Comic Relief

Jerry Rochester sat at the edge of his seat in the private studio of his Manhattan apartment and his ass was getting numb. The old familiar knot in the corner of his shoulder and trapezius was beginning to form again, despite his using the heating pad during his nap. His hair was limp in front of his thick-lensed glasses and his eyes were beginning to ache. He didn’t even glance up as his one-of-a-kind-collector’s-edition Darth Vader alarm clock wheezed at the hour, zinging with light saber sound effects to announce the hour of 3AM. He was in the zone. Besides, as his editor Davis would say, 3AM wasn’t late, it was just very early in the morning.

He was working on the storyboard for the next issue of Starblood Masters. Only it didn’t really look like a story board. It looked like an actual finished pencil draft. He wasn’t using line-gridded pages, but he didn’t really need them. He was good at what he did. He could see the panels on a blank sheet of white paper before even lifting his pencil. He coucl see the images of Lord Dessmire of the Vampire Galactic Alliance as he overtook the Argerian Armada, harvesting the empirical diplomats to be fed upon by his soldiers in a blood feast. He could see the mouth-watering curves of the scantily clad heroine Princess Beronna’s body, as she battled evil vampire drones, her already not-there tunic being ripped to shreds. It was this image that he was raptly working on at the moment.

He could almost hear her husky grunts as she swung her lazer axe down upon the vamp's skull. Her sweaty hair pasted to her flushed cheeks. Her nipples hardening with the excitement of battle. Her hair was black, but would most likely be inked and painted in as blue. Black hair was almost always painted as blue in Starblood Masters. It made the image more interesting; made it “pop”, Davis had claimed. But as Jerry sketched in tiny little circles around the aforementioned firm nipples that showed through the thin gauze she wore he thought it wasn't her hair that was making things pop. Nope. Not a bit. As his pencil swirled in those tiny little circlets, he imagined it was very much like rubbing them with a finger. The more he sketched in those little round movements, the harder the nipples appeared on the page. Like a real girl's breasts would react if he were gently dragging a fingertip over them. Quick, light little circles.

Suddenly Jerry's blue jeans felt a little too tight at the crotch. He smirked, adjusting himself down there. This was good. This would most definitely sell books. No mistake about that. Fan service was the comic book artist's best friend. An accidental up skirt glimpse. A discreetly angled panel showing round, plump butt cheeks. Nothing he would consider pornographic, but definitely titillating and (in the best of comic books and manga) entirely unexpected. That was the key. Catch em when they're not looking for it. He definitely didn't expect to get a boner while working on an action panel, and that was what gave him the clue that he was on a role.

There was a few drawbacks to all of this. Beronna was the most popularly cosplayed character in most of Northern America (the Japanese have yet to be won over, but Jerry had high hopes, dammit). But at the same time, most North American cons prohibited any cosplay of Princess Beronna at all. He didn't know why, really. Princess Leia's metallic slave costume showed more skin. But all the same, the half-human-half vampire princess with the tragic past was considerably sexier than Leia. Oh yeah, you better believe it. Jerry made sure of it. She had seductive powers, mind control, all the whoo-whoo business of Nosferatu. And she was hot. Every guys wet dream. To die at the fangs of Princess Beronna was to die in a sexual cornucopia of (seemingly) eternal bliss. Not exactly La Blue Girl, but damn very well close to it. Hell, Jerry had even been accused of plagiarism by some. Never mind that the whole plot of Starblood Masters was entirely different from La Blue Girl, or that LBG was Japanese manga style. They were both hot chicks with blue hair, so he “stole” her.

Jerry tipped his head to the side until something inside his neck bone popped, then once again agonized over Beronna's ample bosom. Fans. They could be remarkably devoted at one moment, and then the next crucify you. He had found entire blogs devoted to the love of his work, and this was thrilling and gratifying. He had also found entire blogs devoted to hating his work, which he tried to ignore, but still found it difficult. His whole life, he knew he was good. But all it takes is one hater to call Beronna “La Blue's Kid Sister” and he would find himself falling into utter depression. When he was depressed, he couldn't write or draw. He tried not to read the blogs at all.

Another source of discouragement for a successful graphic novelist could be You Tube. Ah, the blessed homeland of cats playing the keyboard and wannabe backyard wrestlers. Recently a dear “friend” emailed him a link to a video uploaded by a vlogger by the name of Womenspeakvoice84. This charming young woman was not only a featured You Tube partner, but a blogger and activist of great renown. A feminazi, who apparently created an entire play list devoted to ripping Starblood Masters to shreds. In her video, she not only showed slides zooming into finished print copies of the comic, but circles the problematic body parts of Princess Beronna' anatomy that she found to be a sexist objectification of women's bodies. As Jerry sat in front of his laptop, eating a Hot Pocket and watching two of the girl's videos, his emotions ranged from anger to bafflement to dejection. This young lady went on to describe how fan service characters demean women to the point of increasing statistics of eating disorders, low self esteem and depression in young teen girls who are fans of Starblood.

Wow. That shook him up. He was responsible for teen depression? Jerry didn't entirely write the comic just for young men, even though Princess Beronna's design was admittedly fan service. But there was a female fan base that he did attempt to write for. Princess Beronna, although the most talked-about character among horny teenage boys, was not the main character. Lord Fenneg, Lord Dressmire's estranged brother was the main character. Beronna was just one of the three potential love interests that Jerry had written. But no one seemed to think about that.

The vlogger went on to claim that Jerry was a woman-hating loser who probably was a virgin. She illustrated this with a picture that made Jerry drop his Hot Pocket into the plate in front of him. It was his high school prom picture. He was a 300 lbs freshman, pimply and grinning standing next to Mrs. Lumis, the 68 year old History teacher. He did in fact look the part of the stereotypical virgin loser. That stung.

Jerry wasn't a virgin. Not since that night. He thought of how that little bit of information would amuse Little Miss Whats-her-name-Vlogger. She would probably jump all over the fact, wondering on You Tube if Mrs. Lumis was a good lay. That would be a riot. But seeing the picture of that night caused all sorts of unwelcome emotions to course through him. He could still hear the music playing over the loudspeaker in the gymnasium, smell the faint remnant of gym class sweat and basket balls in the air. That was the last night he was a virgin. It was also the only night in his life that he thought he might actually get to feel the happiness of being in love.

It wasn't with Mrs. Lumis, of course. It was with Stacy Brennan. She was a senior. Her hair was dark black, so dark Jerry supposed it would've been inked blue if she were a comic girl. Her eyes were that dark kind of blue that everyone says is violet. He was in love with her. Every boy was. She was amazing. She was too amazing to be real. And even though he showed up to the prom alone, a hot sweaty mass of tuxedo frills, she came up to him and asked him to dance. He was fourteen. She was just eighteen. But that didn't seem to matter, to her. It was magic.

Later that night she offered to give him a ride home. As she said this, they were sitting by the punch table, and he felt her high heeled foot slide up his thigh. He froze, feeling sweat mounting on his brow. Her smile was innocent enough as she sipped her punch, but the open toe of her stiletto slid deeper and deeper into the fork of his fat legs until it landed right in the head of his already growing penis. As her toe made contact, paralyzing waves of fear and anticipation flowed through his body. His skin prickled as if he were freezing, but he was not cold at all. He glanced downward to see a perfectly manicured toe gently rub then press at the head of his member. He winced with delicious pain as his young, backed up fourteen year old's balls began to throb dully.

“I'll drive you home, then maybe we can hang out,” she smiled. He couldn't reply, as the toe peeking between red patented leather dragged slowly back and forth over the firm bulge in his polyester trousers.

Suddenly, he didn't know what he was going to do. Should he go with her? What was she doing to him? What was she GOING to do to him? Should he let her? Was this allowed?

“My mom's coming back at ten,” he managed.

“Well then,” she said, arching a perfect eyebrow, “we can leave now and save her the trip.”

Next he found himself sitting in her messy car that smelled of cigarettes and perfume. They drove silently down the Pennsylvania highway, her blowing used cigarette fumes out of the window, and he with his sweaty hands folded hopefully nonchalantly over his throbbing erection.

What was going to happen next? Where was she taking him? She didn't even ask him where he lived. She wasn't going to take him home, he knew that much. But where?

She swerved the car right and drove headlong into a cornfield. Jerry gasped and tried not to scream as the car bounced and jostled them into the heart of the field. They were hidden. Everything around them was silent. She put out the cigarette and turned to him, smiling. He smiled back, not really knowing what to say or do next. She slowly began to unbutton her top, and suddenly Jerry thought he might be sick. He had never even kissed a girl before. And now he was about to see boobs. Real boobs. Something about this had to be wrong. When she unsnapped her bra, he looked away, his face flaming. He wasn't sure if he wanted this.

“What's wrong, Jerry?” she asked. “Don't you think I'm pretty?” Something in her voice sounded so fragile and hurt, it made him look at her. And once he did, he couldn't look away again....

When it was all over, she climbed off of his lap and bent herself over the back of the driver's seat, her miniskirt giving a decent peak of the crotch of her pink panties between toned thighs. She was so perfect to him. He gazed at her legs still catching his breath, marveling at the way the muscles moved under her beautiful skin. When she sat back down in the car seat, she had two beers in hand. She popped off the caps and handed him one.

He took it hesitantly. His dad had let him taste beer once and he thought it tasted like earwax. But he didn't want to look like a dumb kid, so he thanked her and took a big swig, fighting the impulse to grimace. She lit up another cigarette, not bothering to open a window this time. The smoke and taste of beer made his eyes water.

“You're not bad, kid.” The cigarette perched in the corner of her mouth. “It was pretty good for your first time. I came pretty close to cumming.”

“Thanks.” He didn't understand what she meant. Coming where? His head felt strange and swimmy. He felt great. Touching a real live girl. Being inside of her! It was nothing like he had ever imagined. The way she fit him perfectly, smooth as silk. It only lasted ten minutes, but he knew his life would never be the same. Somewhere deep in his stomach, right underneath his belly button, he felt...odd. Like something was missing that had been there all his boyhood. It almost made him a little sad.

“Stacy...” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

“I...I think I love you.” The words left his mouth before he know what he was going to say, but even as they did he knew it was the strange truth. This is what being in love felt like.

Stacy turned to him, eyes wide. Her eyes, her amazing eyes. He felt he could fall into them, lost in a dark blue world of nauseating pleasure. Her perfectly painted red lips formed a round “O”. He wondered how her lipstick didn't get messed up, then realized quickly. They didn't even kiss. He was no longer a virgin, but he still had never kissed a girl in his life. How weird was that?

In the moment that she gazed at him, her lovely face a perfect expression of surprise, he half expected that he would now get that first kiss. The idea made him dizzy with emotion. He leaned closer.

Instead, she burst out laughing and punched his arm. “Shut up, Jerry.”

He laughed with her.

When she pulled up to his parent's driveway, it was 9:30. He thanked her for the ride, then watched as her tail lights disappeared over the hill. When he came into the house, his mother was watching TV in the living room.

“Oh Jer, you're back early. How was the dance-”

He rushed passed her and up the stairs.

“Great, Mom,” he mumbled. He didn't want her to smell the aura of beer and cigarettes around him. Plus it just felt weird talking to her at that moment. He slammed his bedroom door and locked it. He took off his jacket, unclipped his bow tie and lay down on his bed, placing his glasses on the night table. There he lay til midnight; staring at the ceiling, his mind a blank. What just happened? Seriously, what just happened?