Disney - the land of a thousand dreams. Some dream of becoming an imagineer, others dream of dressing like a princess. Me? I want to fuck a Disney character. I’m not talking about the humans. My feelings are more sinister, my needs more raw. When I say I want to get some tail, I mean that I want them to have a tail.  Daisy Duck, Minnie Mouse, Bambi’s Mom, I’d fuck them all.

I realize that it is physically impossible to commit sexual acts with a cartoon drawing. I did, however, come close to finding the next best thing. I met a girl who, after our introduction, revealed that she worked at Disney. I nonchalantly steered the conversations towards revealing which character she played. I asked her if she wore a uniform.

“No, ” she replied, “I have to wear a costume.”

Excitement burst through me. I casually probed for more information.

“Oh, are you like Goofy or something?” I asked.

“Ha, I wish. Goofy’s my favorite. No, I’m a girl character.”

I could barely contain myself. Sure, she was no drawing, but this could be an interesting experiment.

My curiosity was the block, however. Disney likes to pretend the characters are real, protecting their secret identity. Employees are a part of this secret cult, strongly discouraged from discussing their roles. The more I asked, the more she pulled away. She told me that she wasn’t allowed to discuss it. Pushing her further caused her to lose interest. Finally, she stopped responding altogether when I asked if her costume was anatomically correct.

Although screwing a girl in an animal suit would’ve done little to quench my secret appetite for cartoonophelia, I did buy season passes to Disney just in case.