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The Awkwardly Erotic Tale of Virgina After Class

“Virgina.. don’t look at me like that”, he said.

“Like what?” I asked, turning my horrible deep amber eyes away and allowing my disgusting, waist length curls to fall lightly across my toad face.

“Like if I left right now, you’d never forgive me.”

I stared at the man before me, tall, broad and brooding, though probably played by an actor who was surprisingly short in real life. Ever since he’d walked into Class that day my life had never been the same. I’d always thought Class was something that had to be suffered through until the day we were old enough for our lives to start away from Class, that I’d never be so bored as when I was stuck in Class just waiting for it to end so I could go to a different Class. But D had changed all that. That day he walked into Class. I was about to ruminate about the Class that D had walked into when, all of a sudden, he stuck a finger in my vagina.

“How, how are you, I’m wearing dungarees,” I moaned.

“Shhhh, Virgina. Tell me what you want.”

“I, I…”

“Shhhh. Talk to me”


“Shhh. Now. Put this on.”

D held out his hand – sticky with my body’s egg whites – and I saw that, once again, he was holding a Top Cat costume. He was shaking slightly, his lips moistening as he looked over my heaving, awful breasts. God, him looking at me was like being plunged into a pit of sex; like I was a penis, and his desire was a vagina, a vagina that I was drenched in. I couldn’t take it any longer, I slipped off my denim straps and heard him growl noisily in appreciation.

“You have beautiful nipples, did anyone ever tell you that, Virgina?”

“No,” I whispered.

“Well you do. They’re like lovely, friendly little eyes, looking at me, telling me to fuck you with their nipple eyes.”

“Oh god, D.”

“Put it on Virgina, put it on and let me look at you.”

Kissing me hard, his mouth over mine like a dog winning some sort of contest with another dog, he pushed me away and thrust the costume into my hands. Shaking, aware of his eyes on me, I stripped the rest of my clothes away and scrambled into the furry onesie, being careful to set the accompanying hat at the jaunty angle TC was notorious for.

“D, I have to know, why this? Why? Don’t I look… I feel like I look-“

He interrupted me with another kiss, this time getting slightly tangled in the whiskers provided.

“Oh God, Virgina, don’t you know? Don’t you know how sexy you are?”

I patted the waistcoat and looked down at my body; soft, slightly matted, with paws where my girlish hands used to be.

“I don’t know, D. I don’t know about any of this. I didn’t know about anything before I met you.”

He laughed throatily with his throat, and pushed me hard against the wall so that I could feel my tail pressing against my back. “My little kitten,” he whispered. “There is so much that I have still to teach you.”

“Please D,” I murmured. “Please take me now, here.”

It was the wrong thing to say. His eyes darkened faster than those swimming pools with urine detecting fluid and he roughly pushed me aside, staring into the middle-distance.

“DAMMIT, Virgina.” He muttered. “You know I can’t. You know I can’t enjoy you like I want to.”

“But why?” I asked, for what felt like the thousandth time, but was actually probably only the fifteenth or sixteenth time, “why can’t you? I want you to, I want you to lose yourself with me. Why can’t you?”

“I CAN’T, IS WHY.” He shouted, beating his fists on a nearby bin lid and then lifting it up and putting it down and banging it around for a bit in a rhythmic, percussive explosion of grief.

I felt my eyes filling with tears, my emotional woman genes had seen to that, and with my remaining woman strength I breathed “You put me in these costumes; Top Cat, Roger Rabbit, Pepe Le Pew – any smallish mammal you can think of, and then don’t even have the decency to… to…”

“Fuck the living shit out of you?” he murmured softly, turning back towards me gently.

I began to weep softly, delicately, the kind of weeping that mostly means girls have won the argument cos no-one can be bothered with this shit, and he gathered me in his arms as if I were an erotic, freshly steaming pile of washing.

“Virgina, you have to see. I want to, by God I do, but… but I have a secret. A horrifying secret that I just cannot tell. I am a danger to you, Virgina. Being around you… it brings out a side to me I never wanted anyone to see.”

“You have to tell me, D.” I sobbed, lifting my paws to his face. “You can’t torture me like this forever, promising me pleasure and then ripping it away.”

I felt him sigh against me, for a moment our two souls found each other and gambolled happily around like those dogs I mentioned in an earlier simile, but I knew that – like all dogs – it wouldn’t last. It never did.

“One day, I will be forced to tell you my secret, Virgina. But by God, not today. I will not endanger you, not while I have strength in my scaly body.”

“Oh D. I… I… wait, what was that last bit?”

But before I could say anything more, he’d turned away, lit up a cigarette, stoked his various scars, gotten a tattoo or something and was generally an absolute bad-ass. “Please,” I whispered as he began walking away from me, “please, just, tell me what to do, D. tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

He stopped, and I watched his shoulders heave up and down as he tried to control his inner mystery brilliant sex torment. He turned back to me, and looked me right in the eyes the way that horses never do. “Get that back to Party Planet by five.” He said. “And for God’s sake, dry clean it first.”

I carefully unzipped myself and stood naked in the street, feeling the winds caress my body and puddles of bits of lager caress my feet. Next time, D. I already ached for a next time for some reason.


About Work In Prowess

Work in Prowess is the ravings of a mad king left to rot in a besieged palace


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