Shownotes
A trans man encounters a monster in the woods and discovers a unique alternative to HRT.
Today’s story is “The Application of Lycanthropy as a Novel Treatment for Gender Dysphoria” by Chase Anderson, a speculative fiction writer, spreadsheet wrangler, and internet bird. This story can be found in the forthcoming “Dudes Rock,” anthology available soon from Prismatica Press, and you can find more of the author’s stories on his website, chase.xyz.
Read by B. P. Rugger, the ineffable Moo Moon.
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https://thevoice.dog/episode/the-application-of-lycanthropy-as-a-novel-treatment-for-gender-dysphoria-by-chase-anderson
Transcripts
You’re listening to Pride Month on The Voice of Dog.
Speaker:This is Rob MacWolf,
Speaker:your fellow traveler,
Speaker:and Today’s story is
Speaker:“The Application of Lycanthropy
Speaker:as a Novel Treatment for Gender Dysphoria”
Speaker:by Chase Anderson,
Speaker:a speculative fiction writer,
Speaker:spreadsheet wrangler,
Speaker:and internet bird.
Speaker:This story can be found in the forthcoming “Dudes Rock,” anthology
Speaker:available soon from Prismatica Press[b],
Speaker:and you can find more of the author’s stories
Speaker:on his website, chase.
Speaker:chase.xyz. It’s become an inadvertent Pride Month tradition,
Speaker:here at the fireside,
Speaker:to have a werewolf story.
Speaker:In hindsight, this was perhaps inevitable.
Speaker:A werewolf, after all,
Speaker:is an apt metaphor:
Speaker:for being once demonized and now treated with growing if grudging acceptance,
Speaker:for being shapeshifters,
Speaker:for finding strength in eachother,
Speaker:and for turning our curses into our strengths.
Speaker:So perhaps any given group of furry writers,
Speaker:if asked to come up with Pride stories,
Speaker:will inevitably converge on werewolves sooner or later.
Speaker:Read by B. P. Rugger,
Speaker:the ineffable Moo Moon.
Speaker:Please enjoy“The Application of Lycanthropy as a Novel Treatment
Speaker:for Gender Dysphoria”
Speaker:by Chase Anderson
Speaker:It wasn’t the few light beers in my empty stomach that had brought me to the ground,
Speaker:nor the hungry pull of gravity,
Speaker:but the teeth of some thing in my neck:
Speaker:violent, bestial, reeking of wet animal and dirt and blood.
Speaker:It was only after it lumbered off did my consciousness crawl out of the hole it’d been hiding in,
Speaker:blinking and bleary
Speaker:-eyed into a world of pain.
Speaker:Was that a bear? No,
Speaker:they don’t jump like that.
Speaker:Mountain lion? As if knowing the answer would do me any good.
Speaker:The very real possibility that the wrong name,
Speaker:the wrong face would grace my obituary suddenly became my biggest concern.
Speaker:There were people I could call
Speaker:—no, I can’t speak with my throat like this
Speaker:—people I could text that could do something about it.
Speaker:My hands fumbled for my phone, but it wasn’t there.
Speaker:Nor were my clothes.
Speaker:I felt hair, full and thick and way more than T could ever grant.
Speaker:The moving follicles pulled at my skin;
Speaker:it had to be mine.
Speaker:The frank and bewildering sensation snapped my mind back to the present.
Speaker:The night was surprisingly bright,
Speaker:with the full moon’s light penetrating the boughs of the pines to the forest floor.
Speaker:I saw the colors of my shredded clothes, along with the remains of my shoes.
Speaker:The ones that had taken forever to find,
Speaker:professional enough for an adult yet
Speaker:still in the size normally relegated to the children’s section.
Speaker:“Fuck.” The voice was low, a deep growl,
Speaker:and it had come from me.
Speaker:Perhaps this wasn’t the nightmare I thought it was.
Speaker:The scars could add
Speaker:that je ne sais quoi that was the key to passing.
Speaker:A hand went to my throat to assess the damage.
Speaker:Even more hair, and now sharp nails carded through it.
Speaker:I finally looked at my hand and it took several moments for the sight to register.
Speaker:The thick black pads, the shifted joints.
Speaker:The fur. That was a fucking werewolf that mauled me.
Speaker:I was now a fucking werewolf.
Speaker:The ground shot away from me as I clambered to my feet.
Speaker:Paws? It was like standing on a step-stool.
Speaker:“Hey, how’s the weather up there?”
Speaker:Holy fucking shit,
Speaker:this was real. There was a
Speaker:power seeping into my muscles,
Speaker:a burning energy swirled in my core.
Speaker:The sense of everything feeling
Speaker:better, more right.
Speaker:It was like the high from my first T shot,
Speaker:but times a million. A howl erupted from my chest, rattling my throat as my breath
Speaker:burned into song. And then I ran, on all fours,
Speaker:savoring the feeling of my huge weight rolling with every movement,
Speaker:the dirt and twigs and stones beneath my paws giving way.
Speaker:I could tell that,
Speaker:even if I remained still, my body would chew through calories to sustain all this mass and power.
Speaker:That was probably why the hypothetical pack of fourteen werewolves always hung out behind the Waffle House instead of a library.
Speaker:But that would be future me’s problem,
Speaker:along with how I would get home without any clothes,
Speaker:or if I’d now have to block out my calendar every full moon.
Speaker:Or maybe that wasn’t a thing at all.
Speaker:There was no desire to use this power to hurt others,
Speaker:and wasn’t that lycanthropy’s whole deal? ’Roid
Speaker:rage with fangs and fur.
Speaker:That hadn’t happened to me before, either;
Speaker:T mellowed me out, if anything.
Speaker:It cooled my head.
Speaker:You never saw a werewolf wearing one of those yellow
Speaker:“Watch out! I’m nervous” vests.
Speaker:I ran until my muscles burned, and then I ran some more.
Speaker:It wasn’t for nothing;
Speaker:I found a cabin, unoccupied,
Speaker:and I went back for my phone once I “borrowed” some clothes.
Speaker:It wasn’t hard to find the key with my sense of smell,
Speaker:and I couldn’t be naked when I stumbled into the Denny’s the next morning as a measly human.
Speaker:At least they took Apple Pay.
Speaker:After wolfing down
Speaker:(har har) $50 worth of food,
Speaker:I called a Lyft to finally get home.
Speaker:The phone screen was cracked and the back scuffed to shit;
Speaker:it probably looked as bad as I smelled.
Speaker:Even as a shorter,
Speaker:weaker human, I still caught that whiff of dog under the sweat and dirt that clung to my skin and hair.
Speaker:I needed to shower before I collapsed into bed;
Speaker:diner coffee would only keep me awake for so long.
Speaker:My ride arrived and I slid off the bench, sore muscles grumbling in protest.
Speaker:I opened the door and the driver stated my name.
Speaker:“Yup, that’s me.” My voice was lower than before
Speaker:—sore throat from all that howling, probably
Speaker:—but the encounter hadn’t left any scars,
Speaker:which was disappointing.
Speaker:I shuffled into my seat and buckled up,
Speaker:but the driver had yet to move.
Speaker:“Something wrong?”
Speaker:I asked. “You…don’t look like your picture.”
Speaker:“It’s, uh, an old one.” I knew I changed my name on the app, but had I updated the picture?
Speaker:I couldn’t recall.
Speaker:“Yeah, sure.” He didn’t seem convinced, but he began driving anyways.
Speaker:This was “The Application of Lycanthropy as a Novel Treatment for Gender Dysphoria”
Speaker:by Chase Anderson, read for you by B. P. Rugger,
Speaker:the ineffable Moo Moon.
Speaker:You can find more stories on the web at thevoice.dog,
Speaker:or find the show wherever you get
Speaker:your podcasts. Happy Pride,
Speaker:and Thank you for listening
Speaker:to The Voice of Dog.