Jeremy stood in his room, wearing just his Nike t-shirt, as he clawedopen the package, tossing the wrapper and insert into the garbage andfeeling the tights. "Sure feel wierd", he muttered, sensing the tight,thick weave of lycra and cotton with his fingers. "Oh well, I guess I...I want to make her happy, so..."He gathered them up like Mum said, tugging them up his hairless, skinnylegs to his knees before standing up to streach them the rest of the wayon. He was expecting that irritating, scratchy itch he remembered fromthe last time he wore these dumb things, but such sensations were totallyabsent this time; instead, just... well, a sort of tickly, leg-huggingfeel, but nothing NASTY... Jeremy smiled slightly as he told himself tochill out, looking down at his legs and enjoying this totally newfeeling. He streached up on his toes, tugging up along the fabric all theway up his legs, then pulling the waist half-way up his torso. He smiledmore broadly this time, only feeling the. As we continued to get closer to the campsite, my feelings of danger suddenly began to fall off. What the hell was going on? It was as if we had rode close to danger, but were now leaving it behind.Here we go again. I flagged down John again and told him my suspicions that we had just ridden past one or more werewolves lurking in the underbrush. I proposed to ride back toward where I felt the most danger and make a search for werewolves. The problem was that we would have to do that on foot because the trees were too close together to drive the scooters in there.John agreed to humor me, but insisted that we move far enough apart so that we did not make a target that a werewolf could hit that would knock us both out of the hunt at one time. Our armor should protect us; after all, it did work wonderfully well in protecting me when my ankle was bitten. He was sure that we could take care of one werewolf with no trouble, but we might well find more than one hiding in the brush.I had to.
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