While going to school for graphic design, I was required to take a figure drawing class. My father, of course, was totally against it. “They’re gonna make you draw naked people! I’m not paying for you to go to school and draw men’s weenies, I tell ya what!” I paid for it myself and shortly thereafter arrived at my first day of class, ready to draw some weenies.

The class was packed and there were only a few seats left. I chose one in the back next to a young woman wearing men’s clothes. I sat down and got settled in when she leaned over and said, “I was late too so don’t feel bad.” “Oh good!” I said, “I couldn’t find the room!” She told me her name was “Charlie.” She was a young, heavy-set black girl who liked to wear men’s vintage clothes: pressed slacks and button-up shirts that she tucked in under a dark red sports coat that she wore everyday, even when it was hot. She also wore black wingtip shoes and shaved her eyebrows. Over the next few weeks we became friends, helping each other with our projects and taking breaks together. She was very sweet and talented and seemed exceptionally bright for her age, 15. She was in a bridge program for “gifted” high schoolers that needed a more challenging atmosphere than public high school. She wanted to be a cartoonist. We became pals and things seemed pretty swell.

One day while we were having lunch, she wanted to show me her new drawings. They were ideas she had for a comic book. “Check these out. I think you’ll like them. They’re kinda sexy, but I think they’re cool.” She pulled out a small stack of papers and gave them to me. My sweet, young, gifted friend had drawn pictures of big, black muscular pit bulls with enormous penises. They were very graphic. The dogs looked like they were weightlifters and their dicks were so huge that they curved up over the dog’s head packed full of veins. She even drew the foreskin and little droplets of pre-cum on the tips.
I quietly looked them over, wondering what the hell I was going to say about them. Then she tried to explain, “See, I have this thing for my dog, Charlie Jr. He’s so hot! I know it’s kinda fucked-up, but I totally get off on him. Do you think I’m crazy?”

“No, well, I’m confused. What do you mean you get off on him?”

“Well, I like to let him lick me… down there. He likes it. I also like to jack him off.”
As she told me this I couldn’t help but wonder if my dad had been right. The art world is obsessed with penises, human or otherwise.

“Well,” I said. “I think that’s really strange. I mean, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, I’m flattered that you felt you could trust me with this secret, but I don’t really understand why someone would let a dog lick their privates. I’m just really paranoid about germs.”

“Oh, dogs are very healthy. Did you know their mouths contain a natural antiseptic? I mean, you’re gay; you should be more worried about getting something from guys than from a dog. I’m just saying.”
I nodded my head and gave the drawing back to her. We spent the remaining minutes quietly eating our lunch. Once again I had found myself befriending an odd character that I was going to have to somehow avoid for the next eight weeks when the semester ended.

At home later that evening I got a phone call. It was Charlie. “Hey Kurt. I hope I didn’t freak you out earlier today. I just think you’re cool and I wanted to share with you.” “No problem,” I said. “We’re cool.” I told her that my main issue was germs. And as I elaborated on this I could hear her panting. She was making short, squeaky noises. Then she stared whispering, “Fuck me… fuck my pussy… fuck my pussy… oh! ohhh!.. Did you come?” She asked me. “No!” I said. “Did you just masturbate with your dog over the phone?”

“No. I wanted to jerk off with you.”
“Look, I’m gay. That means I’m not attracted to you or your dog. I don’t know how many different ways I need to explain this to you! Please, just leave me alone, Charlie.”

Then she became angry. “Oh you think you’re so big being a fag and all. You think that’s cool? Fuck you! You’re nothing! You’re a fucking AIDS faggot!”

I just then envisioned her walking into class with a gun and shooting me in front of everyone and then turning the gun on herself after she screamed “I did it for you, Charlie Jr.!” So I tried to appeal to the gifted kid in her. “Come on… I thought you were bigger than this.”

“What did you call me?” she screamed. “You call me a nigger?”
“What? NO! I said…”

“You mother fucker! You’re dead, you butt- fucking AIDS asshole!” She hung up the phone. Now I was scared. I sat up all night wondering what was going to happen in class the next day. I had to go, it was midterms. I finally fell asleep and woke the next day full of dread.

I arrived to class later that day. Charlie was sitting in her usual seat. She didn’t speak to me. After we presented our midterm assignments I got up to go to the bathroom. I returned to find the instructor and a few of the students gathered around my desk. The instructor saw me walk in and held up one of Charlie’s X-rated pit bull illustrations. “What’s the meaning of this?” He was mad as hell and Charlie had her face in her hands sobbing. “He made me look at them. He made me!” She had put her drawings on my desk and told the instructor I drew them and made her look at them. Everyone was looking at me like I was Jeffery Dahlmer. All I could come up with was, “Those aren’t mine. They’re hers! She’s the one making me look at them!” She started crying louder… “He made me jack off his dog!” The students howled. My only option was to calmly gather my things and leave with echoes of “Dude, what the fuck?” and “Sick!” I felt like I was going to throw up.

I walked out to my car, sick to my stomach and feeling the need to go home and take a long hot shower. As I got closer to my car, I saw that there was a note under the windshield wiper. I prayed it was ticket and not a note from Charlie. Of course, it was a note from her and, after having read it, I strangely felt a little better. It read: “All you had to do was fuck me.”