Beauty and the Beast


Peter tapped his claws annoyedly against the table. The waiter was already giving him scared looks and seemed to refuse to come over. That was why he hated spending time at new places. People always freaked out and stared, like he was some kind of monster. Yes, he didn’t have any cute ears, only human ones - they worked as good as wolf ones, thank you - and he had fangs and sharp claws. He wouldn’t win any prizes with his looks but he wasn’t a killer just because of them, for heaven’s sake. No one seemed to believe him though and Peter had long given up hiding his nature. He was rich, powerful and smart, who needed looks when you had the world at your feet? Well, he, because he was a 37 year old virgin. He was unable to find a partner who didn’t want him for his money and sadly, his nose was too good to even take on any prostitutes because it was way too obvious for him when they didn’t get aroused. 

Even the last three escorts had left after barely two sessions each because he had hated their fake compliments and smiles so damn much. The company had promised to make it up to him and now he was sitting here, waiting for someone they called “the king.”

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Real poetry is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.

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