My Little Loup Garou


(Part 1 from 6. Fiction.)


It was my first visit to New Orleans. I was visiting a couple old friends of mine who had moved there years before. Michael and Justin had been school mates of mine back in high school. They are Gay, as am I. They weren’t exactly “out” back in our high school days but the fact that they were not only Gay but also very much in love with each other was NOT one of the best kept secrets in our school, especially if you happened to be Gay yourself. Even most of the straight kids in our class knew about Michael and Justin. They didn’t intentionally flaunt their sexuality or anything but it would have been hard for the two of them to hide their love if they’d wanted to and they really didn’t want to.

We were fortunate enough to have had a (mostly) pretty tolerant bunch of kids in our school and my friends and how they felt about one another was tolerated if not accepted and rarely talked about. Michael and Justin had never come out to their family and, apparently, neither set of parents had a clue that their son was Gay. Almost immediately after graduation Michael and Justin made a joint decision that it was time for them to come out and openly share their love with the people closest to them. Unfortunately, neither of their parents were even close to tolerant about their sons’ revelation.

Justings mom and dad reacted very badly drove a wedge between them and their son while Michael’s parents went a step further and threw him out of the house, disowning him. When Justings parents refused to take Michael in or let him stay there even temporarily the boys made a pact and disappeared.

I didn’t hear from my friends for a couple years after that until one Christmas when my mother forwarded a Christmas card that they had mailed to my old address (my parents’ house). We communicated pretty regularly by mail for a couple years after that (these were the days before the widespread use of computers and email) and we often talked about me one day visiting them in New Orleans, which was one of the cities I had wanted to see for the longest time even before I learned they had settled there.

Well, eventually I’d saved enough money to take my most eagerly anticipated vacation ever, the first I had ever taken by myself. I stayed in a little hotel not far from the French Quarter. Michael and Justin had offered me their couch to sleep on but it was my first real vacation on my own and I wanted to go whole hog and stay in a hotel, even though seeing my old friends was one of the things on top of my list and I planned on seeing quite a bit of them.

The guys gave me a thorough tour of the French Quarter and took me out to a couple of their favorite restaurants in town that first weekend. I’d expressed an interest in getting around and seeing more than just New Orleans while I was in the area. Michael and Justin both had to work starting Monday but decided they would car pool for a couple days so I could borrow Justin's car for my Louisiana adventure. Knowing my love for Cajun food, the boys suggested a little hole in the wall restaurant that they had discovered quite by accident while taking a drive out in the country one weekend a couple weeks before I’d arrived.

They swore that the food was as good if not better than any Cajun restaurant in New Orleans even if the atmosphere wasn’t quite up to snuff. They dropped Justings car off at my hotel Monday morning and a short time later I was off to explore the Bayous and the small surrounding towns. I enjoyed soaking up as much of the local color as I could absorb and was so busy and occupied with my travels that I hadn’t seven stoppe for lunch. I was really starved by the time I started off down a rather remote road, following the directions the boys had written down for me, ready for a fine Cajun supper.

On the way, I encountered a late afternoon thunderstorm that may have been worse than any I’d ever driven through in my life. When I finally found a place that looked like it might be safe enough to pull over I got off the road and sat out the storm. By the time it was safe to continue driving I started to worry that the restaurant I was looking for would be closed by the time I found my way there; having no idea how late such a little hole in the wall as the guys had described it, might stay open. I found the little town I was looking for and parked in front of the restaurant at about 6:30.

Once I found my way to the town, it was easy to locate the restaurant. They had a gas station, a very small general store, and a police station that along with the restaurant made up what I assumed they probably called downtown . The restaurant didn’t even have a name and there was no sign on the door indicating whether they were open or not, but there was a little bit of light coming from inside and I hoped that I hadn’t missed my opportunity to try their food. I turned the knob, which was unlocked and entered the rather drab looking little building.

There were three booths and two tables. I didn’t see a waitress so I walked up to the counter. They had one of those old bells that you slap to get someone’s attention on the counter top and I gave it a little jab. This young man came out of the back room, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Evening . . . can I help ya?”

I’m not sure which almost made my knees buckle first; the sound of that sexy voice or the incredibly good looks of that hot little stud. I had trouble recognizing the accent for a second but finally realized that it was a mixture of a slight southern accent with a heavy dose of French. I assumed I was talking to a genuine Cajun, which probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise at all considering where I was. I generally dislike using more feminine words like pretty or beautiful to describe an exceptionally good looking male. Those words seem to imply a degree of femininity.

But this kid was BEAUTIFUL! There, I said it, and he gave off not a single effeminate vibe.This stud’s hair was coal black. It wasn’t long but it wasn’t exactly short either. He wore it long enough to appear tousled and unruly; short enough on the sides for his ears to be completely exposed but long enough in the back to extend just below the top of his shirt collar. His hair wasn’t exactly curly. I think wavy would be the best word to describe it, but it didn’t even appear to be wavy on top or on the sides where it seemed shorter; just in the back where it seemed much fuller and curled slightly to the left in some places and to the right in others.

The stud had a beard that totally set off every aspect of his stunning looks to a ‘T’, and I wouldn’t ordinarily consider a beard to be a positive aspect of a guy’s looks most of the time. His mustache was thin. His beard was quite full where it covered his chin, but the patches that covered his cheeks were noticeably less dense (pretty common for a lot of younger guys) before it became fuller again at his very full and longish side burns. Even though it wasn’t as full, the lad’s beard was every bit as coal black as the hair on his head. If it’s possible, his eyes might have been even blacker than his hair.

I’d never seen eyes so dark before, but there was nothing sinister or threatening about those smoldering dark eyes that twinkled brightly even in the dimly lit room. His complexion was a little swarthy. I wasn’t sure what kind of ethnic mixture could produce a man with such stunning good looks. I couldn’t make up my mind if his facial features were European, or possibly Native American. His nose was curved; not at all what I have heard referred to before as an ‘eagle beak’ but a gentle slope. It was a very prominent feature of his very handsome face; not that it was large, maybe just a little larger than the average nose.

I thought of his nose as kind of ‘noble’ or ‘aristocratic’ and it was the one feature of his great looks that made me think he might have some Latin American or Native American ancestry in his blood. If there was a facial feature that might have been even more prominent than his sexy nose it would have had to have been his high cheek bones. High cheek bones are a facial feature that I tend to like a great deal in a really hot looking stud and this kid probably possessed some of the greatest high cheekbones I’ve ever seen on a dude. At times and from certain angles, it almost looked as if they were very slightly swollen and a little more red than the rest of his handsome face, almost as if someone had hit him on both sides of his face.

That’s probably a very poor and misleading description of such a remarkable physical trait but it’s what I actually thought as I stood there getting turned on by how spectacular they looked and really had me almost drooling over this sexy young stud. Landry's upper lip was kind of thin and dominated by that thin, dark mustache. His lower lip was much more plump and full. But what really dominated his mouth was a set of the whitest teeth I've ever seen. They were dazzling and Lan displayed them often with those big toothy grins that he showed me so often.

He was dressed in white, all white, which seemed to really set off his dark hair and eyes and swarthy complexion. He was a skinny young man, probably close to my age, somewhere in his early twenties. On second thought, the word “skinny” doesn’t seem appropriate; hardly accurate. Slender probably suits him better. I’m not sure that I should call him a “little” stud, but right or wrong, that’s how I thought of him. He was probably only about 3 inches shorter than me, so let’s call him about 5’8”. The short sleeved, white T-shirt left little to the imagination about his torso. His arms were long and thin.

They didn’t show a lot of muscle or definition, but I somehow sensed that their appearance belied a considerable strength that might surprise anyone who dared underestimate this guy. One thing that was a bit unusual and I didn’t notice this until a little later, was that his triceps appeared to be noticeably more well developed than his biceps. I don’t think I’d ever noticed something like that before, and wondered what might account for that. Despite it seeming a bit unusual, it wasn’t a bad look at all and I found myself more and more attracted to that little ‘oddity’ as time went on.

His shoulders were relatively wide, but that might have been a little deceptive. I don’t think they were quite as wide as they appeared but they were definitely a little out of context with the fairly flat, not well developed chest and the very narrow waist. The lad’s clothes may have technically been white, but they showed the effects of a long day of hard and dirty work. The restaurant was not air conditioned and was cooled only by several ceiling fans. The young man’s dirty, greasy shirt clung to his body. The warm air in the restaurant combined with the day’s hard work had produced a considerable amount of sweat that had dampened the T-shirt.

That sweaty shirt did little to hide the tiny and surprisingly hard looking nipples that strained against the tight fitting material. Surprisingly, the young man was not wearing an apron. The white trousers (denim jeans) clung tightly to the restaurant employee, not so much because they were probably as sweaty as the T-shirt and covered with even more grease than the white shirt but because they were form fitting, tight jeans as was the style in them days. The credit for that fit should probably go to the form that they were fitting to rather than the size or cut of the jeans.

A lot of other guys that wore those same jeans wouldn’t have done them justice without his delicious bubble butt which stretched them pretty tight in back and the very well packed crotch. What I found terribly interesting was a fairly small spot in the front of his jeans that was particularly soaked through with grease to the point that the jeans had become almost translucent. You didn’t have to look very long or hard to see that the spot happened to be right where the head of this studs cock rested beneath the stained material. It’s not like you could see every little detail as if the kid was standing there buck naked or anything, but there was no doubt whatsoever where the head of his cock was. I was mesmerized by that intoxicating view and hoped that I hadn’t been too transfixed by the sight and failed to be somewhat discreet about my gawking.

“Are you still open?” I asked.

“Well . . . yes and no”, he answered with a grin. “The owner, who doubles as the cook, left 'bout 15 minutes ago. I always stay to get the place cleaned up and don’t bother to lock the front door til I leave. We still got some food back in the kitchen. Remy lets me take home any leftover food I want when I leave. It’s one of the few fringe benefits of this job”, he chuckled. “It’s still pretty warm and I ain't packed it up for the trip home yet. You’re welcome to it if ya want”.

“Do you have a menu?” I asked.

He laughed again, “Nope . . . we don’t have any set menu here. Remy just cooks up whatever he feels like every day; usually about three different things with some side dishes, so the menu for the day just depends on what Remy felt like making that morning. Ol’ Remy’s a pretty good cook though”.

“Yeah, I heard the food is really good here”, I explained, That’s why I drove all the way out here from New Orleans”.

“Oh, you’re from Nawlins? I knew ya wasn't from 'round here. I know everybody for miles around and we don’t get many visitors from outside the area”.

“Actually, I’m on vacation from the Midwest; visiting some friends who live in New Orleans now. They were the ones who suggested I try this place for some of the best Cajun food around. They assured me it’s as good if not better than any of the fancy restaurants in New Orleans”.


“Well, I don’t know if I can say that or not. I don’t get over to Nawlins very often, and when I do I don’t spend my money in those fanciful restaurants. If you’re partial to something with a little more “home cooking” kind a taste and don’t mind eating in a bit of a dump, I guess Remy’s cooking aingt half bad. What d’ya have?” he asked.

“What would you recommend?” I countered.

“How spicy ya like your food?” he asked.

“The spicier the better”, I crowed.

“Hmmmm . . . ya like spicy, huh?” he grinned. "Let me fix you up a plate with a bit a everything I can find back there in the kitchen and we’ll see what ya like best. How’s that sound?”

“Awesome”.

“Why don’t ya grab yourself a seat in one a the booths over there while I get your food. You’ll find it more comfortable than sittin' here at the counter”.

“Oh?” I said, hoping he didn’t notice how disappointed my response sounded as much as I recognized that in the sound of my own voice. “I thought I’d just sit here and we can keep each other company while you finish cleaning up, since there’s no one here but the two of us”.

The young stud paused and looked at me kind of funny. I realized that I might have sounded a little more forward than I would have intentionally been with a good looking young stranger and I was wondering if that’s what made this guy hesitate and give me the once over as he contemplated what to say and do next.

“Suit yourself”, he shrugged. “Ya know what . . . if ya want a little company, I’ll bring out your food and sit across from ya in the booth. I was just 'bout finished and would a been putting the food in containers to take home 'bout the time you came in. I can’t go nowhere til you’re finished eatin' anyway, so I just as well sit at your table and we can talk and keep each other company”.

The food really was pretty darned good. Don’t ask me to compare it to other good Cajun food I have had. I don’t think I could be fair or totally objective. It probably would have been even better if it was hotter rather than barely lukewarm as it was. I also have to admit that I was a little distracted by the company as I sat directly across the booth from the young restaurant worker. His smoldering good looks made it hard to concentrate on anything else and I had to make a conscious effort to not stare too indiscreetly.

I took my time eating my meal. The young man (his name was Landry) made small talk about all sorts of things as he watched me eat and sought my critique of everything on the plate he had brought me.

“What do I owe you? I asked when I had finished everything on the plate in front of me.

“Ahhh . . . nothing” he smiled. “It’s just leftovers I was taking home anyway and I’d throw half of 'em out anyway cuz I get to bring new stuff home every night. You drove a long way to get here, so let’s just say it’s on the house and chalk it up to “southern hospitality”.

“Wow! I certainly appreciate that, Landry . . .”

“Do me a favor . . . call me Lan”, he interrupted. “I don’t have lots a close friends, living out in the bayou like I do and all, but those I do have call me Lan”.

“Well, I appreciate that, Lan”, I smiled broadly, “at least let me leave you a tip for the best service I’ve ever had in any restaurant”.

I pulled a twenty out of my wallet. It was the smallest bill I had.

“Oh WOW!” Lan exclaimed as his eyes lit up, “I can’t change that. Ol’ Remy took all the money when he left and I only made a couple dollars in tips today”.

“I don’t need any change”, I grinned. I expected to pay at least that much for a meal and a tip anyway, so let’s just say it’s all yours and well deserved for sharing your leftovers with me”, I laughed.

“Thank ya”, Landry gushed. “Tell you what . . . for a tip like this, the least I can do is give ya a drink. We don’t serve no alcohol here, but I got some back at the house if ya wanna come by and have one for the road. Tell me”, he hesitated, "how well you know your way back to Nawlins?”

“Well, not that well, actually”, I admitted. "You don’t have many road signs around these parts and I’m hoping I can remember some of the key landmarks I made mental notes of on my way down here”.

“Dang”, Landry exclaimed. “I’m afraid it’s gonna be hard to find those landmarks a yours in the dark, and it’s really dark on most of the roads between here and Nawlins. We don’t have no more street lights than we got road signs, and the last thing ya want is to get lost at night in these bayous. Some a these boys 'round here don’t take too kindly to strangers. “Tell ya what”, Landry offered, “come on by for that drink and if you’re not in any big hurry to get back to Nawlins tonight, I’ll put ya up and you can get a fresh start in the mornin' when it's a lot safer”.

The thought of possibly getting lost out here was a little unsettling and I could think of worse things than going home with Lan for a drink. I accepted his invitation.

So, I helped Landry gather up what was left of his leftovers and we locked up the restaurant. He suggested that I lock up my car and leave it parked at the restaurant and ride home with him. I agreed. We stopped by the sheriff’s office on the way out of town and Landry told him that we were leaving my car at the restaurant over night and asked him to keep an eye on it and not tow it because it was a strange vehicle that he didn’t recognize. I thought the deputy gave us a knowing look, but he agreed and wished us a good night.

The ride to Landry’s place was nerve racking to say the least. No, nerve racking doesn’t cut it; that ride was downright scary! If it was just the ride itself on what I’ll loosely refer to as roads; roads that I couldn’t even see in front of us nine times out of ten, that would have been nerve racking. If it was the way that Landry was driving on those roads, much too fast with sudden sharp twists and turns, with unseen limbs and who knows what else appearing out of the eerie darkness to slap against my window or the windshield in front of us, that would have been nerve racking.

If it was just the way the spinning tires would throw gravel in our wake, gravel that flew against obstacles and made unexpected noises that was startling to say the least, or the invisible, deep puddles of water that dramatically slowed our forward progress and sent waves of water splashing up on both sides of the car and obscuring vision even more than usual as it fell back upon the windshield, that would have been nerve racking. We rode in silence for most of the trip. At first, I suspected that Landry needed to focus his full attention on the unseen road that he must have known by heart to be able to navigate it safely at such speeds.

The darkness that surrounded us was like no darkness I had ever experienced before and that combined with the utter remoteness of the area we were traveling through and into was scary. I liked Landry; I really did. He seemed like a hell of a nice guy, and not just because he was an incredibly sexy looking hunk of man flesh with the most adorable accent that made me hornier than a billy goat; but we had just met and I suddenly realized that I was riding through the Louisiana Bayou to some unknown location with someone I really didn’t know at all and he was driving like a man possessed.

Maybe I’d seen too many horror movies in my day but my imagination started to play nasty little games with my mind. Maybe Landry’s invitation to stop by his place for a drink was exactly what I had taken it to be initially when he invited me; just good old southern hospitality that the south was so well known for. Maybe the subsequent invitation to stay the night at his place was purely innocent and based on a genuine concern for my safety and well-being. But then again, for all I knew, I could be riding with a serial ax murderer. Who knows what kind of demented torture devices he might have ready for me back at his place out in the middle of nowhere where no one would ever hear my screams.

Out in the middle of that Bayou, I could have simply disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again. He could kill me at any second and just dump my lifeless body into some gator infested swamp, leaving no evidence. Hell, all he really had to do was stop the car and force me to get out. I had no idea where we were and probably couldn’t have ever found my way out of that Bayou in broad daylight. In the middle of the night, I’d have never made it back to civilization alive. I was temporarily relieved by the thought that Landry had stopped and talked to the deputy about keeping an eye on my car.

He’d seen us together. He would know if something happened to me and I was never seen again. My car was parked in front of where Landry worked. Surely he couldn’t afford to leave clues like that to my disappearance. Then I remembered that knowing look the deputy gave Landry and I found that troubling. Maybe Landry wasn’t the only one I had to worry about. Just as my sense of panic was about to get the best of me, we came to a screeching halt in the middle of nowhere.

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