Thank goodness for gym sightings, otherwise I don’t know what I’d ever draw!
Now for some slash:
“Sorry, not interested.” Jackson grunted, pushing past another suitor. This one was almost as big as Jackson—probably a catch by most gay men’s standards—but Jackson wasn’t looking for just any catch. His type was highly specific: clumsily awkward, twinkish, dirt-skinned, and really good at dancing instead of working out.
“I want,” Jackson paused, eyeing a scrawny Filipino boy dancing between workouts, “I need him.” He grunted, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, his heavy chain and padlock jingling from the movement. From the moment he laid eyes on that Dutch-Filipino mutt struggling to do a pushup, Jackson knew he had found his Master.
The feeling was stronger than any “love” Jackson had known. It was a sense of belonging, a need to please. But first, he needed the kid to even acknowledge his existence. Until then, the chain served as a chastity device for Jackson. Only his Master could take it off him.
He’s wearing a kilt. I tried drawing it in plaid, but it didn’t quite come out.
Also, body hair is really hard to draw!
