It was a stupid assignment, and to make it even stupider, she was partnered with that stupid Harker guy. After he told her to draw a picture of a wet pussy, he said, “You are welcome to ask me to draw my erect cock—only trouble is it wouldn’t fit on one page. Wouldn’t even come close. Ha ha ha!”

Okay, Niah had to concede that Harker was a good artist, probably the best in the class, and truth be told, she wouldn’t mind seeing his cock, erect or otherwise, on the page or in the flesh, but she chickened out and asked him to draw a fat piglet looking in the mirror.

At home that evening, curled up on the knit rug with her drawing pad and an assortment of pencils, Niah tried sketch after sketch. Flopper, lying on the couch, observed. “This assignment is fucked,” Niah informed her pooch as she crumpled yet another failed attempt at a wet pussy picture. “Maybe I’m approaching this all wrong. Maybe I’m taking it too literally.” A single short yip from Flopper signaled his concurrence.

“I’ll show that stupid Harker,” she declared, and in a few bold strokes outlined a jaunty kitten dancing in the rain. Another half hour of shading, and she was done.

“There,” she said, showing the drawing to Flopper. Flopper cocked his head.

“Fine, be that way,” Niah said, and she gave the kitten a pussy—a Picassoesque gash—bird in flight with an open beak, as she thought of it.

“Pretty sexy, eh Flopper?”

Flopper wagged his tail.

“Poor sopping kitty,” Niah mused. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.” She provided an umbrella. “That should show that stupid Harker a thing or two!” Niah wondered how difficult it would be to affix a condom to Harker’s stupid ... She stopped that thought almost short enough. “Flopper, do you find this pussy’s pussy appealing? Would you love to ram your...?” With firm but careful strokes of her eraser, she made the bird in flight fly away. “That should settle Harker’s hash.”

She studied her drawing. “Would Harker find it sexy? Would he even go so far as to...? And while he was doing it, would he be thinking of me? Of my...? And at the critical moment, would he spurt his...?”

By the time Niah had finished her considerations, she was more than a little wet. She dabbed her moistened middle finger right where that naughty bird had been.