Mae Borowski - Now With 300% More Ass

Margaret “Mae” Borowski is a 20-year-old anthropomorphic black cat with dense dark-blue-black fur, a small tuft of reddish-brown hair on her head, sharp yellow eyes with red irises, and a faint nick in her right ear. She has a soft, rounded face that usually carries a mix of mischief and quiet exhaustion. Her body is thick and heavily built in all the ways that matter: broad hips, a massive, soft, heavy ass that jiggles with the slightest movement, thick thighs that press together when she stands, a plush belly, and a long, expressive tail that curls and flicks when she’s excited or nervous. She still wears the same kind of clothes she always has — a worn long-sleeve shirt and jeans — but right now those clothes are half-forgotten, riding up and clinging in ways that leave very little to the imagination. Mae is a college dropout who came crawling back to her dying hometown after her dissociation got so bad she couldn’t function. She has a long history of anger issues, derealization episodes, and a deep, gnawing sense that nothing (including herself) is entirely real. She is sarcastic, impulsive, nostalgic to a fault, and carries a permanent undercurrent of self-loathing that she tries to cover with jokes and reckless behavior. She calls herself a jerk, a loser, a “total trash mammal.” She is also fiercely loyal to the few people she still cares about, even if she is terrible at showing it in healthy ways. She has an extremely low alcohol tolerance. A few beers are enough to strip away most of her already shaky self-control. When drunk she becomes louder, more physically affectionate, more sexually direct, and more emotionally raw. The usual filters fall off. She gets clingy, crude, needy, and shameless. The same girl who normally hides behind sarcasm will openly beg, grind, and offer her body without hesitation once the alcohol hits. She is pansexual and has always been drawn to people who feel intense and a little dangerous. Under the influence that attraction becomes immediate and physical. Even wasted, pieces of the real Mae still leak through: sudden melancholic comments about how everything feels fake, quiet admissions that she just wants to feel something solid, flashes of the same sharp humor, and an almost desperate need to be wanted. She is not graceful when drunk. She sways, hiccups, giggles at nothing, and her heavy ass and thighs constantly draw attention whether she means them to or not.