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incomplete.
    And it was glorious. I saw immediately that half the attendees were no more experienced than I was, making gaffs that embarrassed them and gratified me. I danced with Bear as we had practiced, thinking of myself as Molly, emulating her moves, focusing on making him look good. I drank punch in delicate sips, spilling none. Between dances I sat on the sideline and did not cross my legs.
    Then came the other boys asking me to dance. I tried to demur, but then other girls took Bear onto the floor and I knew that this was a social coup for him I didn’t want to mess up. So we danced with others, and Bear was thrilled, and I was thrilled for him. Meanwhile I focused on not embarrassing him, by being the best dancer I could be, so they would know he had a quality date. It worked; I was amazed to find myself dancing with juniors and even seniors five years older than I. Not bad for a girl of twelve!
    But there were negatives. Some of them danced me into obscure corners and grabbed feels, and I couldn’t stop them without making a scene. I simply took their hands and removed them from my buttocks as if the touches were accidental. It was harder to stop the looks down into my décolletage, or the too-tight embraces, or the rubbing bellies. But I realized that these were problems every girl faced, and consoled myself imagining their chagrin if they realized that they were doing it to a boy.
    It was a relief to get back to Bear, whose hands behaved themselves. We finished out the Prom in excellent style.
    And to my amazement, Mena even got an award for “most appealing visitor,” voted by the boys. I was more of a success than I had realized. I did not care to speculate whether the subtext was “most appealing ass.”
    â€œThanks!” Bear said as we got our ride home.
    â€œThank you for a wonderful evening,” I said graciously, and we both laughed.
    We never spoke of it thereafter, because Mena had officially returned to her town, and Phil had not even been at the Prom. But we remembered our success. I understand that Molly got several requests for the address of her friend Mena, but she refused to tell.
    Next year Molly’s family moved to another state, and she had no choice but to go with them, being only thirteen. I was heartbroken; maybe I was considered too young to be in love, but it certainly felt like it with her. We went on one final date the night before she left, and to hell with being too young; we had one thoroughly adult fling, the first sex for each of us. We exchanged letters for months thereafter, but gradually life got in the way, and we lost touch. But again, we remembered.
    Then Bear made a remarkable contact. “There’s a club for Weres!” he exclaimed. “No listing of members, no ads in the media, but they know who we are. We’re invited to attend.”
    We attended, I then being fifteen and he seventeen. It was like stepping into paradise. Every person there was a Were; we could feel it. There were fourteen, beside ourselves, and all of them sincerely welcomed us. They were from all around, some in town, some thirty miles away: all the known Weres of the region. Maybe only one person in ten thousand was born a Were, but we felt like a community.
    It didn’t take us long to learn the rules of association: don’t inquire about what form of Were a person was, or about his or her Name. These things were kept private partly so that if any hostile force wanted to make a member betray the others, he would be largely unable. Also, there turned out to be other Supernaturals; Weres were merely a subdivision. There were Witches, Demons, Vampires, Incubi/Succubi, Ghosts, and Zombies, each with their own gatherings. The larger class of them was the Supes, for Supernaturals, and just as Weres looked out for Weres, Supes looked out to a lesser extent for Supes. Weres could learn to recognize the other types. All of them were hiding from the naturals,