Drawing Blood

The day was hotter than Matt’s arm pit in mid July. Come to think of it, it was mid July. Matt was drawing, giving birth to a big breasted woman on white drawing paper. He took breaks from crosshatching to scarf down mouthfuls of salt and vinegar chips chased with Pepsi. His room reeked of body odor, masturbation, and the old damp wood of his house that his father had finally given to him. The blinds were pulled down so Matt could sit there at his drafting table and draw in the nude as he always did. It made it easier to reach down and give himself a little wank every now and again when his mind lapsed on something else other than the labia he was now going to work drawing. The name of his fantasy woman was Claudia. She was a combination of a few celebrities and girls he had went to high school with, only the boobs were unrealistically big and the word pouty did little to describe the inflated lips that pooched out ready to take Matt in fully. He sighed.

The clock read 3am. Matt decided to stand up and stretch his legs. His knees popped and his ass ached dully from sitting for so long. He felt sleepy, which was odd because his usual bed time was much later than 3am. He glanced over at his blue bedspread all covered in pizza crumbs and mysterious stains. It seemed to be calling his name. He navigated his bulk around the obstacle course of empty boxes and hentai books. In the darkness of his room he brought his foot down on a crushed soda can. It crunched underfoot and somehow gouged his sole. Matt let out a little yelp and cursed loudly.

The bed’s springs groaned under his weight until finally settling down. Matt expelled a loud burp and rolled partially over to look at the drawings he had tacked up on his wall. All the women were of his creation. Some were fusions of women and girls he had seen in real life or on TV. Most all of the drawings were of women in lewd poses usually holding themselves open with two fingers and staring up and out of the page. No one could deny Matt’s drawing ability. Had his sex drive not been such a volcanic problem, he knew he would have made it through art school. Well, maybe if he could have forced himself to draw something that did have boobs. On that thought, Matt began to jerk off.

Matt fell into a deep sleep while the pool of cum hardened to a scale on his hairy gut. He knew he was asleep but he could feel her hair against his bare chest.

“Claudia,” he murmured, already so hard it hurt. She kissed him on his fat lips and held him close, as though he were the last man in the universe. He felt her sex grind against his cock, and she was sopping wet. He could feel all of it, everything from her nails racking down his back to the way his stomach jiggled like a bowl full of jello as she rode him. Time is not the same in real life as it is in dreams, and although in real life Matt was a virgin who would have came in a matter of seconds, there lasted for hours. Claudia moaned and locked his and her bodies into impossible positions.

When it was over, she lay beside him on his bed. Her impossible lips smiling at him and her long fingers playing around with his chest hair.

“Matt, I want to be real,” she cooed.

“But how? I want that to but how?” Matt’s eyes were wide and glistening with tears ready to flow. The dream was just about over. Claudia was fading out of existence.

“Draw me in blood,” she said, “draw me in virgin’s blood.” The last word echoed as Matt sat up in bed wide awake covered in sweat. He got out of bed and struggled to hold himself up. The room was swaying. He trudged through the clutter on the floor and examined his stinging back in his dresser mirror. Claudia’s fingernail marks were there on his back like four stripes from a bullwhip. Matt did not waste time. He threw open his dresser drawer and rummaged around until he found his fountain pen he used for pen and ink drawings. Deeper down in the junk pile, he found a pocket knife.

For a long time he sat on the stool in front of his drafting table staring at the blade wondering how he should go about it. The fantasy women stared down at him from his walls. The drawings of Claudia stared the hardest. The blade parted the skin of his forearm with ease. The sharp pain excited Matt when mixed in with thoughts of his Claudia. When the wound was weeping red, he sucked up a good amount of blood in his pen and went to work before the blood could congeal. He had to refill his pen three times, but the drawing began to take shape. It was crude but unquestionably her.

Matt finished and looked down at Claudia’s blood face staring up at him. He closed his eyes wondering. He opened them to the sound of paper tearing. A bony hand rose up from the rip in the paper. It had only a little meat hanging from it. The fingers stretched themselves as if for the first time. Another hand arose and Claudia began clawing her way out. Matt pushed backwards with his feet and fell onto the floor. He could not scream. Claudia’s body flopped out of the paper and onto the floor in a bloody heap. She drug herself upon him. He could smell the coppery scent floating off of her skinless, dripping frame. She screamed and so did Matt. Bony fingers tore open his throat. A gaping maw closed over the fresh wound.

The last thing Matt saw before his life ended was Claudia’s beautiful face forming as she sucked him dry.