Moaningful Confessions | Hungry like the Wolf

Moaningful Confessions | Hungry like the Wolf

So this one’s a bit of a doozy. I was coming out of a long relationship and looking to get back out there. I had this sort of mutual friend, and I could tell for a while that there were some definite vibes kicking off between us, so one night, on the couch I was squatting on, we got down to it.

I’m not a fan of being a squatter, and those days ended soon after. But I kept things going with this girl, partly because I was enjoying the rebound, and partly because she had a great vape and a bedroom and shower. I was going through my own things, she was going through her own things, it was all very mutual and we understood it wasn’t anything serious.

Which is a good thing. Because some weird stuff started happening pretty quickly. The first incident happened about a week into the fling: we were laying in bed and, with no provocation, she got up, walked to the bathroom, and shaved half her head into an undercut. No real concern from me, I thought it looked good enough, and it was her hair, anyway. It was just weird that she got up, shaved, and came back without saying a word. So that was strange.

The other thing I noticed was the wolves. This girl’s bed was a sort of bunk-bed setup, it had a sort of roof over it and walls, which was cool. But the entire inside of it was covered with pictures of wolves. Again, no worries from me, wolves are cool and all, it was just a lot of wolves. I didn’t notice them at first, but after a little while, they were hard to ignore. It just made the already confusing situation even more confusing. 

But finally, the strangest thing of all came about two weeks in. We were in the wolf den, going at it, as you do, when she locked eyes with me and asked me a question I’ll never forget: “Do you like pretzels?” 

I mean, what? I was stunned. I actually stopped in my tracks. What the fuck? Sure, I guess? Before I knew what to say, she had grabbed both her ankles and pulled her feet up by her head, transforming herself, I guess, into a sort of pretzel. I did not know what to make of this. I think I said, “Uhh, yeah, I do”, and just kept going. But that question has been seared into my mind, and even now, a year later, I cannot see someone grab their ankle without thinking of Pretzel Girl. 

The rest of the affair went by with a similar sense of surrealism. I don’t know when it ended, how it ended, or why it ended, but I do know that my concept of what can and can’t be a pretzel is forever changed. Not in a bad way, mind you, just in a “I can’t eat pretzels without thinking of wolves and sex” kinda way. 

I have a home now, and my own bedroom, which is not decorated with wolves. I have not heard from Pretzel Girl since we last spoke, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s up to. I hope she’s moved past whatever she had going on, and I hope that whoever she ended up with can match the absurdly chaotic – but ultimately quite endearing – vibes that she gave off. 

 

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Have something juicy to tell us? Send your salacious stories to moaningful@critic.co.nz. Submissions remain anonymous. 

This article first appeared in Issue 2, 2022.
Posted 5:31pm Sunday 6th March 2022 by Critic.