My thoughts...
Though of course any story is open to a number of interpretations, I thought I'd post my own thoughts on the story and why I wrote it (it was indeed me and not Bill Willingham). To explain a story is to rob it of some of its power, but I thought some of you might be interested in my take. Also, it's one that's near and dear to my heart.
As you may have noticed, the entire story wasn't posted (due to the rules, I assume -- and by all means, go buy the issue to read the whole thing in context). What you missed was the part where Rina (the protagonist) is unintentionally deflowerd by a burglar who enters her house at the time when Rina has been left alone to celebrate her incipient womanhood. The allegory is fairly obvious; Rina's innocence has been violently stripped from her, though partially due to the demands of her own werewolf (for which read: human) instincts. Lycanthropy here, as is usually the case, is symbolic of the animal nature of the unconscious.
The qobusun (which is the Mongolian word for werewolf) here loosely if obviously represent Palestine, and the Sinti (which is an alternate term for "gypsy", by the way) loosely represent the Israelis, as is also fairly obvious, though I chose to place the story in an alternate world for universality's sake. Anyone who reads it is bound to project their own feelings about the Israeli/Palestine conflict into it, and that's fine; what we take away from art always depends in a large degree on what we bring to it.
The narrative, however, has no interest in whether either side is "in the right." I was confused by the accusation of racism; to argue that the intent of the narrative is racist requires the reader to ignore the fact that the main defining characteristic of the Sinti is their rather obvious and banal racism. To me, in fact, the little girl spitting is the most unkindest cut of all, as it shows that she has been taught to hate with as brutal a nonchalance as humanity can muster. We are ALL monsters on the inside; it's just that the Sinti have the luxury of not being forced to externalize it.
Rina, though, expresses no political convictions whatsoever. All she wants is to made whole again, to reconcile the animal with the human and thus regain her purity, which is why the story is called "Maidenhead" and not something else. What Rina discovers, however, is that what she wants is, of course, impossible. Rina was never truly "innocent"; a truth that her mirror, the girl in the shopping mall, demonstrates. And she was never truly defiled, either; that's a condition that is ascribed to her by others -- first by her father, then by the old man, then by her lover -- all to suit their own agendas.
What I'm trying to elucidate in the story is my belief that the loss of innocence is a simply a consequence of living in the world. The rose comes with the thorn built in. To live is to bleed and to draw blood. This is just how life works.
As a side note, "Maidenhead" was inspired by a story I heard on NPR, about a Palestinian girl who had been convinced by her boyfriend to become a suicide bomber, but when it came time to do the deed, found herself unable. I wanted to know more about that girl, and that's where the character of Rina came from.