“What position can I do you in?” I always start with that question. 

“Doggie,” the cute-as-button couple spits out in unison. 

Big surprise. It's the thirty-fourth doggie-style drawing I’ve done today, and it's only 10:30 am. I mean, it's the state fair, animals everywhere, so I guess it's to be expected. 

She giggles while he paws her, waiting for me to finish. I draw them from the side, like they all want, to see a big dick about to poke her, and tits almost touching the ground. Same old, same old. Now, I love drawing faces. That part I can make unique to them, figuring out what features to exaggerate, and what expressions I imagine them wearing when they fuck. 

I show them the picture. Her tits bounce in excitement while he grabs his small junk with pride. 

“Next!” I holler. 

I lean over my table and peek to the right. Good grief, the line’s almost down to the pig races. 

The day started real slow. I guess peeps didn’t know what to make of me. But after the first couple saw their drawing, word spread faster than the smell of manure around here.

By the way, drawing fucking caricatures at the fair isn’t my life’s goal. I just needed some quick cash to fix the air in my V Bug. You see, from a tiny bean, I wanted to be an artist. Be in galleries. Grammy said I had a knack for seeing beauty in the ugly. Momma and Daddy said I needed to marry a farmer and have a dozen kids. I was embarrassed to tell them boys thought their Kimmi was just the weird girl who liked to draw cats. No one believes I can make it in this great big world as an artist. 

Well, they’re wrong. And I have a tiny house in Windy Hollow to prove it.

Oooo, this couple looks challenging. 

“What position can I do you in?”

They shrug, then she shoves him forward, and he utters, “We’re hoping you could pick one for us.”

Hmmm. This is a first, but I’m flattered. 

I study them. She’s cute like a baby doll: big eyes, tiny nose and lips, pudgy body. I can capture that. But him. Lordy. It's like his face couldn’t make up its mind. One nostril headed east while the other wandered north. Don’t get me started on his lips.  Bless his heart. 

Okay, focus. You can do this. Then, I see it—that eye-catching thing that makes him interestingly beautiful—if I don’t look at the rest of his face. 

They shift their feet a lot while I sketch. She clings to him like a damn cicada. He tries to peek once or twice. 

There was only one way to sketch them. He’s facing forward with his head in her puss. Only his caterpillars, the color of dark roast, topping soulful eyes that make you forget the rest, are visible about her furry patch. I draw one of her hands on her tit and the other tugging at his curly mop of hair. It’s sexy as fuck, if I say so myself. 

I present the portrait to them, and they gasp. Mouths hit the dirt ground, I tell ya. Yay! Happy customers! They scurry away to the fun house to maybe find a dark corner to reenact the picture. 

The next is a guy couple. My fav! I tingle in my lady bits as I draw them while my mind inserts myself as the filling in their manwhich. I hope I’m not drooling this time. 

Okay, so back to my real artwork. I’ve tried selling online. It’s the cheapest way to sell shit, and my paintings are way better than shit, so I should make some good money. PussiesRMe.com gets a lot of clicks, but grumblings follow in the comments section. Mumblings about my name being misleading. Haters gonna hate, I guess. 

I’ve only sold one painting so far. It was to Grammy. I was real impressed she knew how to use the Internet. The optimist in me believes I’m on the verge of greatness. 

Another couple steps up. Aww, they’re real cute. 

“What position can I do you in?” 

“Blow job,” he blurts out. 

I nod, but when his honey looks away at the commotion at the Ferris wheel, he leans in and whispers, "Make her a redhead.” 

That’s funny; his gal’s a blonde, but I don’t question it. Should have. I show them the finished picture, and only one is a happy customer, and that same one soon gets a knee to the nuts. 

It’s awkward, so I look back at my table and fiddle with paper. Suddenly I’m shaded from the hot sun. I look up. 

“Hello. I’m C.J.”

Oooo, ain’t he a tall drink of sweet tea. “Well, hello there, sweetie. What position can I do you in? Since you’re all by your lonesome, a little hand-to-cock combat is about all I can draw.” 

“No,” he says with a little laugh. 

I smile. Then I notice the funnel cake in his hands, powdered sugar piled high over dripping chocolate sauce.

“I just wanted to meet you.” 

Setting the goodie on the table between us, he adds, “For you.”

C.J. had me at hello, but the funnel cake hooked me. 

I invite him behind the table, and we share the sweetness. His thumb wipes some chocolate off my bottom lip while he asks, “So what would you draw for me now?”

That’s easy—no embellishments on this one. Just a guy kissing a girl with powdered sugar on their noses. This says it all. 

And, I guess this boy likes the picture because he follows me back to my tiny house. He loves my cat art and even plays with my kitty before he leaves. 

Y’all, take that last bit however you want. Wink