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Into the Kateverse
🕑 Added 2024-09-21 18:10:55 +0000 UTC I looked in the mirror, shakily clutching my art portfolio so tight my nails dug into the binder. I was trying to convince myself that I didn’t look ridiculous. The red pleated miniskirt I was wearing reached up to my mid-thigh paired well with the equally red 5-inch peep-toe heels. I paired it all with an old, baggy oversized four sleeved sweater that hung just over my four breasts, hiding the extra pair well enough so they weren’t noticeable at first glance. A strange combination of flirty and casual… I guess. “OK Kate, pretty on the bottom,loose on top. That’s just my style,” I told myself. My toes flexed inside my shoes, a nervous habit of mine. They were longer than usual and let my feet function much like hands, which is usually a positive. However, today they were sweating as much as my palms were, which meant walking in these heels felt like trudging through a swamp. It’s popularly believed that all mutants are stunning and beautiful, like supermodels, but that’s just selection bias. The mutants you hear about look like supermodels. The rest of us look like your average girl next door. This was never more apparent than when I looked in the mirror. I was just a short frumpy girl with a mutation or two. It just wasn’t giving me the confidence boost I was looking for. “It’s OK. You are just going to show them your portfolio, it’s just like showing it to your friends. No big deal,” I muttered to myself, trying in vain to build confidence. I started doodling in elementary school and it just developed into a hobby from there. I can draw pretty well with my upper right hand, a little bit better with my lower left hand, and best with my feet. I guess that counts as ambidexterity, in a roundabout way. There’s something peaceful about it. Relaxing. Inspiring. What do I like to draw? Well, mutant girls, mostly. Cute, feminine, sensual girls with interesting and diverse mutations. Sometimes I draw them casually out in the world, other times I create characters. Sometimes I just watch and imagine what mutations normal girls might have. I’ve browsed sites dedicated to mutant girls, followed tutorials from the best artists who specialize in mutant anatomy. I drew stills, comics, and even dipped my toes into animation. I remember one artist I found long ago drew all their girls wearing high-heels, and that sparked my love of them as well, both drawing them and wearing them. Besides, they also help with my… er… less than average height. But I always drew for pleasure, for myself. This, this was different. This was the first time I was showing off my work in a professional capacity, my first comic convention. Everyone in the artist's alley was going to be looking at me, judging me. With every sketchbook and pencil I put into my bag it felt more real, and more impossible. It was overwhelming… I tried my hardest to calm down but my nerves just became more rattled as I made the trip. As I approached the entrance to the con, my heart was pounding in my chest and my four hands were fidgeting. Two were clutching a box of my comics while the other two were tugging on my sweater. I was sweating so much it felt tight and itchy. The convention was already in full swing and of course I would be late. I told myself it wouldn’t matter. I wasn’t going to sell much today. I was just here to get my name out there. I knew my comics weren’t everyone’s cup of tea. They were mostly just raunchy stories about mutant girls with extra limbs, heads, or tails, who find love, or adventure, or just themselves. You know, mutant slice of life. Some people saw it as niche, others as weird, some thought it was shameless and kinky, and then there were all the assholes who called it “woke” because I dared to draw queer characters and minorities. That’s how I felt here, a minority in a convention filled with talented normie artists. For an event this huge there were depressingly few mutants here, and even less mutant artwork. Living as a mutant is one thing. Drawing mutants is another. But trying to make a living off of it? It was a whole other level of vulnerability. Still I had to try. The convention hall was buzzing with energy. As soon as I walked in, I was nearly floored by the dizzying array of booths, cosplayers, and fans milling around the aisles. My booth was tucked away in a corner near the indie section. I had a small banner with my name on it, “Kate’s Mutant Girls,” hung above my table with sticky tape and pins. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of imposter syndrome as I set out my prints, zines, and comic volumes on the table in front of me. All the other tables had professional assistants, or at the very least friends or partners roped into helping out for the weekend. I had neither. It was just me and my four hands. I sorted through the comics, making sure to keep the explicit titles in boxes tucked away in the back. I looked around, feeling small in more ways than one. I scanned the covers and titles of the other artists’ work. Lots of superhero stuff, fantasy stuff, sci-fi stuff. Then I looked over my comics. They were raw, edgy stories about girls with extra limbs, body parts that morphed, fused, or separated. Stories about girls who didn’t fit the norm, just like me. A few minutes passed. People walked by, staring at my table, but not stopping. I started fiddling with my sketches, pretending to be busy. I had the urge to do it with my feet, but I controlled myself and kept them inside my heels. I didn’t want to be some sort of mutant freak show. I wanted to be noticed for my art. Luckily the law of averages was on my side. After enough time, some of the roiling sea of nerds, geeks, and otaku were bound to be mutants themselves. A couple started gathering around my booth, happy to see characters like themselves represented in art and media. The first few just flipped through my comics in silent curiosity. But eventually some started striking up conversation. “Is this all your work?” a congorer asked, holding up a copy of “Fused Hearts.” It was a story about two girls who are literally and figuratively fused together, becoming lovers and then a single entity. “Yes,” I managed to say, my voice a little squeaky from the nerves. “It’s amazing,” she said, her eyes shining. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s so… bold. Me and my girlfriend and I have fantasized about stuff like this more than once,” she said as the normie girl next to her laughed nervously and blushed a deep red. Over time, more girls arrived. Mutants of all kinds: girls with extra limbs like me, some with animal features, others with wings, tails, or even extra heads. They gathered around, flipping through my comics, asking questions about the characters, the stories, the art, and more. Before I knew it, I was selling copies left and right. My once-full stack of comics dwindled as girl after girl handed me money with a smile and a “thank you.” Some of them lingered at my booth, chatting with me about their own lives, their own mutations, and how they connected with my characters. I even had to dip into the more “extreme” stuff I initially kept hidden away. One girl, tall and graceful, with scales running up her arms and a pair of elegant horns crowning her head, stepped closer. “You’ve really captured something here,” she said quietly. “I can see myself in your characters. It’s very motivating” I blushed, not knowing what to say. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. Another girl with delicate feathered wings from her back, bought three volumes of my series from me. She looked at me, smiling. “So, do you ever do commissions? I’d love to get something personal from you” her voice had a playful drawl and the way her eyes sparkled made me blush even harder. “Yeah, yeah… I could,” I stammered. I handed her one of my cards, and she slid hers over in return, along with a wink that made my stomach flutter. A girl with a tail wrapped around her waist like a belt, picked up a copy of “Flesh & Fangs,” my first comic about lesbian furries, and winked at me as she paid. Another, with four legs peeking out from under a loose skirt, flipped through “Twisted Sisters,” a story about a pair of lesbians with four legs each, and told me how much she saw herself in one of my characters. I was selling out. Against all odds I was selling out. After all the doubts I had I felt like, for the first time, maybe there was a place for my comics after all. But the surprises didn’t end... At one point when my boxes were running low, a girl showed up to my booth wearing cosplay that I couldn’t quite identify. She had pigtails similar to Hatsume Miku’s and a lace dress similar to a maid’s. She was tall and beautiful and had a smile so charming I was embarrassed to lock eyes with her. “I love your art,” she said as she looked over my work. She noticed the sketch I was making,.just a small character doodle to pass the time, “Wow, did you draw that just now? It’s amazing!” “Y-Yeah,” I said, “I’m decently fast, but I can draw faster with my feet than my hands.” “With your feet? So you have more mutations than what meets the eye,” she said in a flirtatious tone, “Does that explain the oversized sweater?” “Well, I have four breasts and I don’t like people looking at my cleavage when I talk to them, you know, the old ‘my eyes are up here’ thing. Although I guess I don’t mind people looking at my legs and heels… I think they look cute, and I suppose I feel less objectified and more complimented when people look at them.” “Heels definitely suit you,” she said. “Thanks, it was an acquired taste. I got my heel obsession from an artist I admire” “Honestly, I think you’d attract more people if you started drawing with your feet” “Maybe, but I don’t want people to come to my booth just because they have a foot fetish,” I said blushing. “Fair point,” the girl said as she picked up one of the zines from my ‘reserve supply,’ “Can I read it?” “Eh, yeah, though I don’t know if you’d like that one. It’s a little… too spicy,” I said, mumbling my words and breaking eye contact.. The girl smiled mischievously and started reading. It had futanaris, humantaurs, and lots and lots of sex. It wasn’t my favorite work, but it was possibly the most… pornographic of it all. Seeing that she was reading it with interest instead of disgust, I relaxed a little. Soon her face began to blush and her expression became somewhat… lewd? She was enjoying it way too much, even biting her lips. Suddenly, I saw her skirt begin to rise, as if something was being hoisted from below. It wasn’t long before a rather long penis, coquettishly sheathed in a sheath with ribbons and lace, rose to the height of my eyes. I was speechless as I watched the sheath begin to wet, as sticky precum began to drip onto my table. The girl noticed and pulled her skirt down, somewhat ashamed. “Sorry, I couldn’t control myself. I got sucked into the story,” she said, blushing. “D-don’t worry. That means my comics are doing their job,” I said, laughing nervously as I searched for some paper towels to clean up. The girl noticed and took the comics that had gotten wet from her… activities. She licked the protective plastic, removing all the excess liquid from the covers. She then made a satisfied face, as if she had tasted something very delicious. “I’ll buy these comics too.” Well… that was one way to make a sale. I noticed that along with the money she handed me a piece of paper with a phone number written on it “I’ll keep an eye out for the sequel,” she said before turning around and walking away with a flirtatious little skip in her step. By the time the convention was over, my table was almost empty. Only a few stray copies of my comics remained, and I had a stack of papers with different phone numbers and social media contracts. I packed slowly, still riding the high from the day. I couldn’t believe how well it had gone. I had come here expecting to be ignored, but instead, I had connected with so many people, so many girls. Mutant girls who saw themselves in my work. My saucy comics, in the end, weren't just about sex. It was something deeper than that. As I headed home, I looked at the contact info of all my new fans. I smiled in satisfaction as I began planning my next issue.
