I’m in love with a big bad wolf.
It’s causing a bit of a fuss,
but when I saw him on Tinder
I knew he was the one;
there was nothing left to discuss.
My brothers told me to dump him,
or they’d jump him.
Send him back up North.
They would get me a man from around here,
one of us; a local lad.
I would get over my wolf,
in the end I would be glad.
Sod that.
He’s my tall dark stranger.
Ripped, great muscle tone.
My Mr Darcy, my Bond,
no baggage, lives alone.
I love that he’s tuned into nature;
addicted to danger.
Likes to live life on the edge
…of a forest.
When I first heard his voice,
a symphony of gravelly tones
all low and wild;
it vibrated right through me,
melted my bones.
I really don’t care
about the comments or warnings.
I like he isn’t your average guy
and I certainly don’t believe he is a serial …dater.
He says we should embrace our uniqueness,
ignore the haters.
This attraction can’t be wrong,
It’s far too strong.
Especially when his big brown eyes
scan my body with desire.
And his guitar-ready nails rake my thighs.
‘I could eat you up’, he sighs.
Well, my back arches, my lips pucker
and I whisper into his elegant ear,
‘Oh! You are a big… bad… wolf.’
I like to run my fingers
through his long auburn tresses.
So what if he occasionally
likes to wear old woman dresses?
His scent is all male
and I’m in the middle
of my own fairy tale.
Oh! what the heck!
He’s my big bad wolf.
Part of The Learned Pig’s Wolf Crossing editorial season, spring/summer 2017.
