James was lying on the bed, spent from his "werewolf" masturbation session and unmuted the TV to catch the end of the show. He felt his ears perk up at the sound of the dialog suddenly coming back on. He licked his blackened lips and admired at the werewolf's pointed ears, which were aimed at the girlfriend's speech about how she was willing give up her own humanity in order to be with him. James had noticed his own ears seeming heavier and flopping around beside his head for about the last 45 minutes or so. He couldn't believe he was on the verge of getting all the circus magic was destined to give him.
Looking back down at his sticky fur and retracting penis surprised him somewhat because he wasn't entirely sure what kind of werewolf had exclusively blonde fur. Sure, it could happen maybe, but weren't "real" werewolves either black or brown or gray? His fur also didn't seem as wild and untamed as he was expecting--it was long, soft and luxurious, so long it dangled off his arms like a curtain. Flawless for cuddling, but would it really give him that bad-boy edge or that Hollywood scare factor that being a werewolf was all about? Oh well, time to send his tongue back down there for a few more laps before all is said and done. Cleaning some of the cum off himself was like his own little after-party, giving his enhanced senses a kind of grand finale from his unprecedented orgasm.
With that done, he decided it was time to go take his empty beer cans to the trash can and maybe pick up some of the mess he made earlier before heading out. On the way there, though, he happened to pass by his bathroom again, and this time the reality of what happened to him started to make a different kind of sense.
The silky gold fur on his chest was just like the silky gold fur on his ears -- his oversized, floppy, low-hanging ears. His dog ears, the kind that like nothing like wolf ears. He looked back at his tail again, willing it over toward the side where he could see it. 'I should recognize this wispy yellow brush of tail fur anywhere!' he thought. It was never a werewolf's tail at all! He wasn't starting to look more like a wolf. He looked like a golden retriever!
Now it all made sense. Toppling the trash, sniffing the apartment, hearing everything, rolling in stenches, peeing on stuff. He was just doing what a dog does! Wet black nose, long floppy tongue, eager expressive tail. He was always turning into a dog, right from the time he was wanting to sniff Snowflake's butt! (EW! he thought). He'd just had the most immersive sexual experience of his life, but it wasn't some sort of super-secret werewolf orgasm--it was just the same old thing that happens in cardboard boxes when an filthy stray mutt gets the urge. James might as well be Mr. Mezzelado's French bulldog Franklin, licking his own crotch in the open without an ounce of dignity or a care in the world.
The comical blonde ears drooped. The tail sank down between a pair of curly haired legs. James looked like a scolded DOG. It finally back to him what the goth lady said during his minutes in the tent, and the kooky book she was reading. It was a book about animal magic. Not monster magic or mythical magic or fantasy magic. ANIMAL magic. She probably couldn't turn him into a were-anything to save her life! No, she meant to turn James into an ANIMAL, and not even a wolf but a DOG. If he didn't find her, he'd soon be no better than his uncle's work animals or his neighbor's pet!