Back when I was studying interior glass design (like how you make those church windows and stuff), most of my schoolmates were a collection of the gayest looking alt girls considerably possible. Like my class year was about 8-12 people (depending on how you count) and in that section there were two that had a mohawk, two that had dreadlocks, and two that had blue hair. Notable mention to the one who was standing firmly in all three categories, having a blue dreadlock mohawk. But anyway I digress.
On my third year there, the new class of students had a girl who looked so wildly out of place there. Dressed all in soft vintage-y pastels with never-been-dyed sandy blonde hair, no piercings save for pearl earrings, no tattoos. Sweet, quiet, so soft-spoken that she was almost inaudible - to the point that we made jokes that we all have to learn sign language because it's the only way she could make herself heard in a rowdy art school classroom. If you've ever been in a zoo that had one of those tropical enclosures with parrots and monkeys all screaming at ear-shattering volumes and tackling each other for shits and giggles, imagine one of those rooms but there's a tiny little big-eyed white-dotted baby fawn sitting shyly in one corner.
Anyway this one time I was out with schoolmates, and she had come along. Having been at the bar for a few drinks, we retired to another classmate's place - she didn't live in the same student housing as I and most of the rest, she had her own apartment and an adorable pink hairless cat who was oddly extroverted and wanted to personally greet and inspect all guests. Didn't like me very much, on account of my hands being cold.
Anyway we sat in the living room - some on the sofa, some on the floor, drinking beers and other such beverages, talking random shit - when I noticed that Little Fawn Girl wasn't there. I knew she didn't smoke so she had definitely not snuck out for a quick one, so I had to go find her. That didn't take long, she was sitting at the hallway by the door, in the dark, with her shoulders hunched up and the hairless cat loudly purring on her lap. She was softly, very softly, petting the cat's smooth leathery skin.
Figuring she wouldn't be here if she'd want to make a scene of all this, I quietly got to her and asked if she's okay. She had tears running down her face and she was shaking, trying to draw a shivery breath to talk, clearly having difficulties to just form a sentence, not to mention also being audible over the loud rumbling engine of Pink Leather Therapy Goblin 3000 on her lap. Eventually, not being able to speak up any better, she leaned in to whisper into my ear.
"It feels just like foreskin", she said, pointedly stroking at the cat. She was drunk and was silently laughing so hard that she was crying, because the cat on her lap had the skin texture identical to that of a cock.
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