Magic Pencil: Lola Bunny

A Special Thanks to SacrificAbominat who provided the artwork and inspiration of Lola Bunny for use in this story.

Author's Note: I am recovering from repeated surgeries on both arms to correct a degenerative nerve condition. To write this, I use voice to text software which isn't always accurate. As my recovery will take considerable time, I have decided to continue writing and give my best effort at doing the thing I love. Please, if you spot any typos or grammatical mistakes, consider volunteering as my editor to allow me to write more stories more frequently with better quality.

A Dedication: To my friend Peirs, who has taught me so much about letting my freak flag fly. Thank you for editing brother.

"You dropped something," a voice said from behind me.

"What..."

I wasn't sure if he meant me.

"Your pencil, it looks nice."

It wasn't. I'd bought a set of graphite-colored pencils from Amazon. The corporate-sponsored bullshit cheap knockoff designed for people like me with less money than sense.

Still, they weren't bad pencils.

Plus, I needed the money.

Don't pursue a graphic design degree. Art hasn't been a worthwhile endeavor since the photograph replaced the portrait. During the digital age (and maybe before) animators and other artisans are little more than indentured servants, crushed by the crippling student loan payments necessary to even apply at places like Pixar and Disney.

Despite this, I'm still pursuing a graphic design degree. I've just already settled into a certain state of jaded resignation about future career prospects. It's the kind of field someone enters when a deluge of relatives persistently pesters you about your plans after high school.

I just like to doodle - well a little more than that. Give me any kind of canvas and I'll create the most obscene art imaginable.

Okay - so if I'm being honest, I really got into drawing for the wrong reasons. As a teenager, I drew my own adult entertainment became my way of compensating for my lack of a cell phone. I soon filled up book after sketchbook with "art" I cautiously guarded, filled with various demonstrations of the female form. Sure, there were originals, but my favorites were the Princesses. Zelda, Leia, Belle, Ariel, take your pick. Maybe it was a little perverted; certainly, that sense of violation created some of the thrills I got drawing them.

I put them up on deviantart, reddit, and a few other places. What's the point of creating art without the chance to display it? Then I started getting requests. Like - a lot of requests. And yes, for the weird shit. Most were cheapskates, unwilling to pay to see these freaky ideas realized. But a few - more than you might think - forked over as much as a hundred dollars. I put a system into place, various considerations determine price: characters, full color, and my willingness to never be able to unsee a particular image.

And yeah - there may be a particular cartoon or character that seems off-limits, just not to me. Maybe the 33 other rules that preceded the 34th are about making the internet a better, more wholesome place. But considering the ways for a 20-year-old junior in El Paso make money, I'd much rather be drawing, even if on the vanguard of violating every sacred cow, than flipping burgers or borrowing.

Though it does make it hard to finish up a sketch between class.

Even so, I'd have enough years of practice angling my paper. I'd drawn so many of my teachers topless, on their knees with a couple of dicks in each hand. It has left me with some wiggle room to work in the open.

Absorbed in my work, it's likely I would never notice dropping something.

I absently reach out to take the pencil without really looking at this stranger. As my fingers closed on the pencil, I looked at it for a second. It's way too nice to be mine. It's a dark color, made of some heavy metal, possibly brass. The lead twists out of it, though as I inspect the top, I can't see the way to insert more. I play with it, hesitant to part with the thing. Something about the weight of it feels good in my hand.

"I'm sorry this isn't-"

I look up to see no one around.

There are 25,000 students at the University of Texas in El Paso. At 3 PM, it can make for a crowded campus. Plus, I'm not really what you might call a social butterfly. It's honestly lucky whoever it had caught me without my earbuds, or else I would have never stopped. I briefly think about calling out or posting in a lost and found, and then I remember...

It's just a fucking pencil.

Yeah, it's nice. But really, anyone who spends more than ten bucks on a set of pencils is a sucker. I know there's probably a vibrant and vocal artistic community who consider these fighting words and to them, I say this:

Is the eccentric, emotional, and snobby stereotype of artists really one you want to perpetuate?

I take the bus home, a small two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment I share with my roommate. Peirs is an unabashed Furry, and he's pulled a lot of work my way from their community. Thank God for them. So many fantasies that only art can really represent. I guess I never really got the whole social aspect of it; I mean I get the violation of something sacred. I also understand why anyone would want to grow up to wed Maid Marian. There are some cartoons that are just masterfully done.

In many ways, I'm blessed not only to have a roommate who doesn't care about me leaving out some drawing of an anthropomorphic fox, but to have one who will critique them. I've lost track of the times I've seen Peirs peer out from behind his round-rimmed glasses, twirling his thin Guy Fawkes like goatee as he considers the drawing compared to the specifications from the client. I've made enough mistakes on first goes that I just let Peirs handle the email account, in exchange for pizza and beer.

Besides, some of my more reticent patrons have difficulty articulating what they really want: soft or hardcore, action or artistic, realistic or stylized. Plus, a thousand other things about furries that seem entirely insular and inaccessible to outsiders. In many ways, Peirs is my partner in crime, forwarding me along requests worth together probably nearly a thousand bucks in the past month.

It seems like a lot, I'm sure, until you try to survive on it.

As I walk in, Peirs is at the table eating Ramen in front of his laptop. His hands thud against the computer as he scrolls through some forum.

"Ah, salutations Gerald, and a good day to you sir," He waves from his laptop.

Yeah, he really talks like that, as though filtering British television to procure his favorite phrases. I'm sure some people find it annoying, but I've known Peirs since he was ten. He's just being himself.

Besides, like I'm so fucking cool. I'm tall, gangly, with a nose that's too arched, and eyebrows that make me look like I might be lucky to mate with the Cro-Magnon man. I know I'm probably being harsh, maybe it's from always trying to portray the ideal beauty in my work. It also didn't help that it had been a few years since I'd dated anyone....

Freshman year. My longest relationship. It lasted six weeks...

Ugh.

"It seems you have piqued the interest of another eccentric."

"Is that what we are calling the weird ones?"

"Indubitably," Peirs answered brightly. "They are unsurprisingly sensitive about their weirdness, and it seems that we do owe them certain civility."

"Did they pay?"

"In advance and your premium price!" Peirs said.

"Peirs my friend, put those noodles away. We're getting Papa John's tonight!"

I thought Peirs would cry. The two of us had been living off of instant Ramen and rice for the past two weeks as we worked our way towards making the rent.

"The man also promised that you might enjoy "just the tip" later," Peirs said. "The rare aficionado who truly wants to patron the arts."

"Alright, alright, I'll get started," I said, rummaging through my supplies. "So who's childhood hero am I violating tonight?"

"A classic! Lola Bunny!"

"From Space Jam?"

"The same," Peirs said. "I must say, it's one I'm excited for you to try your hand at."

"So that you can 'try your hand' at it after?"

"Am I so predictable?" Peirs laughed. "

"Okay, I've done worse things to better character. What are we looking at? Something vile right? Gangbang? Tentacle monsters? Does he want me to insert a carrot into every hole?"

"Not quite my friend," Peirs said, his brow furrowing. "He just wants the classic. Full frontal, show everything, as close to the cartoon as possible."

"Sounds simple enough, so what's got you looking consternated?"

"Well, he says to be sure to use your newest pencil. I'm not really sure what that means..."

It took me a second for the meaning to click. I wasn't quite terrified, more unnerved by the intrusion into my private life. In a few minutes, I had filled Peirs on what details I could remember from earlier.

"It appears you have a stalker," Peirs said pensively. "Who wishes to make sure you have adequate art supplies."

"Yeah..." I said, trying to keep my brain from veering off course.

I found myself more worried about my identity than my actual physical safety. I imagined myself applying to someplace like Disney one day, only to have the hiring manager google my name and find my drawing of Princess Jasmine working a vibrator into Ariel.

Peirs could sense I was stuck, so he spelled out for me.

"Well, the way I see it, you have two options. Return the money and take the chance your stalker is not the ax-murdering type. Or do the drawing, then take the chance your stalker is not the ax-murdering type."

"Gee, you make it sound so easy..."

Peirs shrugged.

"You may need to remember my own biases, I both want pizza and to see this drawing."

"Well fuck it... put in the order..."

"Just do remember to use the creepy man's pencil."

"Yeah... what a weird request."

Peirs shrugged.

"I'm sure it's some ancient wizards' pencil, pulled from the Stone of Scone, blessed by a holy Inuit shaman, made from the skull of Atilla-"

"Okay, okay enough!"

*****

We ate, then watched Dr. Who until midnight before I decided to get to work. I'm not above window shopping for ideas, but I already had a good idea for what I was going to create. Hopefully, it would be enough to appease my... you know. Let's call him my secret admirer. It certainly sounds better.

I poured myself into my work, letting the hours slip by as I sketched. By the time I had finished the initial black and white outline, I actually felt pretty proud of myself. A strange emotion given my occupation. I kept going, putting down the "special" pencil to add color.

Lola is bent over, almost as though standing on her hands and feet. She smiles, looking back, presenting her poof ball tail closest to the viewer. From there, I emphasize the part in her twin cheeks, adding enough of a bulge to show a muscular kind of physique without making her manly. She retained her feminine curves with a sporty sort of look.

I didn't actually draw her asshole, leaving that to the imagination. Below her rump, I place the part between her pussy lips. Not open or dripping, delicate, dainty, understated, underneath her perfectly toned buttocks. Sometimes less is more. I've accomplished so much attention to her pussy with just a curved line and the barely off-white change of color from the yellowish tan fur that made up her bottom and back.

I make her underbelly and breasts the same nearly white color. The breasts slope down a little towards her bellybutton (which is obscured by her legs), reacting realistically to gravity. She doesn't have oversized, silicone implants for boobs. These are natural. Though I did make them a little larger than the cartoon. Her nipples stand out as small, pink circles with tiny little nubs for the tips. From how she was standing, the left tit stands out more profoundly, obscuring only partially the view of its twin.

It turned out astonishingly well. Her eyes (always a challenge) came out instantaneously into the smushed ovals from the cartoon. The white scruff around her mouth, the mohawk-like top of her hair that reached up until turning seamlessly into those ponytail ears, it all flowed out from my hand so effortlessly. It was enough to make me think that maybe my admirer had a point about that pencil.

Only there was something about this image.

The way that Lola seemed to be smiling at me, almost as if waiting for me to make a move. I could easily see how from this position a man might place himself between her legs and fuck this gorgeous creature.

I kind of wanted to.

I guess it's important to emphasize that this is not my usual state of mind when working on a commission. Though I usually do draw with just one hand, the amount of focus usually prohibits me from stroking anything but the actual pencil. Not that there hasn't been spillover between my interests and those of my sponsors; but sometimes after the amount of effort it takes to perfect a piece for paying customers, it gets to the point where I'm happy never to see the thing again. Usually, when I finish, I'm beat. If I'm horny, I want to watch something else, anything else than the same image I'd been staring at for the past few hours.

Not tonight...

Looking at Lola, her tits, her pussy, the curve in her ass, I was already uncomfortably hard. My cock constricted against my jeans, slanting off to the side as I gazed longingly at the anthropomorphized cartoon bunny. Only briefly did I consider that there was something wrong with this. Like I said I'm not a furry, but I do live with one who actively and openly shares his interests. I simply resolved never to admit to Peirs that I was going to masturbate to Lola Bunny.

I'd made too many brony jokes in the past. I'd never live this down.

I unzipped my fly, pulling myself out of my pants. I started stroking myself frantically, having ignored an apparently building tension. I worked the skin up my shaft almost as if for the first time, unable to control how hard and faster I was moving toward my climax. A part of my mind jumped to the profane image of my wasting my work in a needless "tribute", my own semen soiling what might have been my best effort.

The revulsion of what I was considering calmed me down. I loosened my grip, slowing to a near stop. I was panting. Okay, maybe I'm not in the best of shape, but this was beyond that. I must have been dizzy, almost delirious. I know I was certainly dehydrated after a few hours without stopping to even drink. But that still didn't explain things. As I looked down at Lola, her eyes looking up at me over my dick, something changed.

She winked.

My eyes went wide, my hands rubbing my face frantically.

I looked at her again. Nothing. It had to be my imagination. I glanced at the clock; it was nearly four a.m. I knew Peirs was still up, probably engaged in another grudge match with his Korean nemesis on StarCraft. But I usually kept more regular hours. It was just my imagination. My sleep and nutrient deprived body sending a signal to take a break.

"I'll be back," I said.

To Lola?

I guess so. What can I say, the girl was on my mind? I laughed out loud at myself, then in an act of almost childish whimsy, brought the picture close enough to my face to kiss. Just a quick peck, more self-mocking than anything else. I left her on my desk, grabbing a glass of water and hitting the bathroom before I made my way back to my bedroom. I opened the door, looking and not quite seeing as shock set it.

Lola was there! Standing in my room.

Barely over three-foot-tall, but lifelike in three dimensions, plucked from the page and frozen for a second in that same pose I drew. I stood their gape-jawed at my creation as she rose up out slowly. Lola stood up, her arms dangling down over her bare breasts, covering those perfect nipples. Her gloved hands clasped together over her vagina.

Let me be clear, she wasn't like Howard the Duck or some other weird mix of a CGI monstrosity made out of the uncanny valley. She looked every bit like her cartoon self. It was like she had burrowed out from the center of the Earth to join Michael Jordan on Earth.

Speaking of cartoons, thank god I wasn't subjected to their system of physics. I would have been searching for the stalks of my eyeballs.

"Hi, my name is Lola Bunny," She said.

"Uh... I know... uh, I'm Gerry."

God, I wish I'd said something, anything else.

"Oh... it's nice to meet you!" Lola said, her voice bright and energetic. Her hand reached out to shake mine.

"I'd like to try out..."

"What?"

"You know, for the team..."

"Um... we don't really have a team..."

Her eyes squinted as though she was trying to make sense of everything.

"Hm, well I'm supposed to work at something. I certainly feel like I'm here for a particular purpose," Then she laughed. "I'm sorry, I seem to have forgotten my uniform."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," I said. "And I guess it is for a particular purpose, but it's not a game. Jesus, I can't believe we're actually talking. I must be going crazy..."

"It's okay," Lola said, spreading her legs. "I think I know why I am here."

"You do?"

"You know I can play all sorts of games," She said, her gloved hand reaching down towards her pussy. "I have done this sort of thing before..."

"You have?" I asked.

Lola cocked her head playfully, her ponytail ears flopping to one side with the motion.

"Come on, you've seen the rest of the Toon Squad," She moved closer to me know, her fingers tracing their way up my chest. "I like to think I'm purdiest!"

She had a point.

"And Bugs?" I asked.

Honestly, it was probably a stupid thing to say. But face to face with a cartoon character real and in the flesh... or the fur, I found myself trying to normalize the situation best I could.

"Buuugs?" She almost burped out the name, in a mocking imitation. "I think I could do better. I think I'm looking at someone real, someone better."

"Me?"

"You brought me to life," Lola said.

"That was really more of an accident than anything."

She shrugged.

"I don't care. Thank you. That's just the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.

"You're welcome," What else could I say.

"No, I really want to really thank you. So whatever games you want to play...."

Her hand moved down toward my waist, almost eye level with her tiny frame. Her big, doe eyes looked up at me expectantly, waiting on my word to start this barely believable fantasy.

"Are you sure?" I said. "You don't have to do anything. Really, I mean you can stay on the couch as long as you-"

"Is that really where you want me? On the couch?"

Her voice almost shook with a weird, frustrated sense of sorrow. And part of me, well whatever part of my brain was working, considered that she must exist partly in whatever state I drew. I mean, if I truly had created her like this, then whatever I wanted when I was sketching would be her personality.

Lola might be my own perfect bunny slut, as desperate for dick as she seemed in my imagination.

"No, I don't want you on the couch. I want you in a different way."

"I'm not just some dumb bunny you know," She said, her hands going to her hips, revealing her pussy.

I could see her breasts bounce as she moved. Her body unabashedly on display for me. She knew exactly what she was doing, exactly what she was suggesting.

"Just tell me what to do," Lola said. "Any game you want to play..."

"Suck me..." I barely managed to make the words.

She smiled, and I could see the beginnings of her buck tooth grin.

"Got it," Lola said.