Stereotype - The Forest Bit

Once upon a time, in some nameless woods in some nameless land, a young boy was skipping along through the woods, enjoying the perfectly perfect day. This young lad went by the name of Stereotype, and was the most stereotypical thing you had ever seen, what with the wings on his back, head, and ankles, the cat tail and ears, the hot pink hair with neon green tips, the creamy-white eyes, and his oh-so-molestable body.

But, most stereotypical of all were his clothes, which were very revealing, tight leather shorts and a matching revealing, tight leather vest and even some lovely tight leather boots. Naturally, he was too cute, naïve, innocent, and overall not the type to have picked out these clothes.

As it just so happened, they had been birthday presents from his close friend, Policeman Gona Getcha. He had also given Stereotype some very comfortable fuzzy red handcuffs. But, anyways, back to the skipping through the woods and enjoying this perfect day that was his birthday. His eighteenth birthday. Sweet, sexy eighteen.

“….You put me in leather….” Stereotype said, staring at the monitor screen at what his creator was writing.

“Yes. So what?” she asked, her typing halting momentarily, though she didn’t look away from her work.

“…I thought you promised you would be nicer this time. Why did you put me in leather and make me have a police friend that gave me the leather clothes and fuzzy handcuffs? You’re going to have him rape me, aren’t you?” Stereotype said, his voice flat and matter-of-fact.

The author huffed and got an indignant look on her face, turning in her chair to look at her character. “As a matter of fact, I am not going to have Policeman Gona Getcha rape you. I can’t believe you would suggest such a thing. Just because I put you in leather and said he gave you fuzzy handcuffs, you go and assume such things! Is your impression of me truly so horrible?!”

“…Yeah, it is, actually,” Stereotype replied casually.

“Hmph! The nerve of you! If you’re going to be so mean, just stop reading over my shoulder!” the author said, turning back to her keyboard and resuming her writing.

...So, yeah, Stereotype was skipping all happy-go-lucky through the forest, stopping occasionally to pat the head of a squirrel or sing up to the birds in the trees. It was such a cute scene, this young boy acting so gay....ly. But, as most gay young boys tend to do, he tired himself out with all of his skipping about and being generally cute. So, Stereotype decided he would very much like to take a nap in this lovely forest he was skipping through.

He quickly found a nice, large tree that provided good shade and laid beneath it, his head resting lightly against the trunk. His eyes drifted closed, and almost immediately he fell into a deep sleep. As he slept and dreamt of sweet things, the clouds passed in the barely visible blue sky above, signalling that time was passing as well. Before long the sun had set, and night had settled in over the forest and the rest of the land. And still young Stereotype slept soundly, enjoying his cool, comfortable bed of grass.

"I don't like this. I don't suppose you're going to make everything you write be a bad dream that I wake up from, are you?" Stereotype asked hopefully as he peered over his creator's shoulder.

"You're not that lucky," the creator replied lightly.

"I didn't think so," he whimpered, sinking beyond his creator's sight to the floor.

Anyways, as I was narrating, time passed. Stereotype stirred form his rest, blinking slowly his tired eyes. He was so comfortable and warm that he didn't want to wake up. Yet, still, something seemed to call to his mind, begging him to awaken from his slumber. And so he did wake up and he did open his eyes. Creamy-white eyes looked around sleepily, slowly going back to their normal wide, bright state.

This place! It was not the forest in which he had fallen asleep! As a matter of fact, it appeared to be the bed chambers of some mysterious, tall, dark, and handsome stranger. He knew they belonged to such a person, as such a person just happened to be standing at the edge of the bed and watching him with...golden eyes.

"Oh my God! no! Not Jerke again! Please, I beg of you!" Stereotype shrieked and sobbed as he threw himself onto his creator. Going stiff at his touch, she cruelly dumped him on his head on the floor.

"Shut up! You're gonna wake up my dad!" she shrieked right back at him.

"Please, please, please, don't put me with him again. Don't let him rape me again," the poor character sobbed on as he clutched at his creator's legs. His creator groaned and rolled her eyes so widely that she caused a headache to form.

"I said shut up. You don't even know that it's Jerke," she grunted, trying to kick the sobbing Stereotype away.

"Those eyes... I'd remember them anywhere..." Stereotype whined in response. His creator stared for a few moments, eyes unblinking as she was thinking. Slowly a cruel smile crossed her face. she all at once returned to writing, ignoring her creation's pleas for mercy.

"Wh-Who are you?" Stereotype whispered. He grasped the bed sheets in his hands and attempted to cover himself, feeling oddly bare whe stared at by this man. Of course, he was still wearing his tight leather outfit, so he wasn't bare at all. ...Well, not enough to need the covers, anyways.

All at once the man was in Stereotype's cute little face; the stranger's lips were just a hair's breadth away from his own. It was all poor Stereotype could do to keep from letting out a girly scream from being startled so.

As a matter of fact, the leather-clad boy did open his mouth to scream. He paused just before he did, though, as he finally looked the man dead in the eye. His eyes were so gorgeous...absolutely glowing with colour, unlike Stereotype's nearly colourless creamy-white eyes. Really, this man's eyes were just outright entrancing--and entrance they did! Stereotype forgot just what he had been about to do and just why his mouth was hanging agap.

"Do you remember?" the strange man whispered. Stereotype did not respond. He was far, far too entranced by those golden eyes to even be able to think, let alone speak. The strange man, however, was kind enough to smack him upside the head to snap him out of it. "Yo! I said "do you remember?" in my cool, whispery voice! so answer up!" the stranger snapped irritably.

"Whoops. Sorry," Stereotype apologized sheepishly, "Um...remember what?" The man sighed, lowering those gorgeous eyes as he pulled back.

"So you don't....you don't remember...me..." he whispered to himself more than to Stereotype. All at once guilt hit Stereotype, and he jjolted forward, grabbing onto the man's shirt to prevent him from pulling away anymore.

"I'm sorry! We've met before then, yes? I have a terrible memory, but perhaps you could do something to help me remember you!" the boy exclaimed with a tone bordering on panic.

Why was he so terrified at the idea of this man pulling away? Why was he so mortified at being unable to look into this man's eyes? Why was he so guilt-ridden knowing he had forgotten this man that had remembered him? And when had the terms "mortified" and "guilt-ridden" even worked their way into the author's vocabulary anyways?

Stereotype didn't know the answers to any of the questions. What he did know, though, is that he needed to be able to remember this man. He just knew that if he could recall when they had met, those golden eyes would meet his creamy-white ones and hold them forever, just as this man would hold him forever.

"That sounds so gay," Stereotype stated as he hung off of his creator and read over her shoulder. He had, since the last interruption, recovered from his nervous breakdown.

"It is so gay. And so are you," the author grunted.

"I know, but this is even gayer than your normal gay," the fair-haired boy responded. His creator said nothing in reply, as she was too busy looking up "gayer" in the dictionary to see if it wasn't spelled with a Y.

...And so, the strange man with golden eyes took Stereotype from his bed chambers and showed him around what was apparently a castle. The tour was an attempt to spark recollection within Stereotype's wee little mind. However, the many make-out sessions that occurred both randomly and yet predictably along the way were just for the helluvit.

Despite all of the effort the man put into helping stereotype's memory, by dawn the next day, nothing had come of it. Finally, with lips bruised from so many kisses and hopes lower than a snake's belly in a wagon rut, the strange man brought Stereotype to the final destination of the tour.

Oddly enough, the final destination was not the bedroom from whence they had came. It was, instead, a balcony overlooking the magical and wonderous forest that surrounded the man's castle. The forest spread to the horizon in all directions, which was really weird since the forest Stereotype had been skipping through at the beginning of the story hadn't been that expansive.

But, all plotholes aside, the balcony just happened to face the direction from which the sun rose. The pair stood their on the balcony, both watching with low, sad eyes. They were both so heartbroken by Stereotype being unable to recall the strange man; Stereotype because he knew it was important somehow, and the strange man because he couldn't rape Stereotyp until the boy remembered him.

Stereotype slid his sad eyes over to the strange man. His brilliant golden eyes reflected the rising sun with all of it's glory, majesty, and awe-inspiring colour. Those eyes would never look at him again with the same love they once had...

"...Hey. Wait a minute..." Stereotype said, his eyes widening. The strange man perked up at once, glacing over at him.

"What is it?" he asked, his hopes soaring like a hang-glider that accidentally soared into an updraft.

"Your eyes! Your eyes! I remember them!" Stereotype exclaimed. the man gasped, the eyes in question going wide in surprise. Stereotype had done it! He had remembered this man with golden eyes!

Overtaken by joy, the young boy began to bounce up and down as he clapped his hands happily. As the man turned to him, though, he--

"This is stupid. Remembering him by his eyes only is stupid. And you made me a whore for making out with him countless times before I even remembered him," Stereotype grumped, jabbing his creator in the shoulder.

"Stop fucking interrupting! I'm working in a time limit! I've got less than a half hour to finish this, you whiny little bitchy!" his creator shouted. She then quickly jabbed him back, kicked him in the shin, and shoved him away. Furiously she returned to her writing, grumbling to herself all the while.

...He...uh...stopped... Ahem. Anyways, all at once Stereotype's bouncing ceased. His heart, likewise, stopped as it was caught up in the moment with the rest of his body and mind. "Those eyes... I'd remember them anywhere..." he whispered softly as he man leanded down for a kiss.

"I was hoping you would. I've been watching you with these lonely eyes for quite awhile, my dearest Stereotype," whispered the man. his lips, again, were just a hair's breadth away from Stereotype's. Despite this, the boy felt very much capable of thinking and speaking this time around.

"They don't look like lonely eyes to me," he whispered, a crimson blush coating his cheeks.

"Not anymore, they're not," the strange man replied. With those words, the two kissed....and kissed...and french kissed....and had wild animal sex right there on the balcony, in front of the little birdies and bunnies and God and everybody, including Policeman Gona Getcha, whom was watching everything through a telescope.

Of course, the story still needed to be explained, and since the two main characters were busy fucking each other, it was up to the narrator to insert flashbacks.

*The Flashback Starts Here*

Stereotype was a cute lil baby and left all alone by the edge of the forest by his whore of a mommy, who was busy screwing guys for food stamps to feed her child. Along came Count Cliche Jerke, who noticed the cute lil baby Stereotype.

Instantly Count CJ realized he was as gay as rainbow bunny shit. however, while the guy could accept being gay, he didn't want to be a pedo. So he cuddled with baby Stereotype and whispered sweet nothings in his ear until sunset.

At that time, as Stereotype's whore of a mother hadn't returned, Count CJ swept Stereotype off to his castle for the night. He was really careful not to do anything too suggestive, since he knew he'd get his ass arrested by Policeman Gona Getcha if he did.

After spending the night staring at baby Stereotype sleeping in his arms, Count CJ took the boy back to where he found him. Placing him beneath the tree where they had first met, Count CJ whispered to Stereotype that they could be together and finally go gay over each other when he turned eighteen.

The man's parting words to baby Stereotype were the whispered cliche of: "I'll have my eyes on you." And thus he was off, back to his castle to brood until his lovely little boy returned to him. Stereotype's mother finally, finally came back for him, but only just after Count CJ had gone on his way.

*The Flashback Ends Here*

Stereotype now laid in the arms of Count Cliche Jerke. After so long, after so many years, they were finally together again and could screw as much as they wanted. And now it all made sense to Stereotype as to why he'd never slept with any guys before even knowing he was gay. And now it all made sense to Policeman Gona Getcha why he didn't get to rape Stereotype. And now it all made sense to the readers why the author needs to be shot. And now it all made sense to the narrator why he needed to get a new job.

The End.

"That sucked," Stereotype stated flatly.

"Shut up. You should be glad I didn't have you raped," the author stated flatly back.

"You made me have consensual sex with some freakass cop watching through a telescope. I have no reason to be thankful," Stereotype replied still flatly. His creator stared for a beat, thinking up a good reply. Suddenly, the same cruel smile she'd worn before came back to her face.

"You're right. I'm sure you liked it non-consensual better. To make it up to you, next time it'll be tentacle rape," she purred with evil delight.

"...You wouldn't..." Stereotype said slowly, suddenly very on edge.

"Actually, I would," the author said. She then flounced off to post up her stupid as Hell story on deviantart.com to inflict eye-torture on all of her watchers.