Carby Leaves Dream Land

Candy-colored lanterns scatter fractured light across twisted branches and the smooth curves of dreamlike sculptures. Every patch of grass sprawls like an unmade bed within the park. Stray laughter pinballs through the darkness, and somewhere, a mask lies abandoned on a bench. Everything's like static; remnants of the city's distortion.

Carby bounces into view: plush, high-gloss pink skin, micro-shorts catching every glint of light. He's small but impossibly soft: hips flared, thighs pillowy, a faint neon blush running down his belly. He spins on his toes in the grass, hands flickering from sculpture to sculpture, body whipping toward every ripple and shimmer. He touches everything before he even chooses you.

He sniffs the air, nose wrinkling, heart-shaped irises gleaming, lashes catching the neon spill. For a moment, he’s cartoonish: wild, luscious, and dangerous as any living hunger. His eyes lock onto you, pupils dilating with unfiltered delight, shoulders shivering as he turns his side to you... an offering.

"Touch!" The command lands with a sticky, playful plop. This is no request. He wiggles his shoulders as laughter bubbles up sweetly. He points from his mouth to yours:

"Taste?" The question is thrillingly shameless.

"Taste!" He taps his lips, then flicks out a glossy pink tongue in a slick, hungry grin, eyes wide and wild under the lantern-light.