I broke up with Buck. It's hard to explain why I did it, and I could tell by the look on his face that he was more confused than I was, but the fact remains that it happened and it's over. He's far too good a man to love someone like me. I could see it in his eyes, not only on the night we broke up but every time I'd worry, every time I'd fall apart. He had this confused, pensive expression, like he never knew why I worried and I couldn't stand that. I couldn't stand that he never seemed to grasp what terrified me about our relationship, and how I knew the longer we spent together the more likely I was to derail everything and not only ruin what we had but ruin him as a person. I'm just naturally destructive, like a fire. I needed to burn out somewhere where only I could be hurt.
I'd bolted the camper shell down to the truck and thrown a mattress and blankets in the back, a few weeks worth of canned foods and the usual camping necessities. I was going to the woods, to lose myself for a while. Something in my body was burning, and I wanted to make sure I couldn't consume anyone else in this awful feeling. The radio wasn't even on, I could hear the every creak and groan of the old blue Ranger as we drove off paved road onto dirt. The shakes of the machinery, the rattling of my knick-knacks hanging from the rear view and sitting collecting dust on the dash. I had trinkets from Buck sitting there and half a mind to chuck them out the window. He'd been nothing but nice to me, but I couldn't look at them. Thankfully i'm not a litterer, because I would've missed those things if I didn't have them now.
In the silence of the night, I had nothing but time to think about life and how i'd gotten where I'd gotten. Buck was probably drinking on his porch, preparing his empty cans to set up for target practice once he'd had seven or eight of them. He was someone who just existed in his feelings and accepted his worries, drinking sometimes when he was at his worst but never running from how he felt. I, on the other hand, was not like that at all. I felt like I couldn't barrel fast enough down these old dirt roads, regardless of what could've run in front of me. I wanted to outrun the sounds, the smells, all the sensations around me. I wanted to know what it felt like to be those pilots that break the sound barrier, to have a moment where you escape from the world, soaring far past the smothering reality of the world that occupies every crevice and crack around. I wanted so bad for that old truck to break through to something I'd never had before, to find myself suddenly feeling devoid of life and noise and sensations, to be weightless. I didn't know it then, but I guess I really just wanted to die.
It was more than an hour later when I finally found the old spot. A nice little secluded camping spot dad used to take me to. It wasn't on legal campgrounds, per se, but that made it better. No one really knew about it except for me, dad, and the men and women we'd brought out here on our own seperate excursions into romance. Being alone this time, though, made the place feel empty. It felt like i'd forgotten something, and as I parked the truck I found myself looking around in the colors of the setting sun as I realized I was actually a little scared to be out here all by myself. I wasn't exactly the biggest or bulkiest man, and though I kept a knife on me I didn't really feel cozy. 
The spot was, otherwise, a nice little location though. You parked up on a small hill and walked down through some trees to the creek, where there was a great spot to pitch a tent. The running water sound brought me a little bit of solace, as it seemed to trickle through all those valleys and tunnels in my head that felt otherwise full of overthinking. I figured there was no point in really bothering with the water until the morning, though, since it was getting dark. I was already mentally fatigued, anyway, and I could tell I would fall asleep early once I let myself rest. I hopped out the truck and walked around to the back where I unlocked the camper shell and dropped the truck bed door. The inside looked like I was a doomsday prepper--though with how I tended to handle breakups I guess that wasn't entirely inaccurate. I'd stuffed bookbags with canned goods, spare clothes, and general survival equipment. I'd packed for two, three weeks easily, but now that I was standing out alone in the wilderness I was already telling myself it'd only be two or three days, tops. I've always talked hot shit in my own head, but in reality i'm actually a pretty lonely person, and I could already tell this solitude was going to get to me something fierce. Regardless, though, I was already there, so I had to commit to at least one night. I tugged off my coat and hat and tossed them back in the trunk before going to take a leak before bed. 
I'd expected, in my own anxieties, that I would hear things rustling around in the woods as I faced the tree and unzipped. You know, like how in movies guys always get attacked when they're at their most vulnerable, dick in hand or squatting in the woods just trying to answer nature's call? I was actually pretty surprised to find that, outside of my own noise and the nearby creek, I didn't hear anything. I finished my business and shook it off, stuffing it back in my pants and heading back up to the truck, where I hopped inside and tugged close the door and hatch to the shell, locking it from the inside. I'd made some makeshift "curtains" to tape to the windows of the shell for my own privacy--cut pieces of old window curtains with sticky tack on all four corners--and I hung those up and undressed, cramming all my clothes next to the mattress before pulling my blankets up over myself. 
It was quiet.
It was very quiet. 
It was so quiet that I found myself becoming aware of things I felt unfamiliar with, like my own breathing and the blood pumping in my body. I was aware of my heart beating, and the way my hands sounded as my pawpads ran through my fur and scratched idle itches on myself. I heard how my spit sounded when I swallowed it, and the soft exhale I made out my nose afterward. I swear I could hear myself blinking. All these little sounds became so audible to me, that when I would shift in the bed slightly and make the truck creak it seemed so loud that I was sure I was waking the folks in every neighboring county. Still, for all that I could hear, I never heard footsteps. I never heard rustling outside. No deer, no bears, not even the twig-breaking scurrying of squirrels or birds. I tried not to think about it, but it felt pretty weird. I'd always heard noises out in the woods when I was here, the little critters making their way to and fro around us.
The silence almost began to feel intimidating, after a while. I was agitated by the sound of my own breathing, and I felt like every time i'd find myself nodding off i'd hear my stomach gurgle or the blood pumping in my ears and become distracted by it. I tried to put my head between my two pillows but the slight scratching sound of the cotton crunching around inside them felt just as loud. Everything felt so loud, in the quietest place I'd ever been. I finally sat up and rummaged in my bags for booze, cracking the cap on some cheap whiskey and chugging back a few shots worth before wiping my mouth and tucking it away again. That seemed to do the trick, because I don't remember much after that. 
I awoke in the morning to the same silence, the same creek, and my eyes blinking tiredly as the sunlight was filtered through cheap makeshift curtains. I was on my back, my arms above my head, wrists bent awkwardly against the back wall of the truck bed. I had to piss again. I'd rub my eyes and force myself to sit up, somewhat proud that I'd actually made it through the night and not scared myself into going to a hotel or something.
I peeped out the window first before unlocking the shell and door, opening them up and exposing myself to the chilly morning air. I was already a thin guy, but I was also butt-ass naked under my blankets. I went to pull on a shirt before pausing, contemplating before deciding that, no, I should do this naked. Why not? I'm a single man, free, out in the wild. There's no one out here but me and nature, and nature doesn't wear clothes. I tugged off my blankets and slid off the bed of the truck, arching into a full-body stretch and yawning out the leftover sleepiness as I rolled my arms a few times, bringing them to life. My dick was fully erect from having been asleep, jutting out between my legs, and I felt strangely proud of that. I went back to the same tree I had last night, deciding that would be my territory while I was there, and I pissed again once the cold air got the blood in my dick to relax. 
After that, though, the day was ahead of me. What was I going to do? Truth be told, when I'd planned to disappear like this I'd had all these impulse thoughts running in my head. I imagined myself lost in thought, staring at the stars, drinking, "finding myself" as they say. I imagined disappearing to the woods would involve some magical self-discovery that would fix my relationship issues and make me into something actually lovable, but instead I was just standing cold and unsure of what to do with myself, somewhat aroused but not wanting to burn out my libidinal energy jacking off first thing in the morning. I didn't bring any fishing or hunting supplies, I didn't bring any hiking gear, and I'd brought some books but I didn't feel at all like reading. I had a gnawing to do something that felt productive, like something that would better me as a person while I was out here. I decided to dress myself and climb a tree, for starters, to see if I could spot anything interesting around me. 
This took some finangling, but after I climbed on the roof of the truck I could actually get to a halfway decent height in one of the near trees, only to find it produced very little of interest. I could see the road I traveled down to get where I was, and I could see more trees. That was about it. I'm sure if i'd climbed higher, I could've seen more, but the last thing I wanted to do was get myself stuck in a tree in the middle of the woods when I was mad at my ex and have it get around town that the fire department had to come get me down. I scaled my way back down and found myself, less than an hour later, bored. I didn't want to go home, but I was very bored. I wasn't "losing myself" to the wilderness like I'd wanted, and I hadn't prepared enough to have done anything useful. All of this was only hurting my already damaged sense of self, too, as I already felt like a burden to those around me. I'd thrown myself into the chance for adventure and growth only to be overcome with the urge to drink and jack off and lay around all day, which is just what I did back home. I came out here trying to conquer that.
Eventually i'd pack up a few necessities and go for a walk, but I found myself not wanting to orbit too far from the truck and risk getting lost. Every opportunity I had to push myself was met with apprehension, and I was very aware of it. I finally decided to head back to the truck early afternoon and have a few day drinks, hoping drinking enough to loosen up but not get drunk would offer me some courage to push my boundaries a bit. It did, thankfully, and I actually went on a halfway decent hike away from the truck after that. I didn't find anything too exciting, a few pretty mushrooms and flowers, a feral's skull with some meat left on it, but nothing much else. Around the evening I went back to the truck and had dinner, had a few more drinks, and went for a splash in the creek before toweling off and staying nude for the rest of the evening. I was really growing to like that, at least, as I'd never been someone who was naked at home. The woods felt different, though, like it was encouraged. Clothes felt stuffier out in the wilderness than they did in my own bedroom, and I spent a little bit of time laying in the grass spread eagle and letting the setting sun stare at my body on display. I rather liked that, at least.
By sunset, I'd gotten myself drunk, though thankfully only somewhat. I finished off the night by marking my tree again, having a smoke, and sitting on the truck bed with my legs hanging over the edge, staring out into the darkness while the cherry on my cigarette burned it's way slowly downward. I was aroused again, and this time I decided to tend to it. I stared out into the void, imagining someone or something attractive watching me, a voyeur in the night that could see me though I couldn't see him. As I masturbated I imagined being stared at, admired, like art. Whatever was out there was salivating over me, wanting me desperately and all it could do was watch with a sickening desire, far too fearful of who I could be to risk pursuing me. I found myself breathing hard, heavy, incredibly aroused to have just been jerking myself off, and dripping in a way unusual for me. Don't get me wrong, I'm a virile male, but I'm not an alpha by any means. Still, in this moment, I fantasized that I was, and that something was out there desiring me. The cherry on my cigarette had already burned out and I was staring into the pitch black, not even able to see my own hand on my dick or how potent my climax was. I felt it, though, and I heard it, splattering the grass and leaves below as my chest heaved. It was incredible, and I felt so dominant marking more of my territory in that way, alone in this wild darkness, unafraid for only a few minutes.
That was, until the climax subsided, and I got spooked by the dark. I'd use my phone's light to guide myself as I locked myself up in the truck for the night again, bundling up and heading to bed. Confidence wears off pretty quickly after orgasm, it seemed. Between the liquor and the pleasure, I fell asleep much faster that night, and I slept for what felt like ages. I awoke groggy, somewhere around noon, and stared at the roof of the camper shell for a few minutes while I thought about last night. I never knew how exhilarating it was to imagine being watched. I'm not sexually conservative by any means, but I was never any sort of exhibitionist before I went to the woods. But, after that night, I couldn't get enough of the thrill of being on display. I wanted someone or something to see me, to be watching me from behind a tree, licking their chops like the wolf of the woods as I went about my day exposed. I didn't wear clothes at all that day, and my entire body felt bristling with excitement. Everything that brushed against my bare fur send shivers down my spine. I climbed the same tree and went for the same walk that I had the day before, and yet it all felt so much more intense. 
That night, I did it again. I sat on the door of the truck bed pleasuring myself, staring out voraciously into the total darkness around me, listening for noise. I started speaking to it, almost taunting it to look at me. My eyes were glaring out into the wilderness with what felt like some sort of hope I'd actually see something. My mouth was open, and I kept calling out lustfully to the darkness.
"Look at me."
"Come get it."
"Come get me."
Drool was running down my tongue and falling from my mouth, like a wild animal hungry for food right before it's eyes, I stared into the darkness imagining every concept I desired watching me from behind trees, belly-down on the ground, hell maybe even standing right before me in the empty dark. I got cocky, taking my phone and flashing the screen out into the dark for split seconds and trying to imagine the glimpses I got of the empty woods contained silhouettes and shapes of something alive and organic, staring at me while I bared myself for it. I was an animal, and I wanted something stronger than me to capture me like nature intended. I did this every night for the next few nights, and the climaxes only seemed to get more intense the more I pushed myself, the more I allowed myself to surrender to the empty black of the woods.
On the sixth or seventh night, I went a bit farther. Instead of sitting on the truck bed, I walked out a bit into the woods and sat on the ground, letting the cold forest floor touch my bare body and cushion me in the discomfort of twigs and rocks. I found a tree to lean against and reclined, splaying my legs and beginning the ritual as I had been doing for the past week. I wanted to be away from my sense of safety, to know that my back was against a wall with nowhere to go if I saw something terrible in the light of the phone screen. I kept the flashes short, just long enough to give me glimpses but not enough to let me discern what I saw. I figured, if there WAS truly something out there, then it was my fate to let it do to me what it saw fit. If I was to be bred or consumed, so be it. Otherwise, it was my domain on which to display myself, my territory. Left hand between my legs, right hand on my phone, I braced myself against the tree and went about it as I had been doing for days now. I saw nothing, but I told myself I saw something. I called out to it, commanding it to "look at me" as I'd been doing all the nights before, yet my voice was more commanding this time, out in the wilderness. I was less requesting to be seen, and more demanding. 
"LOOK AT ME" i snarled with spit in my maw, my muzzle scrunched up and showing my teeth, drunken and aroused and touch-starved. I was begging to be devoured at this point, cursing out into the woods for something to take control of me and release me from this endless cycle of immodesty. The climaxes were mindbreaking, but none of them satisfied me to the extent I wanted. They left me howling out to the empty uncaring void of the forest, only for it to echo back to me like a mockingbird, so cold. I wanted to see eyes looking back at me, I wanted hands on me, I wanted the gravity of life on me, without it I felt as if I couldn't ground myself. I wanted for the wild to overcome me, I wanted to flash my phone screen and have the light reflect off an open maw, or a towering beast standing before me.
That was when I finally heard something. A quiet thumping, just across the creek, several quick short sounds of impact in the debris of the forest floor. My hand froze, my body stopped breathing for a moment. My arrogance was gone, and I realized the next flash of my light would surely show me something. That drooling arousal I had was suddenly frozen, still very much present but terrified to proceed, but I knew at some point I needed to do something. I either needed to get up and run to the truck, or finish what I started, but I couldn't just sit there wondering all night. I finally flashed the light, but couldn't see anything, so I flipped the phone around and turned on its actual flashlight, squinting and staring into the dark until I finally saw it.
There, just across the creek, was the skull I'd seen on the second day. It was sitting there in the dirt, facing me. But that didn't make sense. It wasn't at the top of any hill when I found it, so even a passing animal couldn't have casually bumped into it and caused it to roll. It had to have been picked up and moved, or thrown, and as that realization sank in I find myself rising with my back against the tree still, making a sudden dash for the truck and diving inside, locking myself up in safety before allowing the terror to be breathed out of my body. My heart was pounding, my eyes were wide with fear. Something had actually been out there, and it could've been out there the entire time. That was supposed to have aroused me, but I now hid in the safety of my truck realizing how terrifying it truly was to be seen.
Needless to say I never climaxed that night, nor did I sleep very well. The next morning, I was fatigued, and I laid in bed for quite some time honestly contemplating if I just wanted to go home at that point. I felt like I'd gotten very weird out here, and that thrilling ritual I'd had for the past week suddenly felt awkward and hedonistic of me. The scare from the night before had instilled some sort of uneasiness in my gut that told me I was letting myself get a little too wild out in the woods, and I needed to prepare to go back, to society, to normalcy. Still, I thought, I'll give it another day or two, or maybe make it to exactly two weeks. I got up and had breakfast, did my stretches, and after clarity settled in I decided to make my way across the creek to see if the skull was still there.
Much to my dismay, it was. It was laying upright, facing directly toward the tree I was sitting against the night before. It was also a lot more grisly than I remembered it being on the second day. It was a rather fresh skull, with a moderate amount of meat still on it. The eyes were gone, but the tongue and throat were still present, as was a lot of the meat behind the head and on the snout. It looked like maybe it had been picked at by birds, but nothing larger had gotten to it yet, and they'd certainly not gotten their fill. It was some sort of canine, definitely a true feral, though. I turned it over with my foot a few times and found it devoid of bugs, which was particularly strange to me as it had been sitting in the same spot the entire night. Why was it not crawling with ants? I didn't want to think too deeply about it. 
Still, I couldn't figure out how it had gotten down to that spot. I wandered to where I remembered seeing it the first time, and that involved going up a hill and back down the other side. There was even a bare spot in the dirt where it had been laying the first time. Something had to have picked it up, and yet had done so without making a single sound. The thought gave me chills.
After that, I decided that day would be my last day in the woods, and thus I decided to celebrate the end of my journey into the wild by getting exceptionally drunk. You can't legally travel with open liquor containers, anyway, so that was my excuse. I spent the day drinking and found myself, that night, more intoxicated than I'd been in a long time. Entirely too intoxicated to have been naked and alone in the woods. I stumbled around out in the woods for a while as the sun was setting, enjoying myself and playing in the water as I'd been doing on days before. As it got dark, though, the urge set in again. One more show, I thought, for the darkness, for whoever rolled that skull down toward me. It's amazing what mistakes you make when your inhibitions are lowered.
A short while later, I was at the waterfront, with my feet in the water and my legs spread apart, waggling my erect dick around as I drunkenly asked the void "y' like that? Y' like watchin' me?"
Drool was formed in the corners of my mouth, and my head swayed around as I started to pleasure myself for the empty dark around me. I'd had entirely too much liquor and I could feel myself climbing, higher and higher, into that intoxicated stupor. I never liked getting that drunk, but sometimes I'd drink so fast that I wouldn't notice myself getting that way, and it would hit all at once. That night was clearly one of those nights. I found myself nodding off at times, forgetting my hand was on my dick and eventually laying down, dozing off for minutes at a time. I'd jolt awake and try to return to the show, but found my head spinning entirely too much to focus. My imagination wasn't cooking up saucy ideas of things staring at me, and as a result I found myself staggering restlessly to my feet, wandering into the water and across the creek, to the other side where the skull was. I wanted to find what had thrown it toward me the night before, and I wandered around the woods calling out for it, holding up my phone and asking it to show itself. I wanted to be touched so badly, even if it killed me. Still, I found myself in that same agonizing silence I'd found myself in every night but the last, calling out for something to see me and have at me but having nothing show itself.
I finally staggered back to the skull, taking my foot and kicking it around as I yelled into the night, cursing it for having made its presence known but refusing to show itself to me. My words were slurred and I felt my vision trailing behind my head as I thrashed about in a savage manner, all the emotions I'd hoped to release out in these woods surfacing with a vicious energy to them. I fell to my knees and pounded the dirt several times with my fists, crying out for whatever had thrown the skull to show itself to me, to do anything. Anything, just don't leave me alone. My hands balled up fistfuls of leaves and dirt, crushing them between my fingers as I fell to my side, beginning to cry. This wasn't at all what I had wanted this escape to be. I hadn't grown as a person, I hadn't healed from anything, I'd just spent the week indulging in the same things I indulged at home, having wasted time and scared myself out in the woods for nothing. Something was there, something HAD to have been there, but it wasn't revealing itself. Why not?
I stayed in this sorry state for a while before finally groping around for my phone in the dark, finding it and flashing the light once more. There was the emptiness, as it always had been, and there was the skull, facing me once more. I crawled toward it and looked down at it now, sitting on my knees before the thing as I took it in my hands, palpating the meat and bone and the way they were still connected. It was cold, and slimy, and as my fingers prodded around it in the dark I found that it was still surprisingly wet to have been laying in the woods for at least a week. My hands groped at the residual muscle and meat behind the skull before moving up the jaw, and opening its mouth. The teeth were all still there, as was the tongue and the palate of the upper jaw. It even made a slight sloppy sound as the tongue flopped from one side to the other as I inspected it. I didn't feel like I was holding a mostly decayed skull, I felt like I was holding a freshly severed head, and that feeling upset my stomach.
"Why did you show me this?" I asked the emptiness as I continued to turn it in my hands, getting them slimy with the grease that seemed to stick to it. I'd hold it upright and the jaw would fall open somewhat, the tongue hanging out, and I could hear more soft wet sounds of the mouth as I continued to inspect it in the pitch black. My index and middle fingers would slide into the maw, cold, moist, and dead. They squished down the tongue as they met the back of the mouth, pushing onward past the uvula and eventually emerging past the back exit of the severed throat. I retracted them to find them slathered in slime. How strange it was that it had no eyes. Of all the things I wanted at that moment, I wanted to be seen, and it felt such a symbolic insult that this head lacked the one thing I needed it to have. What I would have given to have those murky, cold blue eyes carcasses tend to have, looking at me, seeing me in the way I so desperately wanted to be seen. Why had I been made aware of this dreadful thing in the middle of pleasuring myself? I squinted as I pondered, and in my drunken stupor I began to form conclusions. Was I offered it? Did the woods give this to me?
"Did you...want to see me use it?" I'd ask no one. I sat it down before me, facing me, with my knees splayed. I took it by the nose and lifted it so that it was essentially looking at me, and I looked back at it. The jaw hung open, as if it was presenting itself to me. I was sweating cold. My sense of ration was gone at this moment, I'd put far too much liquor in me. Rather, I imagined the creature out there in the woods that had been watching me all week, a strange pervert that had thrown the skull at me. He must have had intentions behind it, and though I found myself trembling with nervousness at the prospect of what I was about to do, I found my legs splaying a bit as I leaned my hips forward, using my hands to hold open the skull's jaws. 
Despite all those dwindling inhibitions, I was fully erect, and once I found myself resting my tip on the cold tongue. It was expectedly unresponsive, and I pressed both hands to the cheeks of the head and thrust a few times, finding nothing but uncomfortable teeth and thick oral mucus greeting me, along with the hard palate of the upper jaw. It kinda hurt, and I found little pleasant sensation in it aside from the lifeless soft meat of the tongue. Surely that was not what I was supposed to be doing. I wish I'd thought then that I must have been making a mistake, but instead I assumed I must just be going about it wrong. It was awkward, but I instead turned the head around, holding it facing away from me in my lap. The neck meat was still there. I groped about it until I found the hole of the throat, probing my fingers into it from the back and finding that it was tight, soft, and easily gripped around the invading digits with it's posthumous tightness. My mind drew horrible conclusions as I fumbled my hands around, holding it in position now. I aligned myself, and penetrated. The feeling was cold, miserable, and tight. My expression contorted into one of disgust at first, then pleasure, as the penetration forced the throat to make an awful sucking sound as I fed the entirety of my length into it, penetrating out the other side of the neck against the meat of the tongue and solf palate. I would gently close the mouth with my hands and hold it like a deranged sex toy, proceeding to thrust into it.
I didn't last a minute, probably not even thirty seconds. The sensations were so intense, the throat was so tight and my stomach was turning so much with a sludgy mix of anxiety and excitement that I climaxed rather quickly. I can't lie and say I didn't love the way it felt, but alongside the carnal satisfaction it provided, it also felt so sinister. I'd done some strange and improper things in my life before that, but nothing came close to what I'd just done. I knew that, too, as I sat in the foggy-headed post-climax. Even in my drunken state I immediately began to struggle with that feeling, that rising guilt. My stomach rejected the situation first, and I was barely able to finish climaxing before I had to pull out and turn away to vomit. I retched horribly into the quiet night and felt the skin on my back crawl, my body heaving up the liquor I'd chugged along with dinner, as if it was trying to purge itself of something it knew was stuck inside me now. The sickness left me shivering, sitting on my knees, with my arms guarding my belly a moment later.
Over the next twenty or so minutes I'd sit there and vomit several more times. Every time I felt like I was done, I'd smell it again. The dead odor of the maw was still on me, wafting up into my nose. Finally, I'd ask the emptiness "was that worth it?" before looking around in the dark. I had to grope to find my phone, and I found that awful, meaty skull several times before I would find my device. My morbid curiousity prompted me to shine the phone's flashlight at the skull and I saw it, laying there, upright, drooling that milky white fluid from between it's teeth. The sight was a terrible one to behold, and i'd look away quickly, instead using the light to stagger back to the car. I stopped at the creek to drop to my knees and scrub myself of the smell the best I could, but I felt like no amount of washing rid my fur of the odor of the maw. I dressed myself that night, and locked myself away under the blankets to sleep off the alcohol. Surely, tomorrow I would be able to come to terms with what I'd done.
That night, I was plagued with terrible dreams, but I awoke in the early afternoon just the same. I was hungover and starving, and I struggled myself awake and stepped out of the truck to stretch myself awake and look around. It was a regular day, like they all had been. I decided before I headed home, though, that I should wash up once more in the creek. I hadn't given myself a thorough rinse in a few days, and I especially felt I needed it after last night. Thus, I stripped and left my clothes at the shoreline, scrubbing off in the water for a while. Eventually, I decided to position myself right at the water's edge, lying down with my upper half out on the sand, just letting the creek flow over my waist and legs for a while. It felt pleasant, like it was carrying away my sins and all my worries. I must've stayed there for an hour, staring up at the blue sky above the trees, the occasional birds overhead. The warmth of the sun, the ambient noise, the blue sky, they all collectively made it feel like things were going to be okay.
Eventually, I'd head for my clothes, only to find they were gone. This immediately put me off, as there'd been no breeze to blow them around any, and I'd only been ten or fifteen feet away from them this entire time. There was no way something came up behind me and took them, I'd been conscious and awake the entire time. I could see across the creek, though, that my underwear was laying in the dirt. It was unmistakeably that, and I crossed the water not wanting to think too much about it, just wanting to get this over with and go home. As I tugged them on, I realized the skull was gone. I felt an immediate rising panic set in as I looked around for it and saw it was nowhere to be found, suddenly certain some other anthro had come along and found it and was actively collecting my DNA to charge me for crimes against humanity. Someone had seen me, someone must have, and I was doomed to a life of carrying the weight of my carnal sins around. Then I continued thinking, though, that no...it was much more likely an animal finally claimed it and it's myriad of nutrients and was off eating it somewhere. That made more sense, and was more comforting, so I forced myself to accept that as the truth. I still needed my clothes, though.
I scanned the area and saw that, at the top of the hill, my pants were laying there strewn out. I knew there was no logical way these things had gotten there, but I was so sick of the forest at this point that I didn't hesitate to march right up to them and tug them on. I would dust them off of the dirt and debris that had collected on them and look down the hill for my shirt. That was when I saw it, though.
Down the other side of the hill, where the skull had first been when I saw it almost a week ago, was a mass. A large, black mass, lying in the dirt and leaves. It was on it's side, and it looked somewhat like an emaciated bear. I squinted as I stared at it, the mass lying still but definitely alive. It was breathing, I could see that much. I was frozen in a state of something between amazement and terror, and I could see as I stared at it that it's breathing suddenly became short and rapid. It was...sniffing something, and as I watched from the distance I began to see what it was. My shirt was in it's paws, but what was strange is that they looked more like hands. It was holding my shirt in it's hands and sniffing it like a dog would, quick sniffs as it's nose rooted around in the fabric. Amazed as I was, I had less than zero interest in approaching it to get my shirt back, and had already decided to leave it. I took a step backward to return to the truck when it turned to look at me over it's shoulder, a sudden jerk of it's head up and sideways to look directly toward me. I cried out suddenly when I saw it, when I saw it's face.
It's face was bare skull--the skull I'd found days before, the skull I'd fucked last night. It had no eyes, but I could tell by the angle that it was looking directly at me, and that it saw me. There was greasy, stringy hair hanging all over it's face, all down it's back, and as I turned to run away it turned to rise, hands on the ground as it began to stand up. I broke into a sprint immediately, running for the truck, but I barely made it two steps down the hill before I tripped and tumbled, rolling down the incline and spilling in the dirt, dazed and panicking. I heard it's footsteps approaching me quickly, but I also heard something else that made my face feel pale and my stomach feel cold. I heard it's voice. Hard to explain, but chilling. It sounded...like a regular male voice, but artificially pitched down a bit. Not a lot, it wasn't actually that deep, but there was something about it that didn't sound like a natural voice.
"Wait!" it called out, and I was already scrambling to my feet when I heard it ask me again to "please, wait!".
How strange it was that it was pleading me to stay. I didn't listen, though. Instead, I found my footing and broke into a run again, wading into the water and soaking my jeans, causing me to drag and stumble again on the other side. This time I went down a bit harder, stepping on the hem of a pants leg and falling face first, my hands hitting rock and gravel and my nose connecting with them as well. I began to sneeze, and blood ran from my nose and gums as my eyes welled up with tears. I heard the beast's feet splashing as they stepped through the water behind me, and no sooner had I accepted my fate when I felt it over me. It's shadow cast darkness on my body as I sat on my knees, my hands in the gravel as my body trembled, dripping blood from my face as I begged "please don't hurt me". 
The creature moved slowly downward, sinking to take one knee as I felt a hand, long, clawed, heavy, grabbing the back of my head. It grabbed me by the hair and yanked me upward, prompting me to yelp with fear as I closed my eyes. I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to know what death looked like. It clenched my hair and tilted my head up, causing the blood to run down my chin as my trembling body snurled up my lips, showing bloodied teeth as I began to cry, snotting up my snout as well. What a pitiful sight I must've been.
It leaned downward, though, and I could feel it's breath on my neck, then on my face as it scooted itself around. My eyes were still closed, but I could feel that it was facing me now, kneeling. It's breath was puffing directly at me, causing my already closed eyes to scrunch a bit. It's breath stunk, like dirt, like carcass. It smelled exactly as the skull did when I found it, and when I'd fornicated with it. Now, here it was, breathing on me, leaning in close. I felt it's tongue, long, heavy, thick, lapping over my face. It was like a giraffe's tongue, slightly pointed at the tip, and I could feel it prod at my nostrils after licking my snout of blood, lapping up the free-flowing crimson from my face. Then, I felt it force apart my lips, thrust itself between my cheeks and clenched teeth, first on the left side and then on the right. It was licking my blood, I was sure of it, and the taste in my mouth made my shoulders lurch several times as I tried not to vomit. It tasted like unseasoned, raw meat and soil, and I had my teeth pressed so firmly together that I imagine I would've broken them before it would've gotten past them. 
It repeated this process several times, licking my snout before probing my jaws, and then let go of my head, causing me to collapse into a trembling mess before it. I had my arms crossed at my chest, bent downward, my elbows dug into my knees and my head pointed downward as I begged it again to please spare me, to please not hurt me. How this could even be happening was beyond me, but even worse to be happening in broad daylight, in the sunlight. I knew I wasn't dreaming. I could feel my heartbeat in my nose where it was still bleeding, and as I begged for mercy it would interrupt me. 
"Don't be afraid". A lot of good that did. I only proceeded to tremble more, not only terrified now but confused as well. I heard it's hands pressing on the dirt as it's body shifted, and I would squint an eye open and cut it upward, just able to see it's legs shifting. It was...sitting cross-legged now, with it's hands in it's lap. My shirt was next to it. I tentatively opened my eyes a bit more and allowed my head to lift slightly to witness more of it's body. It was hunched forward, but I could tell it must've been near seven feet tall when it stood. It was thin, a bit ribby, and it's fur was a deep black with an overall dusting of dirty brown and grey, from the earth. It's face, I finally saw again, was not only a skull but was absolutely the skull I'd found. It's ears were towering and thin, and my earlier glances were correct in seeing that it had hair. Greasy, glossy, stringly black hair that covered the entirety of the top it's head and traveled down it's back, becoming a bit of a long ratty mane, not entirely unlike a horse but much longer and rattier. I don't know how to explain it, but I could tell that it was looking at me. 
I lifted my head a bit more, slowly, and it tilted it's head like a curious animal. It's ears flicked about like radar antennae, and I felt a bit at ease with how doglike it seemed to be. It's breathing was slow, clearly relaxed, and it seemed very comfortable sitting close to me.
"Are you not going to hurt me?" I asked, a hand rising to wipe snot and blood off my face, smearing it on my jeans. It's head tilted ever so slightly as I did this, and I could tell it was following my hand.
"No" the creature answered. It's mouth moved as it spoke, and I found it interesting that it was able to produce syllables without lips. I was more than aware that the inside of the mouth was still almost entirely intact, and I assumed that somehow the throat had attached itself to something in the creature's neck when it somehow gained a body, but it still lacked lips. I didn't want to ask too many questions, though. That could've been a sensitive topic.
"What're you doing, then?" I asked, following it with "and what are you?"
"I'm looking at you" it said, following that with "and I am just a creature of the woods".
"Why are you looking at me?" I asked.
"Because I like you" it replied.
"Why?"
"Because you gave me life again".