Twilight on Dreamworld

BRITNEY SPEARS NUDE!

I roll my eyes as I begin deleting the junkmail from my inbox. I absently push a few loose hairs behind my ear to join the millions of others that were unwashed, itchy and annoying. There are supposed to be hundreds of feedback emails in here. Hundreds of meaningless screen names that have observed my artwork and want to tell me how wonderful I am and how much they want to be like me. I get nothing. Junkmail.

I had entered this drawing contest not because of the cash prize, although that didn't exactly dissuade me, but for the exposure. I wanted to be the Rembrandt of the cartooning world and not have to be dead to enjoy the fruit of my labors. It was a simple drawing. A lady sitting by a pond surrounded by several flying geese. Typical and pathetic. Not something I'd put in a portfolio, but it was good enough to show my mother the next time she bugged me about never showing her anything. However, she was asleep now, and I was free to roam the internet for the pictures that really got my blood flowing.

I glance down at the sketchpad lying next to the mouse. This was the sketchpad I didn't like to show anyone. It had all my beautiful male characters in it, all near-clad to skyclad taking it from each other in different, yet creative scenarios. That book was my pride and joy. My "Book of Men", I lovingly called it. Almost every page was a different set of characters in different predicaments, even sometimes on different worlds, in two ways, threesomes, foursomes, alone and cross-dressing or just plain out masturbating. Whenever I was alone and horny, I'd be into that book, which was a lot more than I liked to admit. I liked to surf around for free gay porn for inspiration.

I had found this site that looked like it might have some interesting stuff, but the moment I found it, my mother walked in and chittered on about the water bill for almost an hour, then told me to go to bed. Granted, I was eighteen years old, but she was still my mother and she still paid the bills. Especially the water bill. And I was currently out of work, and she never let me forget that. Meanwhile, I clean the house, I cook for her when she comes home and all she can find it in her heart to do is nag me; and when she's really pissed, well, let's not get into that.

Tonight, the bitch is in bed early and I have the entire night to sit here in the den with no lights, no pants and no interruptions. I bring up the page, cleverly hidden in my favorites list and review the loads and loads of pictures. Some were okay, others just plain out sucked. However, the rest of them made all that waiting worthwhile. One in particular: a tall, fair-haired man with lean muscle, cute facial hair, beautiful green eyes and a charming smile. He wasn't even fully undressed, which made the picture even more arousing. He was dressed in loose gray overalls with the shoulder thingies hanging down. He had a squeegee in his hands and was washing a large window from inside a building, while turning to smile for the camera. All those beautiful muscles were flexed and accentuated. The picture inspired a brand new character into my thoughts. An exciting and spellbinding character. I grabbed a loose piece of paper to make my preliminary sketches on; after all, only the finished product made it into my beloved Book of Men.

In the picture, I draw myself feeling his godlike body up and down. I looked funny as a cartoon character, because people say I already look that way. I have these big, round glasses that are like Harry Potter glasses only bigger, I have an almond-shaped head and big slate-gray eyes. My wild auburn hair is in the typical Asian cut; long bangs with a short back. Unfortunately, I wasn't Asian, which made me look all the sillier. Not to mention freckles. I had loads of them, littering my cheeks. I hated them with a passion because I thought they made me look twelve. I drew myself with only three freckles on each cheek and my usual baggy pants, converse sneakers and comic book tee shirts. It was like night and day. Here was this big, beautiful hunk of glory immediately next to this skinny, horny little kid. I eventually crumple up the picture and toss it, but the character concept grew in my head.

The man's name was Davis Frisco. He was a sketch artist like me, and a contractor for a large faceless company. He also washed the windows, and he liked to do this topless with those shoulder thingies hanging down over his tight, firm ass. And all the stuck-up, pencil-pushing white-collared closet cases in accounting, and all the flannel-wearing, punk asses from the mailroom watched him work and secretly lusted over him. Davis, of course, knew very well what was going on, and went to do his job every week topless just to give them something to gawk at. Of course, this was in like Key West or LA or something so it was always warm. Well, maybe not LA because then there'd be too much smog too actually see him. Key West it was then. Everybody's gay in Key West anyway. As was Davis, he just didn't know it yet. He just had to meet the right man.

As the night went on, I searched the thumbnails for another picture that inspired me. I needed to find a lover for Davis. A man who would knock him off his feet and leave him breathless the moment he saw him. Nothing was popping out at me and it was beginning to get depressing. Davis only deserved the best, but was I being too picky? Frustrated, I signed off early and hopped in bed with my book and my new sketches. I concentrated on developing the character. Defining him. I gave Davis hobbies, quirks, a personality. For some reason, I thought he should be good at chess, and racquetball, but he wasn't rich enough to join a club. He hated gyms, so he worked out at home…y'know, with those funny ass exercise programs on ESPN2? He had a mean side, which only came out when he was scared. Otherwise, he always tried to be nice. He liked boy bands and listened to them openly, not caring what anyone else thought, cause he was just free like that.

I lick my lips, slave-driving my trusty HB pencil and eraser-pen to their limits. The more I work on this character's inner workings, the more aroused I become, until finally, I just put the book down next to my bed, pull the covers over me and masturbate until both hands scream in pain. All I could think about what how good Davis' new lover would make him feel. How he would lick all around his belly button, down his pelvis and wrap his thick lips around Davis' eight-inches of fine, cut, chiseled, meat. I sat up thinking about it long after I was too tired to continue, until finally blissful sleep took me.

*BANG! BANG!* I leap up from my slumber and struggle to get my pants on. The clock said it was 2:14 am. Who the hell would be knocking at the door at this ungodly hour? Afraid it would wake my mother up, I hurry to answer it. I look out the peephole, staring at what looked to be a tall, well-built man wearing a hood and a raincoat, because apparently, it decided to rain tonight. I couldn't make out anything else about him. I open the door but keep the chain on. "Hi, can I help you?" I ask nervously, my voice still raspy from sleep.

"I sure hope so." His voice was bass and gritty. Sexy and confident. "You are Jasper Collins, right?"

I gasp and take a step back. Jasper was my pen name. I only signed my work with that name and no one could possibly know that. "Who…who wants to know?"

"Look, kid, we have no time for explanations. Just trust me and get dressed. You're going away for a while. If it makes you feel better, I'll wait out here." He shoves his gloved hands further into his pockets to keep warm. I didn't have the heart to watch him freeze. I opened the chain and let him in. "Oh wow, thanks, Jasper. Can I call you Jasper?"

"Who are you?" I close the door behind him, watching in interest as he proceeds to partially disrobe. When he takes off his hood, he's not facing me. All I see is thick, curly black hair with little rain droplets in it. It's only when he takes off his wet raincoat that he turns to face me fully and I almost fall on my ass. "Osiris??"

He smiles charmingly, which is what he's always been famous for. "You got it."

"But…it can't be you! You're…" I sit on the couch, finding it impossible to stand.

"What," He tosses his raincoat onto the arm of my couch carelessly, wiping some moisture off his dark, beautiful face and out of his thick goatee. "Normally two-dimensional? A 'character'? Well, I'm here and I really don't feel like wasting more time explaining. And you aren't getting ready. Why is this?"

"I'm too busy getting over YOU." I point to him, still slack-jawed. He was Osiris Hehp-Tehal, one of my eldest characters, and one of my favorites. He was a brilliant Egyptian hunk and also one hell of an engineer. He was cocky, egotistical and he had a serious attitude problem, but he was a genuinely good person with pure intentions and a big heart. I didn't believe this was happening. This had to be a dream.

"Well, get over it. We've got lives to save. Do you think I would be here if it wasn't serious?" I shake my head, eyes still wide. "Good boy, now get dressed." And I do.

__

When I emerge, duffle bag in hand and my favorite clothes on, he looks me up and down. "Loose the bag. I'll be lucky enough just to get you through. Don't wanna push my luck. Whatever you can't stuff in your pockets, leave behind."

"No wait, I have to take one thing." I hold up my beloved Book of Men. I couldn't bear to part with it, even for a night. Not to mention if I'm not here to guard my room, my mother will surely rummage through it and find my treasure. I don't know how I'd be able to explain that away.

He rolls his pale green eyes impatiently. "If you must."

"I must."

We bundle up and dredge outside in the wet muckiness of the city. I lock up the house, pondering over the fact that we hadn't woken my mother up once through all that. It's freezing out here and we're the only ones stupid enough to be walking down these streets in this weather at this time of night. I can't stop staring at him once we get walking. He's so much more beautiful in real life. He turns to glance at me with that movie star smile again. "Go on, ask me. You know you want to."

I smile. "Alright. I have several questions, and since we're already on our way, I'm not wasting any time by asking them." I point to him, my eyes narrowed. "First, how did you get here? And how did you know where to find me?"

"It's a long story, and I just…knew. I don't know how, I just did." He shrugs, a chill going through him. "Brr.."

"Alright, fine. Then what's going on that's so terrible that you need to bring me into it?"

He leads me to an alley and we stop dead. "Because you created the problem and now only you can stop it." He states flatly, glaring at me with a serious tone to his seedy, sexy voice. His answer only leaves me more confused. "We'll worry about it when we get there. Open the book and stare at your favorite drawing, trust me." I comply without a word. He takes out this funny-looking rod of some sort. It looks like it's made of brass, stick-on rhinestones and shards of broken, multi-colored plastic glued to its shaft. He sets it on the ground so it stands upright and steps away from it.

"What is that thing?"

"This is going to get us there." He puts a hand on my shoulder and motions towards the book. "Keep staring. Don't stop." He takes out two dice, a pair of small knuckle bones and a cracker jack from his pocket and shakes them up in his hand. I see this from the corner of my eye, and I try my best not to look away from the book. This was all too weird. While he's shaking this in a fist, he hums some nursery rhyme that I haven't heard in years. I don't even remember the name of it anymore.

I concentrate on what's before me. It was an all time favorite picture of mine. It was Osiris and another character, Russell making love with Russell's hands handcuffed to the bed frame. Russell was a petite, feminine young black-winged angel with long black hair, dark, bedroom eyes and almost sickeningly pale skin. I love this picture and often find myself just staring at it for hours. I suddenly feel lightheaded, like I'm floating. I don't look up from the book. It's almost as if I couldn't if I wanted to. I feel each darkened in line of the drawing consume me, as if I were a part of them. I was looking beyond what the lines connected into, I wasn't seeing the big picture anymore, I was just inspecting and connecting spiritually with each individual line.

"Jasper??" I hear a pained cry come from nowhere. "Jasper Collins? Is that really you??" I'm snapped out of my trance and I realize I'm in a small apartment with very little furniture. I'm facing the back of a long, crème colored couch and there's a thin dark figure laying listlessly on it. Random blood stains and scattered black feathers soil the fabric.

"Russell! Are you alright? I got him, he's here!" Osiris runs to Russell's side in concern. He motions for me to follow him. When I reach the front side of the couch, I grip my chest in despair.

"Oh, it really is you!" The dark-haired beauty lies there, bleeding, broken and crippled. His wings had been mercilessly ripped out by someone with significant strength. His long, slender legs had been battered and bruised and there were cuts and gashes all over his neck, upper torso and arms. He was wrapped up in blankets and a rough patchwork job was done with band-aids and gauze.

"R-Russell?" I stammer, dropping the book. "Russell Gelling?"

"Oh, Jasper, come to me!" His long, slender arms reach out for my embrace dramatically. Russell was infamous for his endless melodrama. "I need to feel how real you are!"

"Hey, I'm right here." I rush over to hug him, stroking his blood-soaked raven hair. He sits up to better accommodate me and I claim a small sliver of cushion to sit down, my arms still snug around him. "Where is this? Where did Osiris take me?"

"Take a look outside, hon. You should know this place well enough, you did create it." He manages a weak smile.

"Create it? What are you talking about?"

Osiris chimes in, walking up to us. "This is your dream world, kid. You created this realm for us to live in, and now it's being destroyed by that new asshole you dropped in here with us."

I turn to glare at him, still holding Russell tightly. "New asshole…Davis??" At the mention of his name, Russell bursts into tears.

"You got it." Osiris states without smiling.

"But he's a good guy!" I frown, wide-eyed.

"Pssshhht, yeah right." Osiris laughs sarcastically and Russell shakes his head. "Ever since that jerkoff set foot here he's been nothing but trouble. And now, he has some hostages that happen to be friends of mine that he's going to kill, unless we give him what he wants."

"And what does he want?"

His smile suddenly turns genuine. "Why, YOU, of course."

__

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Russell rubs my back as I look through my sketches and notes of Davis Frisco. I nod absently and the doorbell rings. It almost makes me jump right out of my skin. Osiris creeps up to the door to see who it is.

"Who goes there?" he furrows his brows, looking out the peephole.

"Let me in." A strong female voice grunts impatiently from behind the door.

"What's the password?" He smiles jokingly, putting his hand on the doorknob.

"Don't make me hurt you, Osiris." He laughs and opens the door for her. I'd recognize that built Greek Goddess form anywhere. It was Artemis Philotopolis, my radical feminist. Along side of her stood Alejandro, her smaller and craftier counterpart. She takes one look at me and frowns, almost looking disappointed. She then scans the room with her deep green eyes. "So where is he? Did you find him?"

"He's standing right in front of you, Artemis." Osiris motions towards me.

"Ha! That's Jasper Collins?" She walks up to me, looking down at me. I look back up at her, my hands on my hips. "I expected him to be…bigger."

Alejandro walks up to me as well, him being a full two inches shorter than I. "He ain't that small, ma. He be taller than I is." His voice thick with a Hispanic accent.

I interrupt them both, my tone must be harsh because they both shut up and quick. "Height is irrelevant here. If you want me to help, I need to know exactly what's going on, and I need to know it yesterday."

Alejandro is the first to speak. "Yo, that fucker, Frisco? He be holdin' at least eight hostages at gunpoint up in the Johanes Courthouse bell tower. One of the hostages is a little kid."

"And one of them is my Anubis!" Osiris shouts out angrily, both fists clenched.

"It's alright, dear, we'll get him back. We'll get them all back." Russell puts his head against Osiris' shoulder to comfort him. I knew who Anubis was. I had written a four-page illustrated story about them and how they became lovers. Anubis, believe it or not, was Osiris' cat. To make a long story short, Anubis made a deal with a cat-spirit, making him human for three days. He started by seducing Osiris because he lusted after him. They fell in love and enjoyed every moment of their time together. When their time was almost up, Osiris helped Anubis trick the cat-spirit into thinking her magic didn't work so the deal was voided and Anubis was able to stay as a human. And they were supposed to live happily ever after. I was saddened to hear he was just another of Davis' pawns.

"Alejandro, what about the cops? Have you guys had any luck penetrating the tower?"

"No way. We tried and Frisco shot up me an' my boys like we was nada. He be in there mad tight. That tower hasn't been used in like forever and nobody knows the layout of the place. The passage to the tower itself was boarded up mad long ago and we don't even know where to find dat shit." He walks toward a chair sitting against the wall and pulls it out for Artemis to sit. When she does, he stands beside her, holding her hand.

"Alright, do we know who the other hostages are?" I flip my sketchbook to the back cover, ready to list the names.

"We aren't sure." Osiris frowns. "Davis only let us know that he had Steven Patterson and some thirteen year-old kid."

"Steven Patterson?!" I flip through the pages hastily. "THE Steven Patterson? The Wall Street tycoon, millionaire and powerful political figure, Steven Patterson?"

"The one and only." Artemis puts her long black hair up in a ponytail.

"Okay, that means that his lover, Pat Olmec is with him." I scribble their names down. "Now what about this thirteen year-old? The youngest character I have in this book is like sixteen." I flip to the page featuring my Taiwanese lithe beauty, Lazarus, the novice crimefighter. He was pictured sitting in a giant tree masturbating to the sight of two older men making love in the dense jungle of his homeland.

"I dunno, Frisco said the kid was thirteen." Alejandro shrugs.

Suddenly, it dawns on me. "Oh my god, Base." I flip to the back cover again. "Not Lazarus, but Base. Base is thirteen."

"Base?"

"Lazarus' tech support, his best friend who helps him out via walkie-talkies from home. He's kinda like a younger version of that guy who helps Punisher. I just couldn't think of a more creative name than Base. So sue me!" I rake my fingers through my hair nervously. "You know what this means? Lazarus is going to get himself killed trying to free his friend from Davis' clutches."

"Oh boy…" Russell groans. "I'm coming with you." He starts to get up and Osiris pushes him down again. "No, I know Lazarus, he's a good kid! Besides, I want to give that bastard, Davis a good helping of his own medicine."

"No way, Russ, that evil son of a bitch almost killed you last time, remember?" Alejandro and Artemis look at Osiris. "Davis tried to tear him limb from limb before and I won't let that happen again."