There is a paradox to how we think of catboys. On one hand, the catboy is usually conceived entirely in the terms of the sexual, clothed in bondage gear, maid costumes, crop tops, thigh high socks. Posed in ways more closely associated with pin-ups than any other portrayals of "boys". We find him in online hentai, Japanese magazines of ill repute or on the blogs mentally unsound young adult women keep in secret. On the other hand, the catboy is a figure of perpetual innocence. Never older than his early twenties, never marred by the fat or body hair of adulthood. Even if depicted crying, his tears signal only a childhood heading towards its end. He does not exist within the drudgeries of everyday existence but as an elevated being, untouched by reality. But what happens when we do fuck the catboy? When we are confronted with his humanity? Do we still love him once the ears have come off? When he is simply a boy sleeping next to us? What ordinary boy could possibly be anything but tainted in his shadow? Hello. My name is Yun Kouga.
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