stroke engine doesn’t work on paper, yet it does in reality and likewise the bumblebee shouldn’t be able to fly but does so happily. But these wore thin when after 32 years my two stoke riding bumblebee of a love life which remained grounded and clamped, regardless of faith in the efforts I made. Not even so much as earning a dirty wink from even a lecherous perv from the corners of the dankest clubs. Perhaps it’s only when we truly stop looking left and right and stop giving a shit, that tomorrow arrives without a word while we meandered out like fat pigeons, right in front of the bus we were all warned about. However... the bus that twated me so unexpectedly, was in fact... a wolf. Early twenties, about 6’7” tall, dark short hair, ruggedly stubbly, built like a bit of a brick shit house and hazel eyes that seemed as intimidating as they did gentle. A wolf of a man. That odd mix of obvious strength and reservation that lesser men seek to challenge to affirm their own insecure masculinity and that women find unexplained, yet sexually threatening in all the right though denied, crotch dampening ways. Somewhere between the pin up pretty boy and blue collar lumberjack resides your man next door type, an average Joe that’s anything but. The wolf, none of that over confident, cocky bull shit and none that the gentle giant shit either. An honestly masculine man. I’d always admired Wolfie men from afar, undressed them with my eyes to reveal a fantasy of broad shoulders, thick dark hairy arms and legs, big feet with the all important hairy tops all gym sweat fresh and a cock fashion by the Gods of Greece themselves. A large soft length that you can only guess at how much it swells, thick although perhaps a little too thick, and a mushroomed head that’s round, blunt and forceful all nestled on a set of balls that are so full they must ache for release constantly... dreamy sigh. Such men have an absolute animalistic air about them that’s so... male, which also just so happened to be the complete epitome of what this particular pup, all be it through years of mental self flagellation, scars and all, had come to realise was the ideal yet unobtainable man. But that’s just it, I’m a pup. Somewhat small and inconspicuous, early thirties, too shy and cynical for my own good, painfully inexperienced and frankly, awkward in many respects. The closest the Greek Gods ever got to me, was on a novelty key ring after a summer years ago. Such wolves never notice me, I think they are designed not to, except perhaps to shoo me out the way with a menacing stare in the supermarket. Such a wolf could have any women he wanted, whether he, or she for that matter, knew it. So imagine my surprise when this wolf, all 6’7” of womb raiding masculinity bowled up to me and said, of all things, hello. I was deeply defensive and suspicious, I mean he said ‘hello’, to me! What the bloody hell does he mean by that, what does he want, am I gonna get my arse kick here? I’m bristling with the best fuck off vibes this pup can muster but again a hello, and a smile. This time I can hear a deep voice with a distinct down under accent. I’m still blinking like a rabbit in the head lights, shit he has nice teeth, but managed to scrap enough neurons together to defend myself with the most cunning of replies, “Hello”. What I didn’t realise was this wolf had my scent and was determined to hunt me down. Slowly, patiently, persistently over the months of developing friendship he would wait until he had me firmly by the scruff of the neck in his jaws to be carried off to his den and claimed... as his. To be continued. If you’d like to know how the story unfolds, please post, but be gentle, this is my first story.