Title: The Pathetic Ramblings of a Homosexual Werewolf
Published: 05-05-09, Updated: 12-01-11
Chapters: 49, Words: 168,206

A/N: this was by far my most popular and therefore longest story. In order of my stories it should be read 3rd after Jared and The Sociopath he Imprinted in and Enough with this Gravity Moving Already!

You can read it as a stand alone story but there are lots of characters mostly OC that were introduced in those stories. It revolves around Mark Uley, Sam's son.

For those who are rereading you will find it has been edited. After rereading it all in one shot I thought something's were unnecessary.


[CHORUS] Gentle Reader, herein lines the Bawdy tale of Mark Uley, La Push's first gay werewolf.

Wherein you will find: comical situations, unusual imagery, words that are not actually words, gratuitous vulgarity and profanity, a wide variety of teenage werewolves, as well as odd grammar, family drama, and a fair dash of gay sex. If any of those things offend, please turn back, I mean no harm and wish only to entertain.

That said, it's that's the kind of thing that you think you might enjoy you have happened upon the perfect story.

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Prologue: A Genetic Freak of Nature

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I bet he doesn't even notice how when he smiles one of his eyes—the right—closes into an adorable slit, or how he has one very slight dimple on the same side. He is laughing now, at me, at my terrible video game skills, which have been severely hindered by his presence, although they were never brag-worthy to begin with.

I hate video games, I play them because he wants me to, because I'll pretty much do anything if it means I'm with him. It doesn't bother me when I fail, when I die so often that he laughs, because I love his laugh. When he laughs his ear length, wavy black hair bounces, his bare shoulders rising and falling in a dance.

Oh the things I would do to touch his shoulders, just graze them with my fingertips without repercussions. To kiss the hollow of his collarbone or his defined neck, to have him want me the way I do him.

I'm going to get caught lusting over him, honestly I can't believe I've lasted this long. It's just so fucked, so very, very fucking depraved!

Oh, how wicked is this let me count the ways:

One: He is two years younger than me only fourteen, which in teen years is more like a decade, making me like a pedophile… I'm a sicko.

Two: I've known him my entire life, he's like family—making me not only a pedophile but an incestuous one. I hate myself!

Three: He is in no way even remotely interested in me. Why would he be?

And finally four: He is a he and so am I.

I would love to say I've always known I was gay—that's what all the gays say, "I always knew I was different". It's like it makes them part of some exclusive club of lifelong homos. I would like to say that, maybe it would give me some sort of cred or validation. It would be much easier and PC to explain than how I actually figured it out, but it's not true. I never thought about sex or sexuality before. Why would I? I mean I never had any crushes, I was too busy with books to look at girls or boys. I was fourteen when I knew for sure.

Summer camp. That sounds so dirty and fitting, but it wasn't exactly what you have in mind... well, actually maybe it is. I was 14, young and bright-eyed doing a summer soccer summer camp in Forks so I could join the JV high school team as a Freshman in the fall. His name was Ramiro, seriously, Ramiro. It sounds like a romance novel name so I know you have your doubts, but he was an Argentinean. Young and beautiful, he was an all-star futbol champion who got injured early in his career and was now stuck teaching summer camps and workshops across the world.

Ramiro had the palest skin I've ever seen on a human, with pitch black hair, and the pinkest lips known to man. He was 23, gorgeous and bitter, and I followed him like a lost dog. You would think being as smart as I am that I would have known what it meant but I didn't. I couldn't figure out for the life of me why I hung on his every word, why I dreamt of him. I just needed to, I was drawn to him. I thought it was hero worship, until a fellow camper, unfortunately not Ramiro, kissed me.

I didn't see it coming, I didn't even know his name, but he knew me. He knew something about me that I hadn't figured out yet... he knew I would like the kiss.

It was the most thrilling, liberating and terrifying experience of my life, pushed against a tree while Griffin, as I later learned he was called, forced his tongue in my mouth, chewing on my lip and pressing himself against me.

Ramiro.

I didn't fight, I let Griffin do whatever he wanted. And he wanted a lot.

Ramiro.

I wanted it too, something very strong and caged inside of me was begging for him to touch me.

Ramiro.

It was late. In the forest that we shouldn't have been in, and as he touched me I thought only of Ramiro, imagined his pinks lips on mine, his big white hands on my member, holding it tightly, jerking me erratically.

And that's when I knew I was a genetic freak of nature in more than one way. The son of a werewolf and a homo.