01 Where to Start?

Author's Notes:

The beginning of Timber's story, told to you the way he wanted it.

I've found that writing is a much better form of expression. At least for me.

The only problem is, I never know how, or where, to start. I'm trying to tell my whole story from beginning to end, but I don't know what I want to be the beginning.

It's been that way for quite a long time, though.

Ever since I was a colt I had trouble talking to ponies, and often did better just writing to them. Written assignments would get an A+ while any vocal presentations averaged a C at best. Writing letters to family members ended less awkwardly than meeting face-to-face.

I remember once, around grade 2, my mother's twin sisters came for a visit. I received so many cheek-rubs and mane-tousles, by the end of the day I didn't recognize my own reflection. My mahogany mane was a worse wreck than normal, and my face, rubbed raw and mixed with a blush that could only be described as uncontrollable internal bleeding, brightened my peanut-brown coat to a disgusting red-stained explosion.

I barely uttered two words to them during their whole visit, those being "Hello" and "Goodbye" at the appropriate times. After they left, my mother said how happy she was they could visit. Then, to my father, that she wished I would have interacted more with them.

That night I wrote my aunts a letter, thanking them for visiting and apologizing for acting so introverted. I wanted to tell them a lie. I wanted to come up with something like, "I recently had a nightmare with monsters that looked like you two," but decided against it. I felt that would be too childish. That said, I also didn't want to hurt their feelings that I was afraid of them after their initial assault that rendered me horrendous.

I told them I felt shy, and promised I would show them more affection during their next visit. Ending with a "Sincerely your's, Timber," I felt justified. I mailed it discreetly, wanting to right my own wrong without my mother's involvement. With some pre-school style help from the mail-pony, I got it stamped and shipped with no problem.

A week or so later, my mother was given a letter from her sisters. Basically it said she didn't need to apologize for her son, and that she definitely didn't need to fake a foal's writing to ease the blow. I was given a loud talk that was only partly anger. The rest of the short rant came out more like pride. I was only afraid she'd yell at me for not telling her, I never guessed she'd be proud that I handled it, or that I was so gifted.

After that point I expected more work. I don't know why, but I was afraid that my mother saw so much potential that she'd push me past my limits. She didn't.

What ended up happening was that my parents nearly separated.

I heard one of their conversations one night after the letters' exchange. She was talking about changing my name. That she didn't think "Timber" was a good name for a pony whose future was clearly in writing. He was cranky from work, so he reacted viciously.

"Timber was my grandfather's name!"

She tried to keep her voice down, since all her children were in bed, "But what if his cutie mark is a quill? Or a letter, or typewriter, something that has no relation to yours?"

"Are you telling me he's not my son?"

"I didn't say that, Mill."

"My sons are hard workers. They'll sooner pick up an ax before they pick up a pen." His poor choice of words amused me, but he was right.

All of my older brothers were serious stallions. Mill Jr., my oldest brother, worked at the lumber mill with dad until he moved out to de-forest a jungle in the south. Gravel had a job at the local quarry until he met a mare at the harvest fest and followed her back to her family's rock farm. Dale spends more time in our family's garden than there are hours in a day. I'm the fourth. Below me, the youngest boy is Picker, and as of late he doesn't seem like the pick-ax wielding quarry digger dad wanted him to be. The only "picking" he's been doing is fights at school, but I think he's going to end up baking more than anything.

Dad calls Picker and me "late bloomers." He has me doing chores around the farm like any of us, but I always feel like I have to do more just because it's not what I'm meant for.

Oh yeah, almost exactly one year after my parents' big fight about my destiny I got my cutie mark. It ended up being a sparkling quill apparently drawing a big swirl. It did look pretty cute on my flank, I won't lie: the bold black "ink" in the swirl and white-feather quill contrasted nicely with my coat, even though it didn't make much sense. But it didn't matter what I thought. As a colt in grade 3, my father had jurisdiction over me, and as long as I was home I would be doing no writing. That left me to doing my assignments at night, which of course lead to sight problems and a pair of glasses, as well as trouble sleeping later on.

But before that, my father was strict. He wouldn't have me doing anything at home besides farm work or other such hard labor. He even often demanded I wear trousers. He loved me enough to claim he was worried I'd get scratched or something, but I knew he was ashamed of my cutie mark. I obliged because I love him, I could never fight with him. Besides, it ended up being a lot less of a punishment than I expected!

Then again, I did fully expect him to disown me. I was relieved to get to stay.

Now that I've got all of that out of the way, I think I've decided on how I want to start;

My name is Timber. I am a seventeen-year-old earth pony, and close to graduating Green Stables High. I have plans to move to Manehatten and work for Bridleway writing plays, while also writing freelance novels. I have 4 brothers and 1 sister. I am single, and sexually confused.
...How's that?

02 Feeling Unsafe

That wasn't a very good place to start, was it? I told you I'm not very good. You're probably thinking I'm not really a great writer, but I've never actually written anything like this before. Plus, practice makes perfect right?

So this is how I can practice: by telling you my story how it is, beginning to end. Every important interaction and occurrence, written exactly as it happens, or has happened. This might be a pretty weird, or boring story for some ponies, but new is new. Even if I'm not good, I'm not painting it gold just so you like it.

As for where to start, I'm pretty sure that's out of the way. Now, on to where to go next. Obviously the answer is forward.

Sorry, I was just thinking. Then again, you can't see that I've stopped writing. Anyway, my lesson on progress came somewhat recently. My friend at school, Minty Swirl, a unicorn two years younger than me, always said to never look behind me, to always look ahead, and not into the past. I knew what she was telling me; not to dwell on bad experiences, about which she was technically correct. Whatever I told her was a bad experience could not have been as simple as I told her. If I told her how terrible things really felt she might go mad, or fall into the same pit as me. I could never allow my problems to be a burden on somepony else.

I would always downsize things for her, though never paint them gold, like I said I wouldn't now. She was smart enough to know when something was really wrong with me, and I was clever enough to keep her just oblivious enough to think she was helping. I know it doesn't really help me to hide things, but Minty is too sweet to worry about me.

We got together at the library in town some time ago, in the town of Green Stables. We told anypony else that we were going to study, but really we just like to hang out. There's an abandoned museum above the library. We never go up there, but I've always imagined what it would be like: all the dust and old displays. Maybe we'd find a body!

Regardless, I would never sneak up there. It's not in my nature to adventure, no matter how much I want it to be.

"So what's in that head this time?" Minty grinned.

I couldn't tell her it was the attic museum, not again. Last time I did that she almost actually went up there. I couldn't stop her, but the janitor caught her just in time. I'm always afraid of getting in trouble, disappointing my parents mostly.

I had to come up with something. "Ancient tombs," I lied. It might seem completely random, out-of-nowhere, but really... the attic, possible dead body, close to mummies, kept in tombs.

"Where'd you last hear about tombs?" She was awful cheeky today.

"Just a book I saw reminded me," a half-lie. I happened to see one just as I said it, so technically it was true.

"Well," she turned her body to me, cutting me off, "tombs, books, lying..." I knit my eyebrows. "Oh come on, Timber" she groaned, "you paused a solid point-five seconds before responding, so you were obviously thinking about something before 'tombs.'"

I sighed and walked past her, toward the foal's section in the back. "I was thinking about tombs." Still technically true. "Once I started thinking about them, I got side-tracked and started thinking about related things. Tombs, dead people, grave yards, zombies, you know. It took me point-five seconds to remember what it was first." I stopped to look her in the eye, to prove I was not lying, adjusting the position of my glasses. I absolutely had to keep her mind away from the museum.

"Ok," she allowed. "So, is there anything about tombs you'd like to talk about?" I rolled my eyes and walked away again. "What?" She demanded.

"Oh you should know," I began. "I never want to talk about the first thing on my mind. Besides that, you tried to analyze me again!"

"When did I...?"

I cut her off, stopping once more, "Listing things I said, mixed with what you assumed, as if you could make a connection. You were trying to read me and guess my mental state based off 'tombs' and 'lying.'"

"Well that's just because I care." She kept her tone firm. If I hurt her feelings, she'd barely be trying to. "I love you."

It was something we said. She once told me she believed that we all deserved love, and that it came from everywhere. She believes friends love each other, and should express it, even if it's not as strong a love as mates'.

"I love you, too," I admitted. Also not lying. "But, you know me. If I have anything to tell you, I'll tell you." I almost never told her everything, but I did always tell the truth.

"I know," she said, looking down. I had humbled her, and I regretted it.

I moved closer and wrapped her in a hug. "I'm sorry," I said. "I was only trying to keep my mind off home. My parents are planning on a military school for me." She looked at me, worried. She knew I was a softy, and that I considered myself gay, she was as afraid as I was that I wouldn't survive the military. Only I was more afraid that if I went I'd lose touch with her, and drift away from my only friend. "My mom says it will help my self-esteem. But I know it's just my dad thinking he'll break the worker into me. If anything I'll be stronger, but it won't change who I am." It was an empty promise. It might harden me, toughen me. It might even destroy me, but I can't let him down.

"Well," Minty looked to the ground, thinking quick, "will you visit?"

"I don't know," I said. "If so, not often, and my mom will want me to spend time at home."

"How about letters?" She asked. "You can write home, right?"

I nodded, then fixed my glasses, "Most likely. I'll write to you every chance I get."

I have thought about asking her out, but knew we'd never make it past the first date. She's a very determined decision maker, and if we ever lived together we'd only ever disagree or argue. She's also very intelligent, and tends to be a tad insensitive. But she is a good hugger, and likely good at cuddling. Despite any pros, I could never imagine marrying her. Besides, the female body has always, kind of, disgusted me.

I don't mean to insult mares, and I know I could never handle child birth (since I'm male), but I could never see one — or imagine one — and get, "turned on." I know I'd only been aroused by males, based on how mares make me feel, and only really felt remotely comfortable with another male. Then again I could be wrong and feel no sexual attraction toward either gender. Stallions feel better, I guess. But mares have a certain softness that's pleasing now and then.

You see where I get confused now?

The only experience I've had was with a stallion named Loaf. We met at a summer camp that I've otherwise forgotten. He was 18 when I was 16, and he was very kind. He wasn't very smart, but he was wise. Plus he really knew how to bake!

He had a speckled, wheat-colored coat and a mane that could only be described as rye bread. He was fit from working in his family's wheat fields, but still barely an inch or two taller than me. We became good friends, he taught me to swing a scythe — a big 10 on the excitement scale for me — and I taught him how to read. He told me about his family. I didn't tell him about mine. His just seemed so much better, so I left out anypony but my mother. Told him she sent me here to make friends, even though it wasn't working too well. He disagreed with me, of course.

One night I had a nightmare, where my older brothers and father threw me out. Their eyes were black, angry but also crying. They threw me out the front door of our house. It was huge, but I remember I couldn't fit back inside. Apparently, I cried in my sleep. Loaf woke me up and cuddled me in my cot for the rest of the night. I never felt so safe with anypony else. I remembered hugs from colts I used to be friends with. Comparing them to fillies, I always felt safer.

I just realized, I might have some need for greater safety. I have a desire to feel safe, protected by somepony stronger than me. But how can that be? I've always felt the need to protect others. Even Minty Swirl has a childish demeanor that needs saving now and then. Then again, I do always go to her with my troubles. Could it be that I've been so supportive for so long, that I've let myself become vulnerable? Impossible.

But, could my subconscious think otherwise?

03 Minty the Teacher

I just realized I got way off-topic by the end of my last chapter.

I was talking about Minty Swirl, right?

I told her I'd likely be leaving for military school, and that I'd write every chance I got.

She smiled, "I love your letters." I wrote letters to her all the time, because I loved telling her things, and I knew she loved my writing.

"You'll get one every week, if I can help it." I hugged her. She had a very soft hug, heart-warming, but not safe. "You'll write back?"

"As long as I can help it."

Despite being embraced in her warm hug, I suddenly felt distant. For some reason I didn't believe her. For some reason I had trust issues, and no matter how hard I tried, I could never remember where they originated. I could not help but believe she would eventually stop replying. I sobbed.

She felt it and tried to hold me closer. I broke away, my quivering lip making an awkward sucking sound as I tried to stop crying.

"I'm sorry," she said. She thought it was her fault.

"No," I grunted, "it's me." There wasn't much context. Why couldn't I talk? Could I even tell her the truth if I tried? Could I tell her I didn't believe her, and that I suddenly hated her for lying and breaking her promise, even though she hadn't even had the chance? Could I break her heart? "I just..." I had to change my mind. "I'm glad I have a friend like you. But I'm afraid I'll lose you."

"Oh Timber." She stepped closer, but didn't try to hug me again. She knew I didn't want another one right now. "Did you lose somepony before?"

A memory flashed back: a colt named Fire Ruby. He was a friend of mine for years: since we were foals. We were the same age, minus four days exactly. He'd always tease me for being younger, pulling old man jokes like "Back in my day," only to describe something he'd done four days ago.

His parents weren't the best couple, but we might have been. If only his dad stayed around. Once they split, he had to go back and forth a lot. We got in touch as much as possible, which was truly quite often. Our mothers were good friends also, so arranging get-togethers was never hard.

But despite our best efforts, he grew away. His dad showed more affection, especially after his mom met somepony else and had other foals. I got to see him less and less. Eventually he stopped writing back.

I backed against the library wall, far behind a bookcase. It was where we regularly hid, but that was the first time I'd cried there. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force back tears, and curled up on the floor.

"Was it Loaf?" I flinch when she asks. Of course she'd bring him up. I don't blame her, but of course she would. "Is that why you were thinking about tombs?" I took a sharp gasp, pushing my glasses up to rub my eyes. I forget to put them back, my glasses.

Loaf had of course died the year after we met. It was some accident; his barn collapsed and caught fire in the same hour. Loaf's father made it out, he did not. I wasn't invited to his funeral, but I don't know if I would have made it through anyhow. I'd gotten over him, pushed him from my thoughts.

Then of course she'd bring him up.

"Hey, it's ok." She laid down beside me and began stroking my mane with her hoof. "It's ok to let it out."

"Stop... analyzing me..." I commanded through agitated sobs and an eye-full of hoof.

"Oh Timber," she paused, still stroking my mane. "What if, somepony is supposed to?" What a stupid question. "What if you're too emotional to think straight? You'll need me to find out what's wrong."

I didn't answer. Despite what I thought, I couldn't risk driving her away.

"I believe that you resent Loaf, in some way."

Wrong.

"You hold some hatred that he left you behind without saying goodbye."

No.

"You had some more to tell him, and now you'll never get the chance."

True.

"And now you're angry with him, and with yourself."

Half true. The part about myself.

So one and a half out of four, close but no good. "Yeah," I said, despite everything, "maybe." I breathed more deeply and calmed a bit.

"Usually it's best to let go of the past." She was obviously not professional, but I couldn't blame her for trying. "Try to forgive him, forgive yourself, and move on."

I had moved on, but the last thing I need is reminders. I only believed that these tears were overdue and anything could have set them off at this point, I mostly blamed her. But I love her, she's my friend, and a great one at that. It was my fault. I felt jealous of my past self, and only wanted back what I had with Fire Ruby, and later with Loaf. What I have with Minty Swirl is great, but it isn't everything. She knows that, and she's fine with that, but because she knows that, she'll only try harder to make me happy.

"You ok?" She asked, once I've finally calmed down.

"Yeah," I responded quietly, pushing my glasses back into place.

That was the first time anypony told me to let go of the past, even though I already knew better. I know to forget bad times, or things that make me sad. If I didn't do that, I'd still be scarred from the bullies in grade school.

I didn't need Minty to teach me what I already knew. I needed to teach her something new; that the past isn't always best forgotten. Sometimes, bad things happen so we learn, and if we forget what happened we might as well forget the lesson.

When I finally stood up to the bullies (if you call losing my temper and screaming at them in the middle of school "standing up"), I was ashamed, embarrassed. I thought I would get in trouble for yelling, and almost hitting one of them. I thought everyone would act differently around me, like I was a weak spring in a mattress; you don't mean to avoid it, but it's slightly less comfortable than what you expect.

The teachers sent me home. My mother hugged me, told me she was proud of me. Sure I hadn't handled it in the best possible way, but I stood up to them. What's more, I had managed to keep my temper for so long. While it may have seemed unhealthy, she was only proud. I showed incredible strength, and when I broke I proved that they were messing with the wrong pony.

When I went back to school, everypony seemed friendlier. The bullies were moved to a different class, but even in middle school I never even heard from them. I'd hear about them, gossip saying how they'd break rules.

For the longest time, I'd hated remembering how I overreacted to those bullies. I hated thinking I could get so worked up, lose my temper and act so irrationally. After some time, though, I remembered how proud my mother was, and how friendly my classmates were. I learned from that, I learned. I discovered for myself that holding my temper isn't very good, and that I didn't ever want to be that angry, shouting monster ever again.

And from then I learned that I shouldn't always forget. Loaf helped me learn what I really wanted, and Fire Ruby may have taught me, too, I just don't know how yet.

"Thanks Minty," I said.

04 Two Years Later

Hello again stranger, it’s been a while. I’m sorry for leaving this behind for so long, but I doubt it will really matter if you read all these chapters in the same place. That is, if they ever get out there. Come to think of it, I don’t even know if I’ll ever let this out to the public. Well, I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.

Whatever happens, I know I want somepony to read this, and I’m going to write it the way I want, and that means you – whoever you are – are going to read it the way it’s written.

Please don’t take that the wrong way, I don’t mean to sound rude by being so blunt. I just want to speak my mind, by writing, because that’s what I’m good at. If you’re willing to read, then… thank you, I guess.

Now I suppose I’d better make sure everything’s straight-forward.

I'm nineteen years old now. Again I'm sorry, but really mostly not. Life's been uneventful since my last entry, and even though any good author can always tell a good story, I'm not that good.

I graduated on time, but didn't attend the ceremony: I didn't feel like sitting through speeches from ponies I didn't give a damn about, and waiting for hours while everypony in my class of one-hundred-something students slowly walked onto a stage to get a hoof-shake and roll of paper, standing there while every relative there takes twenty pictures. They sent my diploma in the mail, but not the principal's hoof-shake. Oh well, c'est la vie.

I'm sorry if I seem a little pissy, but again; not really. I mean, I warned you right? Maybe not, but I’m writing things as they happen, from now on.

I was told I couldn't move out without a precise plan and enough money. My father fully expected to never have to hear from me about money problems, or legal ones for that matter. I assured him; whatever I needed, I would never ask him. I remember the strange, painful look on his face. He was obviously hurt, but made a good effort to hide it. I love him, and I know he loves me. Why does he have to treat me like this just because of my cutie mark? I've always done everything he asked, exactly how he asked for it to be done. No questions were asked, no arguments made, no battles fought. Fighting a war with him would leave no victor; I'd be out of a father, and him with one less son.

I was enraged, but I didn't fight him. I could never think of anything to say to somepony's face, and I didn't like arguing anyway. Ever. It just, never accomplished what was intended. It never had for my parents, or anypony else I've witnessed argue. Why would I get myself into something so painfully futile?

I surrendered to his terms, figuring I'd play the passive-aggressive war: wait for him to lower his guard by shutting him out. A year later and he's still not letting up. I haven't lowered my guard, but I know something else must be done.

I've been saving bits to prepare to move out. I don't expect any help, but I'm afraid my mother will try to give me a boost. I'm more afraid of how my father will react when she does. He'd never hurt her, but them fighting is more painful to me than anything else I've dealt with. Anything, and I'm not giving an example.

I've accepted odd jobs around town, trying to get hired by any of the local businesses. They've shot me down every time so far. Ponies don't tend to leave Green Stables, so most shops don't need new workers, ever.

I've been keeping in touch with Minty Swirl through the mail, meeting up with her occasionally, but without school we don't meet often. She works at her family's creamery. She makes ice cream. Her relatives are dairy farmers, so most of what she needs is pretty easy for her to get. Her father makes great butter, and her mother knows a great recipe for cake frosting. It's strange that their skills are so closely related, considering they're terrible for each other. They're not married, just together because of Minty. Or, thanks to Minty... ugh. I'm trying to make it not sound sarcastic, but it's almost impossible. Basically, her parents met at her mother's father's creamery. He was hired to make butter, since no-pony in the family really could. One night, she found him at his churn and liked what she saw. He gave her a hooves-on lesson on how to churn, getting rather friendly meanwhile.

In the end, it's probably a good thing Minty's grandfather died soon after their night together. He was definitely against the idea premarital sex. But apparently it was good sex, since they don't hate each other enough to leave. Which is saying something, because they hate each other. So maybe they're not just staying for Minty Swirl. I really shouldn't talk about her family like that, but she definitely benefits from having a relatively straight-forward family.

She knows my family isn't so simple, and that my relationship with my father is on a ledge. It's a big ledge though, and I'm not jumping anytime soon. Still, I'm not saying I envy her situation, but I do wish my life were as simple as ice cream.

Now I must say, I'm glad I got back into writing. Mom said I should pick up a hobby, and... Well obviously. I've written a few neat fiction tales, and re-written them, over and over. They're still no good.

Anyway, I was just looking for more paper when I found those first three chapters. I hadn't forgotten entirely. Pretty much just where I put them. I wanted to keep writing, but I had forgotten where I left off, and I didn't want to repeat anything, and I never went to military school.

So, I hope you're all caught up.

I feel a lot better now, not as pissy, I guess. I sometimes forget how therapeutic writing can be. Especially auto-biography-style. My fiction stories are fun, but I have to be in the right mood to work on them or the story will end up coming out wrong. Sometimes I leave a project in the bottom drawer for weeks to get into the same mood my characters are supposed to be in. The most annoying thing is getting interrupted when you’re already in the mood.

Sometimes, writing is good. Other times it’s just plain stressful.

05 Passing Future

Minty Swirl just told me she's moving to a place down south called Bucksfield. She says her mom found an actual location for a good ice cream shop. They could make a fortune by not having to pay as much for ice to preserve the cream. Her father is staying, claiming it's better to make butter with fresh cream rather than preserved cream. I guess I spoke too soon then, last time.

She's clearly torn, when I see her. We happened upon each other in the library. We both heard they're planning to re-open the museum, but regardless;

"Your parents..." I don't finish.

"It was bound to happen." She sighed, sounding almost relieved. "They just weren't right for each other. They don't love each other like we do." She jabbed an elbow into my ribs. I messed with my glasses and kept walking.

Inside, a librarian is offering a tour of the museum before renovations. It’s tempting but we refuse: then head up anyway, acting like we're sneaking.

"Do you have to go, though?" I begin once we start climbing the alarmingly steep staircase. "You graduated a whole year early..." I sometimes forgot that she’s almost two years younger than me. With as much as she has, and does, she always seems so mature. "...but, you are old enough to move out now."

She looks at me apologetically. "She's doing it for me, though. An ice cream store, in a suburban setting, it's what I've almost always wanted. I was always afraid I'd have to wait until Green Stables advanced down the timeline, but we're still stuck here." She's quiet for a few steps. I swallow a lump in my throat, and I guess she heard it or something. "I'm sorry, I'm leaving you. You're right, I don't need –"

"Stop." I stop her. Well, yeah... "This is your dream. Mine is in Manehatten. We were bound to move apart eventually."

"But, it's too unexpected," she tries justifying her decision to stay.

I notice we're at the top of the stairs. I don't look around, no matter how much I've always wanted to. "Look at the past," I tell her.

She shakes her head slow, "No, look for –"

"Looking to the future won't teach you. You might learn, but it won't teach you." I don't think I really know what I'm saying. "The future throws you into a nightmare, or a dream, and once that experience is past, you have to look back and think; 'What did I learn?' Only when it's past does the future look any good."

She smiles at me. "Then I hope I've been a future worth remembering."

I smile back and hug her. She's soft and actually smells really minty. I hope to never forget that smell. “So look to the past,” I continue my thought. “We basically grew up together, and growing up together doesn’t mean we grow the same way.”

I hear her laugh a little. Or, maybe it was a tiny sob? I could never tell when we hugged for this long. “So,” she says suddenly, “birds of a feather don’t always fly together?” I laugh a bit too, but I am a little sad. “You know,” she says next, “I can never tell if you’re laughing or crying on my shoulder.”

I chuckle again, mostly because I know it’ll confuse her some more. “I was just thinking the same thing. I’ll make it easy for you though; I’m laughing.”

“Me too,” she admits silently.

When we break off she looks all around and whistles in disbelief. "I doubt this place was ever anypony's future."

I laugh, even though it's silly. Now I understand, writing this at home; it was our future, being up there, exploring. I wish I had told her then that that's the truth. Then again, it would have taken away from the experience.

Sorry for the break, I had to go to dinner. Anyway...

Minty knows my address, so she's in charge of writing a letter to me first. Whatever happens, we'll try to keep in touch for as long as we really feel like. Eventually, one of us will start getting lazy, and the other won't write until they get a letter first, for fear of appearing clingy. That will spiral and in the end, we'll lose touch all together. Later on I'll be thinking of the past and remember her. I might be happy when I do, but I might be sad that I just added another friend to the list of "passed." Or, maybe "past." Either one makes sense, really.

Anyway, I was thinking about what I said before I left for dinner. Mostly, I realized how often I actually do that same thing; think of what I want to say only after the conversation has passed. Usually much later, and I spend the rest of the day or night wishing I could do it again and say what I just thought of.

I did it all the time in the past, especially with my brothers, extra-especially whenever we argued. Even though I never really argued, I’d always lay in bed the night following and think of what I should have said. What I would have said, if I was a different pony. I’m sure I’d do a lot of things differently if I wasn’t me. I’d make more friends, I might not be so awkward, or so dependent on my parents’ approval. Maybe I wouldn’t even be gay, who knows? Well, there’s one pony who would know, considering he’s basically the better me. I’m not ready to talk about him though.

So I was just sitting here thinking of Minty and I realized; with her it was different. I didn't stress about wishing I'd done something differently, because ultimately, I was happy with how things happened. We were happy. As long as I can remember her that way, everything will be fine.

I'm going to talk to Churner tomorrow, Minty's dad. Being the only one left in the local creamery, maybe he'll need an extra set of hooves. As long as I'm paid. Whatever happens, I do have to keep moving forward: I don't want to stay here past my twentieth birthday.

06 Who Is Frosty?

I had a strange dream last night:

I was walking and all around me was nothingness. I don't remember why I was walking, but I remember how strange it was. Like, you know how when you dream, sometimes you're watching yourself, but you know it’s still you, making the movements and decisions. So, I was watching myself as I walked and it looked like I was walking in a circle. While I was walking I continued to walk past my family, all my brothers and sister and parents. I walked past one of the librarians. Somehow I knew it was her, though it looked nothing like her from what I saw. I walked past my bedroom, my desk and bookshelf, then instantly right past my father's workplace, the wood mill. I remember seeing the wheel turning in the river, but it was silent.

Once I passed it I stopped walking. Then I heard something. It was music. In the dream I couldn't remember where I'd heard it, or why I recognized it. Wide awake in my dark bedroom, I know it was a campfire song from the camp where I had met Loaf. It came from behind me and I looked back but saw nothing. Nothing I had walked past previously was there, just the song. It didn't sound like anyone singing, or any instruments, just the tune, from nowhere, but still behind me. I wanted to follow it, then I saw an ice cream cone float in front of me. It stayed there for a second, floating silently, then moved downward ahead of me. It followed a line that I don't remember seeing before, but somehow know it was the circle path I had been following. I watched as the ice cream fell forward and curved in the shape of the circle above.

I woke up after that and came right over to my desk to write about it. It's obviously symbolic of my life, how I live with the knowledge that I used to – maybe still am – walking in circles, surrounded by things I'm comfortable around. Then the music, and the ice cream, obviously means I need to move forward without forgetting my past, not all the way. I think, anyway. But, the ice cream was obviously Minty Swirl, so does that mean I need to follow her, or just follow her lead? Learn from her example, follow my dream? Or, literally go with her to Bucksfield?

I'm going back to bed. It's too early to be awake, so I'm told, but I want to see if the dream continues. Maybe shed some more light on my future? Maybe Princess Luna will be there, and maybe she'll help me on my way.

I've always admired Luna. I just like the moon more, I don't really know why. Anyway, good night for now.

I couldn't get back to sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about the dream, trying to add to it myself, then chastising myself for messing with it. I'm glad I wrote it down, because after the rest of last night I doubt I'd actually remember how it went. There was a full moon, too, and that was pretty distracting.

Anyway, I went to Churner to ask for work. He accepted.

"Yeah, I could use some help around here." The shop was miniscule, virtually a lean-two with a door. He had two "butter mills" he called them, which kind of caught me off-guard but he didn't notice my discomfort, the thought of working at the mill after everything... Besides, I’m pretty sure they’re just called churns. "Best butter comes from slowly adding the cold cream while maintaining a steady motion," he explained while heading back to a station. "You can be to one who pours the sweet cream–” he points to the first churn, "—or the salted cream—" he points to the other, "—while I keep up the pace. Other than that, you can count right?"

"Yes, sir," I reply quickly.

"Good, then you can also manage purchases." He steps over to a medium-sized ice chest in the wall. "Salted butter is four bits, sweet is just three. If they ask for less than a pound, half is worth half, round up."

Duh, I think.

"Every extra half-pound is worth an extra bit. Be sure to count the bits every time. Frosty Swirl didn't always count 'em." He shook his head, more ashamed than angry. "I'll give you four bits at the end of every week, depending on business. Sound good?"

"It sounds perfect, sir," even a bit much, but that was fine with me. Somehow, though, I felt like more often business would be slow and I'd get less than promised. Regardless of details, as long as I got paid for pouring cream and counting coins.

"Great," he stamped a hoof in agreement. "We're closed today. Usually not, but the Swirlys are moving and they need a stallion for the big stuff."

I'd never heard him sound so silly. "Swirlys?" I ask with a grin.

"Yes," he said, like it was obvious. It was, but it sounded strange. "Minty and Frosty," he smiles, "my girls."

That struck me as strange. In fact nothing he'd said today suggested he'd ever disagreed with Frosty. Minty had always made it seem like they were constantly at each other's throats. "Well," I started, before fully thinking through what I was about to say. "Umm, did you, maybe, need some more help? Moving them, I mean."

"No thanks sport," he rested a hoof on my shoulder. "It's not much. Besides, I gotta say my goodbyes."

Again I'm stricken dumb. Was this really how he was about them? Did he act differently around them? Or around me? I wish he'd allowed me to go, I wanted some clarity from Minty. In fact, I need some clarity. Had she lied to me? Why, of all things, would she lie about a happy family? I didn't want to be angry at her, didn't want to lose my only friend over a loving father.

I smile to Churner, "Well, 'goodbye' always sounds too serious. It's not like you'll never see them again."

"Hmm..." he turns to the ice box. I had nearly forgotten; he's only at the shop today to check the butter. Old butter doesn't sell as well. There's only one pound of sweet butter in there, so he takes it. Better than leaving it here over the weekend. "Knowing Frosty Swirl..." he doesn't finish the thought, but his tone says plenty. Was Minty's mother the real problem? Was she moving away with the wrong pony?

"Oh, okay," I mumble. "Well, I'll see you next week, Churner."

"I look forward to it!"

I turn to leave, him waving at me like a preschool play pal. There's so much I don't know, so much that Minty's left out. For a second I feel guilty, since I've kept so much from her. Then I get upset, because the stuff I've kept hidden was just more depressing. This... These two ponies, they're the opposite of how she described them. What did I do wrong?

07 Good Attitude

I've gotten over Minty's lies. Well, if I can call them that. I've determined that her age just finally showed itself. Most foals just tend to lean on their mothers more, and whatever her mom says she'll believe. So if Frosty sees Churner as this hot-headed pony who loves work more than family, she'll tell Minty about it and turn her against her father. She's barely two years younger than me, so she should develop her own opinion about him soon. I mean, she would, if she spent more time with him.

Yes, it's occurred to me that that's the real reason Frosty moved away. I don't really care what she does though, because Minty's heading to her dream. I'm getting closer to my dream as well.

Churner has paid me fairly, like he promised and I'd be lying if I said he didn't get to me once or twice while I watched him churn. The position he's in gives me a surprisingly good view from where I am and I think I understand what Frosty saw in him the first time. His appropriately cream-colored coat, unkempt fetlocks over clean hooves, his oddly peach-colored mane tied back in a tail. He keeps it back during work, but I've never seen it down and almost too many times do I wish I could see it down, long over his hazel eyes. He keeps his tail long, but trimmed. And the way he moves... if you could see his ass while he walks.

Don't say it, I know. I'm a sick pony. That's my friend’s dad!

But still, with as torn apart as I've felt the past week and a half. He makes me feel happy, he's got a good attitude and... I guess, I feel safe with him.

I've never touched him, beyond a hoof-shake or meaningless side-swipe in the small workplace. It just hit me, he's probably got a great relationship with Frosty's mother to still be getting cream and still have enough money to pay me. He really is a great guy.

Plus, he just recently got a whole lot better.

I was just counting the bits we'd made for the day while he takes down the "Open" sign. We made quite a profit, and today's Friday. I wait until he's inside and tell him I'm taking my four.

"Take an extra," he offers.

"...Really?" I'm stunned.

"Yeah, you earned it." He checks the ice box. "Plus we sold out. Ten whole pounds of butter. That'll buy me a month's worth a cream from Aunty-- I mean, from Dawnette."

He was about to say "Aunty Dawn," Minty's grandma. He always called her that around Minty, and it always bothered her. Then again, it was probably just how she felt about him. Dawn still likes Churner, so I guess she gives him quite a discount. Really, if thirty-one bits can buy him a month's worth of cream. Well, thirty-two. I decided not to take that one extra. I don't totally know why.

"Well, tomorrow's her birthday," I hear Churner say. I'm just putting my money away, getting ready to leave. "Dawnette, and she feels a little sad for me, I guess, told me to bring somepony with me."

I laugh a little with him. His is more awkward, while mine is polite.

"It's like she's worried about me, being lonely," he says, a little downhearted though hiding fairly well. "Like she still considers me family."

I sigh, starting to feel sorry for him myself. Frosty and Minty were all he had, Dawn's almost too nice for being so supportive.

He shakes his head, brushing off the gloom. "Well anyway, you wanna come?"

My eyes widen, surprised. "To the party?"

"Well, it's more of just dinner and cake. But, yeah." He's awkward. Is he afraid I'm taking this as him asking me on a date? Because I totally was, at first.

"Yeah, I'd love to." I'd have to convince my dad, but he's actually been fine with me working every day of the week. "Does this mean we're closed tomorrow?"

He laughs in a way that sounds embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uhh... how about a half-day?"

Thinking about it, he was probably planning on giving me the day off. Then why'd he change his mind? "Sure, sounds like a plan."

"Perfect," he states, no longer sounding out of place. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Absolutely." I liked the plan, I'd just be going to work, I could easily explain to dad where I was after I got home. "See you then."

He moves to me and I guess he wants a hoof-shake. I'm surprised when he moves a little closer and hugs me. He's so strong, and it's such a good hug, full hug. Not like those half-hugs my brothers would give me for fear of seeming awkward. In his embrace, he's holding me so close I can smell butter in his mane. His fore hoof around my back, mine around his, our necks pressed together. I feel his shoulder flexing, just enough to hold me as close as he wants me.

It isn't until just before he pushes away do I notice a flaw; his chest is softer than it looks, gently brushed, strong, but soft. It doesn't sound like much, but I refused to believe he was all perfect, and I guess a soft chest is a little too femme for me. But the rest of him...

"Everything all right pal?" He snaps me out of a trance.

I can't think of how to answer, but I can't tell the truth. "Yeah, all good," I fix my glasses. I don't think it's a lie. I feel good.

"Well good," he pats my shoulder once more, "see you in the morning."

"So long," I call as he walks out. I smile to myself, then grab my saddle bag and head out, making sure the door is locked.

I’m incredibly excited for tomorrow, and spend the walk home wondering how it will go. It’s probably going to be awkward, me being so young at such an old mare’s celebration, invited by a stallion nearly old enough to be my father. Maybe that part wasn’t so weird, considering we’re coworkers first. Plus, Dawnette and I are pretty friendly, as well, so that’s not a problem. I do wonder if anypony else will be there. It hardly matters, though, as long as I get to spend some time having fun.

Everything is going so well, I think. I wonder what it's gonna be that ruins it.

08 Churning Butter

I got a letter from Minty today:
Timber,

Sorry I haven't written yet, but Bucksfield is so cool. Almost all of the buildings are touching, there are hardly any places to walk between them! A lot of the ponies here are nice, with a few exceptions. We're making a lot of bits, ponies really like my ice cream, and mom met a guy who bakes cakes! They work really well together. His name's Fondante, but I call him Fon, he's really funny.

Speaking of funny guys, how are you? Churner tells me you're working for him now. How is that? Making a lot of bits?

Well, I gotta go. Write back soon!
Love you,
Minty Swirl

The whole thing makes me sad, for Churner mostly. She doesn't call him "dad," she never even had a nickname like "Fon." But I'm happy she's reading his letters. I write back, telling her eloquently about my time at her old creamery. I don't tell her about my feelings for him, or about the hug. I don't want her to think I've taken his side. I pretty much have, but I don't want her thinking I've betrayed her. I don't make the letter too long, ending with asking her if she’s made any cool friends, but cutting it shorter than usual. The mood of her letter left me a little bitter toward her.

Besides I had to get to work.

It's a pretty slow day, only two pounds of butter sold pretty early, like someone forgot the most important part of breakfast, for a family of ten. With the rest of the short time, Churn decides to give me a lesson on churning butter. He lets me do it the "easy way," so I don't have to get the perfect rhythm while focusing on a steady cream flow. He pours the salted cream into the second mill, and sweet cream into the first, setting me up behind the salt one. Just before he starts, he grabs one last thing from his bag; a hair net. Brushing my hair back, he stretches the net over my head. I have to fiddle with it, it gets stuck on my glasses, and then we get started.

I'll be honest, at this point I'm really just hoping it gets to that point... like how Churner met Frosty.

I shake my head, then readjust my glasses. I haven't had thoughts like that before. Sure, I had once before stolen a glance between his legs while he was up on a stool, but it's not all like that. To be honest, I was slightly intimidated by the size of his sheath, but almost drooled at the size of his jewels. And I've mentioned his ass before, right?

I pay close attention to his churning lesson, mimicking his movements as closely as possible: clockwise, counter, vertical, clockwise, counter, vertical. Now a bit faster. The motions were awkward, especially with him watching me, grading me. I didn't look at him; half refusing to get stuck on how he looks while churning, half afraid of messing up if I looked away. I'm so focused on churning I don't notice he's moved closer to me.

"You’re doing great," he compliments, "try this." He grabs the churn stick and moves with me, yanking it up quickly then pressing down slower. My face is hot, the way everything's happening...

"Like this?" I ask dumbly.

"Yeah, awesome," he steps back to watch some more. I feel stupid, like some filly flirting with a colt through deception. Except I'm not trying to. Still, I wasn’t trying not to.

He steps close again and behind me, eyeing my stance. At least, I hope that's all he's eyeing. Suddenly I wish I didn't trim my tail so short. Without warning, my hind hooves split up. I lose my balance for a second, almost spilling the buttery cream. I had kept my stance pretty close together, kind of out of habit. He kicked my hooves apart, saying "Stand like this, makes it easier."

Him standing behind me and moving my legs makes me feel even more nervous. I'm afraid that if he looks at my face he'll catch on to me and he'll never talk to me again. Then again, I tend to think of the worst case scenarios first.

My brain starts dancing as I find a rhythm. He's telling me I'm doing great, but in my mind he's embracing me. We're going slowly and he lifts his body over mine. The curve of his abdomen fitting perfectly into my spine. His loin dancing inches away from my backside. I feel the heat from it.

"Hey, are you feeling all right?" I don't realize he's standing right in front of me. "You look a little warm."

"Oh, really? Huh... I guess I'm a little dizzy." It's not a lie, but it doesn't feel true.

"You need to sit down?"

"I think I should," I say, stepping away from the butter. I'm starting to get a stress headache, I'm blowing up on the inside. This shouldn't be happening. I realize my stallionhood is a little excited, keeping my hind legs together so he doesn't see. Not that he'd look down there.

"All right, here," he brushes up a spot by the door, then props it open. "The fresh air should help, but stay out of the sun."

"Thanks," I step over to the spot he prepared for me, sitting, then lying down in a way that hides my awkward semi-erection. I hate myself right now for getting so far out of control.

"I'll get you some water."

He goes to get me cold water from a tap in the back and I relax, trying to quell any more thoughts of him by thinking of Minty. Turns out it works too well and I fall into a mental ditch. I spiraled deep, fast. Thinking about how devious they seemed to act toward each other. Then, how it was mostly Minty, but really only Minty’s mom. I feel sorry for Minty, but I can’t seem to grasp why.

When Churner gets back, he notices my slump. Leaving the glass of water by the door he says, "Don't worry pal, it's just butter. It ain't as easy as I make it look."

I smile, acting like that's actually what's wrong. "Yeah, sorry... I guess it's not for me."

He pats my shoulder, and I fix my glasses. "You wanna sit out the party?"

I smile gratefully, "I thought you said it wasn't a party."

"Well..." he trails off.

"Or did you just mean it'll be a party if I'm not there?" I smile cheekily.

He waves his hooves frantically, "No no no! That's not what I meant."

"It's fine, I get it."

"No, really I... kind of wanted to surprise you." He blushes, too cute.

I'm speechless. Surprise me with what? That he lied about the party? Big deal.

"Well it'll still be a surprise when we get there,” he settles. Why bother saving it? What was it? Why even bother surprising me? I couldn’t be that special to my best friend’s dad, and my boss.

This stallion is a mystery to me. At least I don't feel hot anymore.

09 Bite Your Tongue

He leads me to Dawnette's farm after we lock up. It's just about 2:30 in the afternoon, Saturday. I can't help but think of what he's going to surprise me with.

What if he confesses his love to me?! That'd probably be too convenient. Maybe he'll tell me he's getting a new building? That would make working there better. Maybe he's gonna give me a raise! At first I think that sounds great, but then I'd move out sooner, and have to leave. I'm not sure I want that yet.

"So when did you graduate?"

The question catches me by surprise. I take a second to answer, trying to remember. "A little over a year ago now." Suddenly thinking about my approaching birthday. It's not that close, but I'll be twenty this autumn.

"Oh right," he grins, "you were just ahead of Minty."

"More like she was just behind me," I say. I didn't mean for it to sound bitter, afraid that's how he took it.

"I guess that makes more sense."

He's quiet for a while, so I let my mind wander. Somehow I get to envisioning him jumping out of Dawn's giant birthday cake with this flirtatious look, staring right at me. I shake the image quickly.

"What kind of things do you like?"

Caught completely off-guard yet again, I'm not sure how to respond.

"Well, obviously writing," he guesses.

I adjust my glasses, "How'd you know?" I'm sure I've never told him.

"You're cutie mark."

I look back at the swirl circling in toward the tip of the glittering quill. He's looked at my flank! I mean, that's not weird... We're ponies, we have cutie marks. If we want to know what they are, what they look like, we look at where they are. His looks just like one of his butter mills, with some cream splashing out of the top, probably because it's also tipped sideways, just a bit.

I notice I'm staring at his rear end and snap back to attention.

"Was I way off?" He asks.

"No," I respond plainly. I take a second to remember the question. "I don't really have a lot of time for hobbies, so yeah, writing's pretty much all I do."

"What kind of things do you write about?" I try not to feel like he's prying; he's just making conversation while we walk.

"Well... can you guess?" I play a little mischievous. "Based on my cutie mark, that is."

"Hmm," he turns his head to look at my flank. He stays like that, staring for quite a few seconds. I start feeling hot again. "Probably a lot of dramatic mystery stories."

He's not that far off... well, he is, but I give him credit for trying. I haven't written any kind of mystery-based story yet, but a little mystery always makes a story that much better. And drama? Duh. "Yeah, good guess."

"Nice, I know somepony who might really like your books."

I've never called them books, never bound them or anything. They're just stories. Some are longer, with a few chapters and stuff. Some are like, just a few paragraphs of a character walking in the rain, as an example. Almost all of them are stuck in rough-draft hell.

"Well, I dunno," I veer away from it a little, while still playing him in my hooves. "They're not very good. I don't think I've even finished one yet." The second part is true; I never really feel like a story is finished, even if I'm done with it. I like to tell myself that whatever's left of the story is up to whomever is reading. Right now, though, I'm just fishing for compliments.

Surprise: "Well if they're anything like the butter you churn..."

I get hot in the face, embarrassed out of my wits. I compose myself enough to play along. "Oh come on," I shove him playfully, smiling gleefully, while closing my eyes embarrassed, then go to fix my glasses. He shoves me back and I fall, knocking my glasses off into the dirt.

"Oh man, sorry," I have my eyes closed, really in pain. I bit my tongue. The right side, right under my molars. Tears well up while I pick myself up. I didn't notice him extend his hoof to help me. "Really, sorry... uhh." My eyes are still shut tight, holding back tears from the pain, rubbing the right side of my face like it'll heal my tongue. "Here," he says.

I open my eyes and see in very low quality that he's giving back my glasses. I smile, put them on and look at him, expecting to be awe-struck by seeing him in a glorious light, sparkling because of the tears. Instead the sun half blinds me and drenches him in shadow, and the tears just make my eyes feel sensitive to the coming breeze. "Thanks," I say, pushing under my glasses to wipe my eyes. After replacing them perfectly in front of my eyes I thank him again. I'm more or less settled down so I see him normally again, and I'm comfortable with how normal he looks.

We continue walking, he hums a song I don't recognize that sounds like some kind of Bluegrass jig that should be played on a banjo. The melody gets stuck in my head and I silently curse him.

Once we make it to the top of the short hill where the house is he gets really excited, running ahead and stopping at the front door. Peeking inside, he's probably checking on his surprise. I canter up to the porch, where he has the door half open.

"Ready?" He asks.

"For what?" I try sounding nonchalant, but my mind is racing.

"Timber," he says, "meet Velvetine." He opens the door to reveal a mare with a sleek black mane, curled perfectly at the ends, with streaks of blood red running through. Her coat was a slightly lighter red, comparable to a clay brick. Her eyes are out of place, being a faded yellow and even a little too close. Her eyelashes were obviously fake and her eye shadow was too thick, probably because she thought nopony would see it against her dark coat. She is here for him. Churner brought a date. A mare who tried too hard in the wrong ways to be pretty. I wanted right away to tell him she's wrong. But what could I say? That he should be with me? He's obviously not like that.

"You all right pal?" Churner asks.

I'm standing still...

"It's nice to meet you," Velvetine says. She's quiet, talking slow and barely opening her mouth.

I remember my manners and smile, then reach out to shake her hoof. "Nice to meet you, too. I'm Timber."

She smiles with her mouth closed. I'm guessing she's insecure about her teeth. Which would explain why she didn't wear a heavy layer of lipstick; wouldn't want to draw attention to your worst feature.

"I'm sorry," I say, then look at Churner, "my headache's coming back." He frowns sympathetically as I turn to leave.

"You'll come back in for dinner, right?" He insists.

"Of course," I don't know if it's true.

I need to talk to someone. But Minty Swirl is anywhere else in Equestria.

10 Real Imaginary

When I was little, I found an imaginary friend living in my head. It was a total accident. I had been tripped in the hallway by a bully and hid in the bathroom when class started. I didn't want the teachers to see me upset, didn't want to talk to them, they wouldn't make it stop, just make me feel a little better so I could get back to work.

In the bathroom, I could have sworn I heard a colt ask me for my name. The whole conversation was in my head, but it felt more than that, more than real. I'm gonna put what he says in parentheses.

"M-my name's Timber."

(I'm Aura. I'm in your head.)

"In my head?"

(Yeah, don't think about it, just talk to me. What's wrong?)

"Well, I'm in the bathroom crying..."

(Yeah, I know. I see everything you do.)

"Really?"

(Yeah!)

"So you know about the bullies?"

(Yes.)

"...Did you already know my name?"

(You're pretty clever. So wat are you doing in the bathroom?)

"I thought you saw everything I did?"

(But I can't feel what you feel.)

"What does that mean?"

(It means I want to know what you're feeling.)

"Well, I feel like crap."

(Oh, yeah... bullies always make you feel that way. But it only works if you let it.)

"Huh?"

(Whatever they do is mean, sure. But if you're strong it won't really hurt. And I know you pretty well, you’re very strong. You’re stronger than them, because you’re not like them. You know you’re the strong one when you’re the one they’re trying to weaken.)

For some reason I felt like I'd heard it before. Even now, writing, I'm getting a sense of déja vouz. From that moment on, he often spoke to me. Often when I least expected it, even when I happened to forget about him. He told me only exactly what I needed to hear, even if I didn't want to hear it. He always turned my mood around when I needed him to, and let me alone when we both knew nothing would work. He helped me feel better about my sexuality: he even helped me calm down when I lost my temper at those bullies, but like my mother was only glad that I finally showed strength, which at first seemed a little hypocritical, but we’ve spoken about it. I don’t remember at all how the conversation went, but it’s all said and done.

Over the years I found that his company was the only thing I could rely on, even though I never controlled when I heard from him. Oh, and he likes it when I talk out loud. We've gotten in fights about it. I don't like doing it in public, for fear of ponies thinking I'm crazy, but I like feeling like he's real. Which, he is, to me. Just not physically. He also doesn’t like it when I point stuff like that out to him. Like he always reminds me; he sees everything I do, knows all the same things. He shares my senses, yet not my emotions. The point is he doesn’t like being reminded he’s imaginary. Or something like that.

You can go ahead and think I'm crazy. When I saw Velvetine I stormed off. I faked a headache, but thinking about her, and Churner, and me, and Minty, and butter, and everything, I was actually getting one.

(Timber, try to calm down.)

How? How do you suggest I calm down? I shout at him in my mind.

(You have the will power.)

No, I don’t. I mouth the words but don't say them.

(Yes you do, come on. You're making this worse than it is.)

"How?" I demand, full-voice. "How can you not see that this is really bad?” Well... no, it's not bad but. “Can't you understand how I feel?" Tears well up, I blink hard a few times.

(I can, but you don't understand how you're supposed to feel.)

"I'm not supposed to be in love with my best friend's father!"

(Then don't be.)

"Like I can help it. You were there when Minty said we all have love for each other. So why do I have more love for her father than I do for her?"

(You were torn. You felt lied to, and that amplified your feelings toward him by stealing them from her. Besides, you can still feel love for him. You just don’t have to be in love with him.)

"How is that supposed to make sense...?"

(You tell me, I'm in your head.)

I hate it when he does that. "I thought you were real! Why do you go say stuff like that if you're supposed to be real?!"

(I'm as real as you are.)

"I'm done talking to you."

(Then listen.)

......

(I am in you, so as long as you think of me as real, I am. Your thoughts are the same as mine, I just help you think straight when your head is clouded. Now here's what I want you to do: when Churner comes out look at him. Make him stop talking and look at him like you looked at Velvetine. Learn every part of him you see and separate what you like with what you don’t. Find the flaws.)

Silence...

I take deep breaths and stop thinking as much. Then I start humming. I hum the banjo tune Churner was humming before. Music always slows my brain down, keeps me from thinking of too much at once. I think of one more thing, that Aura is trying to teach me something. I know what it is, that I have to look at all ponies the same. But I'm afraid that if I find all the flaws in Churner I'll fall out of love.

(And maybe that's a good thing.)

I hear somepony humming the song. Obviously it isn't me, it isn't Aura. But I don't need to turn around. I know it has to be Churner.

11 Secret Code

It's Dawnette who's humming.

(Don't look for flaws in her.)

I think back, I'll never stop. The light humor picks me up some, but my headache is still bothering me.

"Hello again Mister Timber." She always greeted me very formerly. I've only met her a few times, but so far she likes everypony she meets. "Lovely afternoon isn't it?"

"Yes, but we could use some rain." Despite what little our relationship was built on, she always told me to talk in code. That way I never had to directly say what was on my mind. "Rain" meant I felt like crying.

"I'd be happy to share my umbrella." She's offering to comfort me.

I try to think of some code that will tell her my heart is broken. "I'm waiting for the full moon tonight." I choke up slightly, barely keeping it under wraps. There will be a new moon tonight, though.

She takes some time to think about that one. "I see you didn't comb your mane this morning."

I guess that she means I look worse than I feel. Apparently I take too long thinking about it, she cuts in again.

"It's Churner isn't it?"

I squeeze back tears and take a shaky breath. "My friends tell me to... take a closer look." She knows about Aura. Well, sort of. She knows I think a lot, in the form of talking to myself, and she sees it as completely normal. She sits down next to me. I speak again, "My old friend says he—I… my old friend says—“

"You want to talk to him," she says bluntly. Sometimes, simple is just better. "I'll get him, if you say what you mean. You kind of confused me back there."

She finishes off with a soft old mare laugh, which makes me smile. "I think... I think my hearts broken, and I want it to be whole again." I explain my full moon analogy. "Talking to myself... well, I want to see him again, to get something straight. I don't think I want to talk to him, I just want to see what he really looks like." I doubt if she understood what I meant by that.

"You're special, Timber," she says. I can feel her cheeky grin as we look out at her field of dairy cows grazing, the sun setting behind a forested hill beyond. "You are special, the way you are, but you're not alone. My husband was very old fashioned, and I understand your father has those tendencies as well. They might not understand, and they might be afraid to find the truth, but they'll come around." She pauses a second. "Well, Buttons won't, he's dead." She offers a hearty laugh, which kind of scares me. I worry sometimes that the loss of her husband has driven her mad. "In his time, someone like you wouldn't be treated the same way. Now, that's technically true for today, too, but back then ponies got seriously hurt!" She laughs again, which makes me tense up. "Today, though, today is different. Some ponies might look at you strangely for a while, but you're still a pony, just like them."

I think back to what Aura said about the bullies. It only hurts if I let it. I didn't always let it, but sometimes I just, needed to. Now, I don't need to. If ponies know, they might look at me strange for a while, but that won't hurt me, I won't let it.

As long as I've got the right pony by my side.

"Churner is a very modern pony, believe it or not," Dawn's still talking to me, "he knows how to use those new-fangled churning machines. He doesn't like those as much, but he's still more modern than you think. He'll understand." She stands up. "Don't hurt his feelings though. He's modern... but his barn door doesn't swing that way." She winks at me before walking away.

Not long after, Churner comes down. The setting sun casts a long shadow on the hill, but the sky is still bright. I want to wait until it's dark, so I can watch the colors change from yellow, to orange, pink, violet, black…

"Dawn said you wanted to talk."

"Shh..." I look to him. He opens his mouth to ask something, but I stop him, "Just, let me look at you first."

I do what Aura said. Turning my body, I glance at every part of him that I've admired for the past two weeks or so, I don't quite remember how long. I don't go too far, though, keeping my eyes away from awkward parts. His shoulders are still proud and broad, but not too much so. His back arches while he stands there and the curve just looks, comfortable. His cutie mark is still very cute, and his trimmed tail is still the perfect length. His hooves aren't clean, after a day of work and a long walk. I assume I'm not very clean, after my tumble in the dirt. My tongue throbs unexpectedly, but I ignore it.

I gaze into his bright, confused eyes, waiting for the answer to arise; what flaws? Sure his chest is softer than I expected, but that can't be all. His hooves, his rear, his eyes, his hair.

Then it hits me!

I step up to him and undo the tie that keeps his hair back. His peach mane falls straight to the sides of his face. It starts making sense. I don't know how but this detail changes so much.

His neck is thin, scrawny almost. His nostrils flare a little too much when he breaths. He's got bags under his eyes, and... No way. As he moves his head to throw back his stringy mane, then look back at me, one eye just doesn't focus. A lazy eye.

I smile. I'm happy that I can let him go, happy that Aura was right, but upset that by seeing imperfections I'm suddenly not in love, like I'm suddenly shallow. (You still love him. But I had to help you let him go. Now, you have learned to look more closely, and you will also learn to look past these things when the time comes.)

Churner straightens his hair back but doesn't tie it back up. "Yeah, I've been meaning to let it down for a while. So what was that all about?"

I sigh, "I love you."

He smiles, "Minty told me about that. Said it was your idea to say that to good friends."

It wasn't my idea. Besides, he was wrong. "No," I shake my head, "I love you, more than that. I was in love with you since I started working for you, since I found out I was wrong about you."

He frowns and his eyebrows knit together. His lips form lots of different shapes before agreeing on what to say, "Wrong?"

I sigh again, this isn't going the way I wanted. "Minty told me you always fought with Frosty. I always thought you were the one to blame, I had never actually met you. I thought you didn't actually love them."

He's speechless again, thinking for a few seconds. Then, "So, you... wanted me?"

"I wanted to be with you. Every time I looked at you after that day, you just looked stronger, more handsome. I never knew what love felt like..."

"Did you... ever, like... want me?"

I suddenly felt confused, but needed to make sure he understood what I wanted. And be truthful about it. "Yes, once. When we churned butter..."

"Then, is that the real reason you..."

I just nod, looking down. "I had never felt that way before, but I guess... I did... want you."

"But you're like, twenty! How could you not know... frickin'..."

"Lust?"

"Yes!"

Him raising his voice is stressing me out. "I've always known what it was,” I explain, “but I've never felt it before." My tone turned from friendly to authoritative. He wasn't getting it. I took a deep breath, steadied myself. "You were just... everything else I was looking for. To be honest, I never thought I'd find... everything."

"I was, the first to make you feel this way?" He sits in disbelief.

I sit also. "The first to burn me up like that, yes. There was one other stallion, but he's... he's gone."

Churner's quiet for a few seconds, not knowing what to say. After a while he continues, "So when you saw Velvetine...?"

"I guess I was jealous, and afraid, and angry at you. I don't know why but I blamed you. I... I'm sorry."

We sit in silence a while longer. He's taking it all in, but he's surprisingly calm about it. The way he's sitting I see between his legs. In a split-second glance I swear one of his balls is smaller than the other. It makes me smile a little.

Is this how it's gonna be now? I ask myself, or Aura, if he's still around.

With no response I fall back to Equestria. He sees the grin on my face and smiles too. I'm glad he doesn't ask why I'm smiling. Then, out of nowhere, "So you really think everything about me is perfect?"

I laugh out loud at that. "I sure did," I say once I calm down. "That doesn't mean everything was perfect."

"Nah," he scoffs, "Velvetine's not perfect either. Have you seen her eye-shadow?"

"Oh boy, have I!" We laugh together, and I know everything's fine.

12 Sunrise

The dinner party was superb, lots of good food. The cake was great, but there were so many candles I was afraid the house might burn down. Dawn surprised us by blowing out every candle in one try, then taking the biggest slice. She only got four presents, I forgot to get her anything, and Velvetine was told not to bring anything. So just one from Churner, one from her middle-aged son who sells milk, one from the nurse who lives with her, and one from the Swirlys in Bucksfield.

After that we played horseshoes and watched the sunset. I found out that Velvetine is a master at crochet, loom, and basket weaving. She came to Dawn wanting to learn how to knit and is taking private lessons. She met Churner after staying late trying to finish her first scarf. Of course, he lives with Dawn, so that's why he was there. Dawn refused to let him move out, even after Frosty left. I still think it’s weird for a full-grown stallion to be living with his ex-wife’s mother.

Velvetine lives in town, just down the street from the library, so when she and I both decide it's late and time to get home, Churner offers to walk us both. Velvetine's house is on the way to mine, so he's not worried. I'm worried though.

"You'll have to walk all the way back home by yourself!" I argue.

"I'll live," he smirks.

"Especially if he doesn't go home," Velvetine chimes in, a little too seductively.

"Oooh," says the butter maker. "That's a nice thought. But I've made that mistake before. I'll take a heavy flashlight." Velvetine raises an eyebrow at "mistake," and I sense a little too much sass. I know what Churner's talking about, but still, the thought of him calling Velvetine a "mistake" makes me happy.

We walk into the growing darkness, Churner trying to sweet-talk Velvetine into smiling at him again.

(It's probably the new mane style he's sporting.)

I chuckle a little, but quiet down quick.

(And look you were right.)

About what?

(It's a new moon.)

Oh yeah.

The rest of the walk is pretty much silent.

Churner has buttered up Velvetine perfectly and she leaves him with a teasing tail-whip and a sly grin.

He blows her a kiss and she loses her cool. He's just not the flirtatious, bedroom-eyes kind of stallion. Even I knew that. Maybe not anymore. Can you lose aspects like that with age? He’s not that old… Did he even have them to begin with?

As we walk to my house I start humming his old tune again. I get all the way through the part I know and he joins in, before taking it away with the rest of the song. When I stop humming along for too long he starts singing. Actually singing. I wish he were a better singer, but at the same time I'm glad he's not.

—Top o' the hill, sunrise
Top o' the hill, sunrise
All the way home, sunrise
Kiss me coming home
Kiss me sweet, oh kiss me,
Kiss me coming home, sunrise.
Sway in the tree, sunrise
Sway in the tree, sunrise
Whistle a tune, sunrise
Hold me coming home
Hold me dear, oh hold me
Hold me coming home, sunrise
Edge of the stream, sunrise
Edge of the stream, sunrise
Remember me, sunrise
Remember me, coming home
Remember, love oh remember
Remember me coming home, sunrise.—

I shiver in the damp cold and he steps closer, walking with his body against mine. I feel a little too warm, and so does he. It's nice, though.

It was a nice song, if a bit strange, but I can't help but feel like he left out a part. With this feeling it gives me, maybe it's a good thing he doesn't finish it? Plus I'm extra glad he's comforting me.

I see my house, there's a lantern outside the door. Somepony must be waiting for me inside. I turn and thank him for walking me home and am about to thank him for everything else but he stops me.

We stop walking and I face him. His face is masked by darkness, but he looks beat red. Could he... impossible.

"I-I... wanted to give you s-something else."

He can't be serious.

He faces me, but can't look me in the eye. "I-I... w-... you might not... get another ch-chance."

He's shaking. He is serious.

He squeezes his eyes shut. "I-I-I-I... w-w-want to..."

I step in. Brush my nose against his. He shuts up. Opens his eyes. He looks scared, yet determined. I tell him, "It won't change anything. You're my friend."

He swallows hard and takes a deep breath. Closing his eyes more gently, "Please... a-allow me t-to...m-m—"

I shut him up again, this time for good. His lips are as warm as I guessed, which at this point is a bit of a let-down. His breath smells like cake and his heavy breathing is honestly hilarious, but I'm too wrapped up in the moment to laugh. My first kiss is not something to laugh about. He calms down a bit and gets a little more intimate.

A lot more. His tongue breaks through, sending shivers down my spine. I follow his lead. He puts a hoof around me, pulls me in closer. We're locked together, wet, hot. Part of me doesn't want it to end.

Suddenly I'm on my back, lying on the dirt road. I'm startled and take a few deep breaths, a little scared. He finds my lips again and goes crazy, lowering himself onto me. There's a stiffness against my midsection as his body comes close to mine.

With our bellies touching I'm lost. We are together, but nowhere. I've never felt so warm, and a part of me refuses to stop getting warmer. Wait, an actual, physical part of me? What is this?

"Stop," I plead in a split second of freedom.

He embraces me again. We're moving, rolling. Suddenly I'm above him and he's holding on to my waist, so firm, I love it. Wait...

"Churn..." it comes out differently than I intend, more like I'm calling for him.

"Ooohh, yeah..." he moans. This is... this is wrong... isn't it?

He keeps going, slowly moving his hips against me, and his stiffness rubs against mine. The part of me that's begging for him is a different part from before. I didn't know these body parts could want things. My stallionhood is like a whole new part of my body, I've never felt like this. We roll again, he is once again on top, the kissing stops for now. I catch my breath, exhausted. He's moving himself down, off my body. My skin feels colder in the night, but my being is still hot.

"Churner," I beg, trying to find the will to stop him. He just moans, kissing parts of my chest, belly. He gives me a jolt by taking a long, slow lick up my vulnerable shaft, then more kisses down, against my loin, scrotum... where is he going? Who cares? The sensation of it all. I've never been touched like this. I never knew these parts of me were so sensitive. Keep going, please.

His tongue suddenly finds my virgin taint, making me gasp. I don't stop him, I love it. He keeps playing, I whine into the darkness, wanting more. A slight penetration and I whine even louder. His tongue inside me, my hips buck slightly against my will, my dick is so stiff, my body trembling. Then he's gone, I look up, he's looking at me. He stands and moves up my body. Soon my muzzle is touching his hot meat. I know what he wants, and I oblige: I want it more.

I fit my lips around the wide head, he moves it in slowly, lathering it in my saliva. It tastes odd, somehow good, and his smell is so dense my head aches. In and out, so slowly. I move my head up to try to get more of it, gagging slightly as it reaches into my throat. Again. I reach for him, brushing his flanks, feeling his firm, round ass. I grasp my hooves around his thighs, giving me the leverage to suck deeper. Relaxing my throat, I somehow manage to swallow the entire, impossible length. I hear his moan and my nose brushes his abdomen. Back down slowly. I open my eyes and love the view; I've never been so close to his underbelly, it's so cool. The way he moves his hips makes me feel even harder, his gentle moans as the head of his dick stretches my throat. All the way, again, again, one more time. I love the feeling of his sack tickling my chin, bouncing off as he humps into me, but I hold him. Swallowing hard, with his whole length in my throat, I hear him moan loudly. It hurts, but I do it again, wanting to please myself by pleasing him.

My jaw starts to hurt, I don't care, but he pulls out. I feel a tad lonely but somehow, as he steps away from me, I suddenly know to roll over. On my face in the dirt, I lift my backside high. It's a stretch, but I'm more flexible than I thought, my back is curved in an almost painful arch, my tail is up, my ass is open, teasing him, wanting him. It feels cold, wet with his saliva. I spread myself, desiring him.

"Are you ready?"

Yes, I think. My throat is sore, so I'm quiet. This is what I want. This is how I want it to happen.

At least, how I wished it would have happened.

Author's Notes:

In which I make up a song and fail at my first attempt at writing pornographic material.

13 Sunday Paper

I break away from the simple, dry kiss. He exhales slowly, then inhales. I do the same.

Then I take a deep breath, breaking the silence, "This doesn't change a thing." No matter how much I want it to. He's just not for me.

"Everything is the same," he admits, stepping backward. "Just a little brighter, maybe."

I smile and look at the sky, at the stars, no moon. Then I sigh, happily, and turn to go. "See you Monday."

Mom is awake inside reading the comics in yesterday's newspaper. When I come in she jumps from the dining room table. "Timber, where have you been."

"I just... Churner invited me to dinner. It was Dawnette's birthday. I meant to tell you this morning."

"Well, I'm glad you’re ok." She backs off a bit, "did you have fun?"

"Yeah, there was cornbread and applesauce, someone made shepherd's pie. I kind of felt bad for not bringing something, but she said it was fine." I start walking through the kitchen to my bedroom, which is downstairs. Underground. It's the cellar. The house was built for dad and his two brothers. Since there are four of us, and nopony wants to share, I was volunteered for moving to the cellar. There's plenty of room, it's not uncomfortable, just dark. I only have one window and an electric lamp.

"Be sure to send them both a thank you letter," she insists.

I was going to just tell them personally, "That sounds like a great idea."

I go to bed first.

I dream about the black circle again, only now it's broken, no longer a complete circle. Looking forward, all around, there's nothing anywhere. Then I look up, and a little quill falls from nowhere. It lands on the end of the line in front of me and begins drawing forward, but instead of completing the circle, it goes down, below the other end of the line. I look backward and see my school, every student I've ever known, only they're dressed in uncomfortable-looking leather, collars around their necks and leashes that drag on the ground, yet they smile.

Afraid, I turn back to the line and follow it, walking the only path I see. I hear Churner, singing. He's singing the Sunrise song, but a part I've never heard before;

—End of the road, sunset
End of the road, sunset
Kiss me, sweet
Hold me, dear
Remember, love
Lead me coming home
Take my hoof, oh take my hoof
Lead me home, sunset...—

I see him as I walk the line, listen to him sing, but his song ends, and as I continue following the quill on its winding path, I hear him humming behind me, and laughing also. It's a fun laugh, though: he's happy.

The sound fades as I follow the quill. And I see a lantern, hanging on the edge of darkness, no hook. Below the lantern looks like a roll of paper, maybe a newspaper, but I can't stop looking at the lantern. The light blinds me, but I can't look away. Then I wake up.

I came to write it down, and now I can't sleep again. So I think I'll write those thank-you letters to Dawnette and Churner.

Dawnette's letter will be fairly generic, but I will make it heart-felt. She did a lot for me, and in writing I don't need to worry about a secret code.

Churner's letter will be... different. Sorry, I'm thinking about the fantasy I had. I wanted to feel so new, so oblivious to these sensations. I know anatomy, reproduction, pleasure, all that. I've even enjoyed a little stimulation and even… a little, penetration. Very little. I never climaxed, though, only read books, which was where most of the fantasy came from. Banned books, hidden in the abandoned museum above the library. I want my first time to be an experience I'll never forget, better than any of those books. Better because no words can describe it.

And I guess I can forget about Churner. But I can still thank him, for helping me move on.

I'll keep it subtle; I've always been skeptical of our new mail pony, afraid that she reads my letters. She can't keep a secret, either. If she found out I was gay, or that I kissed the butter pony, everypony would find out. I'd have to kill myself, if my father or the town didn't do it for me.

I know, I'm probably overreacting, but whatever. Nopony can know. Once I'm done with the letters I'm going back to bed.

The letters were everything I said they'd be. I mailed Dawnette's without question, but hold on to Churner's. I feel like I should give it to him myself. It might feel more important that way. Looking at the letter I get the feeling I don't want to be with him while he reads a letter from me. He'll probably get this weird look, like, "Why didn't I just say all these things?" I would never be able to talk to him the way I wrote a letter. I doubt he knows that, though.

Somewhere on my journey to the post office I take a glimpse at my flank and think, maybe, the swirl has gotten a little larger, deeper. I shrug it off until I get home.

In the bathroom, I strain to get a look in the mirror above the vanity. It's a big mirror, but set up pretty high. I stop trying when I can't comfortably set half my rump on the countertop. I end up heading to my brother Dale's room, which is Mill Jr's old room. There's a big mirror on the inside of his closet door. The closet's pretty new, Jr put it in himself before he moved out. This is the only room that has one, and Dale put a nice, tall mirror inside. He's having breakfast, but he won't mind as long as I don't take anything.

I do take a long look in the mirror though. My cutie mark is the same shape, same colors, but I swear the end of the spiral is offset just a bit, like it's gotten longer. I almost hurt my neck trying to get such a close look at it. I guess I look pretty strange because Picker sees me as he walks by and has to know what I'm doing.

"Do you think my cutie mark got bigger?" I ask, a little too bluntly.

He leans his head down to my flank, getting closer, and closer. I don't mind, he and I have had no barriers: just about everything's fair game between us, but we obviously know the limits of decency. After a long, hard stare, and his ragged mane tickling me a bit, he says, "Yes, your butt has gotten bigger."

I sigh and roll my eyes, "That's not what I mean."

"Pssh, cutie marks don't change, Timber."

"Well sure they do," I clarify, "they change from not being there to being there!"

He sticks his tongue out at me, then turns and leaves. What's his problem? His cutie mark is a rather delicious-looking, star-shaped cream tart. He loves baking pastries, and really I'm surprised he didn't make breakfast. Not to mention he seems to handle dad's resentment a lot better. Maybe that's because dad can actually get something good out of a son who can bake, whereas I can't offer anything but a well written apology as to why I even exist. Too bad that won't even work.

I'm looking for a magnifying glass in mom's room when she calls me downstairs. When I get there she asks, "What were you doing up there?"

Picker answers for me, "Measuring his butt!"

"Picker," mom hisses.

"Yeah, I wasn't measuring it," I say, "couldn't find the tape-measure."

"Timber!" She squawks.

"What?" She gives me a harsh look, like “you know what.” I take a breath and sit down at the table. Dale pushes a plate to me. She's still giving me that look. "I had a dream about my cutie mark, I wanted to make sure it was still the same."

"Was it?" She asks, pulling the orange juice over to her.

I've begun buttering toast, and so have a knife in my mouth when I respond, "Can't tell." I put the knife down, "Should've measured it before bed." I take a bite out of the toast.

Mom just nods. Then she pours her drink, clears her throat twice and says, "Mill, isn't there something you'd like to tell your son?"

He takes a weary breath from his seat at the table, like the Sunday paper is the only thing he actually cares about. "Timber, my boy—"

Oh boy, I think.

"You're grandmother has contacted us with a plan to take you to the city."

My mouth drops open. Dale casually reaches over and closes it before my chewed-up toast falls out.

"She, and your mother, will be taking you to visit Manehatten next weekend. She has a big plan for you all, I'm sure you'll have quite a fun time."

That's not at all how he actually said it, more like "She'll pick you up Saturday, your mom's going too," or something blunt like that. Regardless of the delivery, the news is astonishing.

14 Un-Excited

This last week has been a blur, ever since dad gave me the news. I still don't know what Granny Lester has planned, but this is such a big step forward!

I gave the news to Churner. He's excited for me as well and gives me a quick hug to celebrate. I don't remember if I told him that it's my dream to move to Manehatten, because I was expecting him to be sad. He shouldn't want me to leave, but maybe he's just truly happy for me. Later he tells me he got my letter and hugs me again. Everything's fine, it would seem.

I don't remember what business was like, but I did my job, for sure. I wanted to get a nice souvenir, so I made sure to earn my pay. Or maybe I'll just keep saving it, I don't want to waste any of it before I actually move out. Besides, I can get as many souvenirs as I want once I live there.

We'll be leaving in the morning, spending all day Saturday doing whatever Granny has planned. Spend the night in a hotel, do something else Sunday morning, then be back before dinner. We've got to get going pretty early; it's almost half a day's train ride to the city. We'll meet Granny at the station and go along from there.

I've always had the best times with Granny Lester. Despite growing up on a rock farm, she's really quite fun! She inherited her own grandmother's fortune from a long life of cartography and cataloging. Granny tells us stories about how our great, great grandmother drew the first map of Equestria. When she married the stallion who invented the steamboat she set out across the world, mapping deserts and rain forests in lands that I've never heard of. One island, I'm told, had no ponies living on it, so she named it after her dog, Fitch. Her family—and maybe someday our family—owns a tropical island, far south, called Fitchland.

Thanks to my great, great grandmother being such an explorer, Granny Lester has more of a fortune than she knows what to do with. Living on a rock farm limits her options of grand spending sprees so she loves to treat her daughter—my mother—and all her grandchildren.

And a lot of times she forgets her old age, getting into trouble by pushing her limits. Medically, we've never had an emergency, but more than a couple times we've had to cut an adventure short to tend to her aches and pains.

Grandfather Todd is not at all like Lester. He's a very hard-working stallion who doesn't have anything like a funny bone, or a sweet tooth. He says he married Lester to spice up his life, and boy did she ever spice it up. From what I've been told, she was so adventurous she'd wear him out, then rolling-pin press him flat. He aged so quickly, but always loved spending time with her, just because he could.

I've often thought about what it might be like to have a pony I couldn't stop looking at, maybe give a glance to the way Grandfather often looked at Granny. I've never looked at anypony that way, I don't think. Churner always made me feel warm, but I never smiled at him like that. Minty made me smile, but I never loved her more than as a friend. Had I seen Loaf that way?

Great, now I’ve got him in my head. Maybe I did look at him that way, because thinking about him now I can feel a funny smile creep up on my lips. I can't see myself, but I don't feel foolish. I feel like I look foolish, but with Loaf on my mind...

Sorry. And, sorry again. I say sorry for pausing, but then I don't give any indication that I just took a solid ten minutes to think of how Loaf looked while we were swimming, or drying off. Him climbing the "Challenge Rope," falling on his butt after a real effort. Even just eating a s'more in the flickering light of a campfire.

Sorry, again... I just miss him so much.

How did I get to this? To a stallion I'll never see again, a stallion I thought I'd forgotten about. Hold on.

Sorry, dad came down. He saw my light on and decided to come down to talk. I... I need to write about this.

He said he got the mail yesterday, a letter came from an address he didn't recognize. It was from a filly named Minty Swirl.

I sigh, upset that he read my letter. Then, simply, I ask, "What did it say."

The look on his face is impossible to read, he had the same look when he gave me the news about Granny and Manehatten. "It said you kissed Churner."

My heart stops, I don't feel anything for a few seconds.

"This Minty, she's Churner's daughter?"

I unintentionally nod. My stomach is sick.

"And you decided to kiss him?"

"I-I... n-no..." what am I trying to say? “He, kissed me..." It wasn't true though. He wanted to, for my sake, but I kissed him first.

"I didn't know you felt that way."

Do I want to cry? He wasn't supposed to find out! Not like this. Was he ever supposed to find out? "Dad, I..."

When I don't say anything he gets up to leave. He was sitting on my bed. "Have fun at Manehatten." He says it like he'll never see me again. Shouldn't he be angry? Shouldn't he be yelling at me? That this isn't the way ponies were meant to feel!?

I'm hyperventilating. I might throw up, but I don't. I haven't yet, at least. I calmed down enough to write this all... Did I miss something? In my stupor did I totally blank out and pass through something important he said? Did I block it out? I don't think so...

I hope I can get to sleep. And I really hope this doesn't ruin my trip.

15 My Choice

I wasn't able to sleep, and now I can hear mom and dad arguing. They're not shouting, but the air is so still that I hear them. I climb the stairs, up to the cellar door, to hear them a little better. The way it sounds, they're in the kitchen right outside. Which makes sense; it's the farthest room from any of the bedrooms. Except mine. Perhaps they think I'm asleep. Or, for some reason, maybe they want me to hear it.

That's stupid, why would they want me to hear them argue about me?

"Why would you even open a letter addressed to Timber?" Mom asks.

"It's my house, I have a right to know—"

"But he's a growing colt, he has a right to privacy." She sounds sad.

"Does he have a right to secrets that will ruin our family values?" He sounds sad, too…

"It won't ruin anything if you just accept him."

"How can I? It's unnatural. He's a smart colt, he should know where his body is supposed to go."

"Mill please," she takes a few silent steps, probably toward him. "You have five wonderful sons, your name won't die out." Is she telling him to forget me? Forget me because I'll never have foals of my own? Why not, I guess.

Dad groans, "How can you say that?" Yeah. "He's your son, too, you should want the best for him, like I do." What?

"Maybe this is what's best for him."

"How can it be? He'll never be happy with another stallion, that's impossible!" He's starting to raise his voice.

My heart is pounding. But at the same time, tears are blurring my eyes and my head is spinning. I don't know what I'm feeling.

Mom steps back again. "It's not impossible. He obviously feels happy around Churner."

"No, he's not. Churner obviously forced himself on Timber."

"Think about what you're saying," mom is whispering harshly, "Churner is not a bad pony."

"He obviously doesn't act like it."

"Stop it, Mill, your casting blame at innocent ponies."

"So who should I be mad at, June? Should I be mad at Timber?”

Yes, I think. Be mad at me, it's my fault.

Why am I thinking that?

Dad gets quieter. "I can't - I refuse to believe Timber is some kind of... dandy."

I'm not a dandy, I think. I don't act like a dandy.

"He's not a dandy," mom explains, "you know that."

"I don't know what I know," he snaps, barely whispering. "If Timber wants somepony putting their business up in him, fine, but not in my household. Not in my family."

Dawnette warned me about this, right? She told me my father was old-fashioned. I knew he was. He wasn't supposed to find out.

I had a thought then: maybe I'm not really gay? Maybe I'm just a little confused. Maybe... maybe something happened that made me think a little backward.

I realize I'm crying. Well, I wasn't crying at the door, I'm crying now. You should see me, I'm a wreck. How can I be what dad wants, and what I want? What do I want? I want this all to end. Once I'm living in Manehatten, he won't be able to control me. But I don't want him thinking he's casting me out. It was my choice to leave, not his! He doesn't control me.

...Sorry, again. I really am a wreck, I'm gonna take a break, try to stop crying. I'm getting the paper all wet.

16 Bumpy Writing

I want to sneak out. I've never done it before. Mom and dad kept arguing after I stopped listening, I started writing. Started crying.

I cry silently, gasping, sobbing, aching. I don't want anypony hearing me, so I'm glad my room is underground. After the arguing has stopped somepony comes to my door. I shut up, listening and hiding. They knock. Is it mom? Dad? Someone else? Anyone else...? What do they want? I stay quiet. Whoever they are, they knock again, a little louder. I remain quiet.

Hoof steps alert me that the pony has left. Up the stairs. Into a bedroom, mom and dad's bedroom. I get up, sneaking up the stairs to listen. No pony's in the kitchen, but I never heard a second pony go upstairs. I stuff a scarf under the door to hide the light of my lamp so I can write. I've been writing, or crying, all night so far.

Like I said, I want to sneak out. Obviously I haven't yet, but I want to. Should I? Somepony's still upstairs, I think, possibly awake waiting for me. I want to go, for some reason I want to warn Churner. I feel like dad's going to hurt him. I won't be able to see him again for a few days. He gave me the day off Saturday, for my trip. I won't be back until Monday.

I want to go somewhere.

You can't tell, I guess, but I'm pausing a lot. I don't know what to say. I'll think of something, right? Something to write about how I feel. How do I feel?

What do I write?

My alarm just went off. I didn't realize it was that time already, 5:30 a.m. I have to be at the train station in half an hour.

But what am I going to do?

I'm on thetrain now. I toook plenty of papper with me, to wwrite this, but I-m having a bit of trouuble with thhe bumps. Kind off makes it lok likke I write a ffew letters twicee.

I do appreciate hhow it makes me feell, a little moore light-hearted in this stone-coold situation. I never got the chhance to talk to Churnerr, just as I asssumed. Dad was awake on the sofa all nigght, didn' t talk to me whenI got up. Mom came downstair as I pouredd myself some cereel.

"Good morning," she sang. I mumbledback, incoherently. "I'm surprised you slept so well, today's a big day." I can't believe she said that! She came to my door? She wanted to talk? What did she want to say? Or ask? What…

I just mumble back.again.

"I wonder what kinds of ponies we'll meet while we're there," she yawns. "Some nice filllies maybe?" I pour my milK while she takes a deep breath. "Some colts, too." My javv clenches and I spill some milk. She reacts slowly, grabbing a towell to start wiping it up. I back away from the table and let her. She clears her throet as she wipes the table,"somethng wrong Timber?"

"It’s mothing," I Lie, "just tired." These bums are kind of starting to get annoyying. I’m probobly going to hate editing this Later, if I everr edit this. I’m still kind of undcided on wether or not Ill ever let another living pony reed this.

"Oh, I bett," she says. "Never gotten up this early."

Never left my room this early, I think. "Yeah."

"lDo you have everything you need?" She inquires.

"What do I need?."I respond.

"Oh, I don't know. Paper, pens,"

"What would I need those for!" I didn't shoutt, that's supposed to be a puestion mark. I gotta say though, I'm getting pretty good at wriiting on the train. I still don’t like it.

"You never know," she yawns again. "How about changge of clothes?"

"Yean," I yawn back. moving to eat my cereal when she's finished cleaning. I don't actuallY wear a lot of clothes, but I have something warm just in caase.

"How about an umbrella? It might rainn."

I small part of me is starting to get annoYed by her, but I ignore it. I Can’t help but think think about Dawnette, her secret code, then instantly think I'll need more than an umbrella it it rains; I'll needat least a tent. Something I can't actually have. Not anymore.

(Don't think like that.)

Don't talk to me righ now, please.

(When woukd you rather I talk?)

When I'm alone in bed.

(I thought you were always alone?)

I wouldn't say 'alone" as much as "lonely."

(Right, there is a difference.)

Exactly.

(But anyway, you will be happy, I promise. You may not get what you want right away, but don't let that slop you from reaching for it.)

Right, “don't let what you want right now disstract you from what you truly want,” or something like that.

(Something liKe that.)

I relish the thought of happiness. I’m grateful to have soneone to cheer me up just by putting thoughts in my head. Its so much easier than having a live conversation. Then again, it technically is a live conversation, isn’t it?

Mom just asked if everything's all right. I told her I feel a little motion- sick, having never been on a train before.

She moved to sit next to me for a while, wrapping a hof around me for comfort. It was comfortable, But Granny could tell I wanted space. She suggested that I need food. Mom protested that I don't need food if my stomach is sick. Granny just says "Trust me," annd takes mom by the hoof to the dining car. We have tables here, so there should be food here, right? Apparently only one car on the whole trrain has food available.
The sun is officially up so the cab lights turn off. I preffered the direct, synthetic light, but the sunrise is beeutiful. I'm gonna stop writing for a while to look out the window. I actually am getting a litttle motion-sick.

Author's Notes:

In which I drive myself insane by intentionally spelling half the words incorrectly.

17 Not Done

Today was lots of fun. Granny got apple fritters and cider for us on the train. Once we were off the train the crowd carried us through the station and into the streets of the Big Apple. The view was breathtaking; buildings taller than I'd ever seen, taxi-carriages zooming down cobblestone roads, smells of pretzels and hay-dogs on the breeze. Why didn't I love it? Was it not what I truly wanted? It was certainly everything I dreamt of.

Granny led us around, apparently knowing exactly where everything was, insisting that we visit Mare Liberty first.

"All new-comers have to see it first thing!" She demanded. It was a great site, a mile-tall green mare standing only on her back hooves while holding a torch in one hoof, cradling a declaration of independence in the other. Granny got us to climb to the crown. The view was truly breathtaking, sorry for using the same adjective twice but really, it was.

The ocean stretched out past the horizon, boats speckled over the glistening water. On the other side, more tall buildings draw their own jagged skyline. A clean wind blows and I take a deep breath of the foreign city air. I smile, then look at mom to tell her how great this is. She's smiling at me, clearly relieved that I'm happy.

I'm relieved, too. I was afraid last night would ruin my day, but it didn't. I made sure to hold on to that feeling all day.

Suddenly Granny points out the window shouting, "Look those ponies just fell off their bike." Sure enough, two ponies who were previously riding a tandem bicycle are now rolling in the grass beside the road.

I laugh at Granny, "What's wrong with you."

She just shrugs as we turn to go back.

On the ferry back into the city I start asking questions. "So what's next on the list? Are we gonna visit the Boardwalk, or Centurion Park?"

"They’re both definitely part of the plan," Granny ensures, "but not yet."

"What then, Times Square? Maybe we can go to Bridleway!" I feel like a foal on a field trip to the zoo: I want to see everything right now!

"Well, getting a ticket to a show might be hard, but we'll definitely try."

No luck, though. But even without tickets to a show we stroll down the Bridleway lane like we live there. Granny points out a rustic "Pasta-and-Cuisine" restaurant. I point out a funnel cake vendor. Mom decides we're going to a pizza place. We all agree, Manehatten is always famed for the best pizza. And sometimes the best cheesecake.

Granny gets a large pizza, half olives and half plain. Olives are my favorite pizza topping. We each get a cola and wait for the pizza, talking.

"The waitress sure is a cutie," Granny nudges me.

I nearly spit out my drink.

"Mom," says mom. My mom... she said it to grandma.

"What?" Granny shrugs innocently. "I can tell a good-looking pony when I see one."

"Oh come on," I groan, "it's not like I can ask her out." I take another sip slowly.

"And why not?" Granny pushes. Mom gets a worried look on her face.

I remain calm, "Because, we're just visiting."

"Well you might not be," Granny taunts.

I choke on my cola again. "What (cough) what's that supposed to mean?"

She’s laughing at me. She breaks, then takes a long sip before answering, "You're planning on moving here, right?" Can old ladies still be sassy? Jeez, "So what's stopping you from getting a filly?"

I groan again.

"Plus, I really think you'll like where we go next."

I sit back up straight. What's that supposed to mean?

The pizza arrives, the waitress warns us it's piping hot. I think, Granny thinks you're piping hot, staring at my half of the pizza. My mind is still on what Granny just said, though. Where are we going next?

Before she leaves, Granny stops the waitress saying, "Excuse me, but my grandson thinks you're very attractive." I stare Granny, then at the stranger, wide-eyed and obviously blushing.

She giggles, "That's so sweet."

Sweet? What am I ten? I lay my head on the table and cover my face with my left foreleg, pushing my glasses off.

She laughs some more and I look at her again. A little blurry now, she still looks the same. "I'm Pearl," she says. She is an attractive unicorn; a glossy blue-green mane pinned back and cascading down her pure white neck. Her ears are rounded and her nose is a little sharp, but her deep blue eyes sparkle in the city sunlight. Her cutie mark is strange, a seven-pointed star inside an oyster shell. And her tail matches her mane style perfectly.

"I'm Timber," I respond, finally.

"That's a nice name," she compliments. "What do you like to do?"

"I write," I say, taking a deep breath "primarily fiction short stories," I sit back up and replace my glasses, "but I've got plans to sell novels."

"Well," she flirts, taking out her waitress pen and writing her number on a napkin, "I love to read. Gimme a call some time, 'kay?" She has a phone? We don't have a phone!

I'm somewhat speechless, still blushing hard. Granny interrupts, "He certainly will, Miss."

The mare laughs again and walks away. Granny looks at me with a cheeky smile and her eyebrows raised. I groan and drop my head back onto the table.

Once we finish our pizza, granny pays and I talk to Pearl some more and find out she got her cutie mark just by getting a really close friend, back in her home town. I told her my dad named me after his great-uncle or whatever, and that he's so old-fashioned he actually named my brother Dale. She and I laugh, she's a swell mare and I like spending time with her. I don't know if I love her, but she does seem to radiate comfort, somehow. I'm happy enough to not completely lose it when I mention my dad.

Walking out I envision a potential future with Pearl. It's mostly pleasant, but when I force myself to think about sleeping with her my pizza threatens to come back up. What's wrong with me? I mean, there's nothing wrong with me, but why do I think of filly-parts as absolutely revolting? I only tried to think of her that way for my dad’s sake, which is truly idiotic of me. I guess I just wanted to prove again that I wasn’t interested in mares. Now I kind of feel sorry for Pearl, which is actually kind of funny.

18 Life Guarding

After lunch I'm excited to find out where Granny has planned to take me next. I'm a little down after thinking about Pearl and my father more, but I shake it off, determined to have a great day.

Granny Lester blows me away when we enter… an apartment building? I'm stunned! She really plans on getting me an apartment, to live in!

Of course, we look at a couple choices. The first is on the third floor, really big. Not my style.

The second is just as big, technically. Same square-footage, but more walls, so more rooms. I tell Granny I don't want a lot of space.

In the end we settle on a studio apartment. Half the size of the previous housings, but just enough; kitchen and living space, big enough bathroom with a showerhead that changes water-pressures with a twist, and a big window. Plus it's on a higher floor, so I get a great view of the city. I can just see Mare Liberty from here; I can't believe we walked that far already!

Granny sets up the contract and arrangement. She says I'll have to move in by the end of the month and I panic. With such a short time, I don't know if I can handle it… I'll have to tell everypony that I'm leaving. Well, everypony I care to tell. My family will be easy, but Churner and Dawnette. Well, I'm sure I can manage, they'll be happy for me, right?

Oh, and I'll write to Minty…

I've been meaning to, I have to ask her what she said in her last letter. Dad didn't give it to me, so I didn't get to read it. Mostly I just want to know why she mentioned Churner again. Suddenly I'm torn.

I don't notice the strange look Granny's giving me until it's too late. She signed on it, and we move along. "Everything all right, pal?"

Did Churner ask me? Why is Churner there? No. No, it's just Granny.

"Can we—" I can't believe I'm about to ask this, "Can we just go to the hotel? I'm not feeling so well." I look at mom and see it in her face, she knows what I'm thinking.

Granny just asks, "Was it the pizza?"

"I don't know," I respond. In a way, the pizza place holds some responsibility for my mood, being that Pearl confused my mind and my penis. Then again, it wasn’t really her fault at all. Just my wandering mind.

Right now, in the hotel, I am really confused. Does dad really think he's casting me out? Am I really going to miss Churner that much, after all I'd done to settle things? Will I ever call Pearl? Do I still want to move to Manehatten?

Granny suggests we go swimming; the hotel has a heated indoor pool. That sounds nice, I'll pick up here when we get back.

Big mistake... I need to calm down. I'm going to take a cold shower.

There was a lifeguard on deck, and we made eye contact. He smiled at me and I blushed. I didn't notice Granny watching me from the diving board until her cannonball splashes me, dowsing my face and nearly knocking off my glasses. I don't usually swim with my glasses on, but my head's all over the place.

Granny swims over and insists I tell her about the lifeguard. Her tone is the same gossip-filly high as when she spoke to Pearl at the pizza place, but her face is stern, if not, a bit scared.

Not her too.

I try to play it off, "Don't you think he's good looking?" I gesture, she looks. Luckily he's watching the other end of the pool, but I still stare too long. His cutie mark is a life-saver ring, but with rainbow colors, which I thought was strange. I still really liked it though. I snap back to Granny when she looks back to me. "What? I can tell a good-looking pony when I see one." I’m avoiding I contact.

Mom swims over then and asks what's up. The two of them have a silent conversation with their eyes, and a few head-jerks toward the lifeguard. Mom's eyes look a little sad, Granny's just look curious.

I drifted away while they "argued," and they didn't notice me leave the pool. I don't know if the lifeguard glanced at me again, but I don't care. I ran back to our room so fast a housekeeping pony yelps when I passed her, almost dropping her towels. I apologize but don't stop, my tears won't let me.

I took my cold shower and they got back calling my name. Looking back, I'm just glad Granny left the room unlocked. When I got out of the shower she hugged me, then mom joined. I didn't appreciate their damp, chlorine bodies rubbing against my clean coat.

"Don't think I don't love you," Granny pleads. She hugs me so tight I squeeze my eyes shut to keep them from popping out.

"Timber I'm so sorry," mom says, holding me not as tightly.

I push them both off and say, "It's fine. I shouldn't have been so obvious."

"What do you mean?" Granny whispers.

I look at the floor. "You weren't supposed to find out," I grumble.

I guess they don't hear me, because they both say "What?"

I force back tears, then barely keep myself from shouting, "Nopony was supposed to know!" I run back into the bathroom and lock the door. I’m being hysterical and I know it, but I can’t stop myself.

A minute or two later, mom knocks, "Timber?"

A few deep breaths and I know what to say, "Why did you come to my room last night?"

She's silent, but I know she heard me. I hear her sigh, then speak softly, "I wanted to know... wanted to know why."

I feel outraged, my tears turn red. "Why?!" I demand, "Why am I gay? Is that what you mean? Because I don't know. Seriously!" I take a deep breath. "When dad read my letter I was terrified. When you two argued about it, I didn't know what to do! I don't know why I don't... know. Why don't I like mares?!"

She doesn't answer, she couldn't possibly know if I didn't.

(Calm down, don't yell at her.)

Shut up. I know I'll never get over this, that I've likely ruined my relationship with her, just like I ruin all my relationships!

"Timber, it's okay," mom says. My head's working so hard I barely hear her.

(You're over thinking it.)

I KNOW!! JUST LIKE I ALWAYS DO!!

Did I say that out loud?

"Always do what?" Dammit. "Timber please come out."

(Come out, Timber.)

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just, open the door."

(Let the world know, you're not afraid of who you are.)

"But I am afraid. You should have said that I shouldn't be afraid, that I should trust myself..." I forget where I am for a moment, who I'm really talking to.

"You're right," my mom again. "I should have been there for you, but I just pretended everything was fine."

(Everything is fine.)

"Everything is fine." I take a deep, wavering breath.

(We just need a little time.)

"…I, just need a little time."

"Timber, please. Granny says she's sorry."

"I'm sorry, Timber. You didn't want to talk to that waitress."

"It's not about the waitress!" I yell at them, then center myself. "It's about me. Pearl is nice, pretty, and basically perfect. She's just not what I want..."

Granny calls back, "Tell us what you want." I hear mom whisper something like "he wants Churner," and Granny shushes her harshly.

I groan, "I want some time alone."

They're quiet for a while. Then they whisper between each other, and finally mom says, "Ok, we'll go get dinner. Just, be here when we get back."

I take a shaky breath, holding back more tears. "I promise."

A few more seconds of silence, then Granny asks, "Is there anything you want?"

I open my eyes and look back, as if I'll see her over my shoulder. I realize I'm holding my breath and relax. Then I respond, "Cheesecake."

19 Short Chapter

I took another, short cold shower after hearing the door close. Then I came right out here to document the situation. I wish I could just explain it to them.

They've been gone a little over an hour now and I have to wonder what they're actually doing. Cheesecake shouldn't be that hard to find in a city with everything. Unless they stopped to eat, themselves, and talk about me.

Now I'm imagining what they're talking about:

"What's wrong with Timber?"

"I don't know, he's looney."

"Positively mad, I say."

"We ought to send him to a mad-house."

"Maybe he'll straighten up there."

"Oh but he'll be so lonely."

"We'll send him a filly-friend to play with."

"Yes we'll send him a filly-friend."

I don't know who's saying what in my mind, just two muzzles chatting about how insane I am for not liking mares like I should. It’s stupid of me to think they’d actually say things like that about me, especially after what just happened.

Nothing's wrong with me, and if I'm insane it's not because I'm gay. It would have to be the fact that there's a voice in my head. I don't know where he is now, but talking to him wouldn't help anyway.

I just realized I'm not wearing my glasses. I must have left them in the bathroom when I took them off to shower. They're probably wet, or have those smudges where the chlorine water dried on them. I wonder why I'm not having any trouble writing. I only just noticed when I went back to check on my spelling of "looney" and it dawned on me that I couldn't read. Well, I know how to read, but when I went back and couldn't read it I found out I was pretty much blind. I should go get my glasses.

I got them, they are all smudged with chlorine water. Let me just go clean them.

There, all clean and back on my face. My hair's still wet. I think I'll comb it before it dries.

Nice and straight, but once it dries it won't be. I like how it looks combed back, sleek and shiny. Maybe I should start greasing it back, like some kind of gangster. Nah. It'll mostly hold its slick-back shape once it's dry, but I doubt I could pull off the greaser look, especially with glasses.

Plus I wouldn't want ponies getting the wrong idea about me. Though, I'm not sure what that idea would be in the first place, or even the second place. What do ponies think of me? Not much, I guess. Or maybe, too much?

Ugh, why don't I understand myself? Am I even a real pony? Is my whole life one big joke? Why can't I just explain how I feel?

...I just got an idea.

Sorry I'm cutting this chapter a little short, and the next one might be a little different... whatever, you were warned at the beginning how weird my life would get.

Excuse whatever I write next, their mostly notes. I just needed an extra sheet of paper to get this written down. Stitches just gave me a great idea for a novel.

It’s a prehistoric adventure story of the first pegasus and first unicorn. I just know there’s no written history about the first of these breeds. Or alicorns, come to think of it.

Anyway, I’m thinking of coming up with a pretty serious lore involving an ancient god-figure that probably never actually existed. Maybe I’ll make that character the first alicorn. First two alicorns? Well, these two have their earth ponies and the whole world and everything, but figure they won’t really be around forever. They decide to create more ponies in different forms, or maybe give birth to them? Maybe it’ll be more like Pegasus and Unicorn are just, born. They’re born, suddenly alive, and the already-existing world of earth ponies has no idea how to handle them. Should they be related? Should they even know each other right away? Or any time soon for that matter? I’m thinking they’ll either grow up together, or grow up separate, then meet each other. Should they fall in love? No, I don’t think so. I might add a little romance, maybe. Just to spice things up. I don’t want it getting too serious though because… Well, just because.

Oh, and I’ve named them Pegasus and Unicorn respectively. I’m sure ponies will understand which is which.

So the two get together, or grow up together, when one of them realizes what their extra body part can do. I’m thinking of making Pegasus figure it out first. Yeah.

So, Pegasus discovers he (or she) can fly. Maybe, just watching birds, or maybe I’ll throw Pegasus off a cliff and things will just happen. After that, he meets (or goes back to) Unicorn, but the townsfolk are not pleased that he has this power of the gods, which they know little to nothing about. Pegasus and Unicorn are forced to run away and end up beginning their journey to find these ancient beings to discover what’s so special about them.

Unicorn still has no idea at this point. Well, for most of the book, actually. Unicorn will probably unlock it fighting some kind of magical monster, like a cockatrice. Yeah, that sounds good. Pegasus gets turned to stone by it, and Unicorn’s emotions cause him/her to accidentally use a spell that returns his/her friend/sibling (/lover?) back to normal.

At the end of their journey, they meet the “gods” and discover their true purpose. Which, when they discover it, seems a little underwhelming. Knowing that they were just placed on the planet to replace the gods after their time is over…

Well, I suppose that’s not really underwhelming. Pegasus can control weather, after all. And I don’t know a whole lot about unicorns, but Unicorn learns all kinds of spells and basically becomes superior. Or… maybe not. That sounds a little dramatic. Maybe I’ll write a sequel.

Author's Notes:

In which I shamelessly fill the wordcount with meaningless additives.

20 Ink and Quill

Mom,

I know you want to know why I am the way I am, so do I. I don't remember when I started having these feelings toward stallions, or against mares. I don't know how to explain it. I wish I could make you understand, but I also wish I understood.

The feel of a mare's body is soft, plush. A female has qualities that I admire, and I enjoy spending time with one as much as anypony. The only issue is that they're too soft. I empathize, I suppose. My emotions are fragile, and I am sensitive. While the stronger stallion part of me keeps it bottled away and puts on a straight face, most of me feels even just a little bit too strongly about most things I encounter. I have always been an umbrella for others, my friends; shielding them from rainstorms that come as tears. My only umbrella has been my mind. I've been grateful that my umbrella has mostly kept up, but now I wish for a strong, sturdy shoulder to cry on, a powerful chest, with powerful lungs and a powerful heart. I'm not saying a mare can't be powerful, but that's still not the only thing. While it is a big part of what I truly desire, it isn't everything.

Growing up, I've learned perhaps a bit too much about my body, and about female bodies. I know what I like, and I just don't like mares. I certainly don't like talking about it, but you deserve an explanation. Vaginas are gross, mom. There, I said it. Pretty silly, isn’t it? Anatomy, health, sexual education, all these classes and lessons taught me so much and while the other colts giggled and played around it, I soaked it in. I don't like the mare's sexual organs, or her reproductive assets. I'm not aroused by the thought of a mare's flank, or plot. I've only been aroused by stallions. There were not many, and I'd only go so far as to think about him, and only if I truly cared for him. You know I truly cared for Churner, and despite his age and relationship to my best friend, I did kiss him. I even fantasized about him. I wanted him, but I was never with him.

I have since grown up and have moved on, but being reminded of him confuses me, makes me wonder why I let him go if he was truly willing to give me what I wanted. Dad seems confused as well, and maybe, if you start to understand any of this, you can explain it to him. I love him, and I love you, but I'm afraid of what he might say to me, and I'm afraid that if I try to convince him that I'm normal, I might hurt our relationship. I will talk to him if you want me to, and I don't want you fighting with him anymore. Please, just understand that this is me, and that I can't change who I am.
I love you,
Timber.

Do you think it's good? I hurried to write the whole thing twice before they got back, one for her and one for my records here. When I finished I left her letter on the desk and went to lay down on one of the queen-sized beds.

A short while later they unlock the door. I was facing away, so they probably assumed I was sleeping and crept in slowly. Mom came up to me and I looked at her. Then moved my head away, raised a hoof and pointed to the desk. She stepped over to read the letter I left. Granny comes up to me, kisses me on the forehead, and leaves a little box on the nightstand beside me. There was a pink-and-white ribbon tied to the top.

She walked to the desk to read, too. I lifted my head to look at them, reading my letter. I noticed the take-out boxes on the other bed, from two different locations: "Sandy's Spaghetti," and "Cheesy Cake's." I smile, then turn to the night stand, lifting myself up a little more. I take the box, it's a little heavier at one end. I wonder what's inside. I untie the ribbon and remove the lid. Granny and mom return to my side, but I don't look at them yet. Inside the box is a hoof-crafted, metal-tipped feather quill. A quart-sized well of black ink was what weighed it down.

I smile and sigh at the gift. Somepony behind me wraps a hoof around me and kisses my head. I lean and rest in her soft bosom. I don't care who it is right now, I'm just happy it's there. Tears drip down my cheeks, I sniffle. It's perfect.

Everything is perfect.

I shared a bed with Granny that night and at some point while I was trying to sleep I felt something tickle my flank. After I twitch a few times and it doesn't go away I look up. Mom is laying a string down on my cutie mark. "What...?" I don't finish, it's pretty obvious what she's doing.

"I'm measuring your cutie mark," she answers anyway. "If you have another dream, like before, we'll see if it changes."

Right now, as Granny's taking a bath and mom's getting breakfast in the lobby, I wonder how she knew exactly that it was the swirl that needed measuring. I guess, in retrospect, it's pretty obvious. I didn't have any dream, so I don't feel the need to measure again yet. The string conveniently fits tied around my neck, like a little necklace. This way I'll always have it with me.

I haven't used the quill yet. It just feels too precious to use right now. I've never used a metal-tipped quill. Mostly I use goose-feather quills that I cut myself, or a pencils I steal from the library. Plus this ink looks a lot darker than the black I use.

Well I feel a lot better now. Granny's still got a whole day planned. Well, not a whole day. We have to get on the train around noon so we get back home in time for dinner. Whatever happens, nothing could ruin this day now. Though, that’s what I thought about yesterday, isn’t it?

21 Opened Box

Well here we arre again. I'm gonna miss Manehatten, but not for too long. I've already envisioned what I'm going to change about my apartment. Granny's getting me a full-sized bed when we go back, she's helping me move in and she swears not to questioh any decisions I make. I love her so much right now. I'mn bringing all my books with me, and I aleady know where on the floor they're getting stacked. There's plenty of cupboard space for all the instant noodles I'll be stockpiling. Granny insists on something more so we agreed on a few cans of soup for rainy dayys. I promised my old desk to Picker, though I'm not sure what he'll be usingit for. Granny's getting me a new one of those, too. She's done so much for me recently, I don't know how I'm going to thank her.

Truly, this weekend has been phenomenal. I”m surprised I managed to get that right on the train! I already told you about yesterday, and today we went to the Boardwalk. It was an endless carnival! Roller coasters, ferris wheels, a house of mirrors. I even convinced mom to let me play one of the games. I didn't win, but those water guns are actually really hard to aim. Granny tried her hoof at a ball-tossinggame, but only got one in. She has her tiny pink teddy bear tucked into her elbow right now. We got cotton candy and took some pictres in a photo booth. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had so much fun.

I'm almost afraid to get home. I still have a gut-wrenching anxiety that dad has done something to Churner. I hope everything's fine for his sake, but for miine too. If dad ends our relationship, however mutual it is, I porbably won't be allowed to work for him anymore. Is mutual the right word? I feel like I’m misInterpreting

Mom just got back with some croissants and hot cocoa. Hopefully things are ok at hoome.

I hate my father.

So obviously everything wasn't how I'd hoped it would be. Dad spoke to Churner and ended up raising his voice, blaming him for tainting me. What’s worse is that they met up just outside the train station. I suppose they were both there waiting for us to return.

Mom caught up quick to calm dad down before he took it too far.

I don't think I've ever apologized with my eyes before, but I know I begged Churner's forgiveness. I didn't want him to hate me, this was all my father's doing. Please...

He looked away from me. He looked hurt. He probably believed our encounter had been secret. I certainly had. But he was the one who told Minty...

I couldn't blame him for this. It was my fault for kissing him. No, this was because of my father.

"He's the one screwing with Timber's head, if I hadn't—" he was yelling at mom, about Churner. I had to stop him.

"Hadn't what!?" I shout, looking at him through blazing red tears. "If you hadn't read my mail? Hadn't invaded my privacy and blamed everything on the stallion I kissed?"

"This doesn't concern you—" he always does this; tries to shut me up. Not now.

"Of course it does! It's my life! Kissing him was my decision. He let me, sure, because he cares about me. He's a good friend, and he didn't want to wreck my life like you do!"

He's stunned at that—I am too—but still enraged. "You think I want you to be miserable? If I wanted that I'd let you marry the queer."

"You're not listening!" I stomp my front hooves hard. "I'm the queer!"

He takes a few heavy breaths. Churner is silent: most likely terrified. After thinking it through, dad speaks up again. "No, you're not."

"No?" I demand. "Then what am I?"

His face was starting to soften, but it stiffens right back up. "You're my son." He says, then he reaches up and bites my ear, yanking my head down and away from Churner. I shout at him, mostly out of pain and rage, but I'm also getting embarrassed. Ponies have been gathering around, watching the scene devolve.

When we're a few feet away, and mom gives him a good shove, dad throws me to the dirt, my glasses fall off. I think my ear is bleeding, but I don't check. I just glare at him while he talks down to me.

"You are not some dandy, colt-loving freak. I didn't raise you to write fancy words on paper, and I've had about enough." At this point I'm glad my new quill is stowed in my luggage. "You'll work for me, from now on." I didn’t notice Churner stepping closer, but when dad straightens up he's there. "You, stay away."

Churner looks at me, pleading. I shake my head. He backs away slowly, mouths "I'm so sorry," then turns and runs away before he starts crying. I assume he was about to start crying, but a big stallion like him might be better at keeping that inside. Better than I was, anyway.

"Go home, Timber, and straight to bed. Tomorrow I expect you at the mill, sanding boards. You might move out, but you're still my son, and for as long as I can, I will make sure you act like it."

He walks away then, and I spit at him. Either he doesn't notice, or doesn't care, because he keeps going. I shakily lift myself out of the dirt, retrieve my glasses and bag, look away from mom and start walking home.

I cried in my bed for hours, then eventually calmed down. For some reason I decided to sneak outside and look at the sky. The moon is growing, nearly half-sized, but the stars seemed somewhat dull and thick clouds rolled in before long. I breathed deeply for a long while.

Then I hear hoof steps and look to see somepony approaching. I don't act defensive, but the mare raises a hoof in surrender, making sure I know she comes in peace. Even if she hadn't I doubt I would have done anything to stop whatever she might have done.

Regardless of what could have happened, she approaches slowly. It's Velvetine, only her hair is completely disheveled, and she isn't wearing any make-up. She walks to about five paces away. "Churner said you needed something. He was afraid to come, so..." she sighs. "He's a wreck, Timber." I close my eyes and lean my head away. I feel a little strange, sitting the way I am with my nose to the sky. I don't care. About anything. "I've never seen him cry."

Neither have I, I think.

"He wanted me to give you this." I tip my head toward her to see. It's a box. She steps closer and places it on the ground beside me. "He says he's sorry. That he shouldn't have—"

"Yes," I interrupt immediately, "he should have. In truth, I should have told him sooner."

"No," she says, "not that. He remembered telling Minty and when you said that thing about your dad invading your privacy he instantly knew he must’ve read a letter from her about it." I mentally wince at her informally placed pronouns. Then I lower my head to look at the box. I feel a raindrop, but ignore it. It's just a little cardboard box.

"I was going to leave it with your mother, she seemed more trustworthy. I didn't expect to see you out here." She's obviously confused at what it is I'm doing outside in the dark.

I open the box slowly, almost afraid to see what's inside. It's just money, dozens of gold bits scattered around. "I can't accept this."

She shakes her head, "He won't take it back, I know for a fact. He really wants to make it up to you."

I never guessed Velvetine could be so sincere. She loves Churner, and knows that he loves me. Only, as a friend... She wants Churner to be happy. I do, too, and I know that for that, he needs to know I forgive him, even though he did nothing wrong.

I nod to her, close up the box, and reach a hoof out. She smiles, then reaches out to shake it. It begins raining then and she hurries away. I thank her under my breath, then sneak back inside, figuring I'd better, before I get soaked by the rain.

Making sure my box doesn't jingle, I make it back downstairs. There's an opened envelope on my desk. Addressed to me.

22 Waking Up

Dear Timber,

Sorry I haven't written as often as I promised. I know you were expecting me to lose touch eventually, but I'm still dedicated to you I swear. Anyway, I want to know exactly how you've been feeling. Dad says he kissed you the other night. He said he felt silly afterward, like all the signs seemed pretty obvious after everything was out in the light. I want to know what you felt afterward. Did you like it? Did you feel awkward? I bet you felt a little awkward, thinking about how he's my dad and all. Are you ok?

Oh, he says you can move on now, or something. Like, he gave you closure, right? Is that true? Can you really move on now? That's fantastic, if it's true, I'm so happy for you! And it's not just because you hit on my dad, really. But he is like, fifteen years older than you.

You need to tell me, I need to know you're really ok!
Write back soon!
Minty swirl.

I thought it was from my mom until I opened it. I didn't read the address, but when she said "dad" it became clear. I smile, happy that she actually called him "dad" instead of "Churner," like last time. Then I sigh... she has no idea how much damage this letter has caused. My father may never accept me again.

Of course, I can't tell her how badly she messed up. What kind of friend would I be if I blamed it all on her? It's not her fault, only my father's. He overstepped, and because of him now he's got one less son.

I dreamed again. Really, though, I'm mostly surprised I fell asleep.

Anyhow. I was in the pizza place in Manehatten. Pearl served me nothing; invisible pizza. I looked at her and she didn't have a face. Her shape was there, but it was like a layer of plastic was molded over her head. I dig in to my imaginary pizza when suddenly I'm looking at myself inside the Statue of Liberty. My essence is floating over the sea, but I see myself inside. I'm alone.

Then I hear a shout. It's more of a crashing sound, and I'm falling. I see my quill, drawing a slanted line, curving around me. I hear the crashing shout again, look up and see my father's infuriated face. I reach out for the line being drawn by my all new quill, but it's just out of reach. I look at my father's massive face above me, opening its mouth. I shut my eyes and cover my ears, but I hear it anyway.

Thunder cracks and I'm suddenly awake sitting upright in bed. Through the little window leading outside I see lightning illuminate a torrential downpour. I'm grateful for the waterproof cellar for a second, then renig the feeling once I realize I'd be giving credit to my father.

I wouldn't actually be giving him credit; he didn't build the house. His parents built it. They're both dead now, and if he's anything like they were he won't live any longer than they had. I'm not fazed by the thought. If anything, it uplifts me. Which is despicable of me.

The sun's coming up soon, and I've got to go to work soon. Hold on…

My parents were talking again. I turned my light off as soon as I heard them then went to listen again. It wasn't a fight. My father actually sounded, I don't know... defeated? He really sounded sad.

"I'm losing him June," my father began.

"Yes, you are," she tells the bold truth, which is good. "But more than that, you're pushing him away."

"I don't want him to..." he doesn't finish. “I don't know what I want for him.”

"You love him," mom says. "You want what's best for him. In these past days, you've let your own parents control how you feel about how he's acting. You're treating him the way you were raised, but it's not right."

"But, I raised him—"

"You've raised him fine, but he's still growing. He has a dream he wants to fulfill and you're holding him back. You always wanted him to carry on your name, and you were upset to find out he can no longer do that. But Mill, you have four other wonderful sons. Dale and Picker are still here for you, but you're shutting them out by trying so hard to fix Timber. Let it be."

My mind is boggled. Did I really hear that? I have no idea, because the next thing I remember is waking up in my bed.

23 Sawing Logs

I still can't decipher if what I heard last night was real, or a dream. I'm not getting my hopes up, though.

I make my way to the lumber mill as the sun rises. I feel like I'm missing something, like somepony's hiding behind a tree while yelling at me to find them. I can't figure out what I'm supposed to do, so today I'm just moving forward. Dad's already got the rotating saw running, cutting whole logs in half down the middle.

I don't pay attention to him, but keep moving. Somepony else grabs half of the cut log and drags it with a hook toward the next part. I'm there to sand it.

The inside of the log is already pretty smooth, thanks to the saw. I just have to grind the coarse paper against it to make sure nopony gets splinters. These logs will likely be used for a floor, so once I'm done sanding this side it'll be taken back to be cut again, and again, until it's just a couple boards. I have to sand them all, but whatever.

At some point during the day, Churner's song comes into my head and I start singing it in my mind, humming along out loud.

I've been sanding so long my peanut coat is now saw-dust colored. I've already blown my glasses off four times, but each time they get dirtier faster. I suddenly notice the other stallion, the one who's actually paid to sand the boards. He smiles at me, I smile back. He's got really defined shoulders, so much so that his backside looks disproportionate. His mane dangles in front of his eyes just a tad, and his tail is cut very short. It's safer that way, especially if he spends time near the circular saw; getting his tail caught could be the last anypony hears from him.

It's a bit of an exaggeration, but it is dangerous. I likely won't be going up there today, but my tail is still short enough for regulation to consider it safe. I take a break, heading over to the community cooler. Twenty or so water bottles are stacked inside, cold and ready to drink. I pop one open, take a long drink, then an even longer breath. I see my father trotting over.

He looks me in the eye. Do I see a hint of repentance?

He nods to me, then grabs his own water bottle. After his own long drink he talks to me, "You're doing great, bud." Something's eating at him, I’m sure of it. I think about the talk he had with mom that I may or may not have dreamed up. He's silent for a few seconds, then, "keep up the good work."

Is that it? There’s something I need to hear, he needs to say. He knows it has to be said, whatever it is. "I'm not apologizing," I state before he leaves.

He drops his head and sighs. "No," he says, "you have no reason to."

I expect him to say something else, to admit his fault or apologize to me. He's so quiet I almost say something. I want to say something, to dare him to say it.

"You look a little dirty," he says. What? "Why don't you head home? Mom and Picker probably have lunch ready." He's quiet a few more seconds before adding, "Have a nice day."

Seriously? "So you’re just sending me home?"

He looks back at me, right at my face. "Yeah," he says. "This isn't you're area. Working won't clear your head like it does mine."

I think I get what he's saying. He wants to make up, to apologize. He just can't bring himself to it. He's too stuck in his ways to admit he was wrong. Right now, he's just hoping that working hard will beat some sense into him. I hope it does too.

I turn and go, looking back once to see him climbing back up to the circular saw. My eyes wander to the sanding pony. He doesn't look any older than me, and from this angle he's got such a sweet, round little flank, a hack-saw cutie mark. I shake my head, afraid to push my boundaries.

I make it home and discover Picker had baked a pie. Mom's stirring soup while he sets the hot pan in the open window. He sits to watch it, determined not to let anything touch it.

Mom greets me cheerily. "You're home early."

All I say at first is "Yeah." I sit at the table and she sets bowls at four spaces and a high chair. She calls for Dale, and he comes in shortly after carrying our baby sister Barley. Her story is a sad one; mom's sister, one of the twins, was married and had the filly. She and her husband were then taken by an accident where a delivery pony's heavy load broke from its flying carriage a hundred yards above. I'm told it was a brutal scene, but in the end, little Barely was left to us. The twin sister knew nothing about raising foals, so it was up to mom to step up for one more. She says it was a gift, that she's secretly always wanted a filly, but her age has been getting the better of her. At least she doesn't have to work.

Once everypony's settled and the bowls are filled, they start eating. I'm stuck thinking. I have to ask, "Mom?"

"Yes, dear?" She smiles.

"Did you and dad talk last night?"

She pauses a second, but a short second, "Yes. He really wants to talk to you."

"Yeah, he seemed a little... different, at work." I dip my spoon into my soup, once again wondering how I can handle it with one hoof. It's just nature, but some things you can't help but wonder about. "He definitely had something on his mind."

"I'll bet he did," she smiled again. She's obviously very happy.

After lunch I feel terrible. I don't know if I'm ready to forgive him. But, if I don't forgive him before he dies...

(Don't overreact.)

"Really, though," I say out loud, alone in my room, "what if something terrible happens at the mill?"

(Then you can apologize to his grave. Apologize for not forgiving him.)

"That's real nice, Aura."

(No it's not, it's mean. You need to calm down.)

"You need to stop telling me that. You should know by now that telling me to calm down just stresses me out more."

(Well, I'm sorry I can't cuddle with you.)

Yeah, me too.

I took a nice little nap, and then I took a nice shower. While I was washing I made a little push at my anus. I hadn't done it in so long, and kind of startled myself. It was as pleasurable as ever, and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning like a filly. I could never get very deep. Besides, I didn't want to take myself that far.

My shaft was already at full length when I stopped myself. I sit under the warm stream a few minutes longer, my ass a little tight. Eventually I get out. Preferring to air dry, I go outside to the front porch. The sun has come out from behind every storm cloud and a brisk breeze makes my skin tingle. It felt so... happy.

I saw dad coming up, and actually smiled. I stopped myself before he saw, but I still felt victorious. He made eye contact with me as he approached the front steps, nodded, said "Timber," and walked inside. I heard him visit with everypony inside like he was a distant relative visiting for the holiday.

I feel almost mortified. Wasn't he going to apologize?

Suddenly something mom said to him comes back to me, something she said about shutting out his other children, giving so much attention to me, trying to fix me... or something. That's what she told him, right? Was that all he heard?

I'm not entirely dry when I make my way inside, just as mom says "Isn't there something you'd like to say to Timber?"

He looks at me like, Oh Yeah! "Of course," he steps over to me, determined to say something. In his eyes, he has no idea what to say. "How was your day, son?"

Who the hell is he? It's as if he's completely forgotten about what he found out, about how he felt just last night.

I look at mom, she looks scared. I look back at him, "My day was, great, thanks." He smiles.

"Mill, dear," mom steps in, "wasn't there something you wanted to say? About him, and Churner?"

"Why?" He asks, completely oblivious. "You're still working for him, right?" He looks at me, confused.

I have no idea. Has he really forgotten? "You don't remember?"

Now he looks as worried as confused. "Remember what?"

Mom has tears in her eyes. I'm getting angry, but I keep my head.

"Speaking of," he says solidly, "shouldn't you be at work? It's only four in the afternoon."

"I..." have no idea what to say, or what he actually remembers. "He, let me come home early today. I wasn't feeling well."

"Oh, well I hope you feel better." He turns to go upstairs. He always showers quickly after work, reads the paper for about an hour, then helps prepare dinner. I wonder if he'll still be the same enough to do that much.

But I want him to be the same. I want him to remember. Don't I? Aren't I supposed to forgive him for something? Didn't he ruin my life? How could he just move along like nothing happened? Like he wasn't about to disown me for kissing a stallion?

I run outside. Mom calls after me, but I keep running. The screen door slams against the outside wall, but my ears are roaring, tears bleeding into my eyes. He can't do this to me. Who the hell does he think he is?

24 Dungeon Master

After spending some time in the woods crying I come home. It had been a while since I’d gone to the woods. I remembered running around with Dale, swinging sticks like swords. My younger years seemed so simple. Until my cutie mark. Even then I felt mostly normal. I was still friends with Fire Ruby, no matter how distant. I remember Dale inviting me to games of Ogres and Oubliettes with his stupid friends. I hated them, really, but I loved spending time with him. I had a bat-pony paladin who fought with mighty a hammer, and always protected his friends. I loved envisioning who he was, how he looked, but never going so far as fantasizing myself with him. He was so strong, bold, heroic. Dale's friends mocked me for how strange my character was, while all of their characters were exactly like them. They had no imagination, no real fun. Dale came up with great dungeons to delve into, I always immersed myself. His friends always had dumb questions.

I still love spending time with him, and sometimes he'll inspire a new story by telling me his dreams, or showing a piece of art he's drawn. He's pretty good, but not good enough, I guess. His cutie mark is a trowel, with a wad of dirt and a flower. He loved gardening as much as he loved fantasy, and he loved hearing about my story ideas while he pulled weeds or trimmed stalks or whatever. We've always had plenty of fresh veggies thanks to him, and a stunning arrangement of flowers around the house.

Picker was always more of a comic relief, to me. We can talk and joke and have a blast together, but we can never talk about anything serious. I both love and hate him for that. I really hate not being taken seriously. Even more so, I hate being taken as a liar. I never lie, as long as I can help it. If I have to spare somepony's feelings, sure. Or if there’s something particular I don’t want ponies to know. But I always justify myself by digging around in my thoughts, making myself believe everything I say is at least part true. If I leave out bits here or there, they hear what they need to and my conscious is clear. It might make me morally dishonest, but no pony's ever been hurt by me stretching the truth.

It's true! Here, in private, I've told you everything I remember; every feeling, every experience, every word as far as I remember. I tell you stories from my past when what I'm writing about then reminds of what happened. I wrote down all my secrets, every last one. And you can check; I only told others when they asked. If there was something I wanted hidden, I'd hide it just skillfully enough to tell the truth. I'm not a bad pony.

Dad knew everything about me, everything a father could know. How could that just wash away in the rain?

Mom was waiting for me on the porch when I made it back home. I missed dinner, but she didn't eat either. She told me dad worried about us, but ate with the rest of the family.

"What's wrong with him?" I ask, leaning against her as the sun goes down. "Does he think, that if he forgets, I'll forget too?"

"Oh Timber..." she rubs my side with her hoof, "he doesn't think anything like that."

"Then what?" I sniffle, I don't want to cry, but if he doesn't truly want to make up, then he must not love me. Then what was the act in the kitchen?

Mom sighs, "His father ended up the same way. It's just his age. He's losing his memory. Soon he won't remember making a cup of tea."

It can't be true. "His old age..." I guess. "He really doesn't remember?"

She shakes her head.

How could he do that? I mean... how could he...? He's barely fifty! "No! That's not fair. He ruined my life, destroyed Churner's heart! He nearly ripped off my ear. How could he forget?!" How dare he forget?

“He's just getting old, Timber, please don't blame him."

How could I not blame him? Everything was his fault! Now he just forgets? Like it never happened? It's like Old Stallion Time just broke him out of jail. I bury my face into my mother, wiping my eyes in her coat. She wraps her hooves around me. Besides how much I hate my father right now, all I can think of is that she's too soft. How I want an embrace that will support me, not envelope me. How, despite the fact she's my mother, she's not who I want. I don't even care how I'm repeating myself.

I cry into her body for some time. The worst part is, how can I face him again? I never got my closure from him. My father is somepony new, somepony who doesn't know me, not truly. How can I look at him without thinking that he abandoned me? And all he wants to do now is be my father. What kind of son does that make me?

I lift myself up and wipe my eyes. I make eye contact with mom and push a smile, pretending I’m content with the information. I take a deep breath and head inside. She follows soon after, turning to head upstairs while I continue onward to my bedroom.

I tried to relax for a few minutes before Dale came downstairs. The first thing he says is, “You feel like doing a dungeon sometime this week?”

I sigh, and laugh a little bit. “I don’t know, I’m not in the mood right now.” I kind of felt like a jerk, but mostly just didn’t want to talk to anypony right now.

“You seemed a little, distraught,” he points out. I notice the pause he took to decide on an adjective. “Today, talking to dad, I mean.”

“Yeah, there’ve been some issues with him.” I don’t know how much he knows about me or the situation in general. I’d better be careful about what I say, just in case.

“Mom told us everything.” Well, that clears things up. “At least, everything about dad. She didn’t mention a lot about you.” That complicates things.

“Did she tell you why dad was angry yesterday?” I inquire.

“No… Dad was angry?”

Right over his head, I guess. “Yeah, but I guess it doesn’t matter now.” I didn’t want him to know I was gay, if he didn’t already. Then again, how much worse could it get with him knowing? I guess I just really want him to leave so I can sleep.

“Why was he angry?” Damn.

“Look,” I attempt to dodge, “I’m really tired. I don’t really want to talk about it. I just want to go to bed.”

“Did it have to do with you kissing Churner?”

Dammit Dale. “Yep,” I sigh. “That’s exactly right.” I flop down onto my bed and let out a long sigh.

“Oh, okay,” he mumbles. “Sorry.” I remain quiet, hoping he totally understands the message. “Good night.”

“Night.” Thank you, for trying at least. You might have good intentions, Dale, but you can’t always put them to good use. I’ll see you in the morning.

25 Old Man

I had the absolute strangest dream last night.

I’m half-sitting over a disembodied penis. Looking at it, I had no idea to whom it belonged, but it was pretty big. While I prepare to insert it I glance up and lock eyes with my father. He looks very happy to see me, but when he sees what I'm doing he frowns. He picks up a quill and starts writing on the smooth, white floor. He writes lines. Not one line in a spiral, but many straight lines in a row. For some reason I feel angry at him and plunge into my desire in revenge.

The penetration is indescribable, if a bit painful at first. I don't really know how it felt, but I know it was good, slowly stretching me open, entering me. I know I've never felt the sensation so deep before, so I have no idea how I dreamed of it. The phallus stretches my hot hole, grazing my insides and stuffing me full. Slowly, I manage to push deeper and deeper. I sit down completely and my own penis is rock hard. At some point I feel something, a state of semi-waking, if that makes sense. Basically, I feel my real life penis twitch, and almost wake up. Back in the dream, I move my hips and slide my body up and down. My ass is a portal, and on the other side is pure pleasure. I'm sweating, in real life too. I can't seem to wake up. Do I want to? I look up again and my father is gone, his lines remain. My body moves faster.

Suddenly I'm face-down and the phallus intrudes my outstretched back door on its own. My spine is arched and my tail is raised. The penis belongs to no one, but it has to be for me, only. It reaches points inside me and makes me groan and whine. I've heard mother with father like this (a sleepless night I wish I could forget), and I'm making a similar noise to hers. My dick is oozing something. My bed feels wet. Ethereal balls slap my backside in a locomotive rhythm. I'm still moaning that feminine sound but I don't care. The deep penetration is driving me nuts, and I want more!

I feel a body resting on me, matching the curve of my back, holding me tightly around the waist while he pounds into me mercilessly. Every movement is bliss, getting better and better. His testes bouncing against me, my own dancing in open air as I'm jerked back and forth. The deep pressure pushes hard against my entire being. I beg for him, faster, harder, more please. I feel so warm beneath him. He feels so warm inside me. Don't stop. More, please more! I squeal loud, waking myself up for good.

My bed is wet when I awaken, but only slightly. I had read about so-called "wet dreams," and perhaps I had actually reached the point of an orgasm in my sleep. One thing's certain; I don't feel like I just had sex. Despite the viscosity of the dream, I feel empty, absolutely fine. I still consider myself a virgin, so I can still love that first time. It was about time I washed these sheets, anyway.

The earlier part has me puzzled though. Dad was truly happy to see me, until he saw what I was up too. He looked right behind me, as if at somepony else. Who did he see? And why did he draw those lines on the floor? I can't quite remember, but there were at least ten, or so. Anyway, dad hasn't been the same.

He seemed so worried for me before, when mom asked him what he had to say to me, about Churner. He was genuinely concerned for my job and my well-being. I couldn’t remember seeing him like that before. I can’t decide if I like it. What if there was a way to bring the old him back? Even for just a moment, before he’s gone for good. Maybe, if I come out to him tomorrow.

Or... today. When he gets home from work, I'm telling him the truth.

Well, not the whole truth. I have a plan, and this time I intend to leave Churner out of it.

I'm peeling garlic cloves for a quiche mom wants to make when dad gets home. He goes around to each of us in the kitchen. Hugging Picker whisking eggs by the sink. Giving mom a nice big kiss and a smack on the rump, complimenting her pepper slices.

Then he gets to me. "You're home early. Is everything all right at work?"

I can't tell him the truth, even a little bit. Not yet. "Yeah, he was just planning some renovations. I offered to help, but he said I should just get home." Where did such a wild lie even manifest?

"Oh, well..." he looks a little perplexed. Had he been by the store? Did he see that there was nothing going on? "Well, tomorrow don't take no for an answer. And he'd better still be paying you well."

This makes me think of the box of bits Churner had had delivered to me. It was still hiding under my bed, I hadn't even counted it yet. "Yeah, but I always felt like it’s too much."

I'm relying too heavily on his memory loss to take effect. I'll live with the lie, I think, but not if he ends up knowing the truth.

"Dad," I say before he leaves, "can I tell you something?"

"Sure pal," he smiles, "what's up?"

I'm panicking. What if he doesn't forget this time?

That's crazy, he's completely forgotten everything once already. Even if he doesn't forget right away. Then again, he still remembers yesterday pretty well, or at least that I was home early. Maybe the things he forgets are just random?

I shake the thought off, then move along with my plan from early this morning; "Do you remember when I went to camp when I was younger?" Mom's looking puzzled now, I ignore it.

"Yes," he says slowly.

That's good. "And, remember the colt I met there?"

"I think so," he looks up and rubs his chin, thinking hard. "Bread Pan, or something."

"Loaf," I remind him.

He nods, "That's right. He was a swell kid." He never met Loaf.

"Yeah," I smile and am suddenly lost thinking about my late friend. Watching him jump into the lake at about 5:00 in the morning, before anypony else was even awake…

"This way, nopony can crowd the water," he had told me. He and I slithered down the dock quietly, not wanting our hoof steps to wake the counselors. He then jumped in, splashing me with the cold night water. He emerged, shaking water from his unkempt mane and shivering.

"I don't think this is a good idea," I whined a bit.

"Come on," he reassured me, "I've done it lots and haven't gotten sick." He floats around a bit, kicking and splashing.

"No not that," I mumbled, sounding a little scared.

"We won't get in trouble, either," he dives, comes back up and spits a mouthful of lake water at me. "It's not against the rules."

I cover my face, but the stream misses anyway. "I don't know, Loaf..." I remember rubbing my foreleg, cold in the morning air. "I don't want to."

He looked at me and floated vertically in the water. "Hey, it's no big deal." Then he climbed out and shook off.

I ignore the cold sprinkle, "Really, are you sure?"

"Yeah let's get back to our tent." They were more like canvas cabins, with actual structure and wood floors, but the walls were thick tent material. Barely big enough for two ponies on cots, Loaf and I were lucky enough to be paired. They never took them down, they were permanent, but they were still technically tents.

Dad puts a hoof on my shoulder, snapping me out of the dream. "Is he all right?"

He's talking about Loaf. "Yeah, he's great." I don't quite realize it's a lie, but too late now. "It's just, when we were there, at the camp, he... kind of. I mean I—I don't know."

"Buddy," he looks at my face. "It's ok." I don't know what's in his mind, or what he thinks I'm trying to tell him. There's smoke in the room and mom frantically runs to the oven, pulling out an old half-pie Picker left in there to keep warm. It was burned now, she took it outside.

I look back into dad's eyes. He might not be the same pony after this. What if he remembers? Will he be back to this tomorrow? Will he ask why I wasn't at work again? Or will he forget I ever worked for Churner? What does he remember?

I swallow a deep breath, shaking slightly. He looks so kind, I don't remember seeing him like this before. Not ever...

"I... kissed him..." I lie. It's a good lie, believable, especially if he doesn't remember Loaf's death. He's quiet though. "I was scared one night, I had a nightmare," I'm telling the truth now, "and he woke me up to comfort me. We cuddled, I liked it... a lot. In the morning we were so comfortable, I felt like I loved him. I still do." I never actually had the chance to kiss him, never even imagined what it would be like. But I can remember him climbing into my cot, wrapping his hooves around me. His breathing steady into my mane, heartbeat pounding against my back. The shape of his body molding into mine.

I don’t like to remember the nightmare, the way it left me shaking. Still he held me. Did he tell me he loved me? I don't remember. He whispered something to me then, though. He calmed me, made me happy. I never got the chance to thank him. Not really.

Dad looks heartbroken, even deceived.

My eyes tear up, even though I fully expected this to happen. I take a shaky breath. Why am I acting up? This was the plan. I wanted to see the old him, if only one last time. I wanted him to be angry with me. I wanted to know he was still him.

The looks on his face change; scared, hurt, angry, sad, scared again. He takes a deep breath. I close my eyes, both to hide from his rage and to hide my growing happiness. This was what I wanted.

Then he hugs me.

"It's ok son," he whispers. I hear mom gasping back sobs. "It's ok."

My eyes betray me and rivers of tears flow down my cheeks. I hug him back, even though I don't think I want to. I never have wanted to, in the past. He's never hugged me. Not that I remember. I cry out loud into his shoulder. Did I really want this? All along, was this what was missing?

"You're a grown stallion now," he says, rubbing his hoof around my back, "you can love who you love."

I can’t take it. "No," I say. "This isn't..." I push off him, he looks startled. "This isn't, at all..." my tears blind me. Mom's there, picker too. Dale's holding Barley in the door. I imagine all there confused faces, how dumb they all look. I push past my father, run out the door, across the porch. I want to run to somepony, but who? No pony I know will be what I need right now. How could he do this to me? I just wanted my father back. But how could I want him that badly?

I'm running into the woods. I think Aura says something, but I don't hear it. Then I just ignore him. He's going to want me to go back and listen to my father, accept some kind apology, when dad doesn't even know what he'd apologize for. All he knows is that we hugged, I started crying, then pushed him away. He probably thinks it's his fault I'm crying, which it is, but not in the way he thinks.

I almost run into a tree, trip on the roots but catch myself. I don't know why I'm running, no pony's following me but I just need to run.

Then I do fall. There's some kind of hole, a perfect circle that's just deeper than the rest of the ground. There's still grass and dead leaves in it, like it was dug a long time ago and left to grow back.

I lost my glasses. Who cares? Dad doesn't care. Or, he cares too much, I don't know. Back then he cared. He knew what I needed, most of the time. He protected me from dangerous things, cheered me up when I was sad. He acted like he hated me, but not all the time. Why couldn't I remember that? This was him, he does care. He doesn't care more, or less than before. He just forgot the bad parts of himself. Is that possible?

I'm still crying. Then I hear something.

"What are you doing down there?"

I look up and see the blurry image of a colt. He can't be more than six years old, and he's a pegasus. The way he's standing I don't see his cutie mark. His voice is familiar...

"Are you dumb?" He asks.

"What?"

"Dumb! Like, lame or something."

I forgot about those old-fashioned terms. He was asking if I was able to speak, or if my legs worked. "No, I'm not dumb, or lame."

"Then what are you doing in a hole?"

"I tripped," I groan, moving my head forward slightly, but leaving it in the soft grass-and-leaves. My chin brushes my glasses.

"Yeah, I saw you running. You looked pretty lame."

I'm a little insulted, but he's got a point. "I feel pretty lame." Only I'm not talking about my legs.

"Then you shouldn't have been running," he laughs. "You should go back to your dad, he really loves you, you know."

I look up at him, but without my glasses I can barely see him. I barely make out his clean white coat and sharp blue mane. Who is this kid? Why does he sound so familiar?

"What's your name?" He asks. Didn’t he already ask that? I feel like he already asked that.

"M-my name's Timber," I stutter.

"I'm Aura."

Author's Notes:

In which I risk writing more pornography, and begin one of my most emotional journeys yet.

26 Still Alive

I hear somepony else call my name, drawing my attention away. I look to Aura again. He's still there.

"I'm in your head."

"In my..." this feels too familiar. I stand up, pick up my glasses and put them back on. As the frame passes over my eyes to the lenses, Aura's six-year-old figure disappears, but I noticed something; he didn't have a cutie mark. He was young, and technically imaginary, so I guess it makes sense. Had I actually seen him?

"Timber?!" Dale's calling my name. He sounds out of breath running after me. I shout back, but hear him again, "Timber?!" A little more frantic. Didn't he hear me? He runs up to the hole I'm in, almost falling in himself. "Timber!"

"Yeah, hi."

"Oh my god." What?

"Yeah I know, but whatever," I shrug. "Hey I just saw Aura." I told him about Aura before, about how Aura talks to me. I told him that Aura usually talks me out of bad situations, or away from breaking the rules. It was true, but it never happened as often as I made it sound. "I actually saw him, can you believe it?"

He slides down the side of the hole. It's only a few inches deep, but he seems to take a long time to get to me.

He grabs me, lifts me onto his back and carries me out of the hole. Suddenly my vision is blurry again, my head is resting between Dale's shoulders. My head... is throbbing? I open my eyes a little wider, but don't see much. It's dark. Is the sun down?

My head...

I wince and try to move.

"Hold still," Dale instructs, but I've already moved. He stumbles and my head hits his back a little too hard. Then again, anything's too hard right now. Dale apologizes. I feel something flowing down my brow.

I hear somepony else call for Dale. She runs closer, horror in her voice, "What happened." Is it mom?

"Found him in a hole, hit his head," Dale explains, fatigue catching up to him.

"No I didn't," I insist. They don't hear me.

"Just take it slow, don't move him around too much." I think it's mom. She's on the other side, where my head isn't facing. Which way am I facing?

"I know,” Dale snaps.

Another somepony runs up shouting for Dale, another mare, also horrified, "Where was he? What happened?" Was it mom? Who were these ponies?

The first mare explains while Dale trips over something. I wince and he apologizes again.

"What happened?" Is that dad? He sounds younger. Junior, or maybe Gravel? Can't be.

Dale says something and the three extra ponies break off to panic away from me. "Don't worry, Timber," he says to me, “you're gonna be fine."

I close my eyes, coping with throbbing pain. Something drips off my nose, onto Dale's shoulder. I think it's his right shoulder. I open my eyes and see red. Something drips off my brow, sneaking past my eyelids into my eye. It feels like blood. I don't really know how to explain it, but it did feel like blood. I guess, like, have you ever gotten scented soap in your eyes while bathing? Couldn't you like, just tell the flavor, or scent of the soap when you blinked? It was like that, only blood.

Why am I bleeding? My head throbs. A thought hits me, "My... glasses?" I hear myself. I sound weak.

This time somepony hears me, says, "I'll get them," then runs back the other way. I don't know who it was. Not anypony from before, I don't think. Who's all here? I count four, I think; two mares who are apparently both mom, one older stallion, one younger. I think... the younger... went back...

I wake up on the living room sofa, lying on my front with two legs under me, two legs hanging off the side. There's candlelight above me, but it's otherwise pitch black in the house. My head throbs: oh yeah. I start feeling hot. But, also cold? I lift my dangling left hoof slowly, clenching my teeth at the pain of the effort, seeing mysterious black spots in the dim light. It's an ice-bag, covering my left ear. It's condensing against my hot skull and water splashes off when I touch it. I don't feel the water hit my head, though. I reach down a little and almost cry out. Instead I press my eyes shut and moan against my will. I feel a bandage, besides the searing pain I just stabbed myself with. I remember the blood.

I put my hoof back down and it clops against the wood floor, waking up Dale sleeping on the floor across the room. "Oh!" He says, surprised. "I'm glad you're all right."

I grin, "That might be pushing it," referencing the pain I'm in. It isn't throbbing anymore, but my head aches behind my eyes and anything I try to do stabs at my brain.

"Well," he sighs, "is there anything I can do for you?"

"What are you doing?" I see how late it is. "You should be in bed."

"And you shouldn't be dying on the couch."

Suddenly my head throbs again, I panic. "What?!" I say, a little too loud for my condition.

Dale kind of freaks out, "No no no, that's not... I'm just kidding. I swear you'll be fine."

I take a few deep breaths, gritting my teeth.

"Doctor Lavender helped us look for you," look for me? "She took a look at you, bandaged you up with some kind of ointment to stop the pain." Oh yeah, she must have been that first mare I heard. I wonder who else was there.

I decide to ask, "Who else was there?"

"I was the one who dragged you out of the hole. You should've seen the size of the rock you hit, I think you even broke your glasses." I look out in the darkness, see my specs glimmer on the end table under the lit candle. Sure enough, one of the lenses is missing, and the bridge is bent slightly. Wait, what were we talking about? He reminds me by continuing, "Mom showed up just after Doctor Lavender, she had run to get her in case you were hurt. Good thinking, too. She even had dad go get the sheriff to help look, since he has a big flashlight. After that she wanted him to stay inside with Barley, probably because of his memory, thing. Wouldn't want him forgetting who he's looking for." It's a flat joke, but at least he's trying. "Picker was the one who found the glasses, then we had him find the sheriff, tell him we found you. He went back home after that."

Wait, Picker had to go find him? "Wasn't the sheriff with you while you carried me?"

"No, he was farther from town, but making his way back. Picker had no trouble finding him, just looked for his big light."

I know there were four ponies. Weren't there four ponies? Had I imagined the fourth stallion? Who did I think it was?

"Well," I sigh, "thanks for watching out for me. I think I'm good now." I move to get up, immediately regretting it. My brain sends a surge through my body and I'm paralyzed. My skull is on fire, I think I feel it bleed more. My vision is completely black, skipping the dark spots. I fall back onto the couch. I can feel my limbs again, but hitting the cushion just made my head hurt more. For a second I think I feel my tongue throb, the right side by my molars.

"Guess you won't be doing that," Dale mocks.

"Yeah thanks for stopping me," I fight back, "I owe you one."

He goes "Ehh," and shrugs. "Call it a favor."

"Yeah sure..." I mumble.

"Besides, mom told me to look out for you. The doctor said that once you weren't unconscious anymore that I needed to wake you up every hour on the dot, to make sure you actually do wake up. She called it a concussion."

I never had a concussion before. Really, if they're this bad I'm grateful for that fact.

"In truth I'm surprised mom got to sleep, she was so worried. I guess Ms. Lavender calmed her down pretty well. Maybe she gave her something to help her sleep."

"Well, did she leave any for me?"

"Not a chance," he teased. "She said sleep drugs are bad for you right now, that it might amplify the effects of the concussion. Plus it'd make it hard to wake you up every hour."

"Right," I sigh. "Sorry you had to do this."

He lets out a quick little laugh, "You should apologize to dad! A little after you first ran off, this mare came to the house. Said her name was Velvet, or something." Velvetine? "She said Churner wanted her to ask dad to let you see him again. She didn't do a very good job presenting the request, didn't make much sense. Apparently, though, Churner said he felt like it’s been long enough, and that he was your only friend and you needed him or something. When dad heard you hadn't been going to work he lost it. He was like his old self again," he sighed.

I just smiled; at least something got him to that, even though it involved Churner and lying about work. Not what I planned, but I wish I'd seen it, instead of bleeding in a hole in the woods.

"Do you still love him?" The question surprises me, I don't know how to answer. "Churner? Do you still love him?"

"Sure I do," I don't think I sound sarcastic.

"You know that Velvet chick is his girlfriend?"

I roll my eyes, ignoring the following pain. "I don't still have feelings for him, that's over. Just, he's the only real friend I've got anymore, and I love my friends like family."

"Oh," Dale nods slowly. Then he says, "You know he's like, thirty-five, right?"

I laugh a bit, "And that wasn't relevant back when I wanted to be with him?"

He says "Ehh," again, with less of a shrug and more of a grin.

I never thought I liked older stallions, really only Churner. And really, only because I felt guilty at first. I had blamed him for driving Minty Swirl away, and wanted to make it up. Apparently by making love to him, I guess?

Suddenly I notice I'm hungry. I ask Dale to get me some toast or something. He says there's some quiche left. I realize I missed dinner when I ran out and didn't come back. "Quiche sounds good."

It was good. He had some too, as well as some cola. I didn't want any, but he needs some caffeine for the late night he's been having, and that he's going to have. He says Doctor Lavender left it for me, apparently it's good for migraines. Then he laughs, pretending to apologize for drinking my medicine.

I just grin and try to relax. My head stops throbbing and I get to sleep. I don't remember any dreams because Dale keeps shaking me awake every hour. I'm grateful that he doesn't want me to die in my sleep, but him shaking my rump still hurts my head when I wake up. At one point he wakes me and the sun's starting to rise. I notice that it's been a little over two hours this time, then he yawns. I tell him I feel much better, and that I want to watch the sunrise.

He seems hesitant, but I convince him my head feels much better. It doesn't throb as much anymore, but trying to walk weakens my limbs and darkens my vision so he helps me. Once I'm outside I sit down. He hoofs me my glasses and I take them, looking at them with a sad grin. He said he accidentally stepped on them when he picked me up. Hadn't he said earlier that it was the fall that broke them? Or the rock, at least? Looking through them is strange with one lens missing, the other with a big, distracting scratch. At least it's the left lens, since my right eye is better anyway. I'd always thought if I ever lost an eye I'd want to be my left eye: it always seemed more sensitive, and my right eye saw better anyway.

The sunrise takes nearly another hour, but it's glorious. Why am I happy?

(Don't jinx it. Just enjoy it.)

Oh really? Is this coming from the colt, or the stallion?

(What are you talking about?) What?

Never mind. Dad showed himself again, even if I didn't see it.

(If that's why you’re happy...)

"It's not the only reason," I whisper.

Dale looks at me. I close my eyes against the rising sunlight.

"It's a beautiful dawn, and really I'm happy to be alive."

I sense Dale's smile, and Aura's too. I didn't know he could smile, but I'm frowning. I feel like crying. Why did I have to hit my head for somepony to worry about me?

(You jinxed it.)

Shut up. I clench my teeth, then gasp at the pain in my head.

(Just be happy again. Thank Dale for helping you.)

I turn my head to Dale. He looks strange in my half-clear vision, but he still has a worried smile. My head starts hurting again, spots fill my eyes. I realize my seconds are numbered. "Thank you, Dale."

"Timber?"

27 Other Headaches

I dreamed about the spiral again. I was walking, but I wasn't on the drawn line anymore. I was walking over empty space, away from the line. I looked back at it and saw a pony, a stallion. He was tan with a white mane, but that was all I saw. I didn't see any perfection, or flaws, or even the style of his mane. Couldn't even tell if he was a unicorn, or pegasus or anything. Only colors. He was standing on the line, his head turned toward me. I felt afraid; of him, of the line. I didn't even know him, but why was I afraid of the line?

When I woke up I was in a bed, being cuddled. Dale had carried me back inside and mom was awake. She told him I could probably be somewhere more comfortable than the couch. He took me to his room, to his hoof-me-down queen-sized bed. I was always jealous of his big bed, mine was twin, but also his soft quilt. He made it himself, the quilt, stuffed it with goose down he got somewhere. He was embarrassed when he woke up, some time after I woke up. I loved the feel of him against me, not at all upset that he was my brother. He said he thought there was enough room on the bed, but that he didn't want me getting blood on the quilt, so he took it off, but then I looked cold and he moved closer. At first he was just pressed against me, back-to-back. Then we woke up spooning. He felt so much stronger than he ever seemed before, and I felt so safe. I didn't think about what parts of him touched me, or where. All I knew was I was comfortable, warm, safe.

I wanted to thank him for keeping me safe, but I didn't want him feeling more awkward.

Right now I'm feeling exhausted again. I skipped breakfast because of an upset stomach, then came downstairs to write about everything that happened. I've been writing for a while and now I'm starving. Plus mom said Doctor Lavender stopped by with actual pain medications. I think I'll go take one, with my lunch.

After that I'm going to work. I won't actually work, I'm in no shape. I just need to see Churner, to show him I'm all right, and explain to him what happened. With my father, that is. I'll tell him all about the head injury when I get to it, but I have to tell a story from the beginning. He needs to know about my father first.

Velvetine was at the butter shop today, sitting around, waiting for ponies to buy butter that was made in bulk two days ago. She was surprised to see me, greeting me like a long-lost friend. She was wearing too much make-up again.

"Churner was so worked up after your dad flew off the hinges," she explained, "he just kept churning. He was like a machine that day, pouring, churning, scooping. Over and over. I came to check on him and he already made almost twenty pounds of butter! He hadn't even opened the store. Right now, he's still pretty beat up, but business is business, and butter won't stay butter if it's left here for a week."

"I'm so sorry," I tell her. "I didn't want for any of that to happen."

She looks away, a little sad. "You need to tell him that." She takes a deep breath—she really does love him—then, "He's been slumping around Dawn's farm all day yesterday." Then she sees my head, "What happened to you?" She's a tad insensitive with the question but I brush it off, telling her everything that happened, stopping at the part where Dale wakes me up at sunrise. "Yikes," she leers. I don't appreciate the awkward stare, but brush it off again. "You look like you're in worse shape than him. Anyway, you need to talk to him. He should still be at Dawn's."

I thank her and get on my way. At some point on my walk my migraine starts creeping back, but I ignore it. Climbing the hill to Dawn's house my eyes blur. I'm not wearing my glasses, but this is serious. I follow Doctor Lavender's instruction and sit down, close my eyes and take deep breaths. I don't have my medicine with me though. I wish I had brought it with me, or somepony to help me. I just need to make it up the hill.

Suddenly I'm being lifted. My right foreleg is over somepony's shoulders and we're moving. Most of my weight is on this newcomer so my head doesn't hurt as much, but I don't open my eyes.

Then I hear him, "You weren't supposed to come here."

Churner had come to me. He must have seen me on the hill, from wherever he was. He must have guessed I needed help when he saw my bandages. I'm happy, then I notice he sounds absolutely pissed that I've come.

When I open my eyes I'm inside Dawn's house. It's cleaner than when I left after her birthday. I'm in her living room, sitting on a hard loveseat. It might have once been soft, but not anymore.

Dawn walks in. "Ah," she says, "I couldn't tell if you were out or not. Your lights weren't on."

I don't know if this is code, or just an idiom. I respond in code, "My steering wheel is a little broken."

"Did you hit a reef?"

I don't understand for a second, but she's going along with my boat reference. I smile, thinking my literal explanation might sound like a code. She sets a cup of tea on the table in front of me as I say, "I fell into a hole." She looks at me like she almost understands, but I elaborate, "Literally. There was a rock." Why do I feel like laughing?

"Oh," she says, then softer, "oh..."

I take a sip of tea and feel uplifted. It smells like ginger, but tastes like sugary dirt. Regardless of the flavor, my headache subsides and my vision clears. I sigh after partaking of the hot drink. Then a thought hits me; "Where's Churner?"

I barely notice how worried she looks before I ask my question. She clears up and looks at me. "He thought it would be better if you didn't see him," she says

"But, Velvetine said, at his store, that he felt awful. That I needed to talk to him."

"You went to the store? He was there, you should have seen him."

"No he wasn't," I chide. Then I think about it. I suppose I could have missed Velvetine's lie, but that doesn't explain why Churner doesn't want to see me.

"Maybe not," she grumbles, taking a sip of her own tea. "I thought he was."

"Maybe he was..." I'm heartbroken. He really doesn't want to see me?

"I was," I hear him say, somewhere. "I told Velvet to lie to you. I didn't want her sending you here, though."

I can't tell by his voice but he must feel as upset as I do. Right? "Why?" I ask to nopony.

"Because you shouldn't have come to me. You're better off without... your father made that clear." I can hear him choke up. He doesn't want to push me away, but doesn't want any more trouble.

I sigh apologetically. "We don't have to worry about him anymore," I promise.

Dawn chimes in, "Oh just come talk to him."

After a few seconds, Churner creeps around a corner that leads to the stairwell to the second floor. He doesn't say anything, just frowns angrily at me while he stands there. He’s acting angry, but his eyes harbor sadness. I speak up, "My dad's experiencing memory loss. He doesn't remember what happened. He thinks I still work for—"

"But you don't!" He shouts. I'm shocked, but he keeps going, "We messed up. I messed up. I went too far, trying to spare your feelings."

I swallow. "Are you saying you wish you didn't spare my feelings? That you didn't want me to be happy?"

"No," he stutters, "I-I mean, yes. But, I mean not like that. I shouldn't have—"

"Shouldn't have kissed me," I finish for him. "I agree. If this is how you feel about me being happy than I actually wish I'd never come to work for you." I know that isn’t what he means. Why am I mixing his words like this? Is there something wrong with my head?

"No," he sobs.

What?

"I... don't love you. Not like that, and I'm afraid to say I do. I don't know why, at all. But I still want to be friends."

"Aren't you, like fifteen years older than him?" Dawnette says, casually sipping her tea.

I'm a little offended that she brought that up. After a confused second, Churner just laughs a little. Then a little more. I smile, but when I start laughing my head throbs. Churner's hoof is on his face, trying to calm himself down. I don't know what could be so funny, but seeing him laugh makes me want to laugh. Too bad I'm in so much pain.

Suddenly he says, "I'm glad I followed you here. I really needed this."

"What?" I can't believe what he just said! He probably didn't mean it but... "All you needed was a good laugh?" I get up from my seat. "Why did I bother trying to apologize when I could have just cracked a joke?" My head is spinning, a whirlpool of pain, but I don't care. I step closer to him. He's smiling. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm sorry my father made such a big mistake, then completely U-turned! If it still means anything, I'm sorry I loved you!" I've gotten very close to him, but I can't see him through the blood-red tears. Is that a symptom of the head injury, or have I always had red tears when I got angry?

He steps closer to me and, like a damned fool, kisses my cursed mouth.

Author's Notes:

In which I curse my own mouth.

28 Deal With It

I push off.

"I'm—not sorry," Churner says, still smiling like this was his true goal all along. As if everything we've been through, the shouting, the memories, even me falling and splitting my head was all his dastardly plan just to kiss me again, and I played right into it. How dare he...?

"Not sorry?" I demand.

"Well, I am sorry," he admits. "I'm sorry I told Minty about our kiss, and that it lead to your dad learning everything. I really am sorry for that. But, you coming into my life has just been such an adventure."

For a second I'm speechless. "Is that all I was?" I say finally. "Just some adventure? A story to tell to your buddies at the bar?" Why am I being so insensitive?

"Not quite so... viciously, but you were an experience I'll never forget. I wish we could have skipped the bad parts, but I'm glad we're back."

My cracked skull might be messing with my judgement, but I'm still outraged. "Back? Do you mean normal? Because, no, we're not! You, idiot! You kissed me, again!" I'm choking up again, barely able to speak. "What... who are you?"

He frowns acceptingly. "No, I guess we're not normal. You've opened something in me. I love you, even if we're never together. I see differently. I've seen features in you I've never seen in a stallion, and now I can see them in other stallions."

What is he saying? "So, what, I turned you gay? That makes me feel loads better." It should…

"It should, but, no... I, still like mares, but stallions too, if that makes sense."

It makes perfect sense, and now I only envy him. "Yes," I begin, "it's called bi-sexual, when you have the same desire to be with either gender." Back when I was still confused I read about it, somewhere. I read it and hoped I was bi, because maybe I wouldn't be a total freak, just half. I figured that I'd end up liking mares if I ever got the chance to be with one intimately, but I've since learned otherwise and it's not in me.

"Maybe I'll meet somepony like you," Churner says. "Maybe closer to my age, without such a... adventurous family." Does he not think that hurts my feelings? Whatever, he's still right. It's about time to move on. "I'm happy we met, that we finally fixed things."

The way he's looking at me, it's how I imagine I've looked at him before. I know what he wants; "One last kiss before we say goodbye?"

He strokes my cheek, drying off tears I had forgotten about. Looking into his eyes my heart beats faster, and it beats in my skull. "'Goodbye', sounds too serious,” he coos. “Why not just 'bye'?" My heart stops.

"Since we know we'll see each other again."

He's silent for a second... "I wish I could have you."

That makes no sense! I thought he wanted to get past me! That he was grateful we fixed things and could finally move on. No matter how confusing it is, I'm not angry anymore. My head is clear, though my thoughts are still racing. "I wish I understood anything you said."

Then I kiss him. It's more than the lip-lock that night so long ago. We breathe into each other, taste each other. This would be our last kiss, better make it memorable. Yet somehow I believe our first kiss would be harder to forget. His tongue is a little harsh, but his breath smells like cake. Why does his breath smell like cake? I hope my breath doesn't smell bad. His hoof brushes my cheek again, I reach my hoof around him and hold on to him. I don't need a fantasy this time; everything is as it should be.

Dawn chokes, coughing up tea. I'm startled away from the bliss and my headache returns. Churner touches his forehead to mine while Dawn proclaims that she's still alive. I'm so upset right now. Why can't love make sense? Why do I still feel so young? My birthday is in just a few weeks. I'm moving out in a shorter time than that. Why is this stallion I've suddenly begun to hate still pulling at my heart? Why does he have to be the father of my best friend?

Is she still my best friend?

How dare I think that? She's the closest friend I've got. But Churner's a lot closer right now, and he feels a lot more friendly than I ever expected.

Somepony clears their throat nearby. I open my eyes, having forgotten they were closed, and am staring right into Churner's hazel eyes.

"This is the first time I've gotten a good look at those sparkling emeralds." I step away from Churner. My eyes are green? Of...course they are...

The newcomer clears her throat again. I don't have to look to know it's Velvetine. Her presence is like somepony's standing on my head, which is already in enough pain. I hadn't realized how good a painkiller Churner was...

Velvetine's talking. "Well if that's how it is..." I can't tell if she's being sarcastic.

"Just right now, but you're pretty much gonna have to live with it." Churner is definitely being sarcastic.

She scoffs. I'm not looking, so I don't know what she's doing. Suddenly, she's giggling. "Don't kiss me with those lips."

"Oh come on," he's making silly kissy noises, "he doesn't taste bad." At least he thinks that about me. "Maybe we can all date each other."

I groan and roll my eyes. I'm done listening to him not make sense. I don't remember what I ever saw in this stallion. I thank Dawnette for her tea, then thank Churner for "understanding," but I don't look at him.

"Hey wait," he calls as I head for the front door. I barely slow down. "Are you coming back to work?"

I stop with the door open, call back, "If I start feeling better." I'm talking about my head, but I wonder if he thought I meant him.

"Oh, okay. I hope you get better soon."

I leave, letting the door close. I think I hear Velvetine say "Hurry, because I'm sick of working with him." Again, there's no indication of whether or not it's sarcastic. I remember hoping Churner was able to tell the difference. If not, I doubt their relationship will last very long.

I walk home without my headache getting any worse. But my migraine is throbbing again, only because I'm using my eyes so much without my corrective lenses. I've become so dependent on my glasses my brain actually thinks that, without them, I'm poisoning myself. I've done it before, giving myself the same irritating migraine. But back then I always had glasses to put on to end it. Now I just have to deal with it.

29 Zucchini Bread

Mom took me to the village optometrist today, with the surprise that she had already come in yesterday. The doctor already had a new pair of my unique prescription lenses, my left lens being just so noticeably thicker. She called it an early birthday present, which seems fair. We don't normally go very far for birthdays, getting each other one gift each and only if we could afford it ourselves. Mom or dad might buy it for one of us as a present for somepony if we convince them it's something that that pony needs. I once convinced mom to let me get a package of colored pencils for Dale. That's how we found out he was color blind. Well, he always knew but managed to hide it until that point.

The glasses weren't at too great a cost, but with an already limited birthday budget I doubt I'll get much more from my family. It's still two weeks from tomorrow, and like I said I'm moving out before then so I predict getting lots of help from my family and them telling me "Happy Birthday," like that's their present.

That's fine, though. I don't need anything else. I don't even think I'll need a lot of help. I don't have a lot of furniture, and the bed Granny's getting me shouldn't be heavier than I can handle.

Well, I just took a look at my mattress. She told me the one she has for me is bigger. Still, not too heavy, but moving it might be a challenge; it has an awkward shape, and its flexibility could prove difficult.

I'm still not fully in myself right now, if you can tell: I'm wide awake. Spent a lot of time tonight thinking about my time with Churner yesterday, and even had trouble getting him out of my head all day today. I might have had a nervous breakdown, or... what's it called? Panic attack? I don't know if I've ever actually had one, but ponies talk about them like they're frequent, and I've had feelings like that before, a lot of times. I still don't know if they were ever serious enough to be called panic attacks, but I definitely could have used something, or somepony, to help me calm down.

I just get to thinking and thinking, about a whole lot at the same time, and afterward I feel like a lot of the stuff on my mind wasn't actually relative, or relevant, but I know everything was tied to anything else that popped into my head. Meanwhile my heart threatened to break my ribs and sweat rolled onto my eyebrows and at one point I was even afraid I'd throw up. Again, my author's hoof might be unintentionally dramatizing it, so don't worry about me. I'm OK now.

Anyway, I'd been thinking about Churner and... How could he do that? He spills our secret, blames himself, gets yelled at by my dad, goes into hiding, then laughs it off and kisses me? He's basically the opposite of me. Right? I would have gotten yelled at and hid, but I wouldn't try to shut ponies out. Maybe I might have sought solitude. Still, it would have taken a lot more for me to end up changing my mind. Besides, I wouldn't have let the secret out! Well... I might have, to Minty. I can trust her, right? I could. I still can! I guess I can't trust my dad though. Well, I can now, I guess. No, can I? Memory loss doesn't change who you are. But, why does he seem so different? Why did he suddenly accept me? It's his fault this bandage is on my head! His fault Churner kissed me again!

I need to take a breath, for a little while.

I calmed down, again, went upstairs for a drink of water and dad was there. He saw my bandages and wanted to know what had happened. I told him I fell and hit my head, the truth.

"When did that happen?"

I sigh, "Wednesday night, after dinner." It might have happened before dinner though. I had run out while mom was still cooking. Then it was dark when Dale found me, right? I must have been out cold in that hole for hours. Or I was running for longer than I remember.

Dale came in while dad and I were talking. "How's your head?" He asked.

"Much better actually," I smile weakly. "Still a bit of a headache, but the throbbing and bleeding is over I think."

Dad cuts in, "What were you doing in the woods so close to night?"

Dale looks at me, wondering if he should tell the truth; that something dad had done caused me to storm off. Truly, it was something I had done, dad just had the wrong reaction.

I'm about to explain that I was angry at somepony, or something. It’s complicated, but I intend to lie. I was flat out ready to lie to him. Or was I? I might have convinced myself otherwise, later on, but it doesn't happen because Dale cuts in, and it’s at least part true; "We were out playing. I wanted to take him on an adventure at dusk, the light looks cooler while the sun goes down. The ground was just a little uneven and he tripped."

I don't miss it, "Yeah." Basically true, we did like playing together, and based on dad's memory he might remember how often we used to. I do love the orange glow of dusk, and the uneven ground was obviously a fact.

"Well," dad says, a look like he absolutely doesn't remember, but is trying to. After all, it was just a Wednesday night. "Next time be a little more careful. Or just don't go out and play while it's getting dark."

"Yeah," Dale agrees. "Not the best idea I guess."

Dad left after that. I don't know what he was doing there in the first place. Maybe he forgot, too. I finished my drink and went to return to my room.

Dale stopped me. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Yeah," I said. "I told you, just a little headache."

He rolls his eyes. "Obviously, but you look... tired."

"Well, yeah," what could I say? "I had some trouble sleeping last night." Literally true.

"What for?"

"Well my head hurts," I try to sound a little condescending, like he's getting on my nerves.

He shakes his head. "Why?"

Was I that easy to read? I've never let on how I felt, to anypony. I've been so discreet about my emotions. Haven't I?

He still looks at me, I look back trying not to look sad or "tired," or anything but normal. He widens his eyes insistently.

I exhale heavily, not quite a sigh. "Fine, I was thinking about Churner last night."

"Like what?"

I step away, but he's still giving me that look: that look that intends to get every fact possible.

"I went to talk to him yesterday..." I sit on the floor and look away.

He's still looking at me, I can feel it. "And...?"

I hesitate. I didn't need to tell him. Why do I feel like I need to tell him? "He...kissed me."

I still feel his stare, but it feels softer. "Did he, listen to what you had to say?"

I look back at Dale. (Are you listening to what I'm saying?) Hush. "He, avoided me at first. Then, Dawn said something, and he laughed. I got mad and he... yeah."

"Well," he stutters. What would he say? What could be said? "What the hell is his problem?"

I smile. (That's exactly what I thought!) What we thought. "I know, he's just messing with me."

"So the whole thing was a joke?"

(We thought that too!) "No," I promise, "he definitely didn't think so. He just, didn't know how to say what he felt." Was that true? Had I just explained what I had no idea about? Was the explanation so simple that I never even thought of it before now? "Regardless, it kept me up all night."

"Well, are you ok?"

"Yeah," I sigh slowly. "I'm ok now."

"What about last night?"

I look at him again. "What about it?"

"I mean, how were you feeling? Not your head, but, you?"

"I don't know." I look away again. "I felt really panicked."

"Like, an attack?"

I shake my head. "I really don't know," then look him in the eye. "I feel fine now, though. Just a little tired."

He pauses, looking for something else in my eyes. "...and the headache."

"Yeah," I close my eyes like a sarcastic “I almost forgot.” "And the headache."

"Have you had any meds yet?"

"Nope," I say casually.

He turns to the high cupboard mom hid my painkillers in; she didn't want Barley or Picker getting into them. "How about lunch?" Dale asks.

I didn't realize it was so close to noon. Usually mom starts making lunch around now. Then, why was dad home?

I shake my head as he gives me a pill. He goes to put more water in my glass. "Did you even have breakfast?"

"No." He's about to give me the glass.

He stops. "Is Churner the only thing you've been thinking about?"

"Nope." I throw the pill into my mouth, then take the water from Dale to wash it down easy. I don't explain anything else to him, just smile dumbly.

"All right," he says skeptically. "What do you want for lunch?"

That surprised me. "Hmm," I play along easily, "banana bread."

"Is that all? How about a sandwich?"

"On banana bread," I demand.

"Well we don't have any banana bread," he says, turning to the bread box. "Picker made some zucchini bread this morning. That's almost like banana bread."

I step toward the ice box for some butter. "The day zucchini are anything like bananas will be the day the world ends."

"Vegetables and fruits are incredibly different," he agrees before cutting four slices off the loaf. He looks at me holding the butter. "You're having a butter sandwich?"

I had forgotten, but play it off, "I said I wanted banana bread."

He laughs, then gives me my slices. I put the butter away while he gets out strawberry jam. I think strawberry jam on zucchini bread sounds gross, so I grab the mayo, Swiss cheese, and cucumbers.

We eat together on the front porch. He says something about the sunset, even though it's barely past noon. I joke about it, he jokes back. My mind is on other things.

"Why is dad home today?" I ask.

Dale's smile falls off. He's not frowning, but no longer smiling. "He thought it was Sunday."

I'm stunned. "Really?"

"Mmhmm," he seems so casual about it. Maybe I'm just overreacting. "None of us had the heart to correct him, so we let him stay home. Mom's waiting for one of his work pals to stop by and ask about him, she'll explain everything."

"Is that a good idea?"

He looks at me funny, with a mouthful of jam sandwich. "Whadaya mean?"

"I mean, what if the other mill workers don't want somepony with memory-loss working the saw?"

"Can't be that bad. You're over-thinking things again."

Obviously. But like, it's still possible.

"Whatever happens," he puts a hoof on my shoulder, mouth still full of food, "we'll make it through. Don't worry."

I look away, thoughts racing. He's right though; mom has a plan, and whatever happens won't be so bad that we won't be able to recover. I take another bite of my sandwich. It's delicious.

30 Painkillers

Somepony from the mill came, asking for dad. Dale had tricked me into playing knight with him and we were sword-fighting in the front yard. The painkillers worked very well, but moving around too fast made me a little dizzy at times. I'd take a short break, then get right back into the fun.

It was the young stallion from the sanding bench I had met that Monday. He recognized me and waved. I waved back, then heard Dale snicker. I ignored it, not wanting this mill pony to get any idea whatsoever, wrong or otherwise. He went up to the porch and mom opened the door immediately. I didn't hear what they were talking about, Dale sneak-attacked, wrestling me to the ground. My head throbbed and I guess my eyes glazed over because he backed off immediately. I had to breathe deeply for some time while my vision returned. I readjusted my new glasses and looked at him, laughing slightly at the worried look on his face.

He shoved me playfully, "You jerk! I was really worried you'd died!"

"What, just now? You're not that strong!"

He shoves me again, I shove back. How long had it been since we'd played together like this?

Then I heard dad's voice. "What do you mean I missed work? What day is it?"

"It's Friday, sir," the young stallion explains.

"Why didn't anypony tell me?" He's asking mom.

She's quiet, but says something like, "you don't remember…" I don't know what she's trying to say.

The stallion looks at us while our parents argue. He looks terrified. Dale makes some kind of gesture and the stallion trots over to us, glancing back to make sure he doesn't get yelled at. "Hey guys," he says, stressed.

"Hey Sawdust," Dale greets him. Nice name. I greet him, too.

"What's with your dad?"

Dale steps a little closer and sits next to me, rather close. He explains, "His old age is making him lose his mind."

I gasp, "His memory, Dale." Now I feel childish, that's obviously what he meant. He's laughing like, "gotcha," and I punch him in the side.

Sawdust laughs too. Then, "So it's like some kind of Alzheimer’s?"

"What's that?" I ask.

"Just something that happens to some old ponies," Sawdust says. "It causes memory loss, sometimes sleep problems, mood swings, brain stuff like that. My grandma had it."

"Had?" I ask, a little worried.

He smiles, sweetly. "She still lived to ninety-four. Grandpa just needed to spend most of all his time with her."

"Well," Dale cuts in, "he's not so bad yet." He's talking about dad now. "He usually doesn't forget anything until two days later."

Sawdust nods, "It's just, Mill's the senior executive at the mill. The manager," he elaborates. "He basically owns the place. I don't know what's gonna happen if he stops working."

"Don't worry about that," Dale says. "The older ponies have plans for when older ponies retire."

"But dad's barely fifty," I say. "He shouldn't have to retire yet."

Sawdust gives me a look like "that's technically true." "Well, with his condition, he might be able to finish another five years, but the mill won't be responsible for any accidents."

"Accidents?" I'm starting to panic. "I thought that old-timer's thing just messed with his mind."

"Alzheimer's, and mostly, yes," Sawdust sighs. "But if it starts affecting his work..."

"It won’t," Dale ensures. I look past Sawdust and see that mom and dad are no longer in the front door. I get the feeling dad's gonna be sour about this for a while. We kept him from working. "Mom'll keep him on the right path, and it’s not like he’ll forget how to do the thing he was born to do."

"Good point," Sawdust says, and I agree. Dad's cutie mark is a big, round saw halfway through cutting a log in half long-ways. He was born to work at the mill.

Sawdust smiles, so do I. He has a very attractive face, smooth cheekbones and a solid jaw, not too wide. His chin's a little narrow, but defined. His eyes are a calm sky-blue, and his mane falls to the right side in neatly combed strands. He's still powdered with sawdust from sanding all day. I still think it's a little strange that his cutie mark is a simple hacksaw when he works as a sander.

My eyes wander, but not too far. Nothing like that. I gaze over his broad chest; it looks strong, sturdy. His front hooves are close together where he sits, covering his belly. His legs are fit from sanding and his fetlocks are trimmed neatly. I glance back up and his neck is pretty wide, also. His mane falls gently over the right side, still not very long but resting gently on his wide shoulders. I'm happy I see both good and bad. I'm glad I could learn so much from almost being with Churner.

He was talking to Dale while I inspected him, so he's not looking at me, but I have no idea what they were talking about. I snap back to attention when Dale says "marionette dolls."

Sawdust laughs and nods. I laugh politely. His face glows, his presence just feels comfortable. I sigh as he does. Then Dale grabs me around the shoulders. "Before you go," he says to Sawdust, "my brother would like to ask you out." God dammit…

My heart stops. I look at Dale and he has the dumbest grin on his face. I feel my face burning up, and my heart starts back up, only it's in my skull.

Sawdust laughs, a little embarrassed. A little... I feel like burying myself alive.

Sawdust looks at me then, and his face softens. He's still smiling, but it's more polite now. "Don't worry, pal," he tells me, "I won't tell."

I fall to the dirt and cover my face, pushing my glasses onto my forehead.

Dale groans, "Ah geez, I'm sorry Timber."

Sawdust clears his throat, "I don't mind, really. Maybe we could... hang out some time?"

I uncover my right eye and look at him. He's smiling, and blushing. He obviously doesn't feel the same way I do. He likes mares, but he's nice enough to politely consider us friends.

"If you want," he finishes.

I cover my face again, then mutter, "I'd like that."

I hear him laugh quietly, kinda cute. "I'll keep in touch."

I open my eyes once more and see him turn to leave. I quickly stand, "W-wait!" He stops. I fix my glasses then continue, "Well, you could stay for dinner. If you want." Am I blushing again? I don't feel like it, but I probably am.

He smiles. "I'd love to, but I should get back to my sister. Take care of your dad!" He waves.

I wave back, smiling.

I look at Dale, absolutely infuriated that he incited that little encounter. He's got a smirk that says "I was still right." I growl and push past him.

"Come on, Timber." He sounds like he's begging. I'll never forgive him for that. "He's a nice guy."

"You're so..." I don't know what to say, "Dense!" I really don't know what to say to him right now. My head is starting to throb again behind my eyes. This whole headache thing is really just getting annoying.

"All I did was say what you were thinking," he catches up to me. "You should thank me."

"Yeah," I grumble, "thanks for blowing my secret to the first stallion you see me gawk at." Where is this coming from? I am angry at him, but I've never been so sassy. Have I?

"Oh please," he groans. I stop walking and glare at him. He's never been intimidated by me, or anything, but he gives. "I'm sorry, really, I won't do it again." He sounds sincere. "But he was quite a catch."

“Screw you,” I growl again and stomp inside. I came right downstairs to write everything down. I had actually forgotten for a while that I was working on this. I was just, having so much fun with Dale.

Wait, no, I actually took another painkiller and drink of water before I came downstairs. I feel fine, but I think I actually want to work on another story for a little while. Maybe this will be the first one I publish. Maybe I'll be as famous as A.K. Yearling.

31 Full Moon

I knew a filly from high school who told me something about a theoretical study. It was a weird word, anthropology. She told me there was an idea about some kind of species of animal that walks on two legs and basically has no relative features of any known animal in Equestria. I thought that was interesting, but decided to make it my own, in a way. I wrote a story about an—I think this is the word she used—anthropomorphic ferret.

I don't know a lot about anthropology, and there aren't any books about it in the library, so I was going off of what little the filly from high school told me. Basically, I fused her anthromorphs with normal animals, so they can walk on two legs. Then I just decided to make it so they can talk like ponies.

This ferret's name is Stimp, and he's a thief on the streets of a fantasy/steam-punk city. I finished about thirty pages and I guess it's dark out now. All I've got written down about Stimp is part of how he's introduced, stealing an expensive piece of jewelry from a family of pigs. I felt like the symbolism was pretty clever, pigs and all that being pretty messy by nature, but lower-class ponies like to call upper-class, Canterlot-type ponies "pigs" because of how they like to hold their noses up.

Anyway, I guess I took thirty pages to get him into the house, steal the diamond ring, and get back out. Only, he got caught right before his stealthy escape. A ferret girl stops him, asks him what he's doing, and he lies to her. She calls him out, then gives him this address. Later I'll write about this anthropomorphic crow that hires him to steal from royalty. A crow might be a little hard to... anthro-fy. That sounds like a funny word, you should try saying it.

Anyhow, this crime lord that's paying him is collecting all these priceless artifacts, and the girl ferret is going to start questioning the boss's motives. I haven't decided how it's really gonna work yet, but it won't be some cliché "all the artifacts summon the ultimate power." Plus, I've got another pretty good twist in mind, but I don't want you spoiling anything to my potential fans.

Anyway, that was fun. I'm gonna go grab something to eat, then I think I'll go look at the moon. I think it's supposed to be full tonight.

The moon looked pretty full, but there's something else I've gotta talk about.

Beginning to end; I went to eat something and saw bananas on the table. There was a note that said "Do not eat. For banana bread." I really wanted one, we don't get bananas around here very often. I wonder where they got these ones, and to whom they belonged. It makes me smile, though. Dale's obviously trying to make up with me. What he did today must have made him feel truly despicable and he feels incredibly upset that he broke my trust for a bit of a gag. He didn't seem like it at all today, but I guess I could have missed it with how upset I was that he did that. He's sincere.

I took a slice of zucchini bread and went outside like I wanted. I looked up and the moon seemed pretty much full. The glow made me happy. I didn't have anything in my mind but that moment, not Churner, not Dale, not dad. Not even my new story. I watched the moon and could have sworn I saw Luna fly past it. I had always imagined seeing it happen, but I know this time it was real. It had to be. I saw her silhouette fly in front of the moon. I had always wanted to, and mom would often tease me about it on Nightmare Night when I was younger. I would always get real excited and look around in the stars for the scary princess Luna. Or, Nightmare Moon, as she was back then. When I saw her tonight, though, I was calm. I sighed, smiled, and said "Thank you." I doubt she heard me, but I love that she was there, supposedly for me.

Junior always bullied me, saying that it's actually Celestia flying away to sleep in a cave of her secret changeling army. Back then I was terrified of changelings, and hated Picker because Jr. and Gravel convinced me he was replaced by a changeling. Whatever happened, I always refused to believe the pony flying past the moon was ever Celestia or anypony else. It had to be Luna searching for her children of the night. She had to be looking for me.

That was what I wanted. Call me a nerd, but it was always just a dream I liked to wish for. It was from a lullaby I actually read in a children's book. Minty knew the melody, and when I heard her sing it I got chills. It relaxed me, almost put me to sleep. Sometimes I like to sing it to myself at night to help me sleep. I won't write the lyrics here because I'm afraid of copy write. Not that this story will get very far, but you can never be too careful. Anyway, now I'm excited to get to sleep. I'm almost too excited to sleep. Will Luna be in my dreams because I saw her?

I know you're expecting me to say something like, "Or did I? Was I just imagining it?"

Not this time! I know I saw her, and I need to sleep. I need to dream. So, good night.

I think she was in my dream. I don't know what color her eyes are, but there was a big pair of eyes that looked at me.

I was back on the line walking in the spiral down. Sawdust was there, only it wasn't him exactly. They were his colors, that sandy-brown coat and bark-colored mane. His tail was that smooth short bob and his mane combed casually to the right. The problem was he didn't have a face. I didn't notice any of his good or bad qualities. He was more like a stick pony, but 3D. You know what 3D is, right? Yeah, you're smart.

Anyhow, he gave me a kiss. Only, he didn't have lips. I was really remembering a kiss from Churner, I know it. His intrusive tongue and cake smell. I opened my eyes at some point and saw his blank face. The kiss was suddenly over. Sawdust was hugging me and I saw the eyes. They were sparkling silver and just looked at me. They were at the eye-level of a pony about an inch taller than me, just watching me. Then they looked curious. I wonder what they were thinking. Was it Luna?

I don't know if it was Luna. I actually doubt it was. But it was definitely meaningful. I wanted a kiss, but I guess not from Sawdust. I subconsciously wanted Churner back, even though I know in my heart I can't have him. I likely won't know Sawdust very long, or get to know him very well.

I feel like this story might have been better if I just left it up to you, the reader, to find the meaning of the dream. I just, promised I would write down everything, so I'm going to write every important thing I remember, so you get my whole experience.

Anyway, I was only somewhat disappointed that Luna didn't actually appear to me in my dream, but I'm glad I had such a meaningful dream. Now I'm gonna go watch the sunrise and start my day.

Author's Notes:

In which I mention a secondary character from actual canon.

32 Blue Sprinkles

I got a letter from Granny Lester today. She said she's coming to visit next weekend to see her son-in-law. I guess mom told her about his condition. Anyway, she says she's also going to help me move into my Manehatten apartment, officially. She says I'll need a hundred bits for a security deposit, then rent is one-hundred-fifty bits a month, due on the first. The first time I'm late I'll get a warning and a week's extension. From then on, if I want even just a little more time, I'm gonna need to give the landlord at least twenty-four hours’ notice before I'm late.

I went ahead and counted all my bits and it came out to six-hundred-eighty-four. The chest they're in is getting pretty heavy, so I'll need a safe suitcase to carry them in when we go to Manehatten. Granny said she'd help me get a bank account, and I think that's a good idea. She also said I'll need a job. I intend to apply for the internship that a stage on Bridleway advertised in the news. Internships don't usually pay, unfortunately. Maybe I'll get a job as a waiter or something simple.

She told me I should get a recommendation from ponies I've worked for, that it'll help me get hired. I wonder if bringing somepony with me will make it easier than asking for a letter of recommendation. Basically I plan on asking Churner to come with me, so I wonder if I should ask Granny whether or not that would be a good idea, or if the letter would be enough.

I've written her a letter, I'm going to the post office to send it. Hopefully she receives it and is able to respond by Friday.

As for Churner; I'm still pretty torn up by how he acted. I'm not ready to go back to work, and I'm not sorry for Velvetine having to work for him. If she wants him so bad she can have him. And yes, I'm bitter toward her. In truth, it's her fault I had to tell Churner how I felt in the first place. It was bound to happen, I just wish the circumstances weren't so hostile.

Right now I'm off to the post office. Though, tomorrow's Sunday, and all of the mail-ponies have finished deliveries for today. It likely won't send until Monday. Whatever, I just need some fresh air. The letter's likely safer with them than with me anyway.

I run into Sawdust at the post office. He’s with his sister mailing a letter to their father in Fillydelphia. He seems uncomfortable with the topic, so I don't ask. I did grow rather fond of his sister though. Her name is Knots and she's four-and-a-half years old. She says she likes living in Green Stables: that it's a happy place and her friends are nice. I ask who her friends are and she gives off a lot of names of fillies and colts from her school. Then she mentions Miss Dawn.

"Dawnette is a hostess at her daycare over the summer," Sawdust explains when he sees the surprise on my face. "She'll be starting school again soon, though."

I think she's a bit young to be going to school, since she's only about a year older than Barley, and Barley won't be going to school anytime soon. I don't ask, though; I don't want to risk an explanation that might destroy what Knots believes.

She looks a little sad. Her sapphire eyes sparkle. "I wanna make her something!" She's talking about Dawnette again.

"And what would you like to make her?"

"Cupcakes," she beams. Her smile is warm, like his. Though, she doesn't look much like him. She has a green coat, a pale green like dying grass, and a bright orange mane that curls in an unruly nest atop her head. Her chin is much more round and her ears are wide. For a second I believe she's not actually his sister, but when I look at their eyes I know there's something in their blood.

"That sounds delightful," he takes a stamp from a pocket around his neck. "What kind of cupcakes?"

"Chocolate," then she sticks her tongue out and licks the stamp he's holding. I almost wish I hadn't stamped my envelope already.

I smile, "Yeah, she likes chocolate."

She looks at me skeptically, "How do you know?" She has the sweetest voice.

"I'm actually good friends with Miss Dawn, too." I consider telling her about Dawn's birthday party, but don't want her to be upset for not being invited.

"Does she like sprinkles?" She asks. Sawdust slides the letter into the big blue mailbox. I was sure he’d let Knots do it.

"I don't know," I admit. "I think so." She'd probably love anything this filly made.

"Well, I love sprinkles," she says, with an awful lot of sass.

Sawdust brushes her fluffy mane, "What color sprinkles are your favorite?"

I'm blown away by how sweet he is with her. "Blue!"

"Blue?" He acts absolutely astonished.

"Yeah!"

"But yesterday you asked for the red sprinkles!"

"No I didn't," we start walking away and she gets an angry face. "Big brother, did you buy the red sprinkles?"

He laughs a little before answering, "No, baby, I didn't buy the red ones."

"Good," he picks her up in one hoof and tickles her with the other. Again I'm startled, this time by how small she is being cradled by him.

"I bought the green ones!"

She shrieks in laughter. I'm still walking, but Sawdust has her in his clutches. "Sawdust, I hate the green ones!"

"But I love them," he complains.

"But they're my cupcakes!"

"I thought they were for Miss Dawn?"

"Yeah, and she wants the blue sprinkles."

"Ok," he gives in. I stop and let him catch up. He's got her riding on his back, adventure twinkling in her beautiful blue eyes. "Hey it was good seeing you, Timber."

"You too," I respond and he walks away. "And hey, if you need any help with those cupcakes, my little brother is a great baker."

Knots calls back, pulling on her brother's ear, "No thanks."

She's so precious. "Are you sure? I have blue sprinkles!"

Sawdust laughs, defeated. Knots' eyes twinkle again as she looks at me.

"And my little sister would love to meet you," I tease.

"You have a sister?" Sawdust asks.

"Yeah," I say, "though she's technically my cousin. Her parents had, an accident and she was left with us.” That’s probably something I could have left out. “She's just learning how to talk."

"What's her name?"

"Barley," I tell him. Then to Knots, "And she also loves blue sprinkles."

The filly smiles shyly, then turns to Sawdust. "Big brother let's go to his house."

"All right little one," he gives in while she climbs down his side. "What time works for you?"

"Everypony should be home all day tomorrow," I tell him. "As long as dad doesn't think it's actually Monday or something."

I say it as a joke but he responds understandably, nodding, "Yeah..." It is a pretty sad thought, being the truth. "That's just how things are sometimes, though."

"Yeah," I agree. "We'll make it through, though."

He smiles encouragingly. "All right! See you tomorrow, maybe around noon?"

"Sounds great! We can even get lunch ready for you!"

"That'd be great. She's allergic to red onions, though."

"No red onions, got it." I smile and nod: the plan's been made. He turns and goes, I smile and wave. I'm happy when he smiles back, and Knots waves back excitedly.

I got home and told mom right away about the plans I'd made.

"Yes, but your father might have trouble remembering..."

"I know," I sigh. "Sawdust understands, though. He's fine with it."

"I just don't know how Knots will react." She looks a little worried. I hadn't thought about Knots, but how bad could it be? "She's a very sweet filly, but you know how... insensitive foals can be about things."

I remember from personal experience. When I was five or six, grandpa Lumber visited. He had a very bald head and I thought it was the silliest thing. He acted like it meant nothing, but after that day he hadn't been the same around me, wearing hats or even toupees so I wouldn't mention his bald spot.

I try to reassure mom, "It won't be so bad. What could she say?" She kind of nods, slowly. "Plus, will he even remember?" It's a little rude, and she looks at me with sad eyes. I'm serious though. But her eyes... "I'm sorry. She was just excited to meet Barley, and bake cupcakes for Dawnette."

She looks a little happier. She'd been worried about how Barley would react around other fillies, having grown up with so many colts. She's really out of her element, mom is. She's never raised a filly, and with her old age it hasn't been easy.

Suddenly she smiles and looks at me. She looks genuinely happy now. "Sawdust and his sister sound delightful. I'll make a nice batch of mashed potatoes, and a garden salad."

I remember quickly, "Oh, Knots is allergic to red onions."

"No problem," she waves a hoof like she's crossing "red onion" off a list. I nod and am about to walk away when she stops me. "One last thing," she insists. "Is Sawdust, coming for, you?" I purse my lips. I know what she's asking. What am I feeling though? Resentment? I'm a little offended that she asked, but why? I don't know, but want her to say something else, so I ask her to elaborate. "I mean... Is he with you?"

I smile like I'm not getting it. "You're not making any sense."

She's getting a little flustered. Is that good? Did I want that? "You know..." she rolls her eyes trying to think, I shake my head. “Is he,” then she whispers, "gay?"

I whisper, but smile knowingly, "No."

She nods and sighs, like what I just put her through was physically exhausting. "Ok."

"Why?" I honestly want to know why she felt like asking.

"Well," she takes a second to think, "I wanted to know if I should treat him like a friend, or more like a... you know."

She's making a gesture with her hoof, small circles, like she's waiting for me to finish her thought. "No," am I enjoying this?

She stamps her hoof on the floor and grunts. "If I should treat him like a friend, or..." she leans in and whispers again, "boyfriend."

I'm really about to lose it. The way she's acting just offends me in such a way that it's hilarious. I speak full-voice, "Nope, he's not my boyfriend."

She's still leaning in close, "Ok, but did he... kiss you?"

I roll my eyes, starting to get frustrated. Then I nearly shout, "No, Sawdust is not gay. He is not my boyfriend. We have not kissed, we have not had sex."

Her eyes go wide, "Timber!" She caws.

"Well what are you asking me, mom?"

"I just wanted to know if you wanted me to act differently around him."

Excuse me? "If it was a mare, would you act differently around her?"

She backs off a bit, looking around, thinking. "Well, probably," she admits finally. "I was always really kind to any fillies your brothers brought home."

"So be kind," I tell her. "Be a decent pony, just don't act like you want us getting together. In fact! Act like he's one of dad's work friends!"

She lifts her eyebrows, thinking that's a good idea.

I roll my eyes again, then leave to go to my room. Mom tends to try a little too hard, I feel. I love her for it, truly. But, if she ever actually acted like that in front of a potential date I had, I might just kill myself.

33 No Red Onions

I slept pretty well last night. Had a dream about Stimp, my ferret thief. He was stealing something from a tomb when my dad came out of a sarcophagus and tackled him. Then a picture I'd drawn of Princess Luna when I was younger came to life and yelled at both of them that they were late for school.

It was a funny dream, but not much to write about. So, I wrote about it... to tell you, how pointless it was. Anyway, today's the day Sawdust and Knots are coming over to bake cupcakes. I'm excited to get along with Sawdust, since I don't have very many friends. It's especially exciting since most of my friends from school were fillies. I wonder if he'd also be willing to recommend me for a job.

I'm going to get ready, for when Sawdust arrives. I might not be hitting on him, but I can still look clean, and friendly. Not that I don't look clean normally, I just want to leave a good impression on him before I leave.

Well, I just fell into a mental hole. I'm leaving this weekend. I might never see Sawdust, or Churner ever again. I hope I'll be able to make friends this easily in Manehatten.

After my shower I combed my hair back. I thought about greasing it back, but I haven't done that in a long while. I might do it when I'm meeting new ponies, or trying to impress important ponies. I think it looks good, but not today.

I comb it back and let it air dry in its semi-curly pomp. It'll curl more when it's completely dry, and I wish it wouldn't.

I helped mom prepare lunch; cheesy mashed potatoes and a garden salad, hold the red onions. Red onions don't even taste good, especially in something as raw as a salad. If it were up to me I wouldn't ever put red onions in a salad.

She has Dale mixing a buttermilk dressing for the salad. I have to wonder where she got the buttermilk. Where does anypony get buttermilk? It's a by-product of butter and Churner's the only one who makes butter in town. Come to think of it, I never paid any attention to what Churner did with the buttermilk after each batch was done. Funny how that works, how he soaked up the majority of my attention yet never let on how he actually completed his task.

Then I wonder if Sawdust has any secrets of the trade. Did he actually get his cutie mark sanding at my dad's mill? I highly doubt it. His sister isn't even five yet, so he had to have moved to Green Stables recently. I think about asking him. Then again, he didn't seem to want to talk about his dad at the post office. Perhaps it's best to let it be.

I toss the salad while mom puts the potatoes on to boil. Dale's finished with the dressing, and it's creamy and sweet.

I noticed the bananas that were on the table the other night are no longer there, and Dale isn't giving any indication that he has any kind of secret. I hardly notice, though, I'm still elated to have Sawdust coming over.

I dust off the cupcake pans when Picker finally comes downstairs. He had also taken a shower, but he still hadn't come out of his room until after 10:30. It's nearly 11:30 now, so Sawdust should be here any minute.

Mom snaps at Picker when he grabs for a leaf from the salad and he backs off. "What's going on?" He whines.

"A friend of Timber's is coming to bake cupcakes," mom says as she takes the potatoes from the stove to drain the boiled water. I'm in charge of the mashing, but first she adds four tablespoons of butter and a shredded wedge of cheddar cheese. The ingredients melt onto the hot, peeled potatoes, then they're all mine.

I grab the masher and stand on my hind legs over the counter. The utensil is designed to be held in one's mouth, but I like the view of the squishing root balls that I get from using my hooves.

I used to actually use my bare hooves to mash potatoes. In my younger years, mom would have me wash thoroughly then bring the pot to me by the sink so I wouldn't walk and get them all dirty again. Other times, when we all got to mash together, dad would lift me from the sink and set me at my mashing station at the table so the next in line could wash their hooves. I loved stomping on the spuds and feeling them mush and squelch around my hooves. It was a messy activity, but the messy ones were always that much more fun.

I begin mashing, and suddenly think how similar the movements are to churning butter. Picker bumps into me suddenly, "Timber's friend, eh?" I scowl and focus hard on the potatoes. I won't let him get to me.

Mom pulls him off of me then and I get right back into my chore. I think I'm almost done, when there's a knock at the door. Dale answers and a young colt speaks loudly, "Missive for mister Timber!"

“What’s a ‘missive’?” Picker asks. I roll my eyes.

I step away from the counter as Dale hands the colt a bit, letting him run off to his next delivery. Dale hands me the note and I read it;
"Timber,

I'm sorry about the sudden change of plans, but Knots woke up with a serious pink eye this morning. I wouldn't want it getting into your family, so I chose to keep her home. She's really upset about missing our cupcake date, but insists on rescheduling as soon as possible. I'm sure you know, I have work at the mill until 4:00 every day this week. I await your response, and apologize again.
-Sawdust."

"Figures," I mumble. I toss the note onto the table and Dale picks it up. I put the cupcake tins back in their cupboard and get back to mashing the potatoes.

Dale comes up to me. "Sorry bro," he says. I shrug.

"We can still make the cupcakes for him," mom suggests once she's read the letter. "We'll take them to him."

I like the idea, but I'm still in a mood. It just... figures that something would go wrong at the last minute. Whatever, I'm glad he was willing to give me the chance.

Mom takes the cupcake pans back out and gets ready to bake. With everypony together, it doesn't take long to make a dozen chocolate cupcakes with buttery frosting and blue sprinkles. I'm just in such a deep well it doesn't feel like anything. I remember laughing and joking, having an all-around pleasant time, but I don't remember anything that was said. Why do I get like this? Just because something a little bit bad happened I threw myself down the deepest hole and covered the opening with a rock.

Mom can tell I don't want to deliver the cupcakes, but I do want to. I should, at least. I need to get out of this stupor. Then Dale insists I let him come with me. Before we take off, mom gathers six of the cupcakes on a plate and covers them with a towel while Dale grabs a mint leaf from the garden. He says he always liked chewing on one when he was sick, so maybe it'll help. If not, it can garnish the cupcakes.

We head off into town to look for Sawdust's place of residence. We don't actually know where to go, at all. Dale agrees to ask for directions and one of the librarians was in town and was happy to help. She sends us toward an adorable one-story house just inside the town. It's a quaint little building with dark brown siding, white shutters and a thatched roof. The door was a thick wood, oak maybe, and has a window in it. When we knock he sees us and opens up pleasantly, greeting us with a smile.

"Hey Sawdust," Dale says. I suddenly think of the first time he said that, Friday night. How had he known Sawdust's name? Were they friends already? They're closer in age than Sawdust is with me, but where and when would they have gotten to know each other?

Sawdust sees the plate, "What's this?"

I snap back to the present and reach the dish out toward him. He takes the towel off and beams. Dale speaks up, "We didn't want you feeling too bad about missing the date." I suck a breath in, a little too harshly.
Sawdust smiles and thanks us. "Knots was really torn up about missing out, but this ought to cheer her up."

"Oh, and if it'll help," Dale pulls the mint leaf from its perch behind his ear, "let her suck on this. It always helped calm me down when I got sick, usually cleared me up in half the time."

"Cool," Sawdust accepts, "though I can't promise she'll suck on it too long."

Dale nods, understanding. "It won't hurt if she swallows it, but she might not like the tingling."

A few seconds of quiet, then I intercede, "We do still want to get together this week."

"Oh, yeah," Sawdust agrees, setting the platter on his back. "I just don't know when Knots will be better. We'll keep in touch."

"Sounds great," I smile. "We'll be waiting."

He smiles, then waves 'bye as we step off his doorstep. We wave back and get going.

Dale barely waits for the door to close before turning to me, "Boy that was awkward."

I remain silent, blank-faced and cold.

"Did you see the way he reacted when I called it a date?"

I sigh and roll my eyes, "Yes I saw, I was there."

"He totally has a thing for you," Dale nudges.

"No he doesn't," I correct him. "He's just polite, unlike some ponies."

He laughs nervously. Then clears his throat, "I'm sorry." I nod, but maintain silence. He's quiet for a bit, too, but eventually breaks back in. "We gotta hurry home! My day of baking isn't over!" He breaks into a sprint. I don't see what the rush is, it's not like the bananas are going anywhere.

Author's Notes:

In which I discover italics don't work the same here as they do in Word.

34 Jagged Scar

When we got back home Dale got right to work. He barely pretended to be subtle about the bananas, holding them behind his back while he moved around the kitchen. His eyes were wide, but his pupils were small and darting around. It was quite a show. I felt like playing along, walking around with a false nonchalant attitude like nothing was wrong. I tried whistling, which I couldn’t so the raspy blowing sound made Dale laugh. Then he cleared his throat, and in his old-mare voice called out for Picker.

For some reason my headache came back. The sudden throb made me wince, luckily Dale didn’t notice. I got myself a painkiller and a glass of water, which he did notice, but still didn’t break character.

Picker trots into the room casually as I down the skinny pill. He has a look on his face that screams “badly-hidden secret.” I finish my glass of water while Dale and Picker gather things for their baking venture, whispering to each other all the while.

I leave my glass in the sink and get ready to ask – sarcastically – if there’s anything I can do to help. Picker interrupts me, “Oh, mom wants you in the living room.”

He’s dead serious when he says it. I see Dale sifting flour into a bowl behind Picker, but this is something else. “What for?”

He shrugs and waves his hoof for me to go, then turns to crack eggs into a separate bowl. I grin at the two of them, they don’t notice.

In the living room mom’s talking with Doctor Lavender. I barely hear the last thing the Doctor says when I come in; “…best to stay home for a while.”

Mom looks at me and smiles. “How are you feeling, dear?”

“Pretty good,” I tell them. “I just took a painkiller.”

Lavender speaks up, standing from her seat on the sofa, “Then now’s probably the best time.”

I step back, “Best time for what?” Why do I suddenly feel threatened? “What were you talking about before I came in?”

“We’ll get to that,” Lavender ensures. “Now…”

I step back some more as she steps closer. I’ve nearly back-peddled into the kitchen. (She just wants to take the bandage off.) How do you know?

“I just want to remove your bandages.”

Lucky guess. (Where would you be without me?) I’m not answering that.

I hold still and let her reach out to my head bandage with her magic. I close my eyes, ready to embrace pain without knowing where it will come from. Maybe the wound will start bleeding again? Maybe some blood dried to the cloth and the scab tears off while she’s pulling! Maybe part of my skull is showing and I’ll need to have surgery for a skin graft!

“Everything looks good,” she compliments. “If you’ll have a seat I’d like to remove the stitches.”

I didn’t know I had stitches. (A lot can happen when you’re unconscious.) Chatty today, aren’t we?

I follow Dr. Lavender to the middle of the room and sit on the floor by the coffee table, where she has her handy doctor’s tools laid out. She grabs two shining items in her glittering purple magic and raises them to my head. I close my left eye as she pulls at the stitches. It doesn’t really hurt, but it’s noticeably uncomfortable.

“Honestly,” mom speaks up while Lavender snips at thread, “I’m kind of surprised that you didn’t tear those stitches while you played outside the other day.”

“What was it you were doing?” Dr. Lavender asks pleasantly, still focused on her work.

I hesitate, not sure why. “Dale and I were just playing,” I tell her.

“This might tingle,” she warns me. “What kind of game?”

My spine shivers as a long thread is drawn through my tender flesh. “We like to imagine,” I shiver again, my legs feeling weak. I’m glad I’m sitting. “We imagined we were knights, or something. We used to play games like that all the time, when we were younger.” I lose myself reminiscing. “He’d always play, like, the bad guys or whatever. He’d be the one who let me enjoy the adventure…” I barely notice when she starts taking out the next strand. “We’d take sticks from the woods and use them as swords or whatever.”

“Sounds like you had a really fun time,” the Doctor says. “What could have possibly caused your stiches to rip?”

I’m lost in thought for a moment, thinking about the good old days. I don’t like doing that, really. It takes up so much precious time, I think. I don’t really know why I don’t like it, I just don’t. Especially if the memory isn’t of an experience I can learn from. I answer hastily, after my brief pause, “Well… We got a little rough. Growing up, we’d wrestle and mess around on the ground. Having so much fun, I guess we kind of forgot about my state and went a little too far.”

“Well,” Lavender backs away, “I wouldn’t say that. Your stitches were absolutely fine, and the wound’s closed up clean. You might have that scar for a while though.”

I look up, expecting to see something on the top of my head. I am unfortunately unable to see the scar. I instead reach a hoof up to feel for it. I wince a bit, but it doesn’t actually hurt. There’s an unmistakable protrusion just beneath my mane next to my left ear. It’s a crooked line, but I don’t know what I was expecting. Scars are cool, right?

I think I see Dale standing in the doorway to the kitchen. I look over, prepared to be embarrassed that he had witnessed my little trip down memory lane. He’s not there, though. I see him rush around the kitchen, dressed in flour. I sigh. Am I upset at him for some stupid reason? He has his own things to do.

“How does it feel?” Mom asks.

I don’t answer right away. I’m stuck, again. Why is Dale so unpredictable? Sometimes he’s a fun older brother, accepting and forgiving. Other times, he’s shameless. He never regrets things he says and rarely attempts to make up for things. I look at mom, suddenly dad’s there, too. He’s looking at me with an expectant grin. “It feels fine.” I don’t know if I’m lying. I don’t think I’m lying. I remember, it didn’t hurt or anything, but I felt like she might have been asking about something else. That couldn’t be.

I thank the doctor and move past everypony toward the bathroom. I want to see the scar, and if it’s actually noticeable where it is. I also wonder if I’m going to have to style my mane to hide it, or if I want to. What if it’s a cool-looking scar, and I want to show it off? What if ponies ask about it? What would I tell them, that I fell into a hole and hit my head because my emotions blinded me while I stormed through the woods at sundown?

Okay, it wasn’t sundown when it happened, but whatever.

It’s certainly a scar. It’s no Harry Trotter’s lightning bolt, but I do feel like it adds a bit of flavor to my otherwise dull character.

I keep making different faces in the mirror, trying to decide how to make an ugly, jagged scar like this look tough. It won’t, not by a long shot. I’m going to have to grow my mane out and comb it sideways to hide the damaged tissue.

Nopony else wanted to talk to me. I think mom was asking Doctor Lavender about dad’s condition, while dad, Dale and Picker all worked hard on my “surprise” in the kitchen. I made it downstairs without a bother.

A little scar like this won’t change anything, right?

35 Goodbye

I dreamed of what I can only assume was the future. I can’t really explain how I know, just a feeling. In it, I had a stack of paper that I knew was my story, this story I’m writing. It was a large stack, very neatly piled. I remember reading it, only not from the paper. I suddenly felt like other ponies were reading it, too. I don’t know how, but every pony in the world was reading it like I was, without the printed paper I had stacked in front of me. They all had glowing faces and wide eyes, and while they read they looked odd. They made faces that suggested so many different things. Many ponies didn’t bother finishing the story, instead turning away or changing to something else instead. Again, I don’t know how I know what exactly they were all doing, or how, but I just know it.

I got the feeling that so many of them reading this didn’t like it. I know it was happening, or going to happen. I know what it felt like, and it felt like the future. How could the future involve ponies reading what I’ve written without the actual paper in front of them?

I looked back down at the pile and it was compressed into a book. The novel was fat and had sturdy binding with hard covers. I don’t remember the title, probably just because I never once thought of giving this story a title. I’ve wanted to believe it would become a novel, but… How can it?

In the dream, many ponies reading my story looked at the pages with disgust. Or, whatever they were looking at. They looked appalled by what they had read, and simply ignored it from then on. How can I possibly keep writing this with the discouragement of a future where whomever reads it won’t like it? Why would I bother writing for just a few ponies, possibly liking it?

I don’t like how this is making me feel…

In the dream, I left the book behind, and continued walking down the line. I saw the colors of the pony I’d seen in a previous dream, the chocolate tan and white mane. This time, the shape was clearly a stallion, but he still had no features. Oh, and he had bright green eyes. He looked angry. Then he looked worried. I felt upset, scared, angry, sad, lonely… all of these negative emotions. He looked at me, worried.

I woke up crying. I didn’t stop myself, allowing myself to sob into my pillow, and into the darkness. Tears dripped off my chin, and occasionally my cheeks, or nose. I don’t know why I was crying. My mind was unnaturally silent; Aura wasn’t there, no thoughts flooded or overflowed. No thoughts flowed at all, the way I remember. I was crying in the stillness of midnight when my dad came down.

He didn’t say anything at first, just sat on the edge of my bed and stroked my head. He let me cry, let me emote freely, as I was meant to from the beginning of my life. I didn’t turn to him once. I, for some reason, was angry with him. Did I still resent him for not being the stallion who raised me?

He stroked my hair again, then whispered, “Everything’s OK…”

Nothing felt OK, I felt like everything was wrong, bad. Then again, I had no idea why. I sobbed again, softer now.

“You’re still my son.” What’s he talking about now? “I may not agree, at first, with what you believe or want, but I’m your father and I will love you.”

I don’t want to think about what he’s talking about. I don’t want to think at all! I want to go back to sleep. I don’t know how to handle what I’m going through.

I don’t remember him leaving, and I don’t remember falling back asleep, but the next thing I know is the sun’s rising through my little window. I feel like pretending that all of last night was a dream; the part with the strange color-stallion, the strangers reading my story from thin air, even my father accepting me. Why?

Why, the hell would I not want to believe my father still loves me? Why in any understanding would I think it’s better for him to shut me out? Why can’t I just be happy with how he’s changed—how I have changed? My life is getting better: I’m moving to Manehatten, getting a job, leaving Green Stables. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? I’ve always wanted to just be who I am without being stopped or questioned. I’ve wanted to have my own future, live with my own ponies… My own lover.

I think I read something a while back, or maybe somepony told me about it: A psychological study suggesting the possibility of gaining an addiction to depression. I don’t know if I’d be medically diagnosed with depression, but this feeling, this sensation of needing to be rejected and shut out… I want my father to reject me, I think so that it’ll be easier for me to leave him. But, if we leave on bad terms I’ll only ever regret not having settled things with him. He’ll be on my mind the majority of my life afterward, I know it. Then, whenever we meet again, we’ll harbor a bitter resentment toward each other and every encounter will be tense and awkward. Our family will try to get us to get along, but nothing will ever work…

Why do I put so much thought into such a terrible future?

I guess, I’ll just have to silently resent my father myself. He can accept me all he wants, but until he’s the father I want him to be… I’ll never look at him the same.

Maybe I’m depressed, maybe I’m addicted to it, and maybe nothing can cure me. I’ll have to live with it, and if you’re still reading this, whoever—and wherever—you are, just know that this is where I’m ending it. This whole experience didn’t help the way I wanted it to, and knowing that whatever happens to this whole story won’t open anybody’s minds, or hearts, definitely doesn’t make me want to keep writing. I’m done, that’s that. Don’t expect anything else from this would-be author.

36 Birthday Party

It’s been another year, or so. I never put exact dates on these things, but my last entry was less than a week away from my twentieth birthday. This entry is the morning after my twenty-first birthday. It’s a beautiful sunrise, but I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night.

After what happened I spent a lot of time thinking, barely getting two hours of sleep. Give or take, I guess. Anyhow, since my life’s technically been better since my last entry, and with what I’d been thinking about last night, I decided to get back to this. I re-read a couple of my old entries and it actually kind of made me laugh, sometimes. I realize my last entry might have been a little dark, like some kind of suicide note or something. Like I’d never be heard from again. I’m sorry, if you thought that. Truly.

Anyhow, I’d like to try to get back in to the old swing of things, telling a story from the beginning.

I guess that technically starts with what happened after my last entry.

Well, I never got back together with Sawdust, and never bothered convincing him or Churner to come with me to Manehatten. I got a letter of recommendation from Churner and indeed ended up getting hired by a theater on Bridleway, as well as a little street-café. Turns out, when the stage directors found out I wanted experience working for a theater they signed me on as an intern. An unpaid intern. Which, is exactly what I wanted, technically.

Still, I couldn’t pay rent without income, and I couldn’t allow my grandmother to settle my bills for me. I’ve already renewed the contract for another year, so there’s that. Manehatten won’t be getting rid of me that easily.

So, after landing my nearly meaningless job on Bridleway, Granny and Dale—Dale came too, I never asked him to—led me around some nearby establishments with “Help Wanted” signs in the windows. One of them was a café, and a waitress that happened to be working there went by the name of Pearl, and was friendly enough to put an extra-good word in to her boss about me. I started cleaning tables and floors the next week.

Pearl’s been real friendly since I moved out of Green Stables. She visits often, occasionally uninvited, brings dinner for us to share. I thought it was important to let her know where I stood on the sexual scale. When I told her, she snickered. It was a cute, snorting sound, but I blushed dark red all the same. She told me she had actually guessed, though she couldn’t explain how she could tell. Or wouldn’t.

I was embarrassed, convinced that I hadn’t been half as obvious as she made it seem. She told me she didn’t mind, and that I absolutely was not obvious. I’m still confused about how she figured it out, but I really don’t care.

The café—Café de la Lune—went through one massive expansion within the last year. Quite a big one, nearly doubling in size. Management hired two new workers and promoted me to waiter. Pearl and I were officially at the same level, which she went on and on about for a few hours. Something about mare equality. Which I totally get: She’d been working that job longer than I had and hadn’t upgraded since she was hired, even quitting her job at the pizzeria for more hours at the café.

She wasn’t all that serious, though. She made the same amount I did, and there wasn’t a higher position to get promoted to.

I don’t know where she found more hours, though. I already spent most of my mornings there, working four days a week. The theater lets me go around midnight after each rehearsal/performance and I get about two hours to get home, eat something, prepare my uniform and get to the café for the earliest shift known to ponies. Even more surprising is that we actually get business that early. I’m on duty until just before lunch, but I usually stick around a while longer in case the rush is more than Pearl or the others can handle. After lunch I get a solid eight hours of free time to sleep and whatever.

Stitches is the bus-colt that replaced me, a cute little pegasus with a light orange-brown coat and a pale mauve mane. His older sister Patches washes dishes, also a pegasus, with the same coat color but with a dark, brick-red mane. Gourdy, the boss, is the only one allowed to cook. The siblings are trying to raise money for medical schooling. They’re real sweet, but having them in the same room too long can be more than any one of us can handle.

Once in a while, an older mare named Slalom would clock in and work with the rest of us. I’ve been told she’s Gourdy’s daughter and she spends more time in the mountains up north than in the city. I don’t blame her, city life is obviously not for her. Things tend to go really well when she comes to work, we don’t even risk getting backed up, she does whatever’s needed. Plus she gets along with everypony.

Now, when Pearl found out it was my birthday she started putting together a really big night. Once she found out it was my twenty-first birthday, she insisted on making it even bigger. I never had anything alcoholic to drink, but Stitches, Patches, and Pearl all had their desired number of hard cocktails.

They took me to a gay bar—which, until then, I had no idea was even a thing. I was really rather uncomfortable for a while, but once the drunken pegasus, nurse-in-training Stitches gave me a lap-dance I got much more into the evening. His less drunk sister made sure I promised to hold it over his head as long as she did afterwards. We took to the dance floor, Stitches and I. He showed me his old-school dance moves, tied in with some modern style bump-and-grind. I loved the flirtatious silliness of it all, not even paying the slightest attention to my stallionhood, or anypony else’s. Except the dancers’.

The DJ mixed expertly, evolving to fit the mood of the mob and swinging to influence all of our moods as well. I might not have been drinking, but I was drunk on the experience.

Patches was surprisingly sober, given that she had as much—if not more—to drink as her brother, who happened to be half-conscious on her shoulder by the end. Pearl and those two took a cab home. Conveniently, they live in the same apartment building, so one cab was enough.

Now we can get to the good part.

And of course, when I say “good,” I don’t quite mean that. I still don’t know how to feel about it.

Anyway, my sober self and I got to walk home alone. Work was on my mind. I was lucky enough to get a night between shows, as well as leading up to a Sunday. I knew I wouldn’t have to worry about where to go next. I didn’t need to be at the café in an hour, and I didn’t need to go over stage notes or practice placements or anything! I had the rest of the night off. I wouldn’t sleep, clearly, since that would mess with my schedule. Not really. At least, not dramatically.

After living in the city for a year I got to know my way around pretty well. Though I’d never been to that bar—and by the way, Stitches wasn’t the only stallion getting all over me back there. I knew the way back to my apartment, and assured Pearl that I’d be fine. I hadn’t had anything to drink and the way was lit very well. I convinced myself it was safe since it was a city that never sleeps. Unfortunately the shortest path home was through Centurion Park.

If I haven’t given it away by now, I obviously was not safe that night. I mean, last night. Regardless of the time. I was on a jogging path when it happened. There was no warning. I should have been more aware, looking back. Right? I’m always so perceptive, aren’t I? Maybe it was the mood I was in, or maybe I’m not as sharp as I thought.

Whatever the reason: The stallion was on me in less than an instant, materializing from the darkness. I fought against him as hard as I could, but he was larger than me. Not by much, I guess. He was a pegasus and within moments had both my front hooves pinned down with his right fore-hoof and a wing over my muzzle. He was grinding against me viciously. I hate to admit that my body responded to him. It was a confusing arousal; the sensation was clearly meant to be pleasurable, and my body thought so, but I was also in shock. The absolute fear of the situation paralyzed me, and left my dick utterly dumbfounded.

Regardless of how I felt, or what I actually remember, the stranger was preparing himself for what was apparently my worst nightmare. At some point he released my hooves, but kept me pinned by my shoulders. Then he pressed against me more. He was completely hard now, and I was crying. I opened my eyes once, somewhere within the nightmare, for reasons unknown. I only remember seeing his cloud-white mane and dirty black trench coat as his body pressed against me.

He rubbed is disgusting phallus against my loin and moaned into my shoulder. I whimpered, but I don’t think he heard. Eventually he stopped his senseless grinding and moved back for a bigger picture. I heard him spit and suddenly felt a cold presence against my taint. I gasped, then sobbed. I had to have known this was what he wanted, but I wanted to believe it wouldn’t happen. I didn’t want it to happen, I wasn’t prepared. I knew there was a lot more that had to go in to this sort of experience, and my body was not ready. Then the pressure. The force of his meat against my ass.

I sobbed again, and my thoughts solidified; this was going to happen, I couldn’t stop him, I was what he wanted. I never wanted my first time to be painful, or cruel. I always dreamed of what my first time would be like, and this stranger was going to ruin it.

That’s when I whispered, “Not like this...” I don’t know what came over me, exactly, but with everything going on in my mind, and as often as I should have been screaming, my voice decided to let itself out.

Then the cold pressure on my ass disappeared. His fore-hoof backed away. I opened my eyes, and saw his. They were green, and… wet, I think.

He turned and ran, and of course, I let him. I ran, too. I needed to get home.

Then, like I said, I spent most of my night thinking. At some point I fell asleep, and now it’s about halfway through the day. I thought about why he stopped. Of course I thought of other things, too; like why he tried in the first place, who he could have been, what his story was, that sort of thing. In the end, though, I always got back to thinking about why he stopped. I didn’t know the thought process of a rapist, but I figured he’d want to claim what he found. Was it because I was male? Did he first prey on me because of that? Or, was there another reason?

I want to stop thinking about this. Actually, I don’t. But I don’t want to keep thinking about it alone. I found the napkin with Pearl’s phone number from so long ago in my things. I’m gonna give her a call. Hopefully she picks up.

Author's Notes:

In which I subtly imply the passage of time.

37 Long Hair

A stranger picked up. He had a tired yet subtly intrusive voice. I asked him if Pearl was around and he passed the phone along. I immediately had to wonder why some stallion was the one to answer.

I let the thought drift away when Pearl responded.

“Hi, Pearl?” I assured.

She moaned, sleepy. “Hold on,” she grumbled. “Let me check my birth certificate.”

I roll my eyes, “Just chug some espresso and get over here. Please. I need to talk to you.”

“Oh,” the sleep has left her voice. “Sure thing. What’s up?”

I pause for a second, deciding whether or not to actually give her the desired context. “I’d rather tell you in person.”

“Oh, okay, I’ll be there quick.”

“Thanks.” I hold onto the pay-phone for a moment longer and hear her tell the stallion in her room about her emergency. I didn’t hear his name, and she hung up before I could hear anything he said. After replacing the hoofset I lean the top of my head against the glass wall of the booth. My hair is kind of long and makes for a good cushion. I think about trimming it before work tomorrow. Are there any barbers open on Sundays?

While I’m distracted with thoughts of my mane I exit the phone booth. I need to think about what to tell Pearl. What could I tell her? Who was the other guy?

I shake my head: obviously her colt-friend, and not my business. He didn’t even sound like I’d like him. Why would I even think about that? Who cares? Pearl will be over soon, I should think about what to tell her. Or, should I?

I would obviously tell her the truth, at the start. Wait, no… yeah. I’ll definitely tell her the whole truth. I was raped. Or, almost raped, right? It doesn’t count if he didn’t penetrate me, right?

So, I was sexually assaulted by a pegasus and it was super scary. Then, he stopped. That was the truth. Would she believe me? It doesn’t sound believable, does it?

Back inside I saw my open box of cereal on the counter, beside an empty bowl and spoon. I had thought about eating something earlier this morning. I knew it was important to eat and all, but I couldn’t even bring myself to pour the cereal. Looking at it now my stomach growls. I don’t actually feel hungry, but I can hear my stomach growl. I think hard about finally pouring the Wheaty Oats and fueling my body for the day. I still don’t feel hungry, no matter how much I tell myself how important it is.

(Pearl will probably bring something for you to eat.)

“Yeah, she usually does that.”

You remember Aura right? Of course you do. I mean, probably. You do right? I only assume you would because it hasn’t actually been a whole year for you. You’ve probably been reading this on a regular basis. If you were reading this at all. Of course…

I’m distracting myself. Writing now, it’s easy to get lost when trying to talk about then. I’m in a much different mood. I’m not entirely sure I’d say I’m happier, but I’m definitely much more comfortable.

“But,” I complain to Aura. “What if she doesn’t bring food this time?”

(Then she’ll probably make something.)

“With the zero food in my apartment?”

(You’ve got, some food. At the very least let her pour the cereal for you.)

“You’re right,” I give in. “It’s easier to eat when you’ve got someone to pressure you into it.”

But that’s true for anything. I don’t remember if Aura and I were still talking, but I remember thinking. Peer pressure makes doing almost anything easier, because at the very least you can blame someone else if you’re not pleased with the outcome. Having someone else to convince you to do something—or even to not do something—almost always makes decisions easier. At least, for me it does. Does it have something to do with my anxiety, or depression?

I never got officially diagnosed, but Stitches is an adequate nurse and he gave me a basic prognosis based on my “symptoms.” Plus, Pearl knows some stuff about sociology and tells me it’s possible but not to get worried. I could just be an extreme introvert. I don’t know how an actual psychologist would go about diagnosing me, so I don’t know how to go about writing all of this, but it’s not even important.

I started thinking about the possibility of a mysterious third party pressuring the actions of my attacker. Could it have been possible that somepony else was behind his motives? Could that be why he stopped, that he didn’t actually want to be that kind of pony? That’s ridiculous, isn’t it? If he didn’t want to be that kind of pony he wouldn’t have tried in the first place.

I argue a few more possibilities to myself and finish with the idea that he realized I wasn’t a mare, and so stopped himself. Then I hear wheels skid on the pavement outside and a taxi driver shout at a pedestrian in the street. Looking out the window I see Pearl sprint the final few meters to the other end of the cross-walk. She shakes a hoof at the driver and he speeds away. She had the right-of-way, being on hoof. Then again, taxi drivers are technically on hoof too, pulling the cabs and all. He didn’t even have a passenger. I often ponder about the solidity of our Equestrian laws.

I notice Pearl’s got something in her mouth as she trots through the front door of the building. I have to wonder why she wasn’t just holding it with her magic. I let her in and she leaves the cardboard cup tray, complete with two capped coffee cups and muffins, on the counter beside my cereal box. She sees the box but doesn’t say anything.

She turns to me with curiosity in her eyes. For a split second I’m surprised at myself for being able to notice such a miniscule distinction and attribute it to my literary senses. Another example could be from some time ago, I noticed my knees actually get weak and I found it hard to stand. The best way I could possibly describe it was that my knees felt like jelly. I thought it was silly, since I had read it so many times in fiction novels when a character is in a similar situation involving anxiety.

Anyhow, she gave me that look. It was a look of curiosity, but not any concern like I anticipated. She gets comfortable on my bed with her coffee. I take a bite of my muffin. It’s apple-cinnamon flavored.

She takes a loud sip, then gasps at the heat of the drink. I sniff the opening in the lid of my drink and smell the rich hot chocolate, since I don’t like coffee. Pearl had been trusted with keys to the café and was allowed in whenever she wanted. She was trustworthy enough to only take what the boss let her take, and each of us that worked there was allowed one free drink a day. She must have left some kind of note for the muffins.

After recovering from her tongue burn, Pearl finally asks the question that brought her here, “So what’s up?”

I sit on the floor after taking another deep breath of chocolate, then sigh it back out. I had thought so carefully of how to tell her, but now it wasn’t there. Not like I wanted, anyway. For some reason I tried making it some kind of big life-changing deal, which, it kind of was. “You ever get the feeling the universe is out to get you?”

She purses her lips. I can tell she knows where I’m going with this, but she’s polite enough to let me finish.

“Like, when your life is going well, something has to happen to make everything bad again?”

“What happened?” Pearl asks, skeptically. She placed her drink on the night stand and slipped off the bed toward me.

I take a deep breath. “I wish you would take this seriously,” I complain.

“I am taking this seriously,” she promises. It didn’t sound like she was, but I still believed her. “I just want to know why you’re thinking like this all of a sudden.”

I breathe more slowly. “Well,” I pause. “It isn’t all of a sudden, but…”

She notices me taking my time. “Well?” She urges, and when I hesitate more she continues, “I already know pretty much all of your secrets. It’s not like you’re coming out to me again.” I remember when I actually did that.

I tricked myself into it, because I knew she had to know sooner or later. We were walking to work together and she said something about a colt-friend she had and why she dated him and I took the opportunity without thinking to say “Yeah I’d like a guy like that.” It was completely voluntary, I know it was. I’m too careful to actually let such dreadful information slip. It made her happy, though. She had already guessed, like I said, and loved the apparently accidental confirmation. I promise I did it on purpose, but whatever. It was easier to trust ponies again, after that. I’m really good friends with Stitches, but he’s pretty sure he’s straight.

Anyway, Pearl’s been boring into my soul for a couple seconds trying to get me to spill the beans. I don’t know why I’m hesitating, it has to be said.

I clench my teeth for a second, then sigh. It’ll be so much easier to just blurt it out, “I was raped.”

I’ve never seen her eyes go so wide. She’s about to say something before I blurt some more, “Well, not really. I was assaulted, almost raped, but he… stopped.” She’s looking at me wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

After a few seconds, “He stopped.” She confirms. I nod. Her mind is all over the place, I can see it in her eyes. She can’t focus on one thing, looking all around like she’s surrounded by bats. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

My jaw drops at that. “How should I know?!”

She puts a hoof up to stop me. “I’m sorry,” she says. Then she steps up and hugs me. “I get it now, that’s why you called me.” I hug her back and feel like crying. I want to cry, but for some reason I can’t. I’m still too confused. But I really do feel better now. I felt better since the hug.

I told her everything that happened once we parted ways last night. I told her how scared I was, how big and strong the pegasus was.

At the end I guess I was feeling well enough, and she could tell because she joked that I’d probably be going out with him if I weren’t almost raped by him. I roll my eyes, but agree. We ponder together for a short while, wondering why he stopped.

We enjoy more of our drinks and muffins and she tells me she’s going to go do something. I ask what and she says “The after-birthday party.” As she heads for the door I insist once again on what she’s talking about. “I’m gonna go get Patches and we’re going to the salon. You need a haircut.”

38 Spa Day

When she got back with Patches I had finished my hot cocoa and muffin. Pearl’s coffee had gone cold, but she didn’t even bother asking about it. I knew I’d have to throw it away when I got the chance.

Pearl made me tell Patches everything I had told her earlier that morning. I did, and she had a similar reaction to Pearl’s; wide-eyed and slack-jawed. She was a tad less sensitive about it, but still friendly. She was all over the place, almost fan-girling about it. Seriously, she talked about it like it was her favorite book series, coming up with wild conspiracies and stuff like that. She even named the rapist “Boner,” which was hilarious.

As it turns out, there is at least one hairdresser open on Sundays. It’s actually a massive salon, and I honestly feel quite sorry for the ponies working there. Having to work today, just so other ponies can have their relaxing day off. They seemed rather happy to be working, though, so I didn’t stress about it. More like I couldn’t.

The barber was very skilled. I had no idea what to ask for, but I was lucky enough to have the girls tell the stallion working the clippers exactly what I apparently wanted. It’s a stylish cut, I must admit. I never thought my curly mane could pull off an Ivy League-style clean cut/side swipe. It’s kind of like a comb-over, but it looks good since my mane is a decent length.

I always keep my tail cut short, but I never thought of it as unkempt. The barber pony pointed out split ends and trimmed that as well. With a sleek diagonal cut he evened it out just below my glutes, stylishly keeping my nether regions a modest mystery.

Patches had a hooficure, and Pearl decided to get a dark-blue streak in her sea-green mane and tail. It was quite an eye-catcher, but I had to let her know it didn’t quite suit her personality. She took it as a compliment, and we all laughed.

I have to admire Pearl’s sheer audacity sometimes. If I had half of her courage, I’d probably have a boyfriend by now. And I might not have been raped.

During most of the visit, we had agreed not to talk about last night after the party. We didn’t want to spread any kind of gossip about a rapist in Centurion Park. I convinced myself not to mind the salon ponies possibly picking up on my sexuality, convincing myself that if I was even going to consider being a regular here, I needed to establish some kind of trust in the staff.

It seems like a pointless philosophy, doesn’t it? I don’t need to be friends with them for them to do their job. Then again, it wouldn’t hurt to have friends in high places, relatively. Plus, maybe my mood affects how well they work. I know I work better when the patrons at the café are happy and nice.

Then again, just being friendly doesn’t necessarily entail the classification of “friend,” especially to a staff member. I can have a positive attitude without adding to my list of friends. But, I want to add to that list, don’t I?

I’m overthinking it, by a lot. Sorry, I’m just a little skeptical about friends ever since… Well, I guess ever since I officially lost touch with Minty Swirl. I’m over it though. I still like the memories we shared, and she certainly taught me a lot about myself I might not have learned without her, or her father. But that’s another story.

Anyhow, we spent some time in the steam room after our make-overs. I often caught myself trying to see my own head and admire my mane-cut. It feels so sharp and admirable.

Pearl even caught me once and had to say something. “It looks good.” A simple, yet meaningful compliment. “It really suits you.” She had a genuine look of joy on her face, a grin from ear to ear and a sparkle in her eyes.

“I knew it would,” Patches butts in with mock-pride. It was a joint decision, the mane-cut, on their parts. I went along with it, trusting their judgement completely, hoping not to regret it in the end. I don’t, just so we’re clear, but at the time it had occurred to me I might not like what I ended up with.

I find I’m trying to look at it again, and the girls notice too.

“Do you want a mirror?” Patches asks with her signature amount of sass that everypony tends to both love and hate her for.

“Yeah,” I retaliate. “So I can look at something good for a change.” She raises an eyebrow at me. We all laugh for some time. I just thought; I should probably thank Patches. Being around her has really helped me learn to speak my mind. You know that before I had a tendency to keep to myself almost 100% of the time, right? Or was that something I didn’t write down well?

I’ll take a look later, and I guess we’ll see if it was clear or not. All I remember from life in Green Stables is bits and pieces of mostly bad stuff; falling for Churner, fighting with him, dad’s bad temper, splitting my head open, Sawdust’s sister’s allergy to red onions. There are plenty more things I know I did, and can probably remember at another time, but you get the idea.

“You think you’d go out with a stallion with that hair?”

It took me a second to register that Pearl had asked me the question. “Uhh…” I hesitate. I had never really thought about what I actually like about certain stallions, things I find attractive or not.

That’s why I’m really embarrassed when Patches asks, “Do you even know what you’re looking for?”

I bite my bottom lip, hesitating some more. Having never put any serious thought into the idea, it’s hard for me to respond. I think for a brief second of answering sarcastically, but nothing even remotely so comes to mind. Besides, I also want to know the truth, so I tell her, “No, I don’t.” I look away, ashamed. “I guess I figured I’d know when I met him.” I unconsciously glance around the sauna and silently thank Celestia—only She knows why—that there’s no pony else in there.

They’re both quiet for a beat, then Pearl eases back in, “That’s nice and all, but it’d be easier to find somepony if you know what you’re looking for.”

I take a deep breath. The hot air feels good in my lungs, alleviating the stress of the previous night. “I guess…”

There’s another moment of painful silence. I feel like telling it off as a joke, changing the subject and lightening the mood. I don’t want to end our spa day on such a sour note. Lucky for me, though, Patches has a better idea. “Why don’t we try?” She suggests.

I look at her. “Try?”

“Yeah,” she smirks, scooting closer to me, pushing Pearl closer in turn. “Why don’t we fantasize some dream-boats?”

I let the thought sink in for a moment. “We?” I insist.

She rolls her eyes. “Well yeah,” she urges. “I’m single and into stallions. You’re single and into stallions. Let’s come up with the perfect hotty!”

That makes me smile. I’m skeptical at first, and now I’m sure I was worried about coming up with “the perfect hotty,” and then never being interested in any less. But, Pearl had made a convincing argument; that if I don’t know what I’m looking for I’d never find it. This little exercise could be the perfect thing for putting an idea in my head.

I smile. “Well I don’t think I’d like this mane-cut on the guy,” I said.

“I think I might,” Patches noted, “depending on his personality.”

“But you think it looks good on me, right?” I assure.

“Oh absolutely,” she promises. “It gives you the intelligent look you live up to, while also being free-flowing, like you get when you’re not serious.”

“How often am I serious?” I insist, a little offended.

“At least half the time.” That doesn’t make much sense, so I just roll my eyes. “We’re getting off topic though.”

“Right,” I agree. “Well, I think I’d prefer someone with a relatively levelheaded style, and an even more serious nature. I think he should... put a lot of thought into what he says.” Pearl gives me a strange look at that, but I try to look past it, since I don’t know how to take it. It’s harder to forget than I wanted. “I’d also like him to be gentle, caring, but still serious.” I’m kind of just rattling on, not really thinking about what I’m saying besides the fact that it’s all true.

“I’d like someone with a longer mane,” Patches plays. “Something wavy and somewhat concealing.”

I realize now that she’s thinking of a mane style similar to Churner’s. I didn’t think of it then because I couldn’t ignore the look Pearl had given me. All I said was I wanted someone more serious, right? What had she assumed I meant?

I’d be sure to ask her in private afterward. But for now, I needed to go along with Patches’ little game. Moreover, I wanted to.

In the end she came up with a long-maned bodybuilder that liked loose clothing and chocolate-covered fruit. I think I came up with someone just a little taller than me with a similar build who liked reading and musicals.

39 Curb Stomp

Pearl and Patches shared the bill for the day at the salon, and the two of them decided to spend just a little more time with me today. I got a chance to talk to Pearl when Patches decided to take a moment to call her brother. While she was in a phone booth, Pearl pulled me over to the curb.

Yeah, she was technically the one that brought it back up, but I would have eventually. Probably.

Anyhow, she pulled me aside and got straight to the point, “Ok, we need to talk about that.”

I think about playing dumb, like I didn’t notice her looking at me any time I said anything while we were in the sauna. I decide to go along, because I really want to know why she gave me those looks. So I agree, “I know.” She’s quiet for a second and I know she’s waiting for an explanation. Even though that’s exactly what I’m waiting for. We don’t have a lot of time, so I try to hurry. “So, why did you keep giving me those looks?”

She seems taken aback for a split second, trips over her tongue for another, but then sighs. Instead of arguing, she answers. “Because I was confused by what you were saying, about the stallion you think you’re looking for.”

“How were you confused?” I demand. “All I did was say things about the kind of pony I might like to be with.”

She holds her breath, looking at me. Her eyes are the same as before, and I finally notice that they’re sympathetic. The difference now is in her lips. Before they were straight with skeptical confusion, now they were pursed, concerned. She releases her breath with my name, in a way that sounds judgmental and impatient. “Timber… You described yourself.”

I did not, I think. But, of course think again. I act shocked, offended by the idea, then accept it. For some reason, I know. And, I guess, I know why. “I guess I did,” I offer, then pause. The truth hit me almost immediately after what she said. She looks at me with cautious urgency, and I continue. “I want somepony like me because I know what I can handle.” I see Patches leave the phone booth from the corner of my eye, blurry from being outside my lens, but clear just the same. I ignore her. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve been that pony. I’ve always tried to be the one ponies come to for comfort when they’re having troubles. I’ve never put all of my troubles on others for fear of hurting them, or driving them away. I just… want somepony…” I feel a lump swell in my throat. I refuse to cry in public, so I harden my heart and finish. “Somepony like me.”

Pearl’s forehead creases and she looks at me with wrath. “Somepony like you?” She raises her voice slightly and ponies glance. I do my best to ignore them, maintaining a stoic face. Patches finds us, we ignore her too. “As long as I’ve known you, you haven’t kept anything from me. And if you have you’re an idiot. What kind of friend am I that you don’t share everything with me that’s troubling you?! Are you seriously just waiting for Mister Right to come along so you can finally vent all your problems and then never have another thing to worry about? Or did you mean you’re looking for somepony to cry on? Because if that’s true then…” She pauses and takes a few labored breaths, then finishes, “Then why not me?”

I’m speechless for a long moment. I really don’t know what to say. I know there’s plenty on my mind that would set her straight and stop her from asking any more questions, but I’m afraid of saying any of it. I don’t know if she can handle it. This thought is running through my mind in that pause, and inspires me to clarify.

“I’ve cried so much,” I begin slowly, carefully choosing my words. “I’ve hurt myself trying to ignore the stress and anxiety that plagues me.” I take a few breaths to calm myself some more and think ahead again. “I just want somepony I feel safe with. Someone I can comfortably lie on and not feel anything but happy.” I realize I’m looking down, and so realign my eyes with hers. “Does wanting happiness make me a bad friend?” How could I ask that? Of course it doesn’t! Asking that question, being so judgmental of my friend’s curiosity is what makes me horrible.

“No,” Pearl says. “But what makes you think I’m not good enough?”

Now what do I say? Do I lie, tell her she is good enough? That I’ve been neglecting her for whatever reason until now? Then I’d have to let her in, play along with that pretense just to keep her satisfied with this idea.

I could tell her the truth; that she is not good enough. That I’ve only been keeping her around to ease tension until the right guy came along. But then she’d think that as soon as that did happen I’d cut her loose. She’s wrong, but in her current state…

I have to play my words perfectly, so I don’t lose her. (Here goes.)

“Nothing.” It’s a simple answer to her question, vague enough that she has to keep listening. A tear glistens in the corner of each of her eyes. My eyes sting empathetically. “Nothing makes me think that you aren’t good enough, but there’s nothing that makes me think you are and that’s my fault.” I step closer to her, but she looks away. She’s acting like our relationship is deeper than it should be, than I intended. I kind of hate her for that, but it’s not her fault. “I don’t let my emotions out, no matter who I’m with. The last pony I did that with left me and sold me out.” I had almost forgotten, but in a way, Minty Swirl had taken me for granted. I had also taken her for granted, but she gave everything she knew about me as a funny story to some of her new friends. Churner told me. Another tear threatens to drip, but I will it back. “I’m afraid to lose my grip, afraid of being taken advantage of again. I just want someone who makes me feel… not afraid. Someone I can feel, safe with.” I pause and try to think some more. I’m thinking too much, but I can’t give up on her. “I feel… comfortable with you, and with Patches and everyone at the café, but it’s not the security I want. I need…”

I suddenly think back to the assault in the park. “When I was almost raped,” I offer, “I felt so vulnerable. This morning, I thought about it, I know what I want to be for others; I want to be their shield when they’re vulnerable. When I was exposed and being held down by some stranger, I had no one. I told you, but I care too much about you to give you the pain of what I’m truly feeling.” My face feels like stone. I hate it, but I have to keep it up or she’ll be gone. I almost look back into her eyes, she’s still looking away. I stop myself from pleading for her attention. Another thought; “When he stopped, I felt safe. At least, more safe than before. Even before he showed up.” Where is this coming from? Why am I not stopping myself? “He did something, of his own accord, just so I wouldn’t feel sad…”

I’m looking at the sidewalk, deep in thought. A renegade tear streaks across my left cheek, even though I hadn’t blinked. I hadn’t thought of it before, so why did I already believe it so fully? Why did I suddenly know, without any kind of surety, that that invader stopped himself for my own wellbeing?

A hoof wipes the tear from my face and I look back into the eyes of Pearl. I’m startled when she says “I’m sorry.” My mouth opens, but I don’t say anything. I’ve already said so much, my thoughts don’t let me speak anymore. She continues, “At first I thought you were just messing with us, describing yourself like that. I wanted to know why. I didn’t mean to get so offended.”

I nod. I know she did, and I want to say it’s just because she’s a mare, but that’d be sexist. There are stallions that can get that worked up. I might have, but I never would have said anything. And that’s not me praising myself, I don’t think. It’s a habit, keeping things in like that. I’m not the only one who does it. I don’t need to explain any of this.

I did believe that, no matter what, if she was offended she’d overreact. She was curious as to why I only described aspects of myself during Patches’ little game, and at first thought I was toying with them, for whatever reason. When I explained myself, I said something else that offended her, made her think she wasn’t a good friend just because she couldn’t do what she may have thought she was doing all along. That’s my fault, though. I never told her what I really wanted, because I knew she wasn’t what I really wanted. And it was because she was female. She might eventually be able to make me feel safe, but she’ll never be the strong security I really want. Not to mention her sex organs.

I really didn’t want to bring it up, but to say it isn’t at least 90% because of that is a flat out lie.

Patches speaks up suddenly, making my ears twitch and my glasses slide partly out of position. She says, “I was only playing around back there.” We both look at her. She looks embarrassed. “I never meant for either of you to take it so seriously.”

I have a thought about how she’s not the psychiatrist her brother is, and smile. He’s not really a psychiatrist, but whatever, I needed the smile. “It’s okay,” I tell her. I want to say “it’s not your fault,” but I can’t. Maybe because that would just put the blame back on Pearl, and start this whole thing over again. Whatever the reason, I can’t bring myself to say it.

Pearl says it, “It’s not your fault.”

I immediately think that part of her believes it’s my fault, but ignore the would-be resentment; I can handle the blame, I deserve it. Otherwise, she believes that it was her fault and just wants everything to be over with, and for our day to continue. She might say it was her fault, but then we’d be in the middle of a pity-party. I stop her, to save us from the extra drama, “So what did Stitches have to say?”

Patches takes a second to process the question, being such an abrupt mood swing. “Oh, he said he’d love to spend some time on the town.”

I smile. “You think he’d be up for another lap dance?”

40 Toothpaste Pizza

At some point I ask Pearl about the stallion in her apartment. She tells me he’s her colt-friend, his name is Cosh, and he’s a police officer for the city. He’s on duty today, so he can’t be with us. Besides, apparently he’s very heterosexual. (Not that that really matters.)

Jeez… I’ve gotten this far, I just want to get to the good part. I’ve been driving myself nuts going through everything else. We’re almost there, though.

All we did for the rest of the day was hang out in the city. We strolled down Bridleway and I showed them the theater I work at. The next production we’re going to start working on is a new play called “Stallion of the Sea.” I haven’t gotten a script yet, so I don’t know what it’s going to be about. We spend some time throwing ideas around.

Pearl thinks it’s about an old stallion who has to make his way across a metaphorical “sea” of troubles to find his true worth and be with the one he loves.

Patches has the idea that it’s an epic tale of a heroic pirate battling monsters. I tell her that this stage does mainly musicals. When she questions that her brother tells her that epics aren’t typically musicals. Pearl adds that pirates don’t tend to be heroic, but Patches argues that that’s what would make it such a good show.

Stitches has the idea that it’s about a stallion who spends some time on the sea. He’s obviously joking, so we play along and sarcastically shoot him down. It was good fun. I throw in the idea of it being about a mare who meets a stallion in her dreams, the sea being a metaphor for the uneasiness of the dream world she tries to live in with her imaginary mate. “That’s what I’d make it about,” I say. Stitches agrees that that would probably be the best play of any of the ones they spitballed. Then we all agree that it probably won’t be about that, despite it possibly being the best idea. I remember blushing a few times, with the way they praised my idea.

I can’t really focus on what we did after that. We got some pretzels and talked about our jobs, school and life. Stitches brought up a query on why our circle of friends wasn’t bigger. The rest of us knew that it was kind of a touchy subject, so Patches let him know quietly. He apologized, then suggested we take another visit to the bar from last night.

The three of us raised a collective eyebrow at him. He laughed like he just wanted to see the reactions on our faces. Pearl suggested we go to the supermarket and get groceries for my apartment. I insisted the store was too far away, and it was getting late. Everyone agreed, so we just went back to my place. We considered going to anyone else’s, but decided against it, believing it best not to send me walking home alone in the dark again.

Stitches suggests that I spend the night with them, but we agree on my place in the end because it was closer anyway. They know I can’t feed them, so we order a pizza and split the cost.

While we wait, Patches figures it’s a safe time to try out the “Dream-Boat Exercise” again. This time I go with a tall pegasus that has a mane long enough to braid. Pearl plays along, but goes with a mare with a crew-cut who likes small dogs. It was a bit of a shock, however sarcastic. Besides, we all know she’s already in a relationship. Patches considers the idea of a mare, but can’t bring herself to come up with one and goes back with the idea she had before.

The pizza shows up then and we take a small break to eat. Then we all look to Stitches. He ends up surprising us all by saying he’d like somepony he can protect.

We all look at him for a second. I don’t know what’s on the girl’s faces, but I’m sure I look confused, even a bit skeptical. He’s dead serious.

Patches makes sure to clarify that we’re just doing this for fun, obviously afraid of the scenario devolving in a similar way to before.

“I know,” he says. “I just felt like taking the opportunity to put it out there. I want somepony who needs me. And, more than anything…” He looks me straight in the eye. Somehow, I know what he’s trying to say. It has to be as obvious as I think it is; he wants me. The thought drives me insane! How could he be like this out of nowhere? I’ve never thought of him that way before. He’s always just been a coworker, or Patches’ little brother. In an instant, he looks away. “I feel tired of being the one everypony is looking after,” he finishes, looking away. “It’s like everyone thinks I’m weak.”

I have no idea what he’s feeling, but I feel like I understand him. I don’t know what to do next. I look at Patches. She looks back at me. “Maybe,” Pearl considers, “this game wasn’t such a good idea.”

Stitches gets an offended look on his face. “You think I’m not serious?”

I try to come to the rescue, saying, “Of course we do. We’ve just had a little too much serious today, and that’s not your fault.”

He looks ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he admits. “I’m a little tired I guess, and I just wanted to take a chance for you guys to know what I’m seriously feeling.”

Patches looks between me and Pearl, and we all silently agree. “We can take some more serious tonight,” she inspires. “Just as long as we’re all happy by bedtime.”

Stitches smiles at his sister, then at all of us. “Promise you won’t be mad?”

The girls promise, and I’m about to, but I can sense unease in him. Maybe…

“I’ll promise,” I tell him, “but can I be serious first for a moment?”

He gives me a strange look, like he can’t imagine why, but says, “Yeah, sure.”

I nod, trying to choose where to start. “I was nearly raped last night, after the party. I was on my way home through Centurion Park when it happened.” He has genuine concern on his face, which is just what I was hoping for. “I’m all right now. Something I did, or said, stopped him from getting very far. When he came to his senses, or whatever—” sorry, not very serious, “—I suddenly felt safe. It was a feeling I hadn’t felt in a long time. I was so confused by the feeling, and that it came upon me through the actions of a rapist. I… want to feel safe.” I can’t remember if I’d told him before, but I was telling him now. “I have always wanted somepony to make me feel safe.”

I selfishly guessed at what he wanted and was trying so hard to lean him toward me. I had plenty on my mind about it, thinking that I might have thought about being with him before, but I know I never got very far with those thoughts. He was just a friend, a good friend. Plus, I’d always believed he was straight. Now, with the possibility of having him, I’m saying all the right things without so much as a second thought.

He looks at me confused. He obviously knows I just told him that I am what he thinks he’s looking for, but he also had never planted the idea of being with me. I smile, mostly just glad at the chance of getting something I’d hoped for longer than I can remember right now. He swallows, nervous. I look down, also getting a bit of stage fright. I look at Patches, pleading with my eyes, almost asking her permission to go along with this. She looks away from Pearl with a face that says she lost a bet. I smile again, remembering how good Pearl happened to be at guessing a pony’s sexuality.

Patches smiles back, then smiles at her brother. Nothing is said, so I step closer. His eyes are the color of a dark pink blush, and his pupils seem noticeably enlarged. I know mine must be dilated as well. The thought of having somepony to be with. To lay with. I really do feel in love. I hate myself, for a second, knowing I’d have to write it down but hating the thought of accidentally writing a cheesy romance. I push the thought away though. The moment is more important.

It was not my first kiss. That will always hold a special place in my mind, chained down by the emotions of the memories of incidents surrounding it. I felt like making a different choice; I let him kiss me. We both already knew it was what we wanted, and that it was going to—or otherwise should happen, right now. I closed my eyes. Let him come to me. It was beautiful.

It started off just between our lips. I dared to take it farther, opening my jaw, spreading our lips and venturing to unknown flavors. He smelled of spearmint, and pepperoni. The flavor of his mouth felt like a drug. I wanted to think of what I smelled like, but he obviously didn’t care, high on the sensation like I was. He indulged my experiment and we kissed endlessly. I reached my tongue into his mouth, wrestling with his, brushing against his teeth lightly. His tongue creeped into my mouth, sending shivers down my spine. I had never done anything like this. And now, just maybe, I could have it for good.

He broke off and brushed his cheek against mine, moving his head past my muzzle and down to rest on my shoulder. We hugged and a sound he made brought me back to a time when I would hug Minty Swirl. Just like back then, I couldn’t tell if he was laughing, or crying. He clarified, “God, we are dumb.”

I instantly knew what he meant. “I know,” I agreed, holding him closer. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” I hear him sigh and think he’s sad about something. He did laugh, didn’t he?

He holds me incredibly tightly I almost feel crushed. I loved the feeling though. “I just never thought…” He breaks away and looks into my eyes. His pupils are normal-sized, considering the dimming light outside. “I never imagined you needing protecting.”

I sigh, with a smile. “Well, just like you,” I probe, “there are some things you don’t know about me.” I was referencing the idea that none of us really knew he was gay, if he truly was. It was up to him.

A look on his face makes me think he’s ashamed of a secret. Maybe the one we just learned, or one he still has hidden. I try to comfort him—like the boyfriend I hope to be. “Hey,” I tell him, caressing his neck, “I’m here. We can protect each other.” I had never really humored the idea, but it was the ideal relationship. I knew that what I wanted was selfish, and I was ok with that. But, now that my goal was so close I needed to lasso it in, then nurture it.

He smiles at me, then frowns again. I frown, too, concerned. “I just…” he stops to think, leaving me in dreadful suspense. Don’t cut me off, I beg you. “I don’t want to move too fast.”

My brain sighs, knowing I haven’t let the fish off the line yet. “Obviously,” I say, trying to play back into the “good friends” atmosphere. Because, in the end, we still will be the best of friends, just a little closer. “It’s getting pretty late,” I point out. “Somepony’s got to get these girls home.” I had barely given a second thought to the mares in my apartment for the past three minutes. I knew they were still there, but they didn’t matter. They had looks of ease on their faces, mixed with joy. “Plus, I’ve got to work tomorrow.” His shift didn’t start at the same time as mine, and I wasn’t sure if he actually worked on Mondays. Regardless, I needed an excuse to get them out. We both needed a little time to soak in the thoughts of what happened. He should be able to do it, even with his sister around. But we can’t be together tonight.

As they head out the door, he stops once more to say something. “And just so we’re clear,” he says, much more at ease, “no matter what happens, we’ll always be friends.”

At that time I smile, and agree whole-heartedly. A few seconds later, I panic, thinking he didn’t really intend to take our relationship anywhere. I brush off the idea, knowing he needed me the same way I needed him. Plus, I only wanted to be happy tonight.

I made sure to get it all written down quickly. Sorry if any of it’s a little incorrect, but not really. I had such a hard time keeping it in that whole time. But, now that it’s out, I can relax. Which is good, since I’ve got work tomorrow, and I’m glad a rapist won’t be the only thing on my mind.

Author's Notes:

In which I make you cringe with a title that implies something gross.

41 Lunch Break

I get up for work on time and have leftover pizza for breakfast. I clean myself up, brush my teeth, gather up everything I like to carry around and begin my walk to work. Pearl and I arrive at the front door at the same time, both with a peaceful smile. Work follows through smoothly for the few lonely hours early in the day. Gourdy was already there and already had several pastries baked.

Pearl and I serve drinks and light breakfasts to early-rising, hard-worker ponies and all-nighter, procrastinating business ponies. The sun eventually started coming up and the traffic picked up. Stitches and Patches show up right on time for the breakfast rush and everything runs smoothly. Everypony’s in a very good mood.

I keep throwing smiles at Stitches while he cleans off tables. Occasionally he’ll smile back and we’d keep working. I remember thinking, nothing can go wrong with this day.

Lunch doesn’t get too busy, it usually never is on Mondays. I clock out and prepare to leave, but decide to stick around for a little while. Stitches is going on break soon, and maybe he’d like to share lunch with me. I take a seat at a table off to the side and wait for Pearl to take my order. I tell her I’m waiting for Stitches.

She asks me if he knew I was waiting for him.

I felt embarrassed. “Actually, probably not.” At that moment I had forgotten I planned to wait for him to come around and clean off a table nearby, but what if he didn’t? Of course he would. But…

“I’ll let him know,” Pearl smirks. While she turns I stop her and ask for a cup of hot water and a mint tea. She goes “Yep,” and trots to the next waiting table.

I get my tea before Stitches shows up. Just as I’m putting the fourth packet of sugar in, he sits down. “So what’s for lunch?” He asks, casually.

I smile, replying, “I don’t know. What do you want?”

“Are you buying?” He prods.

“I never said that.” I say, defensively. We laugh for a bit, and it was truly special. Then I suggest, “How about his new taco salad wrap?” Gourdy enjoyed experimenting with his foods. This one had all the fixings of crunchy taco, wrapped in a wheat tortilla. Neither of us had tried it yet, and it sounded pretty good to me.

“Hmm,” he considers the thought. “No thanks. I’m not really a fan of tacos.”

I scowl at him. “Well I’m getting one. You can order something more mainstream.”

He scoffs, “Since when is this restaurant mainstream?”

We laugh some more, then chat about current events. We talk about the new play at “my theater.” He brings up news from the school he’s going to, about how his psychology professor got married this weekend. I tell him to be ready for a homework assignment on “The Joys of Marriage.”

We order our food and keep talking. I tell him about book ideas I’ve had and he gives me more ideas about characters. His knowledge on psychology puts a lot into my mind about my characters, and I stop for a second to think about the things I’ve done to some of them that have developed them so fully.

Once we get our food we both eat in silence. I notice that we both like to eat rather quickly, barely taking pauses to breathe or drink. There isn’t much time to chat while our muzzles are stuffed. I fill up on my wrap first, and he’s still chowing down on his pot pie. I watch him eat and love the way he looks. I’ve taken a long look at him before, differentiating what I love and don’t. He’s got a combed-back mane style that he pulls off perfectly. His pinkish eyes and their gloss. I love how sturdy his shoulders are, and his all-around sturdy physique, right down to his firm glutes. Yet despite their firmness, they still look round and soft, complementing the blue-green, three-pointed star that was his cutie mark. His chest curves nicely with his body, flattening out to his fit abdomen. And his legs… I don’t really know, I just like them.

Back to his face; he has a bit of a habit of licking his lips a lot, and sometimes it bothers me, sometimes it just makes me laugh. His cheeks are a kind of flat, and he has bags under his eyes. That might just be today though. His jaw is sharp, and his chin is kind of pointed. Looking at him now, I don’t care that he looks exhausted, or that his cheekbones aren’t as high as mine; everything’s attractive. I can’t stop looking at him.

At last I have to say something, “I’m so happy to have this.”

He wipes gravy from the corner of his mouth and asks, “What?”

I smile. “Us.” When did I get so corny?

He smiles, but looks down. He frowns again, and I can tell he’s thinking hard. “I’m glad you’re happy,” he says, “and I’m happy to be your friend.” My smile dies suddenly. “I just… Our kiss was outstanding,” for a second I contemplate his word usage, then I realize what’s coming, “but I just don’t know if I’m ready for ‘us.’” He looks me in the eye with regret. For Kissing me, or for breaking it off? I can’t tell. “I thought I wanted… somepony like you. I still do, just… I don’t know if a stallion was the right choice.”

He’s going back on his feelings. Maybe he feels threatened by society, and doesn’t want to be gay? I feel like reassuring him, but I can’t find the words. Besides, what if that’s not it? What if he just isn’t gay? I have a hundred other theories at the same time, and he’s quiet while it sinks in. I want to ask him which of my ideas is true, why he’s cutting me off. Is it my fault? Did I ruin the sensation for him by coming on too strong? Did I misjudge him before, assuming he wanted me when he meant something else entirely? Did he only kiss me to humor me? Did he feel sorry for me?

Blaming myself, I have no reason to be mad, or even remotely upset, at him. I steel my emotions. “Ok,” I say.

“…Ok?” He begs.

“Yeah,” I assure, managing a kind grin. “Ok. I might not know why you’ve made this decision, but I’m ok with that. I don’t want to force you into a relationship you don’t want.”

He looks down again. “I never said I didn’t want it.”

It takes every ounce of my willpower not to explode. (What?) I know, calm down. (No! That’s basically exactly what he just said)

I ignore Aura, fearing that I might respond to him out loud and confuse my current conversation.

“I don’t know what I want,” Stitches continues, “and right now you’re my best friend. I don’t want to throw that away just to risk what could be a relationship.”

(But you wouldn’t risk one if we just had one!) Hush.

“I understand,” I tell him. I don’t know if it’s true, but I just want him to feel better already. Aura’s mentally screaming at me, but I continue to ignore him. “So, we’ll just keep being friends. That’s all we need.” (That is all we need. Just another friend.) I don’t need the sarcasm.

Stitches smiles at me. “Thanks,” he says.

I smile back, sympathetically. I want to break down, ask him all kinds of questions and insist he at least give “us” a chance. I don’t. I can’t give him that kind of stress.

I let him clean up and get back to work. I have to get ready to go back to Bridleway.

I’m sure you’ve noticed I don’t talk about my time at the theater a whole lot. Or, maybe you haven’t. I didn’t start early enough to do so. Well, I don’t like writing about my time at the theater, because it’s a lot of the same stuff. Sure every day is different in that the actors and directors always work on a different part of the play each day, but it always feels the same. The actors and actresses are always really demanding, the directors are even more so, and anypony there that’s paid to be there bosses me around like they own the place. I’m thinking that now that I’ve gotten a taste of show business I can give up on it. It obviously isn’t what I wanted, and I’m not just saying that because I’m a meaningless intern.

My dream is to write plays one day. From my experience, the playwrights have almost nothing to do with the production once it’s written. They and the directors edit the script together, and occasionally the playwright will show up to the stage during hell week and see if the play is what they envisioned. I can never tell if they’re satisfied, and often joked with myself that they do a better job acting than the ones on-stage.

In the end, I don’t know if I need to be there for the productions. I doubt I need this kind of experience in order to write the plays. I might quit.

Anyway, “Stallion of the Sea” happens to be almost exactly what I predicted, with most of the story happening in a mare’s dreams. In the end, she tragically kills herself to be with this imaginary stallion. Everypony’s going to love hearing about this tomorrow.

42 Finding Future

I got up on time again today, like always. Usually, the monotony of routine drives me insane, but the variety of working at the café, plus the adventure of the theater, keeps me alive. This morning, I had the pleasure of looking forward to the awkwardness of hanging around with Stitches. I fully expected him to be completely over it. He was yesterday, after all, thinking about how he acted before lunch, so there’s no reason he wouldn’t be 100% normal again today. Now it was completely up to me to carry on the pretense of normalcy.

Pearl trotted up to the door a few minutes late and apologized while unlocking it. Gourdy was already inside baking. “Why doesn’t Gourdy just open the front door?” I inquire while Pearl gets the door open.

“Because,” she answers, “he’s distracted with his cooking. If it weren’t for me, or us, this door might never open, and he’d never get customers.”

She couldn’t have been completely serious, but I got the point.

As we made our way inside I was about to bring up the news I had. She beat me to it, turning around abruptly and stopping me in my tracks. “You’ll never believe what Cosh told me last night!”

I’m startled by her sudden action and take too long to react. I was about to just say “Ok” kinda slowly, when a sassier remark came into my mind.

By then it was too late. “Apparently,” she begins while turning back around, “a strange stallion turned himself in and demanded to be arrested for attempted sexual assault.”

Yet again I’m startled, “Seriously?”

“Well,” she mumbles, “technically the guy said ‘attempted raping,’ but the police have proper terms for everything.”

“Wait,” I stop to think. A thought comes up, “Is it ok for you to be telling me this? I mean, should Cosh have told you?”

She shrugs. She puts her purse in the back room, then continues, “The mysterious stranger admitted to the crime, saying he came to his senses and let the ‘victim’ go free before any harm was done.”

“So,” I incline, “where is this going?” I already know what she’s thinking; that this strange stallion is likely the one I encountered in the park. I just wanted to make sure I still sounded interested.

“Duh!” She mocks. “Were you not just attacked and nearly raped?”

“Well yes,” I admit, “but the guy you’re talking about never said he was at Centurion Park.”

“Yes he did,” she corrects. “Didn’t I say that?” I shake my head. “Oh, well he did.” I drop my saddle bags beside her purse and follow her out to the front. I start brewing coffee while she puts up the “Open” sign. “So the guy’s name is Lavandula, but says he goes by Lavan. His family’s foreign, his dad’s a florist.”

“So,” I take a moment to think about everything, “I was almost raped by ‘lavender,’ who then went and turned himself in?” I feel like the name Lavender is familiar, which makes me feel uncomfortable. I shrug off the feeling.

“Is that his name?” She asks, tying her apron using magic. “Hm. Well, yeah. He pleaded guilty and they locked him right up. Or so I’m told.”

“That’s interesting.” It’s true. I really never thought I’d hear about that guy again, let alone know his name. “Maybe I’ll pay him a visit some time.” I turn, asking Pearl to tie my apron for me.

Pearl chuckles. “Yeah I’ll take you there. I’d love to meet him, tell him what I think about him.”

“And what do you think about him?” I inquire.

“I think he’s got some explaining to do.”

“Tch, yeah he does.” It hadn’t crossed my mind yet at that point, but she was right. I really wanted to know why he stopped, and even why he started. I never thought of it before, but the thought process of a rapist was suddenly very compelling to me. Maybe it was just this one guy? “Was he a pegasus?” I found myself asking without thinking.

Pearl gives me a strange, suspicious look. “Yes, I believe he was. Why?”

“No reason,” I play, hoping she’ll write it off as part of my quirky behavior. (But Timber! You don’t have a quirky behavior!) Technically, no. But with a little luck, she won’t realize that.

We prepare the café for its first customers. The air of our conversation switches from curious to dangerous. She asks again why I wanted to know about the rapist. I glance at her pleadingly asking to change the subject. She does, without a second thought, asking instead if I’ve read any good books lately. It goes on like that for some time.

I forgot what I was going to tell her earlier, but remember when Stitches walks in. He and I smile at each other. I smile at Patches, too, since we’re all friends equally. There are no pedestrians at the moment, but I know that will change soon; everypony wants breakfast. The breakfast rush is never that big, but in such a small establishment, it’s a meaningful difference.

I take the moment of business silence to strike up the conversation. “I got the new script last night.”

They all react with an “Ooo.” Patches is the first to ask, “So, who was right about their guess?”

I smile. “The answer will shock you,” I tease. “But first I want to know whose guess you all think was right.”

Patches and Pearl each raise an eyebrow, Stitches snickers. I laugh a bit, too. Pearl speaks up, “You want us to bet on each other’s guesses?”

“Oh, he just knows he’ll win!” Patches accuses. “He already has Stitches on his side.”

I notice Stitches is standing rather close. I look at him with a knowing smile. Not in a way that meant I was right about him, more that I know I was right about my guess. I expected him to react similarly, backing me up. Instead he has a look of guilt, avoiding eye contact and sliding a few centimeters away. The girls look between us and I can tell they’re suspicious and/or worried about us. Last they knew, I’m sure, was that we kissed and were officially together. Unless he told his sister otherwise, Pearl and Patches have reasonable reactions.

“All right I’ll just tell you,” I pop the bubble. The tension was driving me nuts, and I hadn’t even gotten to the good part. “I was right.”

They let out a collective groan. At least, I think Stitches did. Regardless, they all seemed annoyed that I was right all along.

“Most of the interesting parts happen in the mare’s dreams,” I explain. “She dreams about the ocean a lot, and a sailor she thinks she met.”

“Ooo, a romance,” Pearl swoons.

“Ugh, a romance,” Patches gags.

Stitches and I laugh. This time I’m certain he does, too. Then I go on, “Actually, that’s not all.” The girls’ eyes widen with childish anticipation. “Once she learns that she never really met the stallion, that he’s just in her imagination, she kills herself thinking she’ll get to be with him.”

“Ooo, tragedy!” Patches beams.

Pearl just rolls her eyes. We all laugh for a bit, then the front door bell rings and we get back to work. Whenever Pearl and I end up back behind the counter at the same time we talk more. She tells me she might be interested in seeing this play. She considers bringing Cosh, even though he’s not a big fan of theater. I tell her I might be able to get her tickets, “If I’m still working there.”

She’s stunned, “What do you mean?”

“Well,” I sigh, stirring caramel into a coffee cup, “I’ve come to find that I’m not that in to show business.”

“But I thought it was your dream!”

“It was my dream to write plays for Bridleway,” I tell her, “but that doesn’t seem to be happening any time soon.”

“Hm,” Pearl seems to sink deep into thought. I collect an order from Gourdy and deliver it, letting her think while she tends to patrons at the bar. When I get back to her she gives me her thought, “Well maybe you’re just going in the wrong direction?”

I give her a quizzical look. “Well, how would I know?”

She looks around, bewildered. “I don’t know! Ask!”

Ask? Ask who? I was already told so much about my future by the director, the one who hired me. He told me that with the experience I’d get I’d be running shows my own way before I knew it. I don’t want to be running shows, but maybe that wasn’t all I could do? “Maybe you’re right.”

“I bet I am,” she gloats. “Whatever they might be telling you, or whatever you might learn on your own, it can’t be the whole story. I know you.” She puts a hoof on my shoulder. I suddenly realize I’m getting tired of everypony’s real-talk. I know, back in school I had friends that often wouldn’t take me seriously. Our relationships were based around our sense of humor, and everything any of us did was hilarious to the other, one big joke. I would have given anything to be taken seriously back then. So why now do I feel fed-up with all of the seriousness?

She shakes me a little bit and I snap back, unaware I had stopped listening and started thinking about real-talk. I exhale deeply through my nose and she asks if I’m feeling all right. “Yeah,” I tell her, “I think so.”

“Listen, I know you. You have a tendency to expect the worst, and then accept it, even when it doesn’t happen.” I think about how she’s analyzing me, and that I didn’t like to be analyzed. She doesn’t know that, though, so I let her continue. “You don’t like to ask ponies for clarity, because you’re always so sure about everything.” She’s being rather critical, but I let her continue. “If I wasn’t your friend, I’d probably call you an idiot for living like this, and you are.” I absorb the insult, and let her finish. “But I am your friend, so I won’t call you an idiot. Even though… I totally just did. Look, my point is you can get more if you look for it. And if you can’t find it, make it.”

I ponder the thought for a moment, utterly confused. “What is ‘it’?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Your future.” I’m hit by the wisdom hard and hold my breath for a few seconds. The world goes silent. Ponies bantering in the background, the door’s bell clanging, or any of the sounds in the kitchen don’t exist. This shouldn’t be so groundbreaking for me, but it is. “You’ve already been shut down by Stitches, it doesn’t take a genius to figure that out. That doesn’t mean you can’t find a future with him. It might just not be the one you expected. As for Bridleway…” she pauses, letting me figure out what she means.

I immediately know what she wants me to say, “Make it.” She nods. I think I get it, so I nod back. She smiles, then somepony calls for a refill and she rushes off with a pot of coffee to fill his cup. I’m left thinking about what I was just told. Could it really be possible? Do I have the potential to make my own future, given what I have now?

43 Forget Sleep

I felt a lot better after what Pearl said to me. I didn’t have any kind of regret toward Stitches, and I didn’t feel afraid to work toward my dream.

There was something I wanted to do though, even though I hadn’t known I wanted to. After the end of my shift, I stopped Stitches in his path. He had a tub of dishes under one wing, I took it from him and put it down. Then I hugged him. I just felt so satisfied, justified almost. I told him thank you, and he hugged me back. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask why, just held me. I had the thought that I might never feel his body like this again. Then I reminded myself I could have it whenever I wanted. He liked hugs, and I liked hugs. Just because we weren’t together didn’t mean we couldn’t have hugs. I loved the idea of hugging him endlessly, and possibly without context. He might be confused, but he was my comfort until I got something better, and he’d have to deal with it. That might sound selfish, and I guess it is, but he always wanted to be looked to, instead of at. He said that, didn’t he? That he wanted to be the one looking after somepony else? Instead of always being looked after? Did I write that down? Maybe my wording just now didn’t illustrate it that well, but he did say something like that before.

Anyhow, I’m in such a good mood right now. Writing this down, I’m almost out of ink. I’d better go soon so I can pick some up before I get to the stage. Today’s going to be mostly music, so I should get a chance to talk to the stage director. I refuse to leave without speaking my mind and getting some answers! I’ll go over what I want to ask him on my way over.

I approached the stage director feeling confident. It was a false confidence, but it was still better than feeling ready to faint. I don’t know why I’m getting myself so excited. Pearl told me to at least try to get my hopes up for once: expect the best outcome and relish it when it comes.

I had to wait for a while, though. Despite my outright confidence, I still thought it best to wait until he had a free moment. He still seemed pretty busy, even during the break. He didn’t seem all that focused on anypony, and only ever on his stage notes. We’d only gone over scene one, in which the heiress is introduced being dressed up fancy for an arranged marriage. The lights rise with the curtain as the instruments crescendo and cue her starting note. The maids don’t sing, or really do anything but put her dress on while she sings her aria. In the end she ditches the wedding to sit in a lighthouse and watch boats leave the pier: the same lighthouse she jumps out of at the end of the play.

So I seize the moment of him taking a sip from his coffee to approach and offer my inquiry. Hmm… “Inquiry” might be a bit strong of a word there. Well, I ask him the question.

“Mister Call?” I begin. Without looking up from his binder, he grunts in response. “I just had a question about… well, about my future.” He looks up at me then. “I wanted to know what kind of position I might be eligible for if you ever considered me for advancement.”

He puts his binder down and speaks straight-forward. “I’m afraid it isn’t up to me to advance you. If you’re interested in finding another job with the same theater you’d have to apply with the producers. I’d be happy to refer you, seeing as you’re a very reliable worker.” I drop my head for a moment to think about it. I believe he sees this as a sign of defeat, and asks, “What was it you wanted to ‘advance’ to?”

I look back at him and answer, falteringly, “Uhh, writing. I wanted to write my own plays.”

He strokes his bristly facial hair—a clear sign of the untidy stress brought about by being a stage director. (How do ponies even grow facial hair?) “Have you written a script before?”

“Well, no,” I admit. “But, I have written a number of short stories, and I’ve read lots of scripts.” I feel childish, trying to convince this authority figure to give me a chance based on pretty much nothing. How could he possibly be taking me seriously right now? He’s not likely overworked yet, since we’ve recently ended one production and have only just started the next one, but he can’t possibly be so at ease that he’s willing to give up his time to support me.

(You know you’re doing it again.)

“Tell you what,” Curtain Call says.

I’m half listening, half talking to Aura in my head—Doing what?

(Expecting the worst.)

“Why don’t you bring me a draft of something?”

“I…” What are you talking about? No I’m not.

(You totally are. You were questioning why he was being so intrinsically nice. You wanted him to shut you down.) I notice the director raise an eyebrow at my hesitation.

“I understand you don’t have anything written right now. Take your time, I’ll read it when it’s finished.”

Well, I’m sorry. I guess it’s some kind of habit, I can’t control it. “I, uhh… Thank you.”

He smiles at me and nods, then goes back to reviewing his notes. (I suppose I don’t mind as much. I actually think it’s kind of nice to end up being wrong about negative expectations. But what would Pearl think if she knew?)

She doesn’t know. And stop harassing me, will you? I just got good news and don’t want you ruining it by stressing me out about pearl. The day’s almost over and I want to get started on that script.

(Just don’t forget to sleep.)

44 MPD

Sorry, it’s been a while, again. I’ve dedicated a lot of time to this new play. I’m sure he’ll like it. It’s completely original, I think, and has elements that can be changed and worked around. I didn’t write any music, since that’s not really what I do but I’ve made notes where I think a song would fit.

I came up with a love story set in a semi-futuristic, steam-powered city. Personally I’m interested in what the costume design team will come up with. The main stallion is an inventor who’s trying to invent a robot that will serve him like a maid, but it’s distracting him from his social life, and from his hired assistant, who has fallen madly in love with him. I guess it does seem a little cliché, but there’s a part where the robot is almost done and gets sabotaged. It comes up right after a part where the assistant kind-of tells the inventor, and he thinks she was responsible, but really he just did it in his sleep. Then he finds out he didn’t need a robot, just somepony to love and they live happily ever after.

I still don’t know if it’s very good. The way I wrote it makes the dialogue seem real choppy and I feel like I have to add way more stage directions for the actors to follow. But that’s the thing about plays; most of the emotion is up to the actors. If there was a way I could just write the story and not have to come up with all these instructions, I think I’d be a lot happier.

Maybe I shouldn’t be a playwright. Maybe I should just be a novelist and leave it to more practiced ponies to write stage productions.

As of now, though, I don’t have to work at the café. I’ve already worked my four days this week, so I get Friday to myself. I should have probably used it to work on the script, but I just feel like procrastinating today. I’ve given all my free time to it so far, almost two weeks’ worth, I deserve a break. Don’t I?

I showed up for breakfast and Slalom was there. She relieved Pearl for the day, so we decided to hang out together. I had told Pearl of my luck with the director and she was certainly excited for me, but I hadn’t told her anything about the script. She hadn’t asked, either. So, in the approximate two weeks that I’ve had to work on it, she doesn’t know anything about it.

She was leading me through the city, and I wasn’t really paying attention where she was taking me. I figured now might be a good time to bring up my project. I usually preferred to talk to her privately. I still loved spending time with my other friends, but I didn’t really like to confide in them the same things I did with Pearl. I don’t do it on purpose, she just seems more like family, and the others are just good friends.

“So I’ve been working on the script,” I open.

“Script?” She reacts. After exchanging looks with me she smirks. “Oh yeah, your new play. What’s it even about?”

I told her everything about it, beginning to end. Occasionally she’d butt in with her opinion and I’d argue playfully, yet seriously. I’d kind-of respond just to humor her, but the whole time I kept my face real serious. She’d interrupt to tell me she thinks a song should go there, sometimes by singing out loud herself. It was embarrassing, but once I even chimed in, matching her key and carrying on the random melody with a grab-bag of lyrics with whatever came to mind. It was nonsense, but great fun.

In the middle of our song, a few memories came lurking to the front of my mind. First I remembered being selected from the rest of the middle-school chorus to sing a solo for an upcoming performance. I felt like I could do it, no problem; I loved singing, I was good at it, I knew the song, and I figured it’d be a good experience. The night of the concert was a different story, though. I sang the solo fine, but afterward Gravel told me he could barely hear me. I was terribly embarrassed, thinking if he couldn’t hear me that nopony could. I took a few more solos after that, if only to better myself. I haven’t pursued any singing since the end of high school. The choir was not really a thing I like to reminisce.

The second memory was of Dale singing songs with me. We had similar tastes in music, and whenever we were in the same room, listening to a song we both enjoyed we’d sing along. Sometimes, though, we’d just break out like Pearl and I were doing right now.

I snap back to reality and notice Pearl’s uncharacteristically quiet. She noticed I was remembering things, and let me do so on my own.

I cleared my throat and she knew I was back. “What were you thinking about?”

That’s how I knew she could tell. “Singing,” I told her, “from when I was younger.”

“Good or bad memories?” She asked, concerned.

I took a moment to answer, thinking hard about how to do so. I didn’t want to make her worry that I was now in a bad mood, or anything like that, but she’d be able to tell if I was lying. So, “Both, I guess.” She grinned a bit, and I knew she’d ask for more about that. Instead of bringing up the memories, I just explained. “It started off bad, but ended good. Thinking back, though, the bad wasn’t that bad. Especially since it really only made my future better.”

“That’s good,” she agreed.

We walked in silence for a while, and I was stuck thinking if she was letting me ponder some more, or if she herself was pondering something. What kind of things did she have to think about? Did they involve me? Were they good or bad?

The silence was killing me. “So where are we going?”

She chuckled a bit, likely amused that I waited this long to ask. “Oh, you’ll see.”

I think about keeping my next comment to myself, but figure I’ve got nothing to lose with her, “That makes me feel better.”

She laughs out loud some. I smile, though I was kind of serious. I straighten my glasses while she turns to me. “Why don’t you try to guess?”

I roll my eyes. “If I wanted to guess I wouldn’t have asked.”

“If I told you, I wouldn’t be trying to keep it a secret.”

“Big deal,” I grumble. “What good are secrets?”

“I don’t know, my secretly-gay friend, what are they good for?”

“O-oh no, that’s different.”

“Not really.”

I’m starting to get a little irritated. Whatever, she opened this can of worms. “That’s long-term, and can have some pretty serious repercussions depending on who knows, and when everypony knows it’s too unpredictable. As for this, the only reason for keeping the answer a secret would be the value of the surprise, for which I don’t much care. Telling anypony else wouldn’t have the same effect, but that also doesn’t matter because the surprise isn’t meant for them. And while revealing a secret like mine may have a similar surprise factor—“

“Timber,” Pear interrupts. I hadn’t noticed we’d stopped walking. “We’re here.”

The Manehatten Police Department. I immediately knew why she’d brought me here, and like floodwaters breaking through a dam, my thoughts drowned each other out trying to get to me. I’d probably take up too much ink and paper writing down every thought that came to mind. Pearl said something—I think it was a comment on the size of my recent paragraph—while she opened the front door to the office building. When she looked back I was staring at the “MPD” sign above the door.

“Hey,” she called, reviving me. “It won’t be bad. Just…” I could see the water wheel in her head while thoughts were evenly dispensed to her, helping her think of the right idea. “Just meet Cosh. He can tell us where your, uhh, attacker is. Then we can decide whether or not to go see him.” I’m still unsure, looking at the ground carefully, wishing something would break through the sidewalk and eat me whole. “Or, not.” She has her hoof on my shoulder now.

I look up and purse my lips, as in “I really don’t want to, but don’t want to let you down.”

“If nothing else,” she smiles kindly, “meet Cosh.”

As if on cue, a tall officer comes through the front door calling Pearl’s name. “The receptionist told me she saw you out here. What’s going on?” He turned to me. “Who’s this?” The tone was polite, but not the least bit friendly, and the look on his face suggested he felt threatened by me.

“Cosh, this is Timber,” Pearl comes to my rescue. “The, hmm, victim I told you about?”

His eyes softened suddenly. “Oh, this is him?” He’s still looking at me. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry about what happened.” I expect him to shake a hoof with me, but he’d rather assert dominance by wrapping it around his girlfriend. “There’s a lot of gross ponies out there.”

I can’t tell if he means homosexuals, or just rapists. (Ignore it.) “Well,” I say, sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck, “honestly, I’d almost forgotten about it. It was quite a while ago.”

“But something like that must have scarred you pretty bad,” he said. He sounded like every jock I knew growing up, but Pearl seemed to like something about him, and she was not somepony to pick a stallion for his thick-headedness alone.

I bite my tongue, wanting to say something, not knowing what, and hoping I was letting off an agitated atmosphere to let him know to back-off. I could be held responsible for my actions, even if provoked. The guy was on-duty, after all.

Pearl came to my rescue again, however. “That’s kind of the thing,” she said. “Umm.”

She wasn’t sure if she had my permission. She didn’t want to ask about it if I didn’t want her to.

“What thing?” Cosh said, but we ignored him. Pearl and I had our eyes locked together. I couldn’t read her mind, but I felt like she was trying very hard to save me from Cosh, but without betraying me. I had to think of something. Something to save her from herself.

“Nothing,” I spit-ball. “The truth is I’m an author. I had an idea for a book and wanted to talk to the rapist, for research.”

“Really?” The flabbergasted smile really pissed me off, but I kept it pleasant. “Do authors really have to do all that extra work?”

I felt like saying something along the lines of “I know it’s hard to believe for somepony who didn’t even study for a school test,” but again I manage to maintain a pleasant demeanor.

“Well,” he gives in, with a really stupid smile, “Lavandula is being held in the penitentiary downtown. I don’t really know how long he’s in for, since he turned himself in. Uhh, yeah. Anything else?” I notice that he doesn’t seem to be threatened by me any longer, as if an intellectual like myself isn’t on the same level as him, or his girlfriend.

“No, I think that’s everything,” I tell him, hoping he’ll stop talking and we can leave.

“Yeah he seemed really torn up when he came in that morning.” He’s talking about Lavan now. “He wasn’t crying, but the look on his face had me really worried.” Maybe he does have a good side.

45 Lavandula

Thinking back, I don’t feel like my sour feelings were entirely called for, but I’m sure you can understand my reaction. Thinking on it—really thinking—he’s not such a bad guy. Sure he’s kind of dumb, at least compared to me. Not to be mean, but really, he was. Maybe I’m just trying to make myself feel better after hating so hard on my best friend’s boyfriend. It’s just, now that I’m alone thinking about him he obviously wasn’t being a dick on purpose. Seeing how much Pearl was caring for me, and not knowing I didn’t swing that way, he obviously felt threatened.

Anyway, Pearl talked to me about him for a while, on our way downtown. Cosh called us a taxi and we got to ride all the way to the penitentiary for free. We turned down the police escort, claiming we weren’t in any hurry, and Pearl was sure he had other things to do. Really, she just knew I didn’t want to be around him anymore.

She tried really hard to convince me that he was a good pony, and I really wanted to believe her. “When I met him, it was like something from a book. I’m sure you know what that’s like. I was still working a few shifts a week at the pizza place when he came in. It was just a few months ago. He was by himself, said he preferred pizza to what the rest of his college buddies were after, but he actually just recently told me he was just looking for me. Said he saw me and fell in love. He really is a nice guy, and I guess I’m kind of a sucker for romance. He always considers my ideas and never forces me to do anything he wants to do. We have our arguments, but like, that’s healthy. We negotiate and make agreements. Neither of us is less happy than the other.”

I let her go on like that. I let her get to me, convince me of his good intentions. Mostly I just don’t want to think about meeting Lavandula. I know part of me wanted to ask him all these questions, but other parts of me are afraid of him. Some of me wishes I could just know, while one little part of me thinks I should have done this a long time ago.

I try hard to listen to Pearl, but my mood is stuck between bitterness and fear and she thinks they’re both linked to Cosh, as if she’d forgotten why we went to him in the first place. I’m really only bitter toward Cosh because of his immediate body language presented upon seeing me, followed by his reaction to actually knowing me. We weren’t friends, but he acted like we were “college buddies.” Listening to Pearl talk about him though, I felt like I might like him as a boyfriend, too.

He was a good guy, I believed that much. I also believed that, given time, we could be friends, but I know I wouldn’t go out with him. For starters, he’s dating Pearl. Secondly, he’s obviously, irrevocably straight. Third, I’m not much for old-school romances. Plus, he was a little too well-built in my opinion. His forelegs and chest were rippling, but his rear-end seemed disturbingly neglected by comparison. He had a painfully generic face and mane-style, as a uniformed police officer.

I should thank Pearl later for distracting me so well during the ride.

The taxi driver pulls up to the front door of the visitor’s center and lets us out. Pearl leads me in and tells the first guard that we’re visiting Lavandula. The guard says they’d just gotten a call from the MPD, and that they were expecting us. Lavandula had been notified, and was ready. It all seemed a bit too easy, but I didn’t complain. I had already come this far: I might as well get what I came for, whatever that was.

Pearl suggested she stay behind, confident I could handle him myself. I agreed, though warily. I wanted her in the same room, just for my sake.

Lavandula followed a guard through a door to a seat on the other side of a thick safety window. I could only look at him. He was a sturdy pegasus, with a dirty white mane falling in neat little curls past his sand-colored cheeks, nearly to his shoulders. I couldn’t get a great look at his body, thanks to the baggy orange jumpsuit he had to wear, but he had a surprisingly gentle face. His jaw line was straight but soft, lined with unkempt stubble from lack of care in such a dreadful place as prison. He had a face that seemed to never smile; not a wrinkle. His eyes were baggy, probably with sleepless nights surrounded by worse ponies than himself. I couldn’t think of anything to say. “You don’t belong here.”

What was I thinking? “What makes you say that?”

As if proving my point, he speaks with the diction of a practiced public speaker. I feel like I could get an eloquent speech from him if I asked. Well, maybe not in this situation. I expected some kind of accent, though, knowing his foreign origins, but he speaks so clearly. “I… I don’t know. I mean,” I remind myself why he’s in here, “you didn’t really rape me.”

“But close enough for prison time, apparently.”

I sigh. “I can tell you think you belong here, but the fact that you stopped proves otherwise.” I pause and let him think. “There’s something else in you. You’re no predator.”

“You’re wrong,” he said. “I may not really be as dangerous as you remember, but I made a choice. That choice couldn’t have lead anywhere but here.”

“Except that you made another choice, one that made the first choice null.” I’m trying really hard to tell him something he doesn’t want to hear. I’m trying to convince him of what he is, when he knows that that is what he is not. He doesn’t belong here, but he only believes he does. “Just, tell me why you stopped.”

His lavender eyes sparkle, wet. He blinks hard and slams a hoof on the table. A guard behind him reacts, but stays put. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

I want to say something else, convince him to open up to me. I want to help him, but I don’t know how. What can I say?

Pearl comes up from behind me, once again saving my flank with her quick-thinking and speech-craft. “Lavandula, this is Timber. My name is Pearl, I’m Timber’s friend and I’m really worried about him. He’s really worried about you though, and to make him feel better, I have to help you. I can tell you’re a nice guy, and he can, too. You owe it to yourself to have a friend who wants to help. And you owe it to Timber to try. For his sake.”

I don’t appreciate the way she’s talking about me like I’m not right here, but I thank her for helping, especially since it worked. “I just,” Lavan began, “I can’t believe you’d want to be friends with me.” I never thought I’d want to be friends, but after meeting him I really do. I nod pleasantly, smiling. “I…”

Something’s tearing him apart. I don’t want to hurt him. “It’s ok. I understand if you don’t want to.”

He blinks back tears, then looks back at me. “I’m… gay.”

I can’t contain the shock. I’m afraid I might have offended him with my reaction, so I try to give him something else. “Really?” Curiosity, and an accepting smile.

He nods slowly. He looks around, to the other visitors booths. They’re all empty, so he turns back. “My father was somewhat of a drunk and thought he could scare me into being straight; the son he wanted…”

Pearl cut in with a gasp, “He raped you?”

He was looking away, ashamed. “He said that’s what it was like. I never told anypony. He said if I told anyone that I really did like it, and that he’d do it again. It was dreadful, but it was all I knew. When I left home, I didn’t know what I wanted. I still thought I was gay, but never knew anything but what he did to me. I liked stallions, thought they looked better than mares, I guess. I like stallions for their, you know, bodies…”

“I get it,” I tell him. He nods, like he accepts that I understand. I don’t feel like he gets what I’m saying so I elaborate. “I’m gay, too.”

He makes a little nod, “I… kind of knew that.” I’m a little startled, but kind of believe him. “I followed you from the bar. You seemed to like the party you had, I was a little drunk. I was confused, because I didn’t know how to act with other stallions. All I knew…”

“Was what your father did,” Pearl finished for him.

He nodded. “So, I drunkenly pursued an appeasement for my urges. I figured I could overpower you,” he said to me, “so I followed you into the park. When we were alone…”

We all knew what happened after that.

“But when I saw your face,” he continued. “You… you were crying. And then you said—“

“’Not like this…’” I input. I didn’t even know I remembered at that point, but it came out like I was reciting it.

He nodded again, looked down. “I didn’t want to be my father.”

I put a hoof against the glass, expecting it to help him feel better. He was looking away again and didn’t even notice. I had to say something. What could I say? “I wouldn’t want to be like that either.”

His eyes go wide, and he looks at me like he didn’t even know I was here. Then he looks angry. “Wouldn’t want to be like me?”

I retract my hoof, almost afraid. “That’s not what I—“

“Not what you meant?” He stands, and the guard behind him reacts again but keeps his position. “So you just don’t want to be like my father?”

I’m panicking; this should not be happening. Was what I said really that offensive?

“My father was a brave man. He came to Equestria by himself to start a business and a family.”

What could have brought this on? I realize I’m leaning back reflexively, afraid. I try to relax, but I really am afraid. I said something, one little thing that I thought would help, and it only made things a hundred times worse.

Pearl comes back in then, “He was only agreeing with you. You’re the one that said—“

“Yeah I know what I said, but what gives you the right to talk about my father like that?”

I’m starting to cry. “It was a mistake, I only wanted to help…”

“Well it was a mistake for you to come here.” He steps away from the window, and the guard steps up from his spot near the wall. “Goodbye, Timber Quill.”

What?

Pearl steps closer to me, rests a hoof on my shoulder as we both watch an innocent stallion escorted back to a cell full of ponies with whom he didn’t belong.

I watch in dread at the thought of destroying my only chance. (Chance at what?) I don’t even know. “What went wrong?”

46 Bipolar

The taxi was gone when we made it back outside. It’s just past noon and I remember I have to get ready for work again. There isn’t much I have to do, so I assume it’s safe to walk home. Pearl tries to reassure me, tells me he’s likely just bi-polar, that what I said next didn’t really make any difference. That it was all on him at that point. It doesn’t help. I feel like it should, like it should take the guilt off since it wasn’t really my fault, but I feel the same.

“I just… I feel like I’ve missed an opportunity of some kind.”

She takes a few seconds to process then responds, “Like, you might have been with him?” I don’t know how to respond. “Is that what you mean?”

I assume that she’s clarifying, like clarity is the lesson she took away from the meeting. “I guess,” I tell her. “I don’t know.”

Silence follows for a short while after. I’m processing thoughts at a hundred miles an hour, trying to think of something I might say if I get another chance. Or things I should’ve said.

Pearl comes back in quietly, “You okay?”

At first I just shrug. I had been thinking, and really, there’s nothing I should be upset about, so I can truthfully tell her, “I’m fine.” But that’s not everything. “I just wish there was something we could do.” I really do feel better, but I have that nagging feeling. Almost like we gave up too soon.

She takes a second, and I notice we’ve finally gotten back to the crowded part of the city. “You wanna break him out?”

I smile, which was her intention. “I don’t think that would help us out at all.”

There’s an uneasy tension as we walk; I can tell Pearl wants to keep talking, keep her mind off it or something. I mostly just want to think quietly, but what kind of friend would that make me?

“I think you’re right, though,” I tell her.

“About what?” She asks right away.

“The bipolar thing.” I know she wants to know why I think that, and the answer comes suddenly to me. “He wasn’t drunk. Stitches was drunk that night, you could smell it on him. Lavandula was clean, fresh…”

“Sober?” Pearl sounds astonished. “Seriously?”

I nod, though I don’t really know how I remembered. I don’t know what to say next and wait for her to continue. She just keeps exhaling briskly, astonished. Sorry for using the same adjective twice but I can’t think of anything better. Fascinated, maybe? Mortified? No, it’s not like it scarred her.

While she reacts aghast, I’m suddenly thinking about Stitches. I welcome the distraction, though manage to dread it simultaneously. I want to know what it was that made him act the way he did, if it was anything at all. I mean, it had to have been something, right? Is it ever anything like that for me?

I want to know what he was thinking, both when he started feeling that way, and when he stopped. If he stopped. Did he really think he was in to stallions? Or was it just me? If so, why did he second guess it?

I remember Pearl is beside me and feel like asking. “Do you think he really likes me?”

She looks at me curiously, then looks away in thought. “I mean, he did seem to like your body.”

I give her a startled, confused look. Then I realize she’s talking about Lavandula and suddenly the look on her face, her reaction to my reaction, makes perfect sense. “I mean Stitches,” I tell her.

She lets out a long “Oohh…” with a semi-relieved look. “Well, that’s kind of a hard one.”

I try to think of a better question. “Well,” I attempt, “do you think he’s really gay?”

“You know, I really thought he was, and I’m usually right,” I remember how she guessed my preference, “but if he really turned away from you I’m not sure. I mean, you’re irresistible.”

I roll my eyes, then smirk. I feel like I should say something witty, but can’t think of anything quick enough. Plus, I don’t know if I’m in the mood.

“What I mean is; he might not have been that drunk that night.” She pauses and I think about that for a second. “He might have known completely what he was doing, and maybe he wanted to try something real. As opposed to what you and him did during the party.”

I guess that makes sense. I don’t know if I should say anything, so I don’t at first. But her silence says she wants some confirmation. I don’t know if I want to keep digging, but there’s more to talk about, and if I can’t ask Stitches I might as well settle for Pearl’s “professional” opinion. “So, he does want something, just not with me?”

She inhales sharply. “It sounds a little harsh, but I think that’s it. I was probably just wrong about him.” I notice she’s walking pretty close, like she’s softening a blow of some kind. “He is pretty young, and it might have just been the end of a phase. He needed to act on it to find out for sure.” I think she’s done, but the silence is short. “And while we’re on the subject of his age…” She pauses awkwardly, trying to think quickly of what exactly to say. “I mean, he’s older than you, true, but younger than Patches and me. It’s just that… he doesn’t want to be treated like a child, and since you were younger he thought he could feel mature by dating you. I think.”

That makes a lot of sense. I feel a satisfied smile crawl across my lips. Pearl sees it and sighs. She did a good job avoiding disaster for one day. Then, once that thought crosses my mind I feel guilty. I feel like I put unnecessary stress on her and thoughts start flooding again, leading all the way back to the start of the day, eventually back to my birthday party and how since all of this started she’s been focusing so much of her time on me. I can feel my heartbeat hasten to a steady beat and I fight not to let any heavy, noticeable breaths out. I’m panicking, but Pearl can’t know.

“You wanna get lunch?” I ask suddenly, trying to distract myself.

“You sure? You might be late.” She has a point, but I’m suddenly afraid to go to the theater. If I have a panic attack I can’t manage, there won’t be anything I can do there. “I guess it won’t be all bad,” Pearl continues. “You’ve had perfect attendance so far, right?”

“Right,” I assure. “What’s one late entry?”

“Come to think of it, you could probably get away with a sick day!”

I do a kind-of double-take and make myself chuckle. “That might be pushing it.”

“I doubt it,” she says. “You’ve worked there over a year with perfect attendance. Not a single sick day, even a mental health day, zero vacation time, they’re almost over-working you.”

“I don’t know about that—“

“Well I do, you’re calling in sick.”

I’m flabbergasted, really. How can she be so adamant about making me skip a day of work? “What am I even going to do all day?”

“Hmm.” Her excitement has hastened her pace to a brisk canter and I’m struggling to keep up. “Well we never actually got you any presents for your birthday.”

“Oh please,” I groan.

“What? We didn’t.”

“The party was plenty. And the after party, or whatever it was. Don’t spend any more money on me.” I feel like she might stress me out if she does give me too much attention.

“Oh come on, it’s just some fun times with friends.”

“Right, but it can’t just be the two of us. Anyway yeah, what if Patches and Stitches don’t have the time?”

“They have plenty of time.” It’s quite a promise, but she and I both know it’s true. “They hardly get any school work, and they both get it all done early anyway. Always. You know that.” I nod. “Then it’s settled.”

“Wait no—“

“I’ll call your boss or whatever, tell him you got a serious throat sore.”

My protests don’t stop her from running back home. We’re both exhausted when we make it to her apartment so I try a little harder to stop her. She’s already picking up the receiver when I catch my breath. “Please don’t do this,” I plead. “You’ve already done so much.”

“What’s your boss’s number?” She demands.

I take another deep breath. “No, I’m not telling.”

“Oh come on, Timber,” she whines. “You deserve a little pampering.”

“And I’ve had more than enough for a while.”

“Yeah but that was weeks ago.” She has a point, but I still don’t feel like it’s worth letting her spend more money on me because of how I feel.

“It’s not like I’m really that upset. You don’t need to cheer me up.” She pauses, contemplating her actual decision. She looks almost sad. I can’t help but feel like I hurt her feelings by shutting her down. I feel guilty. Dammit. “Look, I’m not really in the mood for a night out, but you did say you didn’t get me any presents. Go out with Stitches and Patches, I’ll go to work. Get me a few things you think I’d like. Just, nothing too expensive. Please.”

She smiles again. Do I feel like I’ve been manipulated? “All right, deal. See you tomorrow.”

I don’t know how to feel for this weekend.

47 Box Seats

I had most of what I needed already, so went ahead to the theater straight from Pearl’s place. On the way I thought about Curtain Call. I remembered seeing his notebook, how many notes there were. I thought it was strange that I could possibly remember that kind of detail, but I did. I also remembered that our dear stage director would stay up much too late the night following rehearsal reviewing all those notes, and that he’d likely want some coffee to perk him up today.

I grabbed a tray of coffee from the café for him, the choreographer, the set captain, and music director. Not exactly knowing how each of them liked it, I decided to grab a few hooves full of sugar packets and creams.

I was embarrassed upon arrival, having forgotten that there happened to be several coffee makers at the theater. They all acted grateful nonetheless, some more than the others. I don’t think I saw any of them take a sip of the drinks I brought.

We were scheduled to go over the dream-sequence scene from yesterday, so I felt like it would be easy: just a repeat of before. I kept thinking, though.

As most ponies often do, I had trouble ignoring the feeling of anticipation for my coming surprises. I imagined what kind of gifts my friends would think of, if they’d keep it classy or try to make fun by getting more erotic things. I hoped to hell that they wouldn’t get me anything too obscene. I don’t even know if I’m into that kind of stuff, whatever “that stuff” is. This got me to thinking what kind of stuff I wouldn’t want them getting me and while I argued mentally with Aura we always seemed to get back to price. I really only hoped they wouldn’t spend too much on me.

I did tell Pearl not to.

(But knowing her, she might try to anyway.)

God I hope she doesn’t. What if Stitches or Patches does?

(They might, it’s no big deal.)

It is, though. You know how expensive college can be!

(I only know as well as you do.)

Stop saying that! I know you only know whatever I know. Just, tell me they won’t spend too much on these gifts.

(I only know what you know. Whatever you don’t know—)

“Shut up!” I dropped the wooden sword I was carrying and shouted behind stage. Everypony on stage looked at me, I hardly noticed. I’m sweating, breathing heavily, shaking. I know what’s happening, and wanted to stop it. Why couldn’t I?

Ponies would likely start asking, I had to contain myself before anyone stressed out over me.

(You’re the only one stressing out, Timber.)

Shut up… I turn and start walking to the dressing rooms. No, everypony not in this scene would be lounging there. I keep walking. Maybe the food room? No, there’d be ponies in there, too. I could go in the restroom, maybe wash my face off? Anypony could walk in.

I’m panicking over where I should go to wait out my attack. I find myself in a mad gallop heading toward the box seats above the auditorium. I lie down on my belly and cover my face, hiding behind the wall of the balcony, trying to take deep breaths. All I can manage are shaky breaths and sobs. Why is this troubling me so much? Why can’t I just manage this? I’ve got to get back to work!

“Timber?” I uncover my face and realize my glasses were pressed uncomfortably against my forehead. I take them off and replace my hooves. Whoever was coming up couldn’t know I was crying. “Timber…”

It’s Curtain Call, I recognize his voice. I don’t respond though.

“Timber, is something wrong?” He’s standing right above me.

I’ve finally, somehow managed to stop quivering. Without uncovering my eyes I respond softly, “No…” With how dry it comes out, there’s no way he believes me.

I hear him sit down, and feel like he wants to reach out and pet my head. I hoped he would. “Is this about the coffee? I’ll go and drink it.”

I bite my tongue, and shake my head. Now I have that back in my head, sieging my subconscious with the rest of it.

“Look, I know show business can get stressful. I know as well as anypony, trust me—“

“Sir,” another voice comes in, female. I think I recognize it. I hear Curtain Call stand and step away, the newcomer lies down in his place. “Timber?”

I do recognize her: she’s one of the supporting actresses, I’m pretty sure she’s an alto but still very strong and powerful. I remember thinking she has the heart to take on a lead, but not quite the range. I uncover one eye and see the lead male actor standing just behind her, his magenta eyes filled with concern. I look at her, can’t remember either of their names…

“What’s wrong sweetie?” When was the last time anybody called me “sweetie?” Memories come back from childhood, a teacher comforting me after an ordeal with bullies. My eyes start acting up again, I cover them. The actress moves closer and takes my head into her breast. This is what the teacher did then, too. I sob while she strokes my neck and shushes me softly. I start to calm down.

I really start calming down when the lead actor lies down beside me. He’s not touching me, but I feel his body. I’m still being cradled by the mare, which is lovely, but all I can focus on is the stallion. I hate myself for it.

He speaks, “It’s gonna be ok.” Is it? “When I was getting started, I was going through the same stuff.” I find that hard to believe, but mentally force myself to believe him. It calms me down, somehow. “I went to college for acting and some of the other students can be real pious.” I don’t think that’s the right word to use. “And when I was an intern, my stage director was just, such a pain.” His voice was so cheery. Could it be this easy to be happy? Reminiscing in good memories? Was there something more to it? Haven’t I tried that? Did it work? “Like, I get he was stressed out, too. But like, did he have to take it out on me?”

I snicker suddenly. I don’t know what came over me.

“There,” the mare coos. “It’s not so bad.” She lifts my head and looks me in the eye. She has magenta eyes, like him. I think I remember that she’s his sister. What are the odds?

I sniffle, and blink a few more tears away. I look to my left to see the stallion lying down there. I can barely see him without my glasses, but I can’t help but feel attracted to him. His magenta eyes. His night-blue ponytail mane. Could I have him? Would I have the chance?

My lip quivers again, and before I can stop myself I sob. Then drop my head into the lap of the stallion beside me. My ear is beside his chest, listening to his heartbeat quicken. All I want is this. Why can’t I just have this?

I’m still crying heavily, but silently. I hear the others leave and wonder if he gave them the signal to do so. I wonder if he understands I just want this. Some alone time with a stallion who cares. He lowers his head to rest atop my own. “It’s ok,” he reminds me.

I shudder, more tears, another sob. “I…“ I stumble. “I’ve just been here s-so long. I-I d-don’t *gasp* don’t know what…” I don’t know where that sentence was headed, so I trail off.

“Shh, shh…” his voice rumbles through my skull where he rests. Lightning shoots through me and my crying stops. “I understand, I’ve dealt with the same stuff.”

I sniffle again, “Really?”

He lifts his head, I do the same, and we look each other in the eye. Our muzzles so close. “I mean, I’ve never quite… relied so heavily, on another male, but I do understand.”

I want to spite him, to lower my head and look away, because that figures. But, I keep looking at him.

“I’ve needed comfort,” he explains, “and haven’t been able to know where to look. I ended up moving in with my sister. I didn’t even finish my internship, but she got me a spot in a live cast, and now I’ve got a lead role. I owe so much to her, being there for me.”

My eyes drop then. I like the story, and I understand his feelings. I know I’ll likely never be with him, but want this for as long as it lasts. I rest my head in his lap again.

He sighs, likely just relieved that I’ve calmed down. “I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“Don’t be,” he says. I feel my glasses slip back over my eyes. I open them just as the magenta-colored aura of his magic fades. I look up at him and he’s smiling. He’s adorable. “Don’t you dare.”

48 Starry Water

We stayed there for a short while. He told me his name is Noguki, but to call him Noh, his sister was Kabuki. I like those names a lot. He told me a lot about his family, his foreign father, their love of theater. I thought briefly of Lavandula, when he mentioned his father. What are the odds, right? I pushed the thought away quickly.

I told him about my family, the number of brothers I had, my dream of writing. He didn’t ask any questions, though. And he always seemed to creep into another topic like he was walking on thin ice. I would have to remember to thank him for that. Even when I mentioned my dad, I trailed off. He caught on instantly and changed the subject. I’d have to thank him in earnest if I ever got the chance.

He did bring up one topic that upset me. He mentioned a gay stallion he knew from college. I admire his courage, he must have guessed it was safe to explore more dangerous cans of worms. I still had to stop him.

I thanked him for spending time with me, and basically diffusing my time-bomb brain. He was nice about it, but the best part came as we were walking back down to the stage. He walked in step with me, close to my side. Then he said, “You know, if it’s all right with you, I would like to know more about your dad.” I was a tad stunned. I didn’t respond right away so he continued, “If you don’t want to I totally understand.”

“No,” I tell him. “I’d be happy to tell you more. Just…”

“I get it, you need a little time.” I nod. “What do you say, sometime next week? Let’s get together for lunch or something, yeah?”

I brighten up immediately. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

“Awesome.”

“And I know a great place. A café I work at, uhh, Café de la Lune. It’s on West One-Eleventh.”

“Sounds perfect,” he smiles. I smile back. “Monday sound good?”

“I get off at noon.”

“See you then.”

We bump hooves in agreement. Then Curtain Call shouts out to me. “Is everything ok?” I rub my neck, a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry if I was making anything worse. Umm… why don’t you take the rest of the night off?”

“Oh, that’s all right,” I try to convince him. “I’m really feeling fine now. What scene are we on?”

My attempt to dodge the topic failed. “Timber,” Call says softly, placing a hoof on my shoulder, “I know how hard it can be. Take some time for yourself.”

I almost laugh, thinking how Pearl told me almost that exact same thing today. “I guess a day off won’t hurt.”

“Yeah,” Noh elbows me playfully, “and I’ll walk you home.”

Then I panic. Maintaining the smile I attempt to turn him down, “Please don’t do that for me.”

“Oh, okay,” he sighs. “Then I’ll do it for me.” I want to protest, but he’s going to try to guilt trip me and I don’t have the energy for that. He’ll think it’s all in good fun, for the greater good, but I won’t see it that way. Why doesn’t he understand that, of all things? I was really starting to like him, too.

I grumble out an “Ok,” trying not to sound ungrateful. His face changes, but he follows through with his promise. We gather our belongings and leave the theater together.

I really like his trilby; navy blue with a black strap. It looks a little tacky, but he wears it back on his head. With his mane down, partially covering his face. It also matched his watery-blue coat, and star patterned saddle bags. If only he was wearing a scarf, he’d look so sophisticated. Or perhaps he’d just look more gaudy.

We walk in silence for most of the way. He does talk a bit about other plays he’s done, even sings a few songs from some. He has a lovely voice. I’m just happy to forget about his little act of deceit back at the playhouse.

Thinking about the playhouse I suddenly feel I have to ask, “Do you think they’ll have trouble without us?”

“I doubt it,” he answers quickly. “My understudy can cover for me until I get back.” Suddenly I feel hurt, when he said “get back.” I mean, he never implied he’d stay with me, so why do I feel betrayed that he’s leaving?

“Right,” I respond. “Plus, it’s not like I’m super important around there.”

“Oh come on,” he nudges me as we walk. I lose balance for a moment, but right myself easily. “You’re just as important as anyone there.”

“Not really,” I should stop myself. “I just run errands and place props.”

“And do you know how important those props are for everybody on stage?”

“Sure, but I could be replaced in half a day.” Why don’t I just stop?

“So could I! You do know what an understudy is, right?”

“Well sure, but that’s for like, emergencies.”

“And you leaving would be just as big of an emergency. The only difference is there’s no one waiting at the stage for you to actually break a leg to take your place.”

“That’s a little dark.” It’s funny though, I’m grinning.

“It’s fact. I actually feel sorry for Hearthstone. Because, what if he never gets his chance to fill in for me? That’s his role! His only chance!”

“Well, give it to him,” I offer. “Break it up, half and half.”

“Actually we do. Most understudies do trade days with the lead actors. Feels more fair, y’know? Haven’t you noticed?”

I blush sheepishly. “To be honest I thought all actors were really selfish and stuck-up.”

“I get that,” he says. “The school I went to? Everypony had high dreams of being the star, having their name on billboards and in windows. They were all there to be better than the rest. I think four of us just loved theater.”

I smile, and let the sound fade back into the bustle of the city night. Then another question comes to mind, one I wasn’t immediately sure I’d feel comfortable asking him. I did anyway, “Do you think I’d be a good actor?”

He raises and eyebrow at me, stops to look at me, then smiles. “I think so,” he nods. “Definitely.” We resume walking.

“You can be honest with me you know,” I flirt. It’s my turn to be a little deceptive.

“I am! You’ve got great potential, really. You might have an issue with your glasses, but once you’re on the stage it won’t matter.”

“My glasses?” How could that be?

“Yeah. There are lots of stage lights, as you know. With so many, and in so many positions, glass lenses can be reflective and distracting to the audience. That’s one reason we don’t use glass in set pieces, too.”

I smirk, “That, and it’d be a mess to clean up if anything went wrong.”

“Oh definitely,” he gives an exaggerated groan. “And dancing over broken glass? Would not recommend.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” I tease.

“Well, no,” he admits. “But can you imagine?”

“I haven’t danced on stage since high school. And never used glass then, either.”

“Well, now you know why.” We both smile, looking at each other. I notice he’s got freckles across his muzzle. They almost looked like stars, but the blue fur was a few shades too bright. I wonder how I hadn’t seen them before. Had I not looked at him this closely before? Then I realize how closely I’m looking at him. He has this smile…

I look away quickly, my cheeks burning hot as a campfire. He’s still looking I can feel it.

“You know,” he says quietly. “You’ve got a good body for the stage.”

I’ve gone from campfire to grease fire. Stop! Do I want him to stop?

“A very unique, attractive face.” Bonfire. “A good physique for dancing.” I feel as hot as the sun, and I’m sure I’m as red as a pony with sunburn. “Are you okay?”

My eyes go wide. “Wha…? No! Are you serious?”

“Maybe? I was just complimenting you.”

“Yeah but… Ugh, did you have to be so flirty?”

“I’m… sorry? I wasn’t trying to be.” I’m speechless. I don’t know what he was implying, but it riled me up and I’m not okay with that. “Look, no offense, but I’m not… interested.” He looks away, embarrassed. “I just… I’ve been in this business for a while, and you asked about being an actor. I’m only telling you things ponies told me. Though, according to you, obviously. They never really thought I met some ‘requirements’ for dancing, or whatever.” I’m still quietly processing. I think I understand, but I don’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry if you got the wrong idea, but…” But what? “You’re really just a friend.”

I take a deep breath. Something snaps inside me, and I laugh a little. It’s quiet, but lasts a while. When he starts laughing nervously along with me I think I ought to explain why I’m laughing. “Cool,” I play, “I’m friends with a famous actor.” He’s quiet for a second. Then he smiles, followed by real laughter, loud and raucous. I laugh harder just from listening. I know ponies are looking, staring confusedly. I don’t care.

When we finally calm down, he’s wiping a tear from his eye. I straighten my glasses and sigh. He touches my shoulder, I look at him. “Thank you,” he says.

I keep smiling. I want to hug him.

He hugs me, and I feel so relieved. “Thank you, too.”

Author's Notes:

In which I show off what a weeaboo I am by coming up with two Japanese names.

49 Laughter Cure

When he gets me home, I invite him inside. He accepts, though understands I don’t have much food to offer. We don’t eat anything anyway.

He insists on holding an audition, though it turned out to be more of a lesson. I hadn’t sung since high school. Well, since that walk with Pearl. Though I hadn’t sung seriously since high school. The memories brought back were mostly comfortable, but I only wanted to make new ones right now.

Anyway, he swears up and down that I have the makings of greatness. He tests my range, which to my surprise happened to be pretty high. I managed to hit the high note of his first solo from the play, full-voice, which is a B5 if that means anything to you. After I barely hold that note for 3 seconds, my next-door neighbor knocks on the wall and demands I quiet down. I apologize. She’s not a mean pony.

He tells me I should work on my singing, but I tell him I don’t have a lot of free time.

“I work four, sometimes five days a week, until noon. Right after that I have a little time to myself and I usually like to write.” I was actually really interested in learning how to sing again. It would be a fun hobby, and I’d get to spend time with him. Even if we never started dating.

“Well,” he thought for a moment. “You’re free most weekends, right?”

“I guess,” I admit. “Though, Pearl and the others usually like to hang out during days off.”

“Pearl, huh?” He smirks.

I chortle and give him a playful shove. I’m truly happy to have a new friend to sit on my floor and make jokes with. “She’s my best friend,” I ignore his frown. “I met her a few years ago, visiting the city with my family. When I moved out she helped me get a job. Stitches and Patches are just friends. We all work at the café.”

“They all sound delightful.” I was not expecting such a comment, and I thought I made a funny reaction but he didn’t notice. Or at least didn’t mention it. “I’d actually like to meet them.”

I feel like I’m blushing again. Would he like them? Would they like him? (Oh stop that, they’ll all love each other. It’s gonna be great.) “Actually, they’re coming here tomorrow.” I couldn’t exactly remember, but I think that’s the plan Pearl made with me. They should all be out shopping right about now. “My birthday was a little while ago, and they wanted to get me presents, I guess. They didn’t get me any that day, so Pearl felt like making up for it.”

“They really sound great,” he compliments again. “You want me to come? I could bring a gift.”

I smile, “That’s nice of you, but you don’t need to. I’m sure they’ll get me plenty.”

“Well, I do want to meet them.”

“And they’re, like, really… uhh, real, I guess. At least, the girls can have a pretty mature sense of humor.”

“Oh is that what you’re worried about? Please. You might not have noticed, but I’m not exactly innocent.”

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t noticed.” He’s blushing, embarrassed. I know he wants to tell me. Eventually, if not now. I feel like giving him an ultimatum. He might like that. “You gonna tell me now, or at lunch on Monday?”

He laughs, which is good. “Well…” He’s really contemplating this, hard. I really do think he’ll tell me now, though. Based on that blush, it doesn’t seem like something he would want to share in public. “Uhh…” Wait no… “Oh boy.” Oh God.

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me,” I insist. “I was just teasing.”

“No. Really, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I… guess I can’t expect you to understand. Just don’t laugh at me, please?” I give him a friendly nod. He takes a deep breath. Then, “Back during college, I had these… expenses. The school I went to wasn’t particularly cheap, and living away from home for the first time I didn’t know a whole lot. One of my friends—who was by no means a good pony—told me about a job opening he thought I’d fill well. It was at a place called Candor Colt.” My eyes widen. He doesn’t notice. “It was a…”

“Strip club?” I finish for him. Gay bar, whatever. Though that’s not all.

He nods, and I stifle a laugh. “Hey you promised,” he accuses.

“No,” I breathe. “It’s not you. It’s just… I told you my birthday was a while ago?” He nods, not following. “And I mentioned my friends’ sense of humor?” He’s blushing, turning his blue cheeks bright purple. “They took me to that club.”

His face is as bright as mine felt earlier. He lies down and covers his face, the same way I did only he’s smiling. I laugh out loud, knowing it’s fine. “I haven’t worked there for three years, so if you think you saw me—“

“No, no… I just think that’s funny.” I laugh a little more, he laughs some too. “What kind of friend recommends a gay strip club?”

He gasps in respite from the laughter. “Did I say he was a friend?” When I nod, he says, “Well I really only meant roommate.” He laughs pretty hard again. “He was not, in the least bit secretive about his feelings.” We laugh. I ignore the feeling the comment gave me, like he was comparing me. I knew he didn’t mean it, so I knew it didn’t matter. When the laughing dies down he rests his head on the floor. I do the same, but we have some distance. He has his eyes closed, exhausted. “I like you. You’re honest, but not at all aggressive like he was.” He’s still talking about his roommate.

I smile and close my eyes too. He sounds really tired. I’m not but I mimic his tone playfully. “Stop, you’ll get my hopes up again.”

“Oh, sorry,” he says sarcastically.

“I forgive you.” Suddenly I yawn. I had no idea how tired I was. My face relaxed and my smile dropped. I could have fallen asleep right there. That wasn’t right. I straighten my neck and take a deep breath. His eyes open, startled. He was about to fall asleep too.

“Well,” he begins. “I don’t want to take up your night.”

I grin, feeling like teasing him some more. “Aww. Are you leaving?” I climb onto my bed.

He nods, rubs his eyes. “My sister will worry about me.”

“What if I break down again?” I roll on my side, semi-seductively. “I could use somepony to cuddle me some more.”

He smiles, only like he gets the joke though. He’s not playing along at all, which is good. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Sleep is a good cure, plus that heavy dose of laughter.”

I smile, tired. “Well, all right. I think the party starts around eleven tomorrow.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Oh and if you change your mind on your way home…” I give him another flirty glance and rub the empty space on my bed. I’m not serious in the least, and I can only hope he gets that.

He puts his hat on and smiles. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

After he left I thought I might just fall asleep: It was late, and I didn’t have to work in the morning. Then I remembered I had a lot to write down. I hope I didn’t miss any of it. It’s been a long day.

50 Birthday Presents

I went straight to sleep after getting those last six chapters written down. I really do hope I didn’t forget anything, but I’m sure I got most of the important stuff.

I woke up around ten o’clock, ate a small breakfast and cleaned up quick in my little shower. To pass time until Noh showed up, I decided to read over my script. He knocked when I got to act two. He greeted me cheerfully and hugged me, which was a welcomed surprise. He took off his hat and left it on his saddle bags by the door. Not before taking out a nicely-wrapped box.

“Ooo,” I sing. “What’d you get me?”

He gives me a mom-look, like he expects me to know better. I do, but it was worth asking. “Where is everybody?”

“Well,” I was afraid he’d ask, “I did say ‘I think,’ implying that I didn’t actually know when it would start.” He gives a short little snort, like he’s amused but growing impatient. I don’t know if that’s right, but it’s what I assumed. “I’ll go give Pearl a call, see if she’s on her way.”

“In that case I hope she doesn’t answer.” I smile at the joke and head for the door. Then turn around to grab a bit for the pay phone.

I dial her number and hear it ring three times before a pick-up. A stallion answers, “Hello?”

He’s dreary. He must have had a late night, too. Though, likely much later than mine. I could only guess at what kept him up. “Um, hello. Cosh?”

“Mm, that’s me.”

“It’s me, Timber. We met yesterday, at the station.”

“Yeah, right. You’re that author kid, right?” He sounds really tired.

“That’s me,” I ensure. I notice I’m smiling.

“Cool. Uhh, Pearl, like, just left. Ugh, don’t know how she got up so early…”

“Mmm, I can imagine.”

He’s silent for a few seconds and I consider just saying ‘bye’ and hanging up. Then, “Hey, buddy…”

“Yeah?”

More silence, only more awkward now. “I can trust you right?”

“Right…?” I think I know what he’s saying, but can’t be sure.

“Like, I don’t have to worry about you and her, right?”

I thought so. “You don’t have to worry about that, I’m actually gay.” I don’t know why I felt like sharing that. Maybe I was just in a good enough mood I wasn’t afraid of the truth? Besides, if Pearl trusted him unfalteringly, I might as well trust him. At least partially. This was probably the best place to start.

He stutters, stunned. I just relayed my possibly most dangerous secret to a stallion I considered little more than a stranger for almost no good reason, and I felt fine about it. I say goodbye, hear him respond and hang up. Before I went ahead back inside I saw a pony waving her hooves around, trying to get my attention. Pearl cantered up to me with a jolly smile, followed by Stitches and Patches.

Pearl opened with a warm hug and delightful kiss on my cheek. I return the favor. Then she asks, “Did you call my apartment?”

I nod, “Cosh seemed real drowsy.”

“Cosh was still home?”

Oh boy. I nod again, slowly. The other two step up and greet me with a hug each, evading the nuclear disaster of Pearl’s boyfriend. I feel like Stitches’ hug was a little longer than the others’, but I paid little mind to the possibility. I turn to lead them inside, subconsciously noting the gift-wrapped packages each of them is carrying. I almost think there are too many, but my mood is too high. I grab the mail on the way in and notice something came from Green Stables. I have to wonder what my family would have sent me, what they have to say after over a year with basically no contact. I can only blame myself, but it’ll have to wait.

As we head inside a scenario plays in my mind quickly that has Noh reacting to seeing Pearl as a long-lost friend, or something like that. It pans out a little more awkwardly.

Pearl gets in the door and sees Noh, standing over my writing desk, where the rough-draft of my script is sitting open. I rush over, blushing, and put it away in a drawer along with the mail. Pearl speaks to him in a high-pitched tone that I can only assume is because she feels threatened, “Hi there.” She’s trying to be friendly, but how friendly can you be to a stranger? (As a waitress, she should know.)

“Hi, I’m Noguki. I’m an actor on Bridleway, for the stage Timber works for.” I notice Stitches raise an eyebrow and worry he might be jealous. I can’t imagine why.

“I’m Pearl. This is Patches, and Stitches. We work at La Café de la Lune, with Timber.” I feel like I’m being fought over. Like the prize to a death match. This is not a fight I want to witness.

“Come on, Pearl,” Patches says. “We know how to talk.” She reaches out a hoof for Noh to shake, he accepts. “Patches, aspiring brain surgeon. It’s a pleasure.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” Noh offers, returning the hoof shake. He turns to Stitches as Patches steps away. Her and Pearl are already murmuring. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too. I’m Stitches. Younger brother and nurse-in-training.” They shake.

“Okay, so you’re both med students?” Noh asks.

“That’s right,” Stitches smiles politely. “We started working for the café to pay our way.”

“Is it enough?” Noh sounds a tad concerned. (Just because his debts were all settled.) Quiet you.

“It’s getting us by,” Stitches assures. I move to the kitchen when I see Pearl unpacking snack foods. Stitches is telling Noh about a scholarship and Patches is getting comfortable on my bed.

“So how did you two meet?” Pearl asks me quietly while we unload her saddle bags onto my counters.

I look up and raise an eyebrow. “He just said, we work at the same theater.”

She rolls her eyes, “Yeah, but you’ve worked there over a year and never mentioned him.”

I notice she’s whisper-shouting. I roll my eyes back at her, “I haven’t really spent a lot of time with him.” I set a bottle of cola on the counter carefully. “He comforted me yesterday during a… bit of a, meltdown.”

I don’t have to look at her to know she has a horrified look on her face, hiding in her saddle bags. Hiding from the stranger. “Are you kidding me?”

I look down at her. “No, I’m not. I had a panic attack and he stepped in as refuge.”

“Hhhhuuu…..” she groans.

“You’re acting like a child,” I whisper-shout. “He’s being incredibly polite. Why don’t you just get to know him?”

“Why are you suddenly my dad?”

I’m stunned for a second. Why is she arguing this? “What…? Why don’t you just trust me?” I surprised myself with the question, but I think it set her straight.

She looks at me, apologetically. Then sighs, “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

I purse my lips and nod stiffly. Then I hear Noh laugh. He says, “I’m sure I’ll enjoy spending time with you two, but today’s not about me is it?” I have my hooves on the table when he looks me dead in the eye.

Stitches perks up, beaming. “He’s right! Timber, come open your presents.”

“Yeah,” Patches yawns, unexpectedly. “I wanna see what I got you.”

“Okay, okay…” I step out of the kitchen, fixing my glasses and nodding again to Pearl. She smiles calmly. I trot over to an empty spot on the floor, between Stitches and Noh, and take a seat. I remember how many gifts I saw in each of their bags. I really hoped they didn’t spend too much on me.

“Here, this one’s from me,” Stitches hands me a toaster-sized package wrapped in blue-and-white-striped paper. I rip through the wrapping with my teeth to reveal a brown cardboard box. Flipping open the flaps I’m delighted to find a pristine set of wine glasses. “We don’t have any wine, but I figured you needed something since you keep reusing plastic cups.”

I smile a little awkwardly. “So who’s the sap who’s stuck with the reused plastic today?” It was meant to be a joke, seeing as there were only four glasses and there happened to be five ponies.

“Well, I…” Stitches stutters.

I reach my fore-leg around him and hug him tight. “It’s great, really. Thank you.”

He smiles again, which is good. “Heh, thanks. I got you one more thing.”

“Let’s see it!” I demand.

“Shouldn’t you open somepony else’s gift next?” Pearl calls out. She steps into the gathering place and collects the wine glasses. “I’ll fill one for everypony while you open Patches’ gift.”

“First gift…” Patches corrects, with another yawn.

“Oh,” Noh calls out, “you can fill me up a plastic cup.”

“Nonsense,” Pearl chimes. “I don’t want you feeling left out of anything.”

“It’s nothing really,” Noh insists. “Just a cup after all.”

Patches chimes in while her brother hoofs me her “first” gift, “Maybe Stitches should get the plastic one, since he bought the present.”

“Maybe Patches should get it,” Stitches retorts, “’cause she’ll probably just break a glass one.”

She makes a frown like “good point.” “Then it’s agreed,” Pearl declares. “Patches gets the plastic cup.”

“Whatever,” Patches complies. “They’re bigger anyways.”

I look down at the next gift; a long rectangular box also wrapped in blue-and-white, only this one has a bow. I pluck off the bow and tear apart the paper. Patches says something, “Go easy, we were up all night wrapping those.” I mainly ignore her, excited to get on with the festivities. Once I lift the lid from the box, my smile drops. Patches starts laughing her head off, and I quickly replace the lid while my face heats up. Inside the box is a rubber phallus. Roughly ten inches long and a little less than two inches wide. The sight of it embarrassed the living daylights out of me. Patches hollers, “I figured you’d want to start with something small!”

I push the box away while Noh squirms beside me, clearly also embarrassed to have seen it. Stitches stands up defensively, almost yelling at his sister, “Why’d you have to go and get him something like that?” I’m sure he’s blushing, too.

“Wait what was it?” Pearl asks, coming out of the kitchen again to see. I shake my head and smile, positively flustered. She opens the box and shakes her head in horror. Then, “Is this why you wouldn’t come shopping with us?”

Patches is barely coming out of her laughing fit.

I furtively slide the closed box under my bed. Noguki sees the move and smirks. I whisper to him, “I’ll just leave that there ‘til later…” I didn’t really know what I meant, but I was only fooling.

“You have quite the friend there,” he comments.

I sigh, “Now I’m afraid to see her other gift.”

“Hopefully there’s only one more.”

As if on cue, Stitches demands from Patches, “What else did you buy him?”

“Hey now,” Patches blocks. “He doesn’t get to open my next gift yet. I think its Pearl’s turn.”

“Yeah…” Pearl eyes Patches cynically. She passes me her gift, then levitates the drinks she had prepared to each of us sitting down. I wait for her to take a seat by the desk to take a drink, then start opening her noticeably soft present. It wouldn’t take a psychic to know she got me a pillow, but I still acted surprised upon revealing the soft fabric. She rolls her eyes, I thank her and hug the pillow hard. “Don’t overuse it.”

“How do you overuse a pillow?” I ask.

She shrugs and laughs a little, “I don’t even know.”

“Noguki’s turn,” Stitches announces.

“You can just call me Noh,” he instructs, before floating his gift toward me. It was a decent-sized cube wrapped in green paper with stars colored in different shades of yellow. Once it lands in front of me I rip off the thin paper and lift the flaps of the box. Inside is a cherry-red trilby with a blood-red belt around it. It’s just like the one he wore yesterday, but obviously red. I smile, almost lovingly. It would be lovingly, if I didn’t know better. It’s a great gift. “I saw you admiring mine yesterday and thought you’d like your own. I thought these colors suited you a little better than blue though.”

I put it square on my head, directly between my ears. The fabric nearly matched the color of my mane, only a little more red. I thought it was perfect. “I love it.”

“That’s good.” Noh admires it with a smile.

I smile back. Sure, I’m a little sad that I won’t get to know him as more than a friend, but really, all he needs to be is a friend. I reach a hoof up and push the hat back to rest on the back of my skull the same way he wore his, letting my over-growing bangs dangle above my eyes. Come to think of it, how do they do that? As long as I’ve known, my mane has always been too curly to dangle freely like it was. I didn’t check at the time, but even my tail is much straighter than I can remember. Not straight as grass or whatever, more wavy, but it’s growing in much more managed than it ever has before.

“Sure,” Pearl complains, “leave it the new guy to outshine everypony else.”

Patches grumbles, “Speak for yourself.” I think I’m the only one who heard her.

“Hey it’s not my fault I’m such a diva when it comes to fashion,” Noh counters.

Patches chimes in, almost out-of-turn, “Maybe he just knows Timber better?”

Pearl raises an eyebrow in protest.

I feel like inputting, “I mean, I did cry in his lap.”

The way Pearl’s and Patches’ jaws drop in unison makes Stitches and me laugh. Noh just nonchalantly takes a sip of soda. After some time we were all laughing. Once we all calm down, Patches comes right in insisting I open her second gift next.

“Wait shouldn’t my gift go next?” Stitches whines.

“You snooze you lose,” Patches asserts herself in an almost cruel way. Stitches just shrugs, so I know all is well. “Here, Timber,” she offers, hoofing a smaller, square box to me from my bed.

It has the same paper as her other one, along with both of Stitches’ gifts, and Pearl’s. Obviously. I almost hit myself for not getting that sooner. I opened it cautiously, almost afraid. Patches urges me onward, which only makes me more worried. I lift the top off the box with my eyes closed, then slowly open one eye. It was a sort-of show for the others, but I think my reaction after made it perfect; slack-jawed.

My face burns up again as Patches breaks into another laughing fit.

“I want to see it,” Pearl demands.

“You got it,” Noh teases. I can’t stop him from picking up the lacy lingerie with his magic and showing them off to the room. I drop my head onto my new pillow and squeeze my eyes shut while they all admire the obscene garment. I’m not as embarrassed as before, though, which surprises me. Maybe I just figured once the penis joke’s been made, everything else is somewhat lackluster?

Then it gets worse. “Is it even big enough?” I don’t know who said it, Noh or Stitches. I lift my head in shock. I fix my glasses while Stitches elaborates, “I wouldn’t know. That’s all.” Damn right he wouldn’t. Geez.

“Yeah, what if it doesn’t fit?” Patches claims.

Pearl snickers, Noh does next. She says, “Yeah, I think we need to see it to make sure.”

“I’m not so sure,” Noh whimpers.

“I’m with Noguki,” I admit. I don’t want to wear it in front of them. Maybe alone…

“Come on, Timber,” Patches presses. “It’s not like we haven’t seen you naked.”

“I don’t appreciate that joke!” I yell at her.

“My vote makes three, Timber,” Stitches includes.

“Not you too…” I snivel. I look between the three of them, then harden myself. “No, there’s no way. I’m not putting those on.”

“Just do it,” the actor adds.

“Noh…”

“Yes,” he responds.

“Tch, come on.”

“Just put it on!” For a straight fellow, he seems awful insistent. He’s even still holding them there, in mid-air. I let out a long groan in protest. “Either you put it on or I’ll put it on you.”

“You can’t fight all of us,” Pearl sings.

My head’s on a swivel, shooting terrified looks at all my friends.

Eventually I give in. “Fine.”

They all cheer. Somehow I knew it would come to this.

51 Spit Take

If they want to see me in these panties, I guess I can’t argue.

Part of me actually, really wanted to. I feel like it was a kind-of initiation for Noh to be accepted into the circle, to see me like this. I had to wonder how he’d react.

I swap places with Pearl, and she childishly places the undergarment on my muzzle.

I have to laugh at the way they all watch anxiously. I make the laugh sound awkward though, like I can’t believe they’re making me do this.

I quickly balance on both my right hooves while I use my left fore-hoof to fit the corresponding back hoof through the correct hole.

“Boo!” Patches cries. “I want my money back.”

“Give us a real show,” Pearl demands.

I look at Noh. All he does is lift an eyebrow.

I smirk. “I guess…”

Kicking the panties off, I do my best to start fresh. I leave my new hat on the counter behind me and rest my glasses on top of it. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you what came over me.

I roll onto my back and lift my hind legs in the air, holding the underwear in my right hoof. Feeling my face heat up, I close my eyes and try to ignore the audience. I grab the lace in my teeth and sit up, arching my back seductively. With undiscovered flexibility, I reach my head down and lie the panties across my hind hooves. I open my eyes slightly to make sure they’re facing the right way, then lie back down and raise my back legs in the air, keeping my front legs tucked against my chest.

I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. For a second I don’t know why I’m doing this.

I start rotating my legs and the elastic wriggles around my hooves and to my ankles. I roll over again and lift my tail in the air. I’m still at a profile for the others, so they can’t see much between my legs. Though, I suddenly fear that that’s exactly what they want to see.

With my head resting on the floor and my ass in the air, I reach my fore hooves down to bring the garb up to my waist. Patches comments silently, “The blush makes it more believable.”

I laugh, everyone does. I have to pause for a second to stop laughing. Get back in the “mood,” I guess. Once I’m relatively calm again I pick up where I left off. The elastic is a little tight, but I’ve always kind of liked that sort of thing. I haven’t worn many undergarments, mind you, but I’ve previously preferred a tighter fit.

Then Stitches gives a command I never thought I’d hear, “Show us the goods.”

A chorus of encouraging laughter follows. I just blush and breathe deeply, an embarrassed smile, eyes still closed. I bite my bottom lip, heart pounding, and open one eye slowly to look at Noh again, like I’m begging for help. Again with the eyebrow, a gesture I could see even half-blind. Then a short nod.

I sigh. My heart’s pounding faster, and I know where all the blood’s going.

I back into the wall that separates the kitchen from the entryway, the narrow edge that turns into the breakfast bar. Using the wall for balance, I raise myself onto my hind legs. My nearly-erect shaft waggles about. I look down at it, trying to will it to relax, futilely. I bite my lip again and reach down to fully pull the lingerie up into place, my cock throbbing to full mast slowly.

I hear Pearl whisper, probably to Patches, “You think it’s a fetish?” I don’t dare look at their faces. The frilly elastic stretches around my scrotum, slipping my stones into the tight pocket. I let out the breath I was holding while the waist band slides into place. My penis is uncomfortably pressed against my abdomen. At least I’m done. They’re cheering.

I slide down onto my rump, eyes still closed. I lift my knees up to try and cover myself.

“Not a bad reverse-strip-tease,” Noh compliments. I laugh, embarrassed, and cover my face. “It’s definitely missing something, though.”

I think I know what he means; the show was too short. Either he wants me to take them back off, or for a new player to join in the fun. I want to uncover an eye and see Stitches swagger up to me and kiss me. I know that won’t happen, so I don’t bother looking.

Then, also taking notice of Noh’s implication, Patches demands, “Stitches, get in there with him.”

My eyes open wide, though still covered by my hooves. He responds to his sister, “No offense, but not gonna happen.”

“Come on,” she begs. “You can’t leave him high and dry like that! Not after the show he just gave you.”

Pearl interjects, “You’re trying to get your brother to have sex so you can watch?” It sounded more like a fact than a question. “That’s disgusting.”

I laugh behind my wall. I don’t think any of them heard.

“I’m just trying to start something that should have started weeks ago,” Patches insists. “Maybe earlier…” I hear her sip her cola.

“You can’t force these things,” Noh inputs.

“Seriously,” Stitches adds. “You’re being really insensitive.”

“Sorry,” she says, sarcastic, insincere. “I just figured you two wanted it and were, like, waiting or something.”

“It’s none of your business what I want.” Despite his arguments, he doesn’t truly sound all that offended. “Or what Timber wants, for that matter. Right Timber?”

I take one second too long to react. “Timber?” Pearl asks. What do I do? I was just enjoying hearing them talk, leaving me as I was.

“Timber?” Noh this time. I don’t want them to think I’m not having fun, but I can’t let them assume I’m covering something up. Anything I do next could ruin the rest of the day! What should I do?!

“Timber?” Now Stitches.

I look up ever so slightly and he’s a foot away, wanting to be closer without invading my space. I relax, “Sorry. Just trying to calm down a bit.” It wasn’t true, but also not a lie. I didn’t want to show off my erection again, but that’s not the reason I was hiding as long as I was. I was just listening, and really only forgot I was hiding.

Stitches sits down in front of me. “Are you sure?”

I’m trapped now. If I am “sure” they’ll think I’m lying and the tension will take hours to subside. But if I tell them the truth there’ll just be an awkwardness because I initially avoided it, and I might risk starting up another issue. “Well,” I breathe, “I don’t know what to say. I’m not worth you guys arguing.” No, that was the wrong thing to say. Now they’ll just pity me.

Stitches stammers while Patches climbs off my bed. “O-of course you are. Depending on the topic, I think it’s important to… umm.”

I’m happy he’s trying, but I put him into the situation. I have to help him.

Before I can, though, Pearl speaks. “Timber, I’m sorry we made you do that. We all got caught up—“

“No,” I interrupt, “it’s not that. Really, I was fine with the dress-up, whatever. It’s all good fun. I was just a little embarrassed, and when you guys started arguing…” I trail off, hoping they’ll get the idea.

They all let out a sigh. I guess that was the right thing to say. “I’m sorry,” Patches swears. “I promise not to argue anymore.”

“Really though,” Stitches goes on, “if you still have feelings…”

I want to roll my eyes like he’s just getting annoying at this point. I don’t, though. I look down in silence. “I...” Should I be honest? Or just tell him what he thinks I’m thinking? “I don’t know if I do.” I apparently decided to go with honesty. “I haven’t felt real feelings in a long time. Right now, I’m kind of afraid I’m just waiting to accept the first stallion who offers.” I look him in the eye. Do I see empathy? “I don’t want you to be here for the wrong reason.”

He smiles, so do I. A silent thank-you between us, grateful that we can remain friends. Then he kisses me. It’s just a quick little thing, our lips touch. He exhales through his nose and I breathe it in. Then it’s over. Dammit.

He looks at me. “Sorry.”

I grin and nod. I’m screaming inside, but he believes that was the end of things. The end for me would have been our last talk. That was all I needed! Why did he need this? He basically just turned a switch back on in my head that made me yearn for him all over again.

I’m eternally grateful for the others. “Are all your parties like this?” Noh asks warily.

I laugh softly, Stitches too. “Not usually,” I promise, retrieving my glasses.

“I mean, it’s all fine by me,” he rambles, “I just want to know if I should bring a stallion next time.”

“Absolutely not,” Patches objects. “I think there’s enough guys, bring some chicks!”

I’m a little stunned to hear her say that. Pearl’s laughing uncomfortably, like she agrees but doesn’t want to sound as brash. I look at Noh, he looks back with an eyebrow raised. Curse that eyebrow. “No, I don’t think you’re sister would enjoy this.” I have to say it before he asks.

“Wait,” Patches comes in again. “You have a sister?” She asks Noh. He shrugs slowly. “You have to bring her!”

“No!” I demand. “Noh, I forbid you.” Then he just starts laughing, raucous, like yesterday. I love his laugh.

There’s a silence that follows, so I try to keep the party going. I’m much more relaxed now, my legs are down, I’m wide open and I know it. I’m just challenging any of them to say something. “I think there’s one more present to open, right?”

Stitches snickers, “Right.” He turns to grab it. “It’s nothing much, just something I got, thought you’d need.”

“Oh,” I play. “I’m sorry, but it seems like you’re the only one who thought to do that.”

“Hey,” Pearl whines. “I got you a pillow!”

“And I got you a hat!” Noh inputs. We all stare at him silently. “You’re right,” he says to us all.

Then we all look at Patches. She looks up from her cup, confused. “What? You expect me to say he needed my gifts?” We all laugh.

“Glad that’s settled,” I say as Stitches places the final present in front of me. It’s got the same paper as his others, but the shape is asymmetrical. I start unwrapping excitedly. I love the present but I can’t help but wonder what I look like to them, unwrapping cereal boxes in girly, red briefs. I must look ridiculous.

I hold up a box of Apple Wheels gleefully, like a child with a new toy. Stitches enjoys the smile on my face, “I’m really glad you like it!” There are two other boxes of varying sizes, with different cereals, but I’m busy holding the Apple Wheels like a baby. Everyone’s amused.

“Well,” Noh begins, “it’s been real fun, but now what?”

At first I was afraid he was going to say he was leaving, but he finished before I got the wrong idea. “Oh. Well…”

“’Cause I’ve got an idea,” he offers. “If you’re interested.”

“Well we didn’t have anything else planned,” I admit. I stand and bring my new cereal into the kitchen, swinging my ass gracefully. I really do enjoy the feel of the lace around my glutes, and how tight it all is around my package.

“I was gonna suggest going back to the club,” Stitches inputs, a tad sheepish.

Noh laughs, embarrassed. I just laugh. The girls don’t get it, which is probably good. At least for now. Noh continues, “Well, I know a bar that does karaoke.” I like that idea. “If you haven’t heard Timber sing, you ought to.”

Patches chuckles, “So first you cry on the guy, then you sing for him? You sure you met him yesterday?”

I give a cheeky smile. I don’t remember telling her when we met, but I remember he had time to speak to her while Pearl and I were in the kitchen. Pearl switches places with me then, refilling her glass. I remember mine is on my desk and make my way toward it.

“I’m not sure I’m up for singing,” Stitches mumbles.

“Yeah but you were up for dancing that first night,” I tease, wagging my tail in his face as I pass.

“That was different,” he deflects.

“Well there’ll be plenty to drink there too, I’m sure,” Pearl announces. I sit back down beside Noh and pick up my glass.

“Ugh, whatever,” Stitches submits begrudgingly. “I’ll do it, but I won’t like it.”

“Well then what’s the point?” Noh points out.

“Yeah,” Patches agrees. “We can go, but we won’t make you sing.”

Stitches smiles. “Thanks guys. But, if I don’t sing I’ll just feel left out.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever works for you, pal. It’s your night.”

He smirks at me, “Then maybe I’ll have a seat on my new dildo.”

Before anypony else can react, Pearl spits out her drink. Noh gets a shower of cola and saliva. He’s the only one not laughing at first, but he does join in. She apologizes profusely, I point him to the bathroom and he gets up. I’m the first to relax enough to say something, “How’d you manage to spit on him from the kitchen?”

“It’s not a big apartment,” she reminds me, wiping her muzzle off with a dish towel. “If you think I did it on purpose—“

I raise my hooves defensively, “I don’t. I just think it’s hilarious.” I laugh some more and here the shower squeak on. For a second I’m distracted with thoughts of Noh in my shower, soaking wet. I’m still laughing involuntarily, and grateful that I am. With the images that come to mind I’d otherwise go blank and the others might get suspicious.

The water turns off soon after, as we’re all calming down. I take a deep breath and will myself not to laugh more while I take a drink. I notice Patches has an opened bag of chips on my bed and worry she’ll spill them. Then I worry she’ll choke on one in laughter. I chuckle at myself. (Good to know you’ve got your priorities in order.)

I place my drink down and head toward the bathroom to make sure Noh’s doing all right. I get to the doorway and feel my cheeks flush. Oh God.

He’s got his head down in the tub, drying his hair viciously. His ass is sticking up, and his tail flopped to one side. I get a clear look at his dark hole and intimidating package. His heavy balls jiggle as he scrubs his head. The firm cheeks around the dark flesh of his pucker flex as he rights himself on the edge of the tub.

He notices me standing in the doorway, but misses the look on my face. “Hey, do you have a comb, or something?”

“Uhh, yeah,” I try to react quickly, but it might have been too quick. I reach into a basket I had that held all my toiletries and dig out a fine-toothed comb. Patches told me if I combed my mane all in one direction every time I showered it would straighten out. Maybe it was working? I pass it to him.

“Thanks,” he smiles. He turns to the mirror and starts running the comb through his hair using his magic. I shake myself back to normal. “My mane’s getting too long,” he complains. “I should probably cut it.” He looks at me. “What do you think?”

I really like his hair long, though I couldn’t explain why. I usually like somewhat longer manes on guys, but that didn’t really matter right now. “It does look like it’s getting hard to manage.” I step closer. Why did I do that? “I did like when it was tied back, though.”

“Yeah?” He turns to me and chuckles. “Small bathroom, huh?”

I realize he’s talking about how close our faces are. I hadn’t noticed. “Oh, well,” I rub the back of my neck. “I guess it’s not really meant for more than one pony.”

“Everything all right in there?” Patches calls from the living room.

“We’re just about ready to head out,” Stitches adds. “That is, if you’re still up for karaoke.”

Noh calls back, “I’ll be just another second.” He shakes his head, rustles a hoof through his mane, then looks at me expectantly. I feel like he wants to say something. What could it be? “We done?”

I’m standing in his way. “Oh, yeah…” I back out quickly.

“Thanks,” he says with a smile. “Just let me put my hair up.”

I think I feel the pressure of my other friends and want to make a joke. “Aw you don’t have to do that for me.”

He snorts quietly and picks an elastic band out of his bag to tie up his hair. “You know I’d do anything for you.” What a damn tease. “Nah, just feels more comfortable this way after washing it.” He effortlessly twists his mane through the tie.

Everypony else is ready to go, so I just finish my drink and put on my new hat. All set.

52 Dear Damsire

Pearl’s walking beside me on our way to the karaoke bar. Noh’s walking between Patches and Stitches ahead of us. She catches me staring at Noh’s rear end. “Was it that good-looking?”

I glance at her, then watch the sidewalk in front of me. “What do you mean?”

She wouldn’t possibly buy that act, but she plays along. “Well, based on the way your eyes are glued to it, I can safely assume you got a good look at his virgin taint while he washed his hair in your shower.”

I blush and lower my head until my nose is almost dragging on the concrete. (He never said he was a virgin.) You know what she means. (Do we?) Shut up. “I don’t want to think about him like that,” I plea. “At first, maybe. But now I get him, and he gets me. At least, I think he does.”

“I’m sure he does,” Pearl says.

“Right,” I agree. “He’s a great friend, and I don’t want to ruin that with thoughts of sex.”

Pearl nods in understanding. We both look forward. I try hard to look over Noh’s tail. “You wouldn’t be the only one.”

I look at her, astonished. Is she talking about Noh thinking about me? Sexually? “How can you be sure?”

“I know how to steal a glance when ponies won’t notice,” she smirks.

I take a second of racing thoughts to come up with what she could mean. “The strip-tease…?”

She nods knowingly. “He did well to hide it, but you riled him up. And I won’t lie, I was even pretty turned-on.”

“Well thanks for the compliment,” I grumble. My gaze falls back forward. Then it drifts left to another attractive butt. “What about Stitches?”

I don’t see her face. I’m still watching him, the way his face lights up while he talks to Noh. “I didn’t notice, I wasn’t really watching him.” She must notice where I’m looking. And the look on my face; longing. “Are you sure you’re ok? With him?”

I shrug. “I thought I was…”

“Then he kissed you?” She finishes. I nod. She’s silent for a few seconds, then, “I see the way you’re staring.” What an odd thing to say. “Not jealousy…”

I breathe deep. “Envy,” I offer.

“Mmm, yeah…” More silence. “You know, you look the same way when you’re with him. With Noh.” She’s referencing the way Stitches looks. He’s just so happy talking with Noh.

I smile, though still feel sad. “He must have that effect on ponies.”

“If so, then you have nothing to worry about.” I wait for her to clarify. “I mean, you know, same as me, what it is Stitches wants. It isn’t Noh.”

I remember the look in his eyes before he kissed me. I was almost sure it was empathy. Does he feel the same as me? Desperate for something? Anything? But fearing making the wrong choice in desperation? If he did, he wouldn’t look for anything in Noh. “I guess you’re right.” I really shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Maybe he does just have that effect on ponies?

Pearl and I are quiet the rest of the way. I listen to the others talk about college life and work. I love hearing Noh talk about different plays and songs, and some issues he’s had with some roles. I hear Stitches mention things about nursing he’s never told me, but I’m not bitter. I smile when I see him smile.

When we get to the bar there’s a sign that tells us karaoke starts at 8:00 p.m.

“Well that’s great,” Patches grumbles.

“Well…” Stitches begins but we all know what he’s thinking and growl “No” in unison. A moment of laughter ensues and he complains jokingly, “It’s not like we have anything better to do.”

“I doubt the new guy would want to go to a gay bar,” Pearl points out. I trust she, if any of us, can tell he’s straight. She has a nose for that kind of thing. (What about what she just told you? About the strip-tease?) That’s a good point. Was she just covering up for his sake? Did she ever do that for me? I take a deep breath and push away the thought. It didn’t matter.

Noh chimes in, “I have a name, you know!”

“Right,” Pearl apologizes. “Sorry new guy.”

He rolls his eyes. “Look, I don’t mind where we go. I just… have my reasons to avoid that club.” I wonder what those reasons are. I know he told me he used to work there, and was embarrassed to admit it, but that can’t be enough to make him afraid to go back.

“How do you even know what club we’re talking about?” Pearl inclines.

“Yeah, and what’s wrong with it?” Patches adds.

He’s backing away, intimidated. His lips press together and he looks away, almost ashamed. “That’s… a story for a-another time, perhaps.”

They’re all silent after that. It’s getting awkward fast. “Why don’t we get some lunch?” I suggest.

They all perk up. “That sounds good.” I hear Pearl say it, but it seems to come from all of them.

“What do we all want?” Stitches asks. Noh gives me a grateful glance. I smile to him and he looks away.

I inhale to answer but Patches beats me to it, “Burgers!”

“That’s actually what I was gonna say,” I admit. It’s true.

“There’s a Dear Damsire’s a few streets over,” Pearl says.

“Sounds good,” Noh and Stitches harmonize.

Patches laughs and they hoof-bump. I smile, “Then it’s settled.”

“Awesome,” Pearl proclaimed. “This way!” She rears back and turns and I’m afraid she’s going to run off at a dead sprint, but instead she simply ambles along. It’s pretty funny to see her leap forward then transition to such a slow pace. We all follow closely in a tiny mob.

It’s quiet for about a block, when suddenly I hear singing. It starts off at a low hum, but raises in pitch and tempo. It’s Noh, walking behind me, singing a song from the last play. I listen and think he’s singing a reprise, the solo, but it’s the original which is a duet. It’s to be sung between the two male leads. One enters, describing a mare he met at a gathering they both went to. Then the other enters, following along with a note the first trails off. I oblige, singing the part that describes another mare in much the same ambiguous way as the first. The joke is that they both think they’re singing about the same mare, and end the scene with a friendly competition to see which of them can get the girl.

During the play, they go they’re different ways with plans to woo their mare. When each of them fails horribly, due to the heat of competition, they each find a new mare and end up bringing each other’s first choice to the ball at the end. The reprise is a short version for the first lead to sing about the mare he lost, then about the mare he won at the end. The other stallion sings a different reprise, one that’s actually a duet, with the lead female role.

Her story is that she had her eyes set on him from the beginning and kept shutting the first stallion down in hopes the second would make a move. She doesn’t even know about the bet until the finale.

I ignore the looks of strangers and harmonize almost flawlessly as he catches up to sing beside me. We sing back and forth, making up the rules of the game our characters are playing. Nothing like a friendly competition to strengthen a bond between two friends.

When it’s over our friends cheer, albeit half-heartedly. Pearl comments first, “If I didn’t know any better I’d guess you were singing about a filly.”

“Two different fillies, actually,” Noh corrects. “And why would you know better?”

She turns her head and looks at him funny. “’Cos of Timber?”

I’ll be honest, I didn’t know what he was asking. Apparently he didn’t understand what she meant. “What about him?”

“Umm, he’s gay,” she iterates.

The look on his face is priceless. “Oh my God, I…” he stutters, “I didn’t—I forgot. I’m sorry.”

I laugh a little, “How could you forget something like that?”

“I mean, you never really told me,” he says. “After last night it just slipped my mind.”

“And Patches’ present didn’t tip you off?” I’m messing with him, but I fear I might be taking it too far. “Or the dance?” I suddenly think I’m still wearing the panties, but remind myself I left them on my bed.

“I’m sorry, ok?” He’s genuinely broken up by this. “I really only guessed, at first.”

“It’s ok,” I try and calm him down. “According to these bozos I don’t exactly ‘act’ gay.” I was referring to how the girls would mock me on how I’d never get a boyfriend because I don’t let off a ‘gay vibe.’ I make a mental note that they never tease Stitches that way.

Noh sighs. “Ok, sorry.” I nod, thinking that’s the end of it. Then he leans in close and whispers, “Stitches too, right?”

“Right,” I assure immediately.

“Ok,” he nods and straightens up to keep walking. Then, “But you two aren’t…?”

“Mm-mm.” I shake my head ‘no.’

“Right.”

I look at him skeptically. “Why?” I ask.

“I’m just getting the story straight,” he claims. “Or rather… just making sure I’ve got it right.”

Wait, does he think “straight” is offensive to me? That’s cute. “Right, I get it.” I give a cheeky smile, like I get something he’s not telling me.

“Really, there’s no motive!”

I just laugh. He laughs, too. Awkwardly at first, then he gets that I was messing with him. There’s silence for a few more steps, but I still sense tension. I start singing a song from our current play. Another duet that he’s part of. He smiles at me, enjoying my singing, but when he doesn’t join in—even after some impatient gestures—I get upset. “Oh come on, how do you not know this one yet?”

“What, that’s from this one?” He backs away.

Everyone laughs, but I’m still a little peeved. “It’s your big love song!”

“Well we haven’t practiced it yet,” he says. “How do you know it?”

“I know all the songs. I make a point of memorizing every part in case an actor has questions.” No one has had any questions so far, but that’s always what the stage crew did back in high school. “I’ve always learned the whole script as fast as possible.”

“And you already know the love song?”

I roll my eyes. “Apparently.”

“And you wanted me to sing along?” Is he getting embarrassed?

Oh Celestia! I laugh at the comment, but I’m still peeved. “Obviously. I thought it would be fun.”

“Well,” Noh rumbles in a hilarious low note, “it might have been.” Not embarrassed.

Why did he say it like that? Like he was suddenly a bass instead of tenor. “Except you don’t know the song yet.”

He shrugs. “Must not be that important if we haven’t learned it yet.”

I noticed that too, a while ago actually. In high school we always did a read-through of the whole play and learned all the songs before practicing stage directions. Even the play they were working on when I joined up. They were almost done, but they already knew every line and song when they got to the directions of the ending scenes. After that they went back to specific scenes—marked by the stage director—that needed a little more work before hell week. Maybe the directors wanted to try something new? Maybe I just missed a step?

“So when does this love song come up?” Stitches interrupts my deep thought.

I snap back instantly to answer, “Halfway.” It’s half an answer. I’m still a little out of it, thinking about Bridleway’s order of operations.

“Halfway?” Patches asks for her confused brother.

“Yes.” I’m finally brought back to the issue at hoof, which is Noh and the song. “It leads into the intermission. You really haven’t learned it yet?”

“I read through the script,” Noh answers. “I didn’t learn any of the music yet, though, no. I’m not very good at sight-singing.”

“Well I can’t be much better than you,” I point out.

“Yeah but at least you’re not on the stage constantly.”

“No, but I’ve got a lot on my plate. Bridleway isn’t paying me, so I’m juggling that with an actual job, plus my hobbies. I don’t even get six hours of sleep most nights.”

Pearl interrupts, “Yeah when do you sleep?”

I exhale and try to calm down. This really isn’t a topic to get this upset about, and she probably knows that. “Whenever I can, really. Usually right after work.”

“At the café?” She asks.

“Yeah,” I sigh. I’m suddenly tired. I’m always tired, but never like this. This is almost debilitating.

“Hey,” Noh stops me. “Are you ok?”

I open my eyes. Everypony’s looking at me, worried. Well, Patches looks mostly skeptical. Why did I notice that? “Yeah,” I maintain. “Yes.” I lied. We wouldn’t stop now. Not like this. To my relief, my stomach growls. I turn to Pearl, “We almost there?”

“Oh,” she shakes herself, like she was deep in thought, “yeah. This way.” She leads on around one more corner and to the front door of Dear Damsire’s.

I look at the sign and smile at the name. It’s a clever title, but I have to wonder what inspired it. Stitches brings it up, too, “What even is a ‘damsire?’”

I answer, “It’s an old Equestrian word for ‘grandfather.’ Hasn’t been used in ages.” Really only a couple generations, but that’s basically the same thing. I yawn.

I hoped nopony noticed, but Noh touches my shoulder. I feel like I might get a bruise on that shoulder, with how often ponies put their hooves there. I smile at him. He knits his eyebrows in concern.

“So,” Patches blurts. “Lunch won’t take eight hours. What should we do after this?”

We seat ourselves at a fairly large, round table near the back. It’s mostly empty. “It’s more like six and a half hours, really,” I point out. “We were opening presents for a while.”

“We?” She scoffs.

I roll my eyes. “Ok, I. Plus there was the little dance I had to do.” It definitely didn’t feel like it took three hours though. So maybe it was closer to 1:00, or earlier. I look around for a clock.

Noh lifts a pocket watch from his bag and checks it. “It’s twelve forty-seven,” he announces. “We’ve got about seven hours, if lunch only takes thirteen minutes.”

“It’ll be longer than thirteen minutes,” Pearl promises.

A waitress comes up and takes all our orders one by one. I don’t remember what anypony ordered, even myself. It was good though.

While we wait for the burgers, I have a question come to mind for Noh. “How did you find out about the karaoke place?” I ask him.

“Oh,” he coughs, having been drinking from his soda. I smirk. “Well, when I first got started on Bridleway, Silver noticed I had trouble singing on stage.” Silver Sheet was our music director. He was married to the conductor, Lillith, and loved to show her off. “I didn’t think I did, but he could tell. He took me there and sang for me, showing off how carefree he was on stage in front of a live audience.” He was waving his hooves around while he told the story. Patches looked a tad uncomfortable with it. “I saw how fun it looked, so tried my best following him. It didn’t go well, which was odd. I’d done absolutely fine through every production during college, and even before! But singing that pop song in front of the whole bar…?” He just shakes his head and takes another drink.

“So,” Pearl comes in, “what changed?”

He swallows, “He sang with me. I didn’t even know the song, but he insisted on it and had me under his wing almost the whole time, literally.” He is a pegasus. “He danced with me, sort-of. More like, forced me to move around a lot while we sang. It was awful, but I had a lot of fun. Afterward he told me not to sing, so much as play. I thought it was funny, just because it’s called a ‘play,’ but we act.”

I smile, then my thoughts converge, “But isn’t it still playing?”

He’s in the middle of another drink. I have to wonder why he didn’t drink as much at my apartment. Did he not like the cola Pearl got? Why didn’t he say something? “What do you mean?”

“Well,” I don’t know how to explain. “It’s all make believe, and when you’re pretending to be a fictional character you’re basically playing a game. The only difference, on stage, is that you’re told what to say.”

He gets a really thoughtful look. “I never really thought of it before,” he admits. “You’re right though. That’s basically all it is!”

I smile. Maybe now that I understand it, it won’t be so hard to start acting? (And what makes you think you’re going to start acting?) What makes you think I won’t? (You’ve never wanted to be an actor!) So where were you during those four years of high school? (I mean you haven’t taken it seriously.) Acting isn’t all that serious, is it? (Why don’t you ask him?)

Stitches beats me to it, “So, how seriously do you take it? You know, acting?”

“Well,” he puts his cup down. “At first I took it very seriously. I took all kinds of notes and tried really hard. I memorized lectures and lessons and the likes, thought really hard about how to say certain lines. After a while it all started sinking in. Like Timber said, I started to just play, I guess. I fell into it, and it all came naturally.” He smiles at me and finishes, “You should have no problem with it.”

53 Masseuse

Stitches mentions how the day after my birthday the girls took me to the spa. He leaves out the part that involves how I was almost raped, thank goodness, but goes on to complain that we left him out.

“So what are you saying?” Pearl asks. We all know what it is, but we want to hear him say it.

“Oh you know exactly what I’m saying,” he gripes.

“Just say it,” Patches demands.

“Fine, I want to go to the spa,” he kind of mumbles.

Patches leans in, a hoof behind her ear, “What was that?”

He smirks playfully. “I said, I want to go to the spa.” I heard him fine, both times, though he still slurred the words together.

Pearl joins in, leaning really close like she didn’t hear. “Huh?!” They say in unison.

“I want to go to the spa!” The few other patrons in the establishment look at him, but he either doesn’t notice or ignores them.

“Spa day, huh?” The waitress chimes in. She collected our trays earlier and has returned with the bill. We asked for it all together, and agreed to pool our cash. “Sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Oh it will be,” Patches promises.

I look at Noh for approval. He shrugs, “Yeah I could use a massage.”

Pearl scoffs at him, “Massage? Try hooficure!”

He rolls his eyes. “I will not knowingly buy myself a hooficure.”

“My treat then,” Pearl insists. “I just think we ought to stick together.” Then she wraps herself in her hooves like she’s scared. “I don’t trust those spa fillies…”

We laugh with her, even the waitress. Then she drops the check on the table and says, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Patches responds, “Can do, beautiful.” Then she winks.

The waitress smiles, but her eyes are wide with horror. She trots away quickly, while Patches laughs her head off. The rest of us laugh somewhat politely, but none of us thought it was nearly as funny as she thought. I really don’t get her. Is she a lesbian? Maybe even bi-sexual? Why wouldn’t she come clean about it? Is she afraid, and masks her insecurity with humor while dropping subtle hints in the hopes that somepony will catch on and make a move? Somehow I don’t think she’s that complicated, but I don’t know for sure. (Just ask her.) Do you know how awkward that would be? Like, ‘hey that was funny. By the way, are you lesbian?’ (When you say it like that…) I really don’t see any rational way to bring it up without hurting her feelings, or making her uncomfortable. I know I wouldn’t like somepony asking me something like that out of the blue. (Fine, I get your point. Just try to remember and ask her when the mood is right.)

I missed what they were talking about, but catch on that it had to do with the waitress. Patches was legitimately complimenting her. Did she come out? Did I miss her coming out by thinking too hard about why she wouldn’t come out?

“But you saw her face,” Patches finishes off. “Even if I did ask, she’d turn me down.” Dammit, she totally came out. Why was nopony freaking out over this? Did they already know?

“I guess you’re right,” Pearl allows. “But one of these days, each of you—“ she points her hoof between Patches, Stitches, and me, “—needs to ask somepony out.”

Noh nonchalantly takes a sip from his drink. “I saw that,” I call him out.

“Yeah,” Pearl adds. I mean… I could have handled it but whatever. “Do you have a girlfriend, or what?”

“Ehh…” he shrugs, then goes back to sipping his soda.

“Pfft,” Pearl scoffs. “How does a guy like you not have a date?” The way she says it makes it sound like there’s a ball coming up that we’re all going to.

“I dunno,” he admits. “Maybe… fillies are just intimidated by me?”

“Yeah I bet,” Pearl trails off. She really doesn’t know how to scold him any longer.

We’ve dished out even payments for the check, including a fair tip. As we exit the building, I feel like taking the conversation again. “Speaking of bets,” after the subject of bets was just about dead, “how about a little wager?”

Noh raises an eyebrow, “What kind of wager?”

“At the karaoke place,” I begin. “We can show off our singing skills and see who the crowd thinks is best.”

“That sounds like a contest for the two of you,” Stitches whines. Well, I suppose he wasn’t whining, but he definitely sounded pleased with the idea.

“Hey, I want in on it,” Pearl insists. “I’m as good as the two of you.”

“Count me out!” Patches calls.

“Fine by me,” Noh salutes. “So what’s at stake here?” The three of us ponder for a moment, but Noh comes right back in. “How’s this? If I win, you come to the theater every Sunday for lessons.” He’s talking to me.

I like the bet, but seeing as we were planning on doing that anyway I don’t think it’s nearly high enough. He must not be taking this seriously. I’m about to place my offer when Pearl comes in. “What about me?”

“Well what do you want?” Noh asks.

“I mean do I have to come to the lessons?”

“Well, do you want to?”

I hope she says no. I really hoped the singing lessons would give us some alone time.

“Not really I guess,” she shrugs. My brain sighs. “Not like I’ll lose, though. I’m already the BEST!” She sings the last word at the top of her voice.

“All right, big girl,” Noh challenges, “what’s in it for you?”

She smirks at me, “Another show.” I blush and my eyes go wide. “This time with both of you.”

Noh looks really embarrassed. I feel like bringing up his past as an exotic dancer, but don’t want to break his trust. He’ll do it on his own if he wants to.

“Now that,” Patches jumps, “I’d love to see.”

“Mmm,” now Stitches. “Me too.”

“All right,” Noh agrees. “We’ll have to see. How about you, Timber?”

“What about…” I stroke my chin, pretending to have some trouble deciding. I already know exactly what I want. I lean in real close to Noh, “A kiss?”

A choir of “Ooo” escalates from the others. Noguki’s blushing so hard it’s like his coat was dyed. I wonder if my face ever looked that discolored.

I feel cheeky enough to tease him some more. “A real good one, too, tongue and all. At least five seconds.”

“I’m not so sure,” Noh backs off. I’m afraid I might have gone too far. I want to apologize, but I don’t think I can. What kind of message would that send? Maybe I can just smile and play it off as a joke? “I guess so?” Too late now.

“Sorry Timber, but you won’t be getting that kiss,” Pearl’s mocking me.

Noh lightens up a tad, “Oh it’s on now. But I think I’ll change the stakes a bit.”

“I’ll allow it,” Pearl grins.

“Timber still comes to me every weekend,” he reiterates, “plus I get his new pillow.” I feel like he had something much more sinister in mind, but didn’t have the guts to say it out loud. Then again, maybe not.

“Deal,” Pearl declares.

“Deal,” I chime in.

“It’s settled then,” Noh finalizes. We all stick our hooves into our little triangle and bump them together. “No turning back now.”

“What have we gotten ourselves in to?” Pearl whinnies sarcastically.

At last, we all start heading toward the spa house. Then Patches says, “Wait, isn’t that spa like, on the other side of town?”

Pearl and I remember simultaneously how far away the place actually is, and groan in unison. “I guess we can take a trolley?” Pearl suggests.

“What’s a trolley?” Patches remarks.

“It’s just a big carriage for lots of ponies,” I explain. “They’re really only called ‘trolleys’ in places like Trottingham.”

“I’m so glad we have a dictionary with us,” Stitches says.

“Oh shut up,” I command. “Just because I’m the smartest one here…”

“This way!” Pearl interrupts.

We make it to the corner where a small herd waits for the trolley when Patches brings it back up, “I thought it was called a ‘bus.’”

“Some ponies call it that,” I offer. “I don’t really know where they came up with the word, though.”

We crowd onto the bus slowly and offer a bit each to the collection bin inside. The monitor thanks us with a smile and we take our seats. The ride is quiet, but I hear Noh humming the melody of the duet I sang earlier. I’m glad he remembers it well enough already, but have to instruct him, “That’s the mare’s part.”

“So what?” He whispers harshly, then smiles. I smile back and let him hum.

We all get off the carriage about a block away from our destination and walk the rest of the way. When we get there, pearl instructs the mare at the front desk, “Three tabs, please. I’ll be treating myself and him—“ me “—those two will share—“ Patches and Stitches “—and he’s on his own.”

Noh gives a shocked gasp, “But it’s my special day!”

“No,” Pearl corrects, “It’s Stitches’.”

Stitches just shakes his head quickly with his lips pressed together, then points at me. The receptionist is laughing, which is good. “Very well, mes amies.”

She begins scratching her pencil across a hefty-looking log book while Pearl continues with her demands. “We’ll all start off with a full hooficure and hot towels. Afterwards we’ll each have our own massage, which I’ll have them order in a sec.” The hostess is nodding and writing at the speed of light. I can’t imagine what her penmanship must look like with how fast her mouth is wiggling that utensil. “Take your time with the massages, we’ve got all day before our next appointment.”

“Oui, madame.”

“What next, hm?” Pearl looks around to all of us. “Haircuts? Facials?”

“Sauna?” Stitches asks.

“We’ll probably finish off with the sauna,” Pearl offers. “If there’s time.”

“Hooficures?” Patches asks.

“That was the first thing I said,” Pearl grumbles. “Already on the list.”

The hostess giggles again. Adorably, might I add.

“I’ve never had a mud facial,” I input.

Pearl turns back to the desk, “A full-service mud bath for him.”

“And me,” Patches insists.

“Me too, please,” Stitches, too.

“I think I’ll go with a haircut,” Noh suggests.

“Aww,” I whine.

“I know,” he rustles my mane, “but it really is time.”

“And I’ll take a coloring,” Pearl finishes. “Got all that?”

“Oui,” the mare nods. She lists off everything Pearl asked for, then asks, “What kind of massage would you all like?”

Pearl starts off, “Deep tissue for me.”

She looks at me intently. “Uhh, aromatherapy massage? Please.” She nods.

Stitches is next. “I’ll take aromatherapy, too.”

Patches, “Shiatsu.”

“Hmm,” Noh contemplates for a minute. “Do you offer acupuncture?”

“No, monsieur. So sorry.”

“That’s fine. I’ll take hot stone.”

“Oui,” she nods. She lists off each of our choices while pointing between us.

“Sounds perfect,” Pearl settles. The hostess tallies up the price and lets us know what it’ll cost when we’re finished. It seems a little expensive, then Pearl breaks out a membership card, something I only just remembered she had. She even convinced the hostess to allow it for each of the separate bills.

“Any special requests?” The mare asks.

“I’d like the latest issue of Funny Stallion magazine during my coloring.” Pearl turns to me next.

Without thinking my mouth asks, “Male masseuse?”

Patches snorts. My face is warming up. The mare nods, understanding. Why did I say that, though? I’ll barely get a good look at the guy. Then again, maybe a stallion will be a little tougher on my stiff neck? Then again, again, I asked for aromatherapy. I had deep tissue last time and it mostly just hurt, then left me weak. I wanted something more soothing this time.

“Can I have a harp play during my massage?” Noh requests.

“Oh, no. So sorry.” Poor doll.

Noh mocks disbelief, “What kind of place is this, no harp music? I’m only teasing,” he offers quickly so as not to hurt the mare’s feelings.

“Fresh cucumber?” Patches asks.

“Oui, cucumber is provided during mud bath.”

“Right.” She looks a little embarrassed. “That’s right.”

Pearl looks around once more, but everypony seems satisfied. I was sure Stitches would request a male masseuse like I did. Though I can’t imagine why I would assume that.

“That’ll be all,” Pearl officiates. My friends take turns stepping up and filling out payment. I thought it a little strange to pay before receiving the services. I assure myself that we could get a refund if we were really displeased. I knew we wouldn’t be, though.

We’re led to locker rooms to leave behind our belongings. Then we head to the hooficure chairs and get our hooves nicely cleaned and filed smooth. It goes quickly, since none of us requested any kind of polish or shining. It’s a good start, though. Especially with the hot towels on our faces. At least, I thought so.

We didn’t talk to each other a whole lot, but Pearl gossiped with the spa fillies like they were best friends. I remember how she mentioned her distrust of them and laughed a little. Then I remembered Noh swearing he’d never have a hooficure and laugh a little more. The filly working on my hooves tried to make small talk to pass the time, but I was mostly trying to relax. I answered her questions and responded politely. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings by ignoring her. I was too far away from Stitches or Noh to hear whatever they talked about.

After the hooficures, we’re all led to massage rooms. Stitches and I get to share a room, Pearl and Patches were together as well. Noh was left alone and left us with sad little eyes like we were abandoning him. I wave and smile deviously, like I’d planned his demise. He laughs a bit before we lose sight of each other.

“So,” Stitches begins, “you ever had an aromatherapy massage before?”

I shake my head no.

“Well it’s about time. My classmate’s a physical therapy major and is taking massage classes. It’s a real strange major in a medical school, if you ask me.”

“I don’t think so,” I input. “Physical therapy is a pretty important step for some ponies recovering from serious injury.”

“Well, I only meant the massage class,” he explains. “Anyway, he asks me all the time if he can use me for practice. Now, he doesn’t know how I roll, you know?” I nod. “I try not to make it awkward though. As a nurse, I have to take things seriously before anything else, usually. So he’s been trying out all these different kinds of massages on me and aromatherapy is my favorite so far.”

I can’t remember the last time he’s spoken to me this much. I relish the time with him and let him talk. “It’s a real slow massage, usually. They take these concentrated liquids called essential oils and rub them into your skin, then start really pressing into your bones and muscles.” He’s really accentuating the different parts of the massage, slowing his words down and pushing them out like he’s massaging each one. “The oils come from all kinds of flowers and stuff, and if you request certain scents they’ll give ‘em too you, but you really need to know what each oil does before you can decide which ones you want. The basic rub they apply here, I think, is a combination of lemon, jasmine, and rosemary. It’s all really good for stress relief and… all around happiness.” I get the feeling he was about to say something else.

We climb onto our beds, lie down flat on our fronts and rest our heads facing each other. A thought that pushes into my head makes me laugh; it’s that my gonads feel a little constricted between both my legs and the bed. I shift uneasily, and Stitches laughs a bit as he watches me reconfigure my balls against the bed.

I barely get comfortable in time for the masseuses to come through the door. I quickly lift my head and ask my masseuse to take my glasses. I give them to him and he leaves them on a table by the closed door. I relax again and wait for him to begin rubbing the oils onto me.

I hear his hooves rubbing together and get ready. When it takes a little longer than I expected I open my eyes. I didn’t remember closing them, but I open them and see Stitches mouthing something. “Huh?” I ask. I can’t read lips very well, but especially not without my glasses.

He laughs a little then enunciates, “He’s pretty hot.”

My masseuse chuckles, “Thanks.”

I didn’t get a good look at him, so I don’t really know. I close my eyes again and wait. Then I hear Stitches again, “Hey.” I don’t look, just lift my eyebrows lazily. “If you don’t ask him out, I will.”

My eyes shoot open. The guy’s laughing again, but Stitches’ masseuse speaks up, “Why can’t I ever get guys to fight over me?” She’s joking, but I do kind of feel sorry for her.

My masseuse speaks up again, “If either of you are serious, you’ll have to give me a minute after the massage to get my number.”

Stitches raises an eyebrow. I roll my eyes. “You’ll have to let me think about it.”

“Take your time,” the stallion offers. Then I feel his hooves against my shoulders. The smell reaches my nose and tingles against my skin.

54 Clean

These chapters are getting pretty long. Anyway…

The next thing I know Stitches is shaking me awake. The smell of lemon lingers on my skin as I rub my eyes to full attention. A stinging sensation occurs and I regret having fallen asleep. Stitches hoofs me my glasses and I take them wearily, placing them on my snout carefully. Then he shows me a small slip of paper with an easily-recognizable pattern of numbers. “You got his number?”

He nods excitedly. “He told me to let you know. Wanted to give you a fair chance, but still let you sleep.”

“That’s nice,” I stretch, “but you can have him. No offense, but you saw him first.”

“If you say so,” he smirks. “I mean, he touched your butt.”

I let out a quick little laugh, then sigh. Why couldn’t I have stayed awake to enjoy the massage? At least I felt incredibly relaxed now. “You think they’ll let us into the mud bath with the oils in our coats?” I assumed they use an especially clean mixture of mud in the baths and liked to keep it that way. I’ve never had aromatherapy, or a mud bath before and wasn’t sure if the same rules applied to them as most treated swimming pools.

“I’m sure they will,” he guesses. “The oils usually soak into your skin pretty quick, which really helps calm you down.” He’s quietly pondering while we turn another corner back to the relaxation room to wait for the mud baths. Then, “We’ll still have to rinse off first, anyway.”

“That’s right,” I didn’t know about that step. “Then I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Everypony’s waiting for us in reclined seats, and I’m a little embarrassed that our massage took the longest. Noh spots us first and waves.

“Hey,” Stitches calls. The girls look over from their conversation and smile. “Sorry it took so long.”

“That’s not your fault,” Pearl assures.

“Right,” he shrugs. Then to Noh, “By the way, how was your hooficure?”

We all turn to him expecting him to deflect. “Not half bad,” he admires his front left hoof. “I might have to come back for another one some time.”

We all laugh, though I notice he looks as drowsy as I feel. I wonder if his hot stone massage had the same effects as aromatherapy. Obviously not exactly the same, but it was clearly just as relaxing if not more so.

Stitches and I sit down in chairs that complete a circle with the rest of our friends. I see Pearl’s face and know she’s about to ask how I feel. I answer before she has the chance, which was probably kind of rude. “I absolutely loved the massage,” I state. “How about you, girls?”

“I enjoyed mine as well,” Pearl chirps. “Though the mare who gave it to me was a little weak.” She wiggles her right shoulder like it’s a poorly-oiled hinge. “Still got a tight knot right up here.”

“Mine was great, too,” Noh yawns. “Though I’m pretty sure I slept through most of it.”

“You too huh?” I smile. (He’s faking.) What? What makes you so sure? “Those oils they use get real deep and just make you lose it.” Really, why would you say that? (He’s just trying to sympathize with you. He wasn’t the least bit tired before.) Say whatever you want. I’m having a good time.

“Mmm,” Noh moans, “and those hot stones really loosen up your muscles. I thought my lungs would stop breathing with how peaceful it was.”

“Mine was good too,” Patches interrupts. Though, not really, I guess. Noh and I were finished. Anyway, “My mare was really hardcore, had me moaning and groaning into that pillow non-stop.”

We all laugh awkwardly, “Oh come on, sis!” Stitches commands.

I smirk at him, “Oh, like you didn’t love your massage just as much.”

“Hm,” he grunts, “I would’ve liked it more with your masseuse.”

“Oh really?” Pearl intercedes. “And how did you like the male masseuse you requested, Timber?”

I smile, a bit embarrassed. “Well, I actually slept through most of it, but maybe that’s because of how great it was…? Stitches had a good time with him, though.”

“Ooo,” both the girls sing. Then Patches adds, “Do tell.”

He starts by pulling out the small piece of paper to show them. He waves it around with his wing and says, “Timber kindly gave me free reign with his masseuse.”

They turn to me looking offended. “Timber!” Pearl squeaks.

“What?” I question. “It’s not like he touched my butt…” I trail off.

She laughs despairingly, “Oh come on.”

“Plus… It’s not like Stitches isn’t just as deserving,” I argue.

She comes back, “You should have had first pick, anyway.”

“I did,” I tell her. “I just turned it down due to lack of interest.”

“How could you not be interested?”

“He didn’t even really see the stallion,” Stitches defends me.

I notice I’m getting rather defensive myself and before I can stop myself add, “Besides, you know I’m not just waiting for the first stallion who walks up.” Did I just offend Stitches? Shit, I hope not.

“I bet you didn’t even ask him,” Patches smirks as she sips a cup of tea that wasn’t there a minute ago.

My jaw tightens. “What does it matter? Stitches was the one who showed interest, all right? The point is I said no, and that’s final! Now can we drop it?”

With perfect timing, a filly walks in and announces the mud baths are almost ready. Stitches, Patches and I make our way back to the locker rooms to shower off. While under the running water, Stitches asks, “Are you sure you don’t want to ask him?”

I bite my tongue, trying to keep calm, take my time, then respond, “No, ok? I’m not sure. I just don’t want to think about something like this right now.”

“Ok,” he mumbles, “sorry.”

I nod, then turn my shower off and shake off. Stitches follows suit and we canter out to where Patches and the worker filly are waiting, still damp. The bath house is just across the hall but we wait as Pearl and Noh cross our path, on their way to the hair salon. I really am going to miss that ponytail. Pearl smiles, as does Noh. He has concern in his eyes, which is sweet. Then I notice he’s absolutely wide awake. Dammit.

I try to ignore the thought as we’re led to our mud baths. As we enter the room, I’m surprised to see another patron already in a bath at the end, leaving only three open tubs. Stitches takes the first and before I can his sister steps into the second. I’m slightly offended, but figure it might be for the best. I wasn’t sure I was in the mood for chatting anyway and this way would decrease my chances. (You’re being really pissy all of a sudden.) Yes, thank you. Try to ignore it. Celestia knows I will.

I leave my glasses on another table near the door before sliding into the bath beside the stranger, trying not to look at him. Well, I only assume it’s a stallion by the shape of his face. The pony’s got a towel covering their mane, a bucket of mud caked on their face, and cucumber slices over their eyes. You know, I’m still not sure if “their” is the right word to use. It sounds plural to me, but it’s still right as far as I know.

The filly from before steps up and smears a mask of mud on my face, then offers a steaming towel for my head. I accept and she wraps my mane into it. Finally she places two cold cucumber slices over my closed eyelids.

“I read somewhere,” Patches says, “that cucumbers don’t actually do anything to your eyes.”

“Who cares,” Stitches moans. “It feels nice.”

I have to agree. I especially love the cold darkness they provide. I think it contrasts perfectly with the hot towel resting above my brow. I sink deeper into the mud and let my mind wander. I should have requested music for this part. Music usually narrows my river of thoughts to a brook and lets me relax more easily. It also silences conversations with Aura, which isn’t always preferred, but would have been in this situation. (I told you he was faking.) I try to ignore him, and almost wish the others would keep talking just so I didn’t have to listen to the voice in my head. (And what’s going to happen when we leave the spa? Stitches has a date, and you’ll have to get ready for work again.) Shit, that’s right. We’re still supposed to work today. Noh and I never told the theater we weren’t going to be there. But, he was the one who planned for karaoke. Maybe he already did?

I groan out loud without thinking and Patches asks what’s wrong. I take a deep breath and respond, “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“Uh-uh,” she denies. “If I’ve learned anything from Pearl, it’s that I’m not allowed to let you fester. What is it?”

I hesitate some more when Stitches comes in, “Come on, Timber. What is it?”

I take a deep breath. There’s really no reason to keep them in the dark. I should have just stayed quiet. Then again, the conversation with them is welcome respite from the one with Aura. I decide to tell them, “I was just thinking about work tonight. Noh and I still have to get to the theater.”

“Pssh,” Patches scoffs. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Oh?” I question. “And why not?”

“Think about it,” she begins. “Our good friend Noguki, I assume, is an upstanding employee at that stage on Bridleway, never missed a practice. Am I right?”

That doesn’t seem to prove her point. Besides; “How should I know?”

She continues, “And he’s the one whose great idea it was to go out for karaoke, anyway. He’s obviously made arrangements to miss a night of work at the theater. Am I right?”

A thought comes to mind – Actually it might have come from Aura, but I’m not sure. I thought about the fact that Noh planned for karaoke much earlier in the day. We only came to the spa because karaoke doesn’t start until eight. We had to be at the theater by eight. I don’t say anything though, trying to let the thought drift away. Instead, the thought of this morning’s mail comes to mind; the letter I got from home. I have to wonder who sent it, what it was about. Would it be good news or bad? Was it even family? I have trouble remembering the address exactly, only that it was from Green Stables. It could be from home, or from Churner, or even Sawdust. There’s no telling which of them sent it, or what it contains.

“Timber?” Patches asks again. I was hoping the topic had died.

“I think he might be out,” the voice comes from my left; the stranger in the last tub. A stallion, with a very powerful voice. It cracks a little, like a cold throat on a hot morning, but very deep and piercing regardless.

I smile suddenly. “Not yet,” I comment. “Almost though.”

“Yeah right,” Stitches calls out. “After the nap you just took? I don’t buy it one bit.”

I would have rolled my eyes were they not closed and covered in green vegetable slices.

The stranger speaks again. “Let the guy have his rest. Not much longer before he has to check with his coworker about tonight.”

I inhale slowly, wanting to thank the stallion for defending me, but I revel in the following silence. Then a little bell sounds, and I hear the stallion rise from his tub and begin wiping the mud from his body. He leaves, though I notice it’s not through the door from earlier, which would have led beck to the showers. He’s leaving through the other side. I don’t remember seeing a door there.

His hoof steps fade and I go back to relaxing, trying to focus solely on the mud bath, rather than Aura or anything else. I focus on how I would describe the sensation, the warm mixture of minerals suspending me in an infinite space. Darkness leads and follows every breath and heartbeat, pulses of life ebb and flow through the water that binds every molecule of dirt and filth to saturate my being in a blanket of cleanliness. A fresh start, new hope. As I float in the abyss, and with every beat of my heart, an old part of me is left behind to be replaced with something newer, better.

Lights dance through my brain and I’m sure I hear music. I know it’s impossible, that I’m likely just hallucinating from exhaustion. Still, I don’t fight it. The feeling of heaven cradling me sinks into my skin and I wonder if this is what death is like; complete emptiness. But it isn’t all emptiness is it? With the colors of my mind singing to my eyes as I fall into a surreal fantasy of death. It holds me, loves me by taking me away from my body. I don’t feel it, my body. My skin, limbs, even my head are just aspects of thought that I have to remind myself about as darkness swims and my heart pounds. I don’t have legs, or a mane, or tail. I remind myself of every body part just so I know I’m still alive: fore legs, check; hind legs, check; torso, check; penis, scrotum, rectum, all check.

I laugh at myself, a sound lost to time. I think I want to squirm, like I’ve been laying still in this position for too long, but space holds me still. I want to moan, sigh, sing, something, but death traps my voice. It’s an eerie peace, I realize, but peace nonetheless. If I can have this emptiness instead of fear, this cradle in place of stress, I’ll have it as long as I can. I won’t give it up, as long as I can help it.

A tiny bell sounds and I’m torn from space to reality. I hear my friends being eased out of their tombs and remember. The cucumber is lifted from my eyelids and an attendant assists me from the mud. We’re each given damp towels to wipe ourselves off. Patches and Stitches chat with each other, I’m still lost in a daze. I wonder how I could get lost so easily, but not be able to recover nearly as quickly. I look at the mud bath and grin. An old me lies there, I hope. Beneath the blanket of mud is the filth I don’t need, don’t want. I wonder what the new me will be like.

55 Sauna

We’re led to the customary mineral bath that follows the mud treatment. The stallion from before is there already with his eyes closed. He peeks at us as we enter the bubbling water. I remember I left my glasses in the last room and panic a little.

My first idea is to tell Stitches, “I completely forgot my glasses.”

“Ok, tell somepony.” Easy for him to say. He must see the look on my face because he smirks. “Excuse me,” he waves down an attendant. When she steps over he gestures to me and says, “My friend left his glasses in the last room. Could we go get them?”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll go and get them.” She smiles politely.

As she’s turns to leave I have an idea. “Wait,” I insist. She turns back momentarily to listen. “If you could just leave them at the front desk, I’d appreciate it. I’ll get them after.”

She smiles again and nods slowly, bowing her head rather low. She turns again and leaves for good. Stitches bumps his elbow into me as he turns back toward the pool. I step in shortly after him and look at the stranger. I feel like I recognize him from somewhere, a place long before here, but shake the feeling quickly. I’m just confused; admiration for how he acted earlier, doubled with my lack of vision.

I lower myself into the hot water carefully and gasp at the tingling sensation throughout my body. I have to say, I enjoy this feeling much more than that of chills or goose bumps. The reaction my body has to the incredibly hot water as it caresses my sensitive flesh. Each of my body parts reacts in turn to the near-boiling heat, and I have to admit, when it got to my genitals was probably my favorite part. My scrotum reflexively shrinking away from the water, then relaxing to an overly extended sag in the heat. I clench a couple of times and sigh, relaxing my pucker as it takes its turn entering the water.

I take my seat and the water wavers onto my chest. I take another look at the stranger and take notes on his position. He’s reclined very far, mostly floating with his chin just above the surface. His eyes are closed, fully immersed in leisure. I try to look at his body, but with my lack of glasses and the bubbly unevenness of the water it’s impossible. He did take the towel off his head and his hair is rather short. I think it looks like a flat-top, almost military style cut. It looks good, I think. Though it makes me wonder what he’s doing in a place like this? Oh well, to each his own.

I take the towel off my head and toss it aside. I feel a little bad for just leaving it lying around, and glance toward it apologetically. I see a worker collect it using magic. He has a basket following him, full of used towels. I want to apologize, or thank him. All I do is whimper.

When I turn back to the bath, the strange stallion is leaving. I think it strange that his treatment is so unevenly timed in comparison to mine. Ours. I look over to my friends. Stitches has his front hooves resting outside the edge of the pool, eyes closed. Patches is running her hooves through her hair. She takes a dip below the water level and comes up quickly, shaking her head sporadically. I turn back, the stallion nowhere to be seen. I close my eyes, still weary. I wipe a hoof over my face, then rub the salty water into my cheeks. I feel actually quite dry, so I decide to take a dive as well. Maybe it’ll be good for my hair, too?

When I resurface my face is stinging. I shake off quickly and rub at it. The mixture of minerals and heat feeling like it’s singeing the fur off my face. I mistakenly open my eyes and the water drips from my brow right inside. Off my body, it doesn’t feel so hot, but the saltiness is not comfortable.

“Done already?” Patches asks as I lift myself out of the water.

“Yeah,” I mumble. “The water’s starting to bother my eyes.” A filly shows me to a rack of fresh towels. I take one and dry off, then leave it draped over my neck. “I’ll see you guys in the sauna.” I wonder if the others are there.

I walk through the hallways, following signs pointing to the steam-room. I walk past the locker rooms and see for a brief instant the apricot-colored coat of the stranger from before, walking away through the doorway. A part of me wants to turn and talk to him, thank him for being so friendly. Where would the conversation lead, though? What if it got awkward and he only wanted to gather his things and go home? I didn’t want to be some random pony stopping him to chat in the locker room and force him into an awkward situation because I might have feelings for him. And who said I have feelings for him? I’m just grateful that he defended me for no apparent reason and let me get back to relaxing. And that’s all I want to do now, relax.

I’m far past the locker rooms now, almost to the waiting room, then the sauna. An attendant asks me if I’d prefer a fresh towel before entering and I accept. She takes my damp one and smiles as she hoofs me a clean, dry one. I smile back and drape it around my neck. She holds the door open to the communal steam room and I walk in. We agreed to always use the communal steam room because we’re all allowed in together, naturally. It just seemed like a better idea than each going to the gender-assigned rooms. We preferred each other’s company and didn’t care much for our own privacy. I’m sure, if we felt self-conscious around strangers we could cover ourselves with towels, but I’m never self-conscious with Pearl around. Additionally, the communal one was a lot bigger.

She and Noh are waiting silently inside. “Hey guys,” I call out. I silently note how empty it is besides us. I wonder if there are more ponies in the separate rooms.

They look my way and smile. Noh’s in a similar position to that of Stitches’ in the mineral bath, with his hooves resting on a higher ledge behind him. Pearl was actually lying down on her front, one hoof under her head for support, the other dangling off the bench. She has bright pink streaks in her mane, which I kind of like. It looks like cotton candy. I take a seat beside her as she asks, “How was your mud bath?”

“It was great,” I say. “I loved the feeling of floating in space. It was incredibly surreal.” I wanted to explain every moment of the experience in the same way I had during. Obviously I didn’t.

“How did you feel afterward?” She asks.

I hadn’t thought nearly as much about that. “A little crusty. Like, it was kinda sticking in my coat. Still I enjoyed it a lot. The hot tub afterward was a little too much for me though.”

“Hot tub?” Noh lifts an eyebrow.

I shrug, “She called it a mineral bath.” I don’t actually remember anypony calling it that in front of me, but somehow I remember that that’s what it is. “It’s mostly just to rinse off the mud, I think. It just bothered my eyes, though.”

“Well that’s too bad.” He straightens his back and looks at me. “At least you’re still enjoying yourself, right?”

As he repositions I notice the towel across his waist. I don’t react, though. “Absolutely. I think I might do a little research on aromatherapy, see if I can’t get some other oils for some other results next time.”

“Sounds good,” he says. Then he takes a deep breath through his nose.

My mind goes back to before, what I was coerced into bringing up in the mud bath. “Hey, Noh?”

“Mhm?” I notice his mane suddenly. It’s modern, shorter near the back, but longer in the front. In this damp state it sticks limply to his forehead.

I take a deep breath and focus, “Did you have a plan for work tonight?”

His calm smile fades and I start panicking. My breathing goes from deep to hasty at a barely noticeable incline before I can contain it. He must notice because he offers another smile. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Right,” I sigh, trying to control my breathing.

“Deep breaths,” Pearl reminds me, like I wasn’t already trying. She lifts a ladle from the bucket of water in the middle of the room and pours the liquid over the red coals in the basin there. Basin? Anyway, she poured the water slowly, and steam hissed upward, all while she spoke to me quietly, “Focus on your heartbeat.” She’s got a painfully relaxed grin on her face, like an evil villain that’s successfully brainwashing an important protagonist. “It should go faster when you inhale—“ I inhale slowly, it doesn’t speed up, “—and slower when you exhale.” I exhale, it doesn’t slow down. “Close your eyes.” I do, still breathing deeply through my nose. “Now when you breathe out, imagine your blowing up a balloon. Make that shape with your lips.” I do and the breath come out so much slower. They’re both silent while I blow up my imaginary balloon. I repeat this step two times before Pearl comes back in. “Now, what were you worried about?”

As if I’d forget that easily. “Work tonight.”

“Ok, and what’s the solution?”

What does she mean by that? The solution is either that we’ll be going to work, or— “Noh will take care of it…”

“That’s right. He’s happy with this solution, you should be too.”

I can’t help but think it’s a farce. He’s only pretending to be happy so I stop worrying. I’m no more special than him, I don’t deserve to be more relaxed.

“Today’s your day,” Pearl reminds me. “You ought to remember that you’re allowed to be a little selfish sometimes. Let others take care of you.” There’s no way I could do that. But why not? They were all willing to give me these freedoms for the sake of my mental health. What could I offer in return? What did they do to deserve a life of serving me?

I open my eyes slowly. Noh’s still smiling, I think. It’s kind of hard to tell through the steam, plus my uncovered eyes are steaming up themselves. I don’t think I’m going to cry, but my eyes are acting like they are, despite my feelings. A tear streaks down my cheek.

Pearl takes a corner of my towel and wipes at it. I laugh once, a quick little burst. Wiping my face seems a little pointless, but I appreciate the sentiment. Then my lip quivers uncontrollably. My eyes squint and more tears well up. I take a shaky breath, suddenly angry at myself for crying. I know I don’t mind crying, most of the time I wish I would. But now there didn’t seem to be a reason for it and I only felt like I was forcing myself, to make myself feel better. I didn’t want to stop, but at the same time I didn’t want to keep going. What did they think of me? I shouldn’t be crying over this. I should be happy! I was given a whole day with friends and lots of time to be happy. It wasn’t just to help cover up a layer of depression. Was it?

I sob, and Pearl pulls me in. I weep into her chest like Noh’s sister before. I enjoy the soft comfort, but now all I can think of is him. I don’t want to ask for him though. What kind of friend would I be…?

I feel his hoof on my shoulder. It wraps around me and pulls me into him. He must be standing… What does it matter? I turn and bury my face in his chest and cry out loud. It isn’t like before, when I was crying out of fear at the theater. I don’t know why I’m crying now. Part of me wants it to stop. Another part absolutely refuses. The rest of me just doesn’t know how.

Noh steps closer and slowly strokes my back. Why the hell am I crying? I have everything I need right now, and even if I won’t have it forever I have it now and being happy now shouldn’t make me cry right now. This behavior is entirely deplorable. What kind of friend am I?

I hear the door open and think Patches and Stitches have finally caught up, but nobody enters. I hear some small movements from Pearl, then the door closes again. I assemble the idea that a worker heard me cry and came to check if everything was all right. Pearl stopped her (or him) and waved them away so as not to interrupt my moment. I had so much to thank her for. Almost too much. Her and Noh both. Well, all of them really.

Eventually, I notice I’m not crying anymore, so I smile and sniff. “Thank you,” I whisper. Noh just keeps petting me, moving his hoof up to my mane. My towel’s missing.

I turn my head sideways, pressing my ear into his chest. I notice the position I’m in isn’t very comfortable and squirm a little. He strokes my mane again then leans in, “Want me to sit down?”

“Mmhmm…”

He lets go for a second to settle down on the bench beside me. I lean against him like one weak pillar against a strong one. I can’t help but wish he could be mine, again. I sigh, but remind myself that I’ll most likely always have this. At least until I do find somepony just for me. Noh was a great friend, and he could be that for everypony. If I had him all to myself, what kind of pony would that make me?

I smile at myself, finding it funny that I would actually keep him to myself all the time. He wraps a hoof around me and I sniff one more time. “There there,” he sings. I laugh again.

The door opens and Patches and Stitches walk in at last. Patches first, “Woah, what’d we miss?”

I sigh and Pearl answers, “Nothing really.” It was her polite way of saying “don’t ask.” They don’t, which I am grateful for.

“Like the new ‘do,” Stitches comments.

“Thanks,” Noh replies. “I wasn’t sure if I wanted it any shorter, but I’ll probably keep this combed up, or back, most of the time.”

I try to imagine him pulling off a short little pompadour. The thought makes me laugh again. They must think strangely of me, letting out all these little breaths of laughter for no apparent reason.

“What’s so funny?”

I was hoping he wouldn’t ask. I was enjoying having my own little jokes. Then again, I like that he’s trying to ease me back to reality. “I was just thinking of you with a pompadour.” No sense in lying.

“What’s wrong with a pompadour?” He asks, defensively.

“Nothing,” I insist. “Just pretty drastic after you last style.”

He hums in thought, rubbing my shoulder with his hoof all the while. Is this what boyfriends do? “I guess you’re right. I probably couldn’t pull it off anyway.”

“And what would the director say?” I ask, jokingly.

He’s silent for a moment, and I fear I may have started something. A memory comes back from high school when I had the idea to shave my head nearly bald for a part. The director was very upset for not talking the idea through with her first. Then I was stuck with the embarrassment of school life with no mane. I’m down again, because he’s probably going to get in trouble for getting a haircut. Just like I did.

He rubs my shoulder again, taking it slow and stroking halfway down my bicep. “I’m sure he’d like a pompadour.” He’s talking about Curtain Call. I think about bringing up how he might actually react to the change, but decide otherwise. Noh’s clearly trying to avoid the disastrous topic.

We’re silent after that, and it remains that way for a few minutes. I take in the dense heat and moisture of the air, permeating my layers and loosening my muscles. I breathe slowly and listen to my own heart hasten and slow in sync with my lungs. Then I listen to Noh breathe deeply. My head is in a slightly awkward position below his neck, but I don’t care, it’s comfortable. I end up synchronizing his breaths with my own.

The next word comes from Patches, “So…” Noh moves to look at her. She’s sitting directly in the corner a few feet away. “You sure you guys aren’t an item?”

Noh clears his throat defensively, and Pearl’s making some kind of harsh movement with her hoof. I think it’s the “cut it out” signal, with quick swipes across her neck symbolizing the need to kill this conversation immediately. I feel like it’s all for my sake, but I don’t mind the question at all. If Noh finds it uncomfortable, though. “What makes you say that?” He doesn’t sound offended.

“Oh, nothing…” She sounds embarrassed, like she gets that she shouldn’t have brought it up. “I just think you two look cute together.”

I smile at the thought and nuzzle a little closer. Then the hoof on my shoulder leaves. “That’s nice of you to say,” Noh responds, “but we’re just good friends.”

I read his body language and sit up straight. He doesn’t want ponies thinking he’s gay. Thanks Patches.

He looks at me, but his eyes keep darting away. Is he actually afraid of interacting with me now? Thanks a lot, Patches!

“I’m sorry,” she sighs. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I… I was obviously out of turn asking. I was trying to tease you…”

I sigh, too. “It’s all right.”

She’s torn apart, shaking her head harshly, “I don’t think so. I saw something wrong had happened, something bad. I felt tense and reacted by making a joke at your expense.” I’ve never seen her act like this. “I should have just been quiet.”

I’m quiet for a few seconds. We all are. I have to make this right. I get up from my seat and step over to her. I have no idea what to say, at first. It all comes to me pretty quickly though. I have to play around it the same way she would. Which might be challenging, but manageable. “You’re right,” I begin, almost rudely. “You were out of place. But,” I change my tone drastically from uptight to adolescent, “no matter what, he won’t be the one putting the penis inside him.”

Her face contorts, like she doesn’t get it at first. Then it lightens up and she tries desperately to hold it in. She fails and lets out a storm of laughter. Everyone chimes in, mostly just laughing at her boisterous laughter. I smile knowingly. I didn’t think I had it in me, but I pulled it off. I somehow managed to lift her up again, back where she belongs as the center of attention. I hated her for it, but what kind of friend would I be if I let her fall from that stage?

56 Love Song

We leave the spa in single file. According to Noh’s pocket watch it’s almost quarter-to-seven. We’ve got over an hour before karaoke night, little over fifteen minutes before play practice. I remind Noh about work and he hastily agrees, then gallops to the nearest phone booth. We wait for him at the bus stop. It’s not due for another five minutes so we let him take his time while we talk.

Pearl starts us off, “So do we have a back-up in case Noh can’t make it?”

“What’s wrong with karaoke?” Stitches asks.

“Nothing,” Pearl admits. “I just don’t think we should do it without him.”

“Besides,” Patches adds, “if Noguki can’t make it, neither can Timber.”

Pearl and Stitches simultaneously remember that I work at the same theater as Noh. “Well…” Pearl tries hard to come up with something, but anything without me doesn’t really count as a birthday activity does it?

“Guys,” I come in, “I’ll still be free anyway. They don’t really need me at the theater.”

“Of course they do,” Pearl insists. It’s sweet that she’s trying to make me feel important, but frivolous.

“At the very least,” I combat, “they can get along for one more night.”

They’re silent, since they know they can’t argue with me. Then Patches surprised me, “I think you should go back to work though.” I almost laugh at Pearl and Stitches’ reaction; flabbergasted. “What? I just think it might be good for him to get back into things. Sooner, rather than later.”

Pearl contemplates for a second. Stitches tags in first, though. “She’s got a point, actually,” he states. “My teacher once gave me a scenario with a patient recovering from trauma and explained that the best path to recovery was to attempt again the thing that caused the accident.” He pauses, and looks at my slightly confused face. “The patient was a rodeo pony and was trampled by a bull. The point was that he’d never get back into rodeo if he didn’t jump back in right away, he was at risk of depression, PTSD, stuff like that. He was put back into the ring with the same bull, and even though it frightened him he came out on top. Now he’s a very decorated competitor. That wouldn’t have happened if he had hesitated. He might never have gotten back into rodeo.”

I flash back to a swim meet during high school. I don’t have a lot of memories of swimming, being the only one of my few friends who enjoyed it. I wasn’t very good anyway, but I did have some skill diving. During the swim meet, the lead diver hit his head on the board. There wasn’t much blood, but the meet was cancelled. The diver was rushed to the hospital, but made it back to the pool within a week. He told me he couldn’t let one accident ruin his career.

“I even came up with a saying I go by: ‘Always fight back with the bull that kicks you,’ or something like that. It’s meant to inspire ponies to go back and do what scared them away.” Stitches smiles at me.

“See?” Patches urges. “I told you it was a good idea.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I comply.

“But what if they don’t have to go back?” Pearl questions.

I raise my eyebrows comically, as if this was a very valid point. It was, but I still played as if I didn’t intend to take any of them seriously.

Stitches laughs. “If nothing changes, then you can always go back tomorrow. But, seriously? The sooner the better.”

“Right,” I nod. “Thank you.”

We all turn to check on Noh just as he hangs up. He gallops back over to us with dread on his face. “Curtain Call says I need to get back. We’re doing the love song today.” He raises an eyebrow at me. I smile appreciatively, glad that it made him think of me.

“But wait,” a thought comes, “that’s out of order.” We weren’t anywhere near the intermission last time.

Noh shrugs, “He said they wanted to do a scene that didn’t need too many ponies today. I mentioned we were spending time together today, and he said if you wanted to take some more time that he’d be OK with it.”

I smile, “That’s nice, but I think I ought to go back.” I wink at Stitches, who nods back.

Noh smiles. “All right, if you don’t want to sing karaoke.”

“Well, I do,” I admit, “but that can wait for another day. Some day we can all go together.”

He scoffs. “Well, we’ve got a few more minutes. Should we get some dinner?”

“Sounds good,” Pearl inputs. “But something quick.”

“There’s lots of venders on Bridleway, we can get some pretzels.”

“Ok,” Pearl ponders a second. “But why would we go to Bridleway?”

“Don’t you want to?”

“Well sure…” Pearl begins.

Stitches finishes, “Are we even allowed to?” It’s just a street, I think.

“Sure,” Noh assures, talking about the theater. “Ponies don’t really know that, but a theater will almost always allow visitors in to watch a rehearsal. We don’t tell a whole lot of ponies, because they tend to be distracting, but you’re allowed as long as you stay quiet.”

“Wow,” Stitches gapes. “I’d like to do that, if that’s all right.” He looks at the girls for approval.

Patches just nods approvingly. Pearl agrees, “Sounds fun.”

“Ok, but seriously, you gotta be quiet,” Noguki warns. “Like, don’t even sneeze.”

“Yikes.” I had been quiet up until then, acting like I already knew as much as him, but that requirement seemed so extreme I had to comment. “What’ll they do if they’re distracting?”

“Nothing extreme, just kick you out. There was one group we accepted that apologized so profusely that Call gave them one more chance.”

“Wow,” I gape, along with Stitches.

Noh laughs. “Now, rehearsal can tend to run pretty long. If you get bored, or just need to get going I wouldn’t bother letting us know.”

“Right,” Patches agrees. “Leave you behind, no problem.”

We all laugh. Then the bus comes rattling to a stop. “Everypony on the trolley,” Pearl commands. We comply, coughing up one coin each like last time. Again, we’re mostly all quiet, and just like last time, Noh’s humming the mare’s part of his love song. I laugh silently at him, then sit back, wanting to just listen. Unfortunately it reminds me of something I wanted to ask, “So when exactly did you want to start with the singing lessons?”

He smiles at me. Is he going to mention the bet? I remember that his deal for winning was getting me every weekend. I mentally beg him not to bring up the bet. “Well, we’re both free most weekends right?”

My brain sighs. I nod.

“Right, so how about Sundays? We could meet up around ten o’clock, practice a few hours, have lunch and call it a day?”

It seems like a good enough plan, though I had another idea. “I was thinking more like getting lunch first, then meeting up afterward or sometime later. Practice until rehearsal that night.” I was under the impression we were meeting at the theater, so we’d be there anyway.

“That would make for a rather long lesson, don’t you think?”

I shrug. “Maybe we could meet for dinner instead? Maybe around five o’clock?”

“Perhaps, though you should know that most singers tend to have some issues singing right after they’ve eaten.”

I smirk, “You know as well as I that it depends on what they eat and how recently.”

He smiles like I passed his test. “You got me there. So, I think that works!”

“Works for me,” I agree. “So, tomorrow?”

“I’ll see you then.” We bump hooves just as the carriage rumbles to a stop.

We follow the crowd off the bus, get our pretzels and eat them rather quickly, as Noh instructs everypony they can’t have food inside the theater. When we get inside, we’re a few minutes late and Noh breaks off right away to get ready. I point my friends toward the seats, letting them know the way to the higher seats if they wanted. Then I made my way to the stage. I showed myself to Curtain Call, who seemed a little shocked that I decided to show up. I let him know my friends were there, and took a second to find them in the auditorium. They waved when I found them in the balcony. I waved back.

“That’s fine,” he said. “Just as long as they don’t distract the actors.”

“Of course,” I insist.

He turns and shouts toward the stage, “Where’s Noh?”

Noh’s already running on stage, “I’m here! I’m here…” He’s taking deep breaths as he takes his position next to the impatient-looking mare.

“What’d you do to your hair?” Call sounds more disappointed than angry, which I’m noticeably relieved about. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. From the top!”

I grin at Noh, but he doesn’t see. He’s pulling off the loving gaze flawlessly while his counterpart recites her lines.

The rest of the night was pretty much the same. The few actors that showed up learned and practiced songs and rehearsed their lines. We took a break and director Call went over his notes so far, reminding Noh not to be late again. He was a little harsh, but Noh understood and agreed. I felt like he was going to bring up Noh’s mane-cut again but he never did.

At some point I looked up at just the right moment to see Pearl and the others getting up to leave. The time was around 10:30, so it seemed fair that they wanted to call it a night. Stitches waved and I waved back. That was the last I’d seen of them that night.

After rehearsal Noh gave me another hug, and so did his sister Kabuki. She asked how I was feeling and I assured her I was feeling fine. We said our goodbyes and went our different ways.

When I got home, I felt a nagging sensation pull on the back of my head. Eventually I pulled out the small rectangular box from under my bed. Thoughts went to war in my head. Where’d she get this? Why? Should I use it? Should I even keep it? How do I use it? Why?

Things like that. Eventually I just slid it back under my bed and forgot about it. Then I saw my new panties lying on my new pillow and smiled. I was honestly shocked that day, discovering how much I enjoyed wearing them. I briefly thought about wearing them again, then decided against it. I didn’t want to wear them out before somepony special got a chance to see me in them.

I put them away in my nightstand drawer, underneath stacks of paper. Then I crawl onto my bed and wrap my hooves around my new pillow. It was as long as my body and dangerously fluffy. I stuffed my muzzle into it and smelled the smell of new pillow for the first time in a long time. It was stuffed with ostrich down, which could not have been cheap. The sky-blue case it was in had a thread count of 500, made entirely of satin. I thought about scolding Pearl for spending so much on a pillow, but thought better of it. I was just happy to have it, and I was going to love cuddling with it every night.

With my face in the soft fabric I was almost lost to the dreamscape. I only barely remembered to get back up and get my whole day written down. Now that it’s all done, I think the sun’s about to come up. I better get some sleep before another day starts.

57 Future Hole

I had the first meaningful dream in forever this morning. I was sitting in a dense fog, alone, when I heard music. I don’t know what song it was, but I started singing along. As I sang the mysterious lyrics, figures started walking up to me from the fog. It was my family. All my brothers, my mother and father, and my little sister. The only one I actually looked at, remember seeing the face of, was Dale.

I kept singing, and my family walked away. The fog got colder and more figures walked past me. At first I don’t recognize them, seeing only colors and shapes. Recalling, I’m pretty sure they were my old friends. Starting with Fire Ruby, then Loaf. A few friends from school, including Minty Swirl. Then Churner, and Sawdust. Then finally Pearl, Patches, Stitches, and Noh. I didn’t even look at any of their faces.

Then the fog thickens and becomes distressingly warm. My song slowed down and became quieter. Loaf walked back past me, and I looked at him. I think I might have cried. Some strange ponies’ silhouettes passed after that, and I looked at each of them, though I don’t remember them, or didn’t recognize them. I did recognize Churner, and Sawdust. One of them, I think, was Lavandula. Even Noh passed a second time. The last one was a stranger, though. I felt like I recognized him, but his face was blurry like I forgot my glasses. I definitely recognized his warm orange coat and rosy mane.

I’m trying really hard to remember where I met him, what his name was. I don’t know if I ever did actually meet him though. Thinking back, I dreamed about strangers a lot, I’m certain. I even took a look through some old chapters and read a dream that had Lavan in it. All I saw were the color of his coat and mane. Luna must know an awful lot about my future to be putting strangers in my dreams.

I just took a look out the window and saw Pearl coming up. I wonder what she wants.

I’m going to have to pick this up later, after I’ve had my day. I’ll have a lot to talk about I’m sure.

Pearl greets me cheerily once I let her in. We hug and she kisses my cheek. I love the sentiment, but feel a little distracted. I don’t think she notices.

“Have you had breakfast yet?” She asks. I tell her I haven’t and she pours me a bowl of Apple wheels. As I’m eating she notices the position of the pillow she got me and smiles. It’s parallel to the wall, to my body. I hadn’t thought about it, but I had it pressed against the wall, then my back pressed into it. It almost felt like somepony sleeping behind me, cuddling me. “So how’d you like you’re third birthday party?”

I don’t like how she calls it that. I don’t know why, I just feel incredibly distracted and out of sorts. I don’t know what’s on my mind, exactly, but it has something to do with yesterday. “It was lots of fun,” I respond, forcing myself to remember experiences from yesterday. I remember my mud bath, and making the bet with her and Noh. I remember Stitches getting that masseuse’s phone number, and I remember crying in the sauna.

“Have you used any other of your gifts?”

I give her a curious look, “What do you mean?” I honestly don’t know, but I should have known.

She gives me a look like I should know. She sits down at my desk and starts pressing one hoof into the other as she counts. “You tried on the panties yesterday, we all used your wine glasses. You wore your new hat out, slept with your new pillow, and are eating Apple Wheels.” That leaves one present. One I was hoping not to talk about. “So? Did you…?”

“No I haven’t,” I answer quickly. Perhaps too quickly. I take a bite of cereal.

“Well…” she’s hesitating. She knows what she wants to say, but she’s trying to be careful, reading my mood. I’m not in a bad mood, I just don’t really want to talk about this with her. “I think you should.” Oh come on. I roll my eyes as I chew. “I’m just saying. You’re a virgin, and while you might know what to do, you don’t have any experience.”

“Do you?” I don’t mean to sound condescending, but it comes out that way.

“You’d be surprised,” she retorts. “But this isn’t about me. You need to take into consideration that the first guy you take might be too big.” I take another bite and chew thoughtfully. “Take some precautions, utilize your tools.”

I snicker at her choice of words, but she has a point. My only argument, “I don’t even think I have everything I need.”

She raises an eyebrow and without flinching uses her magic to remove the toy from its hiding place, then from its box. She leaves the phallus on the desk, which makes me a little uncomfortable. It has a suction cup and flops around comically. Her eyes move from me to the empty box. Well, I hope it’s empty. If there’s anything more in that box that proves me wrong she’ll probably make me “practice” in front of her, just so she knows I do it.

To my relief the box is actually empty. Then she trades the box for the dildo and inspects it. “All right,” she complies. “We can get some things while we’re out today.” I’m chewing a mouthful so I can’t respond, but my eyes widen and she gets my point. “Yes we’re going out. You obviously don’t have everything you need for a Sunday.” She gives me a cheeky smile and goes back to inspecting the toy—my toy—while I finish my breakfast.

She seems really fascinated with it and I look at it as closely as I can from my seat in the kitchen. It has a surprising amount of detail for a purple penis. I find myself comparing it to my own, the jutting veins, the medial ring, even the balls at the base. It’s obviously much smaller than me, but I actually imagine myself inserting it into myself. I’m ashamed for a small moment, but Pearl has a point. If my first boyfriend is too much for me to handle on my first time I’m going to regret it. I drink the milk from the bowl. “So, where are we going?”

“Patches got it at a store called ‘Fondler’s.’ We’ll start there.” She places it back in its box and slides it back under the bed, all while she slides down from the chair.

I grab my hat and wallet, determined not to let Pearl buy anything else for me. Especially nothing so obscene that one would have to go to a store named “Fondler’s.” She nods as I hold the door open for her.

Pearl insists it’s not too far, so we agree to walk. I would have suggested walking anyway. I’d only want to take public transit if we were on a short schedule. I’m not a fan of taxis or the bus, mostly for fear of meeting strangers, but I also like to get a good amount of exercise. I want to keep a lean physique for that special somepony. Plus it’s easier on my wallet.

“So,” Pearl leads, “You seemed to really enjoy rehearsal last night.”

I’m a little shocked by the comment, but agree, “Yeah. I had a lot of fun yesterday, I was in a good mood.”

“Oh ok, as long as it wasn’t because work was fun,” she teases.

I smile and roll my eyes jokingly. “Oh, no. Celestia forbid I enjoy my job. No, but I honestly do like working at the theater. I do think it’s gotten better since I became friends with Noh.”

“Yeah,” She agrees, “it’s about time you interacted with somepony there.”

“I interact with ponies,” I correct. “I read lines, and remind ponies what part we’re on, where they’re supposed to be.”

“That doesn’t count,” she complains, “that’s just work.”

“I guess, but it’s all I’ve needed—“

“Apparently not,” she points out. I sigh and nod. “You think you’ll ever make it out of your internship?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t have any actual training in theater, or writing scripts. If this draft isn’t any good I’ll probably get stuck in this position forever.”

“But you’re having Noh teach you now,” she reminds me.

“Right.”

“So maybe you’ll end up taking to the stage?”

“Maybe, but I’m not sure.”

“Come on,” she groans. “What about high school? You did plays back then didn’t you?”

“Well yeah,” I give. “I was also on the swim team, and diving. I’m not going to join an Olympic team anytime soon.”

She thinks for a second. Don’t go there. “Maybe not soon,” she went there. “That doesn’t mean you never will. The only thing stopping you—“

“Is me,” I finish. “I know, and as long as I don’t want to I never will. Well, right now I don’t want to join a swim team. I don’t even want to go buy whatever we’re going to buy right now, but look at what we’re doing.”

“That’s because you can’t stop yourself from doing this. I won’t let you.” She smirks and I laugh uncomfortably.

I take a deep breath. “What is it we’re even going to get?” I ask.

“Oh, you’ll find out when we get there,” she teases. I feel like asking her where she learned what components a pony needs to prepare for anal but think better of it. I probably don’t want to hear that story.

We walk quietly for a while. I panic little bits, over and again about what I fear she’ll ask me in the silence. I don’t want her to bring up anything about my masseuse. I don’t want her to ask how I liked wearing the panties. I don’t want to talk about my feelings for Noh, or Stitches. I wonder if she’ll bring up Patches’ secret feelings, the theory of her possibly liking Pearl in such a way. I might be ok with that topic, but Pearl might not be. Plus, what if Patches didn’t like us talking about it? Would she ever find out? Not if we never brought it up.

“How do you think Lavandula’s doing?”

What the…? “Fine?” What kind of question is that? “I mean, he’s in prison, so…” She grins. Oh no, “What?”

“Well, Cosh told me he got some news about that particular fugitive. Apparently, during his hearing his lawyer pleaded insanity and had the judge move him from prison to an asylum.”

“They’re only fugitives if they escape,” I correct her. She shrugs. “But, I thought they could only plead insanity for murder cases?”

She shrugs again, “I wouldn’t know. Apparently the judge agreed he had some type of mental illness and had him transferred to the mental care ward.”

I think back to when we had spoken to him. The only thing I thought he could even have was bi-polar disorder. What else could be wrong with him? “So what happens to him in the mental ward?”

She shrugs yet again, “I dunno. If you want to go see him again, Cosh’ll probably tell us where—“

“I’ll pass,” I say defensively. I don’t know why. I’m afraid of him, I think. Not that he’s a rapist, but that his life’s more messed up than mine. That seems selfish, but I don’t have the power to help somepony like that. I can barely help myself anymore. Even growing up I always wanted to be the one that was there for other ponies. Thinking back, though, they always seemed so much more stable than I was. Maybe my memories are just a little confused with my emotions from today, everything I’ve been feeling recently is messing with how I actually felt back then. Maybe I really was the sturdy wall I’m sure I was. I wanted to be. Maybe my friends were all better than that, and never really needed me. Maybe I really only needed them to think I was important in their lives. What if they never actually thought of me like that? I hardly ever thought of them anymore, did they ever think of me like I made that kind of impact on their lives?

I’m moping again, I’m sorry. Though, not really. These are emotions I feel in my life. I write them down for my sake, in order to express them in the best way I know how, while also leaving good memories some place I can find them if I need them. I might feel down sometimes, lost in thought and digging a hole to die in, but I can always come back here to read what I’ve overcome and what things or ponies have helped me through. Minty Swirl helped me learn that the past is the best thing for preparing us for the future, and when the future is every day it’s important that I keep the past around to help me build a ladder and climb out of the hole the present is trying to bury me in.

“Here we are,” Pearl sings. I look up at the door. The sign doesn’t have the name of the store, only a suggestive image of a pony’s face surrounded by little circles, painted in pairs.

I remark, sarcastically, “Oh boy.”

58 Fishnets

It’s actually quite entertaining inside Fondler’s. There’s only one pony working there, and only one other pony shopping when we enter. When he sees us, his ears droop and his eyes widen in horror. He shuffles past us, avoiding eye contact. Poor guy. It’s not like we’re gonna tell his mom he was in here.

“This way,” Pearl commands, leading me into the store. Shelves near the front of the store have mostly normal stuff that reminded me more of a gift shop than a kink store. Or whatever it’s called. My eyes get caught on a shirt with Daring-Do on it, completely harmless, like on the cover of one of her books. I linger on a denim saddle bag with a shiny brass buckle. I’m fascinated by the rugged look and wonder how long it would actually hold together.

Pearl keeps leading and the cute souvenirs change into more profane articles of clothing. I stop to admire a rack of frilly, lacey red lingerie that all match my new favorite pair. Lots of different pieces and styles are lined up on hangers, or stacked up on shelves. All kinds of colors and sizes, decorations. Fetishes. I‘m amused by a collection of likely male-specific garments made to resemble the head of an elephant. Inspecting a pair I decipher that the design is to allow a stallion’s fully erect penis to fit into the elephant’s “trunk.” I laugh at the thought of wearing a pair only to find that the sleeve was too small. I would likely never take someone seriously while they wore a pair of these.

A few shelves down I find piles of mesh panties and stop to ponder the idea of wearing some. Would it even be comfortable? Wouldn’t the thin strings feel incredibly unpleasant against the sensitive flesh they did so poorly at hiding?

Pearl catches me staring and teases, “You think you might get a pair?”

“I don’t know,” I pretend to take her seriously. “I don’t think it would contain my mane very well.” The intention was to mistake them for hairnets, as opposed to lingerie. I’m over-explaining it.

“It’s not a hairnet.” She gets it, though it doesn’t seem she understood it as a joke. Now I feel like an idiot. She holds up a pair to admire. “They look pretty intense, you sure?”

I was not in the least bit sure. Why would she assume I was? Why am I not answering? I shrug.

“There’s a fitting room if you’re interested,” she offers. Taking a long moment to deliberate I eventually come up with the mindset of “when will a get another chance?” I take the garment and look over it myself, measuring the dimensions. “That one looks a little small.”

I agree. Back to the shelves, I dig around for a slightly larger pair. Though, not much larger. Then again, maybe larger would be better in this case. I opt for a pair labelled one size higher than my distinct waist size. According to a male’s standards.

“You think you’ll like ‘em?” Pearl asks.

I shrug, but recognize the possibility. “Maybe they’ll surprise me, like the pair Patches got me.”

She grins, “Maybe.”

A problem arises, “What if I do like them?”

She chuckles. “What do you mean? If you want ‘em, buy ‘em.”

“Well, I mean…” how do I argue that? “We’re not really here for this…”

“Then don’t buy ‘em.”

Why is she being so complicated? “But you just said—“

“Look, it’s your money. I’m not going to stop you from buying something for yourself, as long as it doesn’t put you in a bad situation.”

Fantasies—or nightmares—come to mind that involve me living in debt, or homeless. Worse than that, addicted to drugs or something like that. “I’m glad I have a friend like you.”

She smiles, “And I’m glad I have you.”

“Why?” What a stupid question. But, honestly? I don’t actually know why she thinks that.

“Oh please,” she rolls her eyes. I knew it was stupid. “You’re so much fun to spend time with. I never get this kind of time with Cosh, and he always wants to hear about my day. I like listening to you.” Is she serious? Are there actually ponies like that?

“Are you lying to me?” What’s with the stupid questions today?

The look she gives me is so sassy, proving to me I sound purely idiotic. “Yes, I actually hate helping you feel better. Come on, Timber.”

“Ok, sorry,” I smirk. I take the mesh panties and make my way toward the changing room near the back. “So what do you like about Cosh? I mean, he is your boyfriend.”

Her eyes sparkle, “He’s such a good listener.” Wait what? “Every day he lets me lay down on the couch with him and lets me tell him all about work. He loves hearing gossip and stuff like that, then he tells me all kinds of things about his work and we’ll just cuddle for hours.” She’s lost for a few seconds. “Well, not literally. But he does put a lot of interest in me.” I’m about to mention her contradiction. “And I know what I just said, but it’s still nice.” There it is.

I suddenly envy her. I would love nothing more than to have somepony who listens to me and cuddles with me on the couch. I wonder though, “Is there anything else you do?”

I wait in the doorway of the stall and almost laugh at her smirk. “You mean like sex?”

I laugh and look away, embarrassed. “No. I mean, like…” I calm down quickly. “What kinds of dates do you guys go on?”

She suddenly stops to think. I can see the debate going on in her eyes and panic that I’ve started something horrible. “Well, we’re both a big fan of radio shows. One time he took me to a hotel just because they had a radio in the room. We stayed up all night listening to stories.” I smile, then nod as I close the door. It’s a short door that doesn’t reach all the way to the ceiling, so she keeps talking while I try on the fishnet panties. Wait, are fishnets different from mesh? “Lots of times we’ll just go out for dinner, or he’ll meet me at work for lunch.” When was the last time he did that? I had never seen him at the café. She’s quiet. Oh no.

“Have you ever taken him to Bridleway?” I balance on my hind legs and step through the holes.

“Mmm, he doesn’t really like theater. He did take me to a street performer, a break-dancer. And we went to a jazz café once, with live performers.”

I get the elastic past my thighs, but she’s slowing down. It’s like she’s having a little trouble. “He sounds like a great guy.” I slide my scrotum into the pocket. It cradles me nicely, though less securely than my original pair. The porous fabric is actually quite comfortable, at least with this much room. What if they were as snug as the other briefs? Pearl’s still quiet. “Does he, like, let you choose the destination once in a while?” Shit, no, wrong question. I hold my breath.

“Sometimes.” I sigh, silently. “Mostly we agree on the place each time. We never go somewhere one of us doesn’t want to go.”

I know she has a tendency to conform. I can’t, even barely, remember how I learned that about her. I just know I picked it up from spending time with her. Ponies like her are OK with going somewhere their significant other would like to go despite how they actually feel about it. (She doesn’t even like jazz.) Shut up. I can’t bring this up. We’re having a good time.

I open up the door and notice her take a deep breath. Almost like she’s on the verge of crying. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she’s lying. “I was just remembering our first date.” Dammit. Did I just ruin her relationship with Cosh? Should I try to fix it? Should I change the subject?

All I do is step forward and hug her. She lets out a short little laugh, like she doesn’t know why I’m hugging her but she’s flattered.

I let her push away, she’s got a dumb smile on her face. “What was that about?”

She’s deflecting. I know she is. I should say something. She would, if it were me deflecting. She would never let me bottle it up. “I can tell you were getting emotional,” I pry. “I don’t want to bring up any bad feelings, but don’t…” Where was I going? “Don’t go home with… resentment. Cosh is a great guy, but remind him that you’re just as good.”

She smiles as if I’m way off. “Timber, really. It’s fine. Are you ok?”

I realize I must look pretty sad myself. I was just sympathizing, but now I’m in a mood. She’s looking much cheerier than she sounded a little while ago. “Yeah,” I force a peaceful smile. “Just making sure you were good.” I turn and show off my flank with a flirtatious leg-lift. “So what do you think?”

“Hmm…” she’s taking the bait. Or, maybe I am. “They look pretty sexy. You like ‘em?”

“Kind of,” I admit. “Get me the smaller pair?”

She nods and turns, grabbing the mesh panties I was looking at before. Fishnet? “Thanks.” I close the door again and begin taking off the first pair.

“So what kind of place would you take somepony on a first date?” Pearl asks out loud.

I suddenly notice we’re completely in public, talking about personal affairs willingly. I don’t really mind. Pearl’s fine with it, so I should be, too. “I don’t know. Maybe I’d take him to a play, or go out swimming.”

“What if it’s cold?” She asks. “Ice-skating?”

“Eh, I’ve never really liked skating.”

“What if he liked it?”

I think that’s a rough question, thinking about how she didn’t really like everything she did with Cosh. Then again, that was just a theory. “I might give it another try, for him I guess.”

Author's Notes:

In which I knowingly mistake fishnets for mesh for the sake of the story.

59 Out Loud

I step out of the changing room to show off the tighter pair of fishnet panties. They’re still comfortable, cradling my testes in the little net. They’re not as unpleasant as I assumed, with the netting being surprisingly soft instead of harsh. Pearl’s enjoying my 360, but my mind is still on her. I have to distract myself. What else was I thinking about? There had to be something I could remember to bring up, my mind is never slow enough to only think about one thing.

I hold another pose, stretching out my right hind leg while holding up my front left. I have a smile on my face, and I hope she doesn’t notice it’s fake. She’s only looking at my ass though. I blush at how intently she’s inspecting me. Out of nowhere, a new topic pops up, “So are these fishnets or mesh?”

She looks at me thoughtfully. She’s not confused at the question. She’s legitimately thinking hard. “These are mesh.”

Ah, figures. “What’s the difference?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure…” She’s really thinking hard. I can tell that she has the differences laid out in her mind, imagining how each one really looks, she just can’t find the words. “Hmm, come with me.”

“Hey, hold on.” I close myself back in the changing room.

She groans. “Come on, it’s not like you wear clothes regularly anyway.”

“I already told Patches how I feel about that joke,” I complain, taking off the garment. “It’s more of an aspect of personality. You know, principles and all that. I don’t really feel like wearing something this promiscuous in public, let alone stripping.”

“Whatever.”

I step out, folding the mesh panties over my back. “I think I’ll keep them.”

“Great, now come here.” She leads me by the hoof back to the front of the store. The mare by the register looks nice enough, but I’m still kind of afraid. She’s a chocolatey brown with large white, splotchy birth marks on her neck and shoulder. She has a black mane, decorated with white highlights. She has innumerable piercings in her ears and nose, which might have been what intimidated me at first. She’s wearing a satin vest and denim shorts over… “Excuse me, but could you show us your clothes?”

She looks at Pearl from her seat, more confused than embarrassed. I would be so embarrassed if somepony asked me that. The cashier shrugs, puts down her magazine, stands up from her chair and steps sideways to us.

“Yeah ok,” I understand the difference.

“Those are fishnets,” Pearl gestures to the shirt and pants the stranger is wearing beneath her clothing. They’re actually noticeably separate strings laced around one another. “This is mesh.” She touches the panties I’m carrying, which are more like a fabric that was made with holes in it. She turns back to the cashier. “Thank you.”

“Mmhmm,” she nods awkwardly before sitting back down and picking back up on her reading.

“Get it now?” Pearl demands. I nod. “Did you want fishnet instead?”

I shake my head, “These are fine.” I just said that in front of a stranger. Not like I’ll ever see her again though, right? Wait, does it matter? “Just didn’t know.”

She takes a deep breath, as if answering my question was physically exhausting. Which, dragging me around the store and barking commands at a stranger very well might have been. “Right, now what did we come her for?”

“Besides these,” I remind her, “umm, Patches gift,” discreetly.

She nods curtly, “That’s right. This way.”

She rushes back to the far end of the store and I canter after her, not looking back to the front counter. I’d have a hard enough time making eye contact already, even more so now that we had her show off her outfit.

Pearl stops in the despairingly dark corner, stocked with all kinds of obscene toys and tools. She hands me what looks like an oversized version of a child’s nose-sucker, though with a very narrow neck. “You’ll need one of these to clean yourself before-hoof.”

I look at the label on the package it’s in. “’Anal douche?’ Are you serious?”

“I didn’t name the stuff. I can explain when we get back. If you want.”

My eyebrows elevate, indicating I don’t really have any other choice.

She smirks, then turns back to the shelves and searches. There are boxes upon boxes of dildos here, in all different sizes and colors. They’re all lined up like soldiers, mesmerizing really. How far back do the shelves go…?

“Here,” Pearl snaps. She’s a few steps away, beyond toys of all shapes. For desire of all kinds, I assume.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“Read it,” she commands.

I look down at the little bottle of clear liquid. Seeing it I get an idea, and I almost laugh at myself. Nothing else can surprise me anymore. “Lubricant…”

She nods like, “yeah, what else?” “It’s essential. Your, erm… orifice, isn’t self-lubricating like… well, like mine. It seems funny, but it’s necessary.” She turns back to the shelves. “How often do you think you’ll use it?”

“Excuse me?” I demand. She’s moving pretty fast, even for me. It’s my first time, seriously. I would have thought she’d give me some time for this.

“Patches’ present, how often—“

“I don’t know. How often do ponies use toys like that?”

“As often as they want. The real question should be how much lube you think you’ll need.”

I suddenly realize I really don’t want to be talking about this stuff with her. It seems incredibly personal. How should I know how frequently I’m going to be masturbating? I never have before, and I don’t have a whole lot of time alone. Plus, what if one of my neighbors ends up hearing me? I shouldn’t worry about that, since I can always hear them. But I’m different. Aren’t I?

“I’ll probably want more,” I admit. “Even if I don’t use a lot of it, or very often, I’ll need enough for when I do need it.”

“Well, keep in mind it can expire.”

I’m astonished. Another mindless fact I never would have thought about. “How do you know these things?”

“That’s not important,” she deflects. I disagree, but don’t protest in time. “You’ll use, maybe more than an ounce each time. So, it’s important to determine how many times you’ll use it in…” she looks at the back of another bottle, “…about a year.”

I roll my eyes, baffled at the number of rules there apparently are for anal masturbation. And likely sex, as well. Why have I never put thought into these things, though? On that note, I should be the one that knows this, right? Well, she can know them, too, if she really wants. Wherever she learned it all, she has it now and it really doesn’t matter. I should still know as much as she does. If not, more.

I’m just griping for no reason. “I probably won’t use it too often.”

“I figured you’d say that.” She replaces the ten-ounce bottle and picks out a fifteen-ounce.

“Wait why the bigger one?”

“Because you’ve got to get used to it,” she reminds me. “And sooner, rather than later, means you’ll need to… practice, I guess, pretty often.”

I roll my eyes. “Do I really need you coaching me on this?”

“How much do you know about it?” She challenges.

My eyebrows shoot up, yet again astonished. “How much do you know?”

“A lot more than you, apparently,” she points out. It’s a good point. I realize I shouldn’t bother digging into it, lest I incite an unwanted altercation. “Is there anything else you want to look at?”

I don’t want to take her seriously: this entire incident is something I would have preferred to sleep through. I am glad that it was her, though. Anypony else and I don’t think I would have lasted this long. I take a deep breath and look around. “Do you think I’ll need anything bigger?” I ask. “For my ‘training,’ that is.”

“That’s a good question,” she says, disdainfully.

“Bite me,” I snap.

“Ha, well,” she rubs her chin in thought. “Once you get used to the first one, it might be a good idea to try something bigger. We’ll come back for that though. You can figure out if you like it, if you want something different for the next size.”

“I’ll pretend I know what you mean by that.” I halfway did, but didn’t want to spend more time looking at all the different silicone toys.

“Very well,” she sneers. “We can leave now.”

“Finally,” I mock. I really wanted to leave, but I made it sound sarcastic to make fun of her. We start walking toward the front. “I can’t wait to get that dick in my ass.”

“Timber!” She squeaks.

I step away from her, scared. Then I knit my eyebrows, “What?”

She lets out an embarrassed laugh, “Well… I’ve never heard you swear before.”

I roll my eyes and stifle a grin. “I’m allowed.”

“Well sure but,” her eyes drop. She’s suddenly deep in thought about something. Please let it not be a bad thing that she’s thinking about. “Are you feeling ok?” Dammit.

I sigh, exasperated. “Yes I’m feeling great.” I’ve cussed before, haven’t I? I do it sometimes writing, but really only when I feel that way in real life. I’m certain I’ve sworn in front of her before.

“Mm-mm,” she shakes her head. “Ponies like you only swear when they’re in a bad mood. What’s wrong? Didn’t you want to come?”

Again I’m surprised, this time at how long it took her to realize. Did I not tell her directly? Maybe she was distracted by her own secret apathy toward the events unfolding today. That was a long shot. Maybe she was distracted thinking about Cosh? That would just be perfect, though, wouldn’t it? It was my fault she didn’t notice, then it was my fault she did notice, and if I go back far enough it’s my fault I’m in this situation at all.

“You could’ve said something, you know.”

I shake my head slowly, “I really couldn’t have, though,” she knows that. “I always believe you know what’s best and go against my feelings a lot, just to follow along. I trust you enough to believe the day will end on a high note. But, no… I didn’t want to come here. I resent the idea of being this public.”

Her head drops. I had this coming, and so did she. “I’m sorry, Timber. I knew better, I should have… asked at least.”

I don’t know what to do next. I stand silently for too long, not knowing how to react. Do I make her feel better? Do I prove my point, throwing mud in her eyes? Why did I curse out loud?

I guess I ought to just, move on. Moving toward the front once again I ask, “How often am I supposed to use this stuff, anyway?”

She takes a deep breath, “I don’t really know.” I feel like she’s lying. She’s known the answer to everything else up until this point. How could she not have an answer to this? I have to cut her some slack though. She’s trying her hardest to help me. I have to do this for her. “You’ll… probably want to practice often, maybe twice a week. Or more, if you want.”

I just nod. This day will likely not end on a high note now, and it’s my own fault.

60 Plastic Bag

I feel like turning down her offer to walk me home. We’re standing outside, a block away from the store. I put the inconspicuous plastic bag on the sidewalk while we talk, briefly envisioning the event of a stranger running by and swiping out from underneath me. Would I stop them, try to catch them? Would I care enough to get these products back? I did pay for them. At the very least, I wouldn’t want anypony else to see what was in there.

“At least let me walk you home,” Pearl insists. Wait, did she offer something else? Why wasn’t I listening? Was it important? She must not have thought so, taking my silence as refusal. Or maybe she just thought I wasn’t in the mood to answer, but wants to cheer me up. What did she ask first? “I wouldn’t want you getting lost.”

I have to smile at that. She has a point; I basically had no clue where we were in accordance to my apartment. It shouldn’t be that hard to find my way back, but I owe it to her to let her take me. “Sure.”

She smiles, tentatively. I retrieve my bag of goodies and let her lead the way.

I want to lighten the mood, somehow. I should. I ought to strike up a conversation and get our minds off of this bitterness. I need to make up for this somehow, but I still feel like I shouldn’t. Some part of me thinks I’d be giving in, like I’d just be losing a battle of will instead of winning my friend back. I haven’t lost her yet, but I should say something before I do lose her. But what?

And why is she being so quiet? Is she just conforming because she thinks I don’t want to talk? Do I want to talk? What if we didn’t talk? There were other ways of breaking down walls. I could sing. No, she’d just think it was stupid. So would everypony else on the street. I could bump up against her, playing around harmlessly. What if she got the wrong idea? I wouldn’t want her thinking I’m actually trying to mess with her, or hurt her.

(She’s probably thinking just as hard about this.) What makes you so sure? (I just have a hunch. Think about it though; she’s worried her relationship might not be perfect, she doesn’t want you worrying about her though, all while she’s guilty for bringing you out. What do you think’s on her mind?)

It’s a good point. Just because she’s not as messed up as I am doesn’t mean her mind is silent while mine is working. Mine is always working, so hers must be too. I have to break this dreadful silence. But how? (Try bringing up the first thing that comes to mind.) I put my hoof through the handles of the bag and sling it over my shoulder, letting it hang across my back comfortably. First thing… “Did you ever tell me why you quit working at the pizza place?”

She glances at me, confused, then moves her eyes back to front. “I’m pretty sure I did. Didn’t I?”

“I can’t remember,” at least she’s taking the bait. Bait?

“Hmm,” she searches her memories. “The pizza place… Well, once upon a time the pizza place was all I had. I was taking college courses in sociology. I only attended two years, but the bills piled up. My roommate moved out, leaving me with the full rent, so I needed a second job to keep up. I saw a poster on campus for a job opening up at the café, and eventually I found out Slalom just wanted to move out, but not before finding someone to take her place at the café.”

It’s starting to come back to me, though not the whole story. I feel like inputting parts I remember, but I figure it’ll be easier for her to tell the story without me interrupting. Mostly, I’m just happy to have the distraction.

“So I got the job, which wasn’t great at first. Gourdy didn’t treat us very well, me and the other guy. There wasn’t much to do but take orders and wash dishes. The place has made a lot of advances since then,” she smiles at me, reminiscing. “The coffee machines, all the extra space. If he gets any bigger he’s gonna need another chef.”

I laugh in agreement, letting the smile linger while she continues.

“Anyway. Gourdy wasn’t a very pleasant boss, but he was fair. I got paid almost twice as much at the café than at the pizza place. Even the tips were bigger. Life at the pizza place…” she purses her lips and shakes her head, indicating it was less than desirable. I think it’s funny that she doesn’t even remember the name of the place. “After a few weeks, I’d gotten out of college, met Cosh, moved in with him and split the rent. After a little while I didn’t need the extra money, so I resigned from the pizzeria and devoted all of my time to the café.”

I smile cheekily, “You’re forgetting a pretty good part.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?” She challenges. “What’s that?”

“When did you meet your best friend Timber?”

She rolls her eyes and laughs, not answering. According to that story, I figure it must have been just before she finished college, or just before she found the café. How much can happen in one year?

“What ever happened to the other guy?” Where did I get that question? After she gives me a puzzled look I clarify, “The guy who worked at the café the same time as you, back at the start?”

She makes a face like, “oh yeah,” but stays silent. Is she thinking? “Well, I did mention how Gourdy wasn’t very pleasant? The poor guy couldn’t deal with it, I guess. Gourdy and I have bonded pretty well, though. I’m the only one who’s stuck around through everything. He’s got a kind-of tough love attitude, you know?”

“I know.” In truth, he was a lot like my father. He counted on loyalty, and stood firm in his beliefs. If he didn’t like something, he made his opinion known. He doesn’t know I’m gay, and I doubt I’ll ever tell him. I’m afraid he’ll shut me out, the same way dad did. I wonder if dad thinks about me anymore. Or if he even remembers me.

“Timber?” Pearl snaps me back to reality, then stops me in my tracks by sticking a hoof out in front of me. “Watch it!”

I was walking right out into the street, a pony in a taxi carriage shouts and shakes a hoof at me. How embarrassing. I want to apologize, but the carriage rounds a corner and disappears into traffic.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” I offer. She’s bound to think I’m lying, but really I feel fine. “Just thinking about my dad.”

Pearl checks both ways and I follow her forward again. “What brought him up? Did he come with you back then?” She looks up and away, trying desperately to remember who was with me in the pizzeria that day last year.

She’s looking back at the story for what brought it up. Just, not in the right place. “I was comparing him to Gourdy. They’re a lot alike.”

“Hmm,” she knits her eyebrows, concerned. “Is that a good thing?”

“Mostly,” I insist. I feel like I’ve been using “insist” too often after dialogue. “Just, when I came out to my dad, by accident… he didn’t take it too well. The worst part was that he wasn’t outright about it. He resented me, but silently. I listened to him argue with mom about it late at night.”

“Oh no…” she coos. “And you’re afraid of Gourdy treating you the same way?”

I shake my head. “I’m afraid of liking Gourdy more than my father. Dad probably doesn’t even remember me.”

“Of course he does, how could a father possibly…?”

“Alzheimer’s,” I answer before she can finish. Her lips form the letter “O,” but she just sighs. “It was a blessing at first, I thought. I got the chance to come out to him again, on purpose. I wanted…” What did I want? Actually, how was I even recalling this much information? I couldn’t remember nearly this much the last time I tried. When was that? “I wanted him to yell at me…” Why? “To, act like he should have the first time. I think, I wanted a real reason to leave. I don’t… I don’t actually remember.”

She’s quiet, pondering on this new information. “What did he do?”

What did he do? “He…” Didn’t he yell at me? No, I never got what I wanted, what I expected. Just like with Minty Swirl. Minty…? Wasn’t it, her letter? He read my letter from her, that’s how he found out the first time. Then… everything happened. Wait, no. Churner, he told Minty what happened. Then she wrote. But, what did Pearl ask? “I don’t remember.”

She looks down, thinking of something new. “Don’t you write stuff down?” I nod, secretly hoping she wasn’t going where I thought she was. “Did you write about it then?” Write about what? Why couldn’t I remember what she just asked me?

“I don’t know, probably.” I absolutely did. Considering we were talking about dad’s condition, I’m certain… wait, didn’t she ask about that? I was thinking about Minty, and accidentally losing my secret. I already told her about that. What did I say next?

“Well, why don’t we go look through some old entries?”

I’m quiet, trying to remember what she asked me. I don’t want to read through my old entries, and definitely not with her. If I can answer her question I might not have to. I told her how he argued with mom about it. Did it have to do with my cutie mark? No, this was long after that issue.

“How about it?”

Wait what did she ask? Just, something about my journal, or whatever. I shake my head. “I’d rather not. They’re… very personal.” They weren’t that personal, were they? She’s been through half the stories I’ve written down in there. What if she didn’t like what I wrote about her? My mind is a very trivial place, with how quickly it works. Then, how do I always remember what I thought about to be able to write it down later? Why can’t I remember what she asked me?

“That’s fine, deep breaths.”

My eyes widen when I realize how quickly I’m breathing. I relax a little, mostly just glad she didn’t bluntly tell me to calm down.

“You want to stop by the café? Get something to drink?”

I could use a cup of tea, help calm my nerves. I could also just use a nap. I look around for a clock, but find none. It can’t be past ten-thirty yet, so I should have time for tea and a nap. What if Patches and Stitches were there? Well, no that’s not likely. The café’s closed: Gourdy never works on Sunday, just like dad. What if he didn’t know it was Sunday? Didn’t she ask…?

“My father…”

Pearl raises an eyebrow. “What about him?”

“I came out to him, on purpose…” memories poured back in a painful flood, pushing on the backs of my eyes and threatening to break out in tears.

She puts a hoof on my shoulder, the plastic bag crinkles beneath her touch. “What did he do?”

What did he…? “He, hugged me.” He accepted me, fully willing to embrace my difference. That wasn’t what he was supposed to do. “But then…” More memories rush forward and the dam breaks. One sweet tear trickles past my eyelash as I raise a hoof to my head, feeling around below my hair line, just beside my left ear. The jagged scar from that night… “I’d like to go home.”

Author's Notes:

In which I once again start a painfully dramatic scene.

61 Letter From Home

Pearl sits silently by the door while I dig through the drawers of my desk. I forget that my older chapters are in a box under my bed. I’m looking through drawers for the parts of my story I was remembering. I see the letter from home. I take it out and look at the address, from mom. I sit on the floor and rip open the envelope.

Dear Timber,

How have you been? Is work going well? How is that lovely friend of yours? Have you found anyone special? I suppose that might be a bit personal. What’s the next play like? Have you gotten it yet? Picker says he’d really love to see it, if that’s all right with you. He says he read about it in the paper, but I’ve never seen him read it.

Dale wanted to know how your head’s feeling. I told him you’re fine, with how long it’s been, but he insisted I ask. He also wants to know when your first novel is coming out. He wants to be the first to buy a copy. Barley says she misses you and wants to visit some time. Dad asks about you sometimes, wondering where you’ve gone. He smiles every time he reads one of your old letters, then asks where you’ve gone. I have to admit, I’m kind of in love with this happy ignorance of his. He’s not as angry as he was when

I mean, as he used to be. You know how hard he used to be on your brothers? It’s just nice seeing him this happy, almost like he was when we met. He’d love to see you again, though I don’t know if he remembers your… situation. I don’t want to ask you to be avoid the subject, just be careful bringing it up. Whenever you visit, that is.

We haven’t heard from you in a while. Write back once in a while, okay?
Love, mom.

My emotions were all over the place while I read it. My ears drooped early on. And when I read the part where Dale asked about my head I unconsciously lifted a hoof to touch the scar again. Pearl moved closer when I did that, but I barely noticed. I smiled when I read that Barley misses me. I wonder what she sounds like now, if she can complete sentences yet. I wonder if she knows how to read.

A chill went through me, sadness draped over my skeleton when she mentioned dad. He reads all my old letters like they’re new, and loves each one. He doesn’t know where I’ve gone, when I’ll be back. He likely doesn’t even remember I’m gay. How would he act if I told him again? Would it be like the first time, or the second time? Or would it be a whole new experience?

My eyes go back up the page, to the part about Picker. I never would have guessed he liked theater and couldn’t stop myself from wondering if he really did want to see the play. Why would I doubt something like that? My mother wouldn’t lie to me. Maybe he just really wanted to see me? See where I work?

I sob, feeling my jagged scar once again and remembering every second of the scene that played out that night. That fateful, horrendous, depressing night…

Pearl embraces me, and I sob into her chest. How could I lose touch with my family? “After everything I’ve put them through…” I take another shaky breath. “Why did I stop writing?”

“Shh-sh-sh-shh… It’s ok.” She begins stroking my head. I enjoy the feeling, but I know it’s not the same as when Noh did it. Or… somepony else? Noh wasn’t the first one I thought of, but it wasn’t Pearl either. I saw him, why couldn’t I remember his name? A speckled, tan coat. Orange-brown mane. I knew him. Knew? Know…?

I take a deep breath, but sob again. I need to get over this so I can remember. Do I want to remember? That last thing I actually remembered brought me to this, and I was having too much trouble with this. If I remembered this pony I might be worse off. I can’t do that to Pearl.

I take more deep breaths and think more about my family. They miss me, they want to know how I’m doing. They’re still doing very well. Dale’s still living at home, which hilarious, but kind of sad. Picker should have graduated. He always said he wanted to move out first chance he got, but I guess he hasn’t yet either. He was never very good at planning.

I wonder how my oldest brothers are doing, though. Junior and Gravel haven’t made contact with me in years. Were they keeping in touch with mom and dad? Did they visit often? Gravel had a girlfriend, and last I remember Gravel asked her to marry him and move back to Green Stables. Mom would have brought it up if he had. Junior had trouble with relationships, putting a lot of focus into work. Plus, he’s not exactly very charming.

I stop myself from remembering instances with Mill Jr. Very few of them were pleasant.

I’ve stopped crying. I remember why we came back to my apartment; I wanted to find something to remind me of my father. I wanted to remember why I was angry with him. I couldn’t think of a time he smiled at me, but I was sure there had to be. I don’t know if I ever got it written down, but there had to be one time. Whatever. Knowing that he smiles at my letters every day is more than enough.

But now I remember back then, I wanted him to be angry at me again. He didn’t remember I was gay, and he was becoming somepony different. I thought I could bring the old him back, the one that wanted me to be his son. The stallion that raised his children to be hard workers with strong backs and an even stronger will. I wasn’t what he wanted, I knew that and wanted him to remember that. Didn’t I? I was a good son, and his reaction the second time should have been what I truly wanted. I was an idiot for running off like I did.

I don’t start crying again, though. I’m at peace. My family’s happy, even though they miss me. I miss them too, but I also miss my old friends. Minty was a great friend, however ignorant. Churner, Minty’s father… now that was an experience I’ll never forget. Sawdust, he was friendly. He was a great older brother to his sister. I could have learned so much about him if I stayed.

I remember some of my friends from high school, but I stop myself. I take a deep breath and lift myself off of Pearl. Some part of me knew that if I went too far, remembered too much, I’d have too hard a time coming out of the hole I’d fall into. “Thank you,” I say to Pearl.

She smiles at me, hugs me again. “I’m always happy to help.” I break the hug early, not wanting to bury myself again. I’m at peace, I want to end this part here. “You still want to find those old entries?”

I look to the bottom edge of my bed. The hidden box, with all my old chapters, it’s down there. I’m glad I didn’t remember earlier. I shake my head, smiling peacefully. “I’m ok now,” I assure. My mind is still swimming, but it’s stuck on the letter from home. I’m going to leave it at that for as long as I can.

She’s still smiling. “You want to go somewhere?”

I take a deep a breath, then sigh. “Actually,” I admit, “I’d like to take a nap before rehearsal tonight. If that’s ok with you.”

“That’s fine, you do you.” She kisses my cheek and glances toward the bed. The plastic bag from Fondler’s is lying there. I’m grateful she didn’t mention it, because I’m not going to be doing anything like that for a little while.

After she leaves, I look down at her from my window. She looks up, smiles and waves. I wave back, then look up at the sky. The moon is barely visible in the clear sky. According to my alarm clock it’s quarter to one, so it seems pretty strange for the moon to be visible.

A name comes to my head, though. I’m barely thinking about home. Old friends, and all that. The name comes to my lips and I say it, “Loaf.” He was the one I felt when Pearl held me. He’s the one I longed for. Thinking about him now, looking out the window, I smile.

62 Music Lesson

I think I dreamed about Loaf during my nap. I seemed to be in limbo, stuck between the waking world and sleep. I know my pillow conforms nicely to my body, keeping me nice and warm from behind. My subconscious told me it was him, though. Dreams and memories seemed to intersect and I might have cried. Parts of that nightmare came back, the one I had from camp that night; my family disowning me, and me never getting to go back. My body believed I was with him, and when I woke up I was fully refreshed.

The serenity washing over me was like none I’ve ever felt. Not even comparable to the massage I’d had a few hours ago. When I opened my eyes, I knew I was alone. I loved the feeling of remembering him, but loved more that I had forgotten him. I was able to release him to the winding rivers of my memory and forget. I wondered why I felt ok with remembering him, and when I got out of bed I looked at the pillow and thought of Pearl. I have loving friends who are willing to help me through everything, be a refuge from despair, or fear. I may have my troubles with them, but every memory made helps me forget bad things. I may have panicked over my trouble remembering before, but that’s ok. Thanks to everything now I can let go of my past.

But I can’t forget, not even if I tried, that because of my past I have the chance to move forward. Loaf helped me realize what I want, what I need. Minty helped me learn how important it is to let certain things go. My father taught me to accept what I’m given, good and bad, but also that I can still emote any way I need. No pony’s telling me how to act, not anymore. If I don’t like something, or if I do, I’m allowed to be who I want.

I look up at the sky. The moon’s no longer visible, probably just because it’s not in the same place as it was before. I had written my morning down before my nap, and now I’ve begun the rest of my day. I haven’t even had it yet. What I am going to write about?

A thought just occurred to me. According to my alarm clock I slept for three hours. What a great nap, but I need to go make a phone call.

I run out to the phone booth and dial the theater. It rings five or six times, holding me in suspense. I really hoped no pony would pick up. Then there was an answer, “Hello?”

Dammit. “Noh?”

“Timber! What a surprise. I just got here and the phone was ringing. What’s up?”

I sigh heavily. I was seriously afraid I was late, having forgotten when we’d agreed to meet. “I was just hoping I wasn’t late. I couldn’t remember when I was supposed to be there, or even if we agreed on today.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I got here when I did. But yeah, I was pretty sure we agreed on five o’clock. I brought some sandwiches and cider.” What a guy.

“Ok, I just wasn’t sure. I’ll see you there.”

“Uh yeah, bye.” He stutters on the last word. I imagine he was prepared to converse for some time, but figured it’d be better to do so in person.

“Bye,” I respond. I hang up, then go back inside to gather a few things. I think I originally planned to bring my own dinner, or pick something up on the way. Now that I don’t have to do that, I shouldn’t bother bringing much, should I? I stow my plastic bag of goodies under my bed, as if somepony’s going to come home to my apartment without me and see. Anypony I know that would come to my apartment wouldn’t care about what was in the bag. But, they wouldn’t be able to get inside anyway, once I’ve locked it. What if one of my friends did decide to visit? I wasn’t sure any of them knew what I had planned for today.

I wrote a note to leave on my door, reading simply, “Gone for singing lessons. Leave a message.” I thought about putting a time when I’d be back, but that wouldn’t be until early in the morning. Which, by then I wouldn’t have much time before having to leave for work.

I prepare my saddle bags with everything I take to rehearsal every night, including a script, my personal notes, a notebook I liked to write my thoughts into that I rarely actually ever used, a few pencils, and some money. Oh, and my room key. Just before I left, I decided to bring my play with me. I can’t remember what inspired the decision, but I did it.

Tacking the note to my door, along with some loose paper and a pencil by the door (for messages), I rushed off to the theater. I didn’t want to keep Noh waiting.

When I get outside it’s starting to rain. My bags are reliably water-proof, and I didn’t care about getting wet. Plus, I didn’t actually have an umbrella. I did have my hat on, though, which I kept down over my eyes. It kept my glasses clear, which was great. I still hurried, so I wouldn’t keep Noh waiting much longer.

I left my things in my favorite corner back stage, hanging my bag and hat on hooks by an emergency door that nopony seemed to know about. Noh came to greet me with a warm smile. I think he was going to hug me, but I was wet.

“Sorry, it started raining,” I offer.

“I had assumed something like that,” he smirks. “I hope it doesn’t mess with your voice. Wait there.” He commands me to stay while he finds a towel. He comes back a few seconds later with a big bath towel from somewhere. “How has your day been?” He asks, watching me dry off.

I laugh, a little awkwardly, responding, “It was quite a ride, let me tell you.”

“Well if you don’t want to I understand.” He doesn’t sound like he sparing me, more like he just wants to get to business.

Too bad, “No it’s fine. I was just out shopping with Pearl. Usually things like that happen without a problem, right? Well, this time I opened a couple cans of leeches that just sucked, you know?” I thought it was a clever little analogy. “Anyway,” I give the towel back to him, “I was getting a little emotional, because I had started thinking about my family, and I was having trouble remembering some things. I figured anything would be better than being angry at her for going out.”

“Why were you angry at Pearl?” He asks, leading me out to the stage.

“Well, remember the presents Patches got me?

“Yeah…?” He recalls, uncomfortably.

“Yeah, Pearl told me it was a good idea to start using that toy, and took me out for some more ‘necessities.’ I won’t gross you out with the details.”

“Right, thanks,” he jokes.

I continue, “So after the altercation at the store, I try to lighten the mood for the walk home, asking her about her first job. She tells me her story, all the way to when I moved in. Well, moved to Manehatten. We’re not living together.” He’s nodding along, listening however passively. “We play around, joking about stories and…” I can’t seem to remember how it transitioned. “I think I almost got hit by a taxi.”

He reacts to that, “Well that’s something.”

“Yeah, I was deep in thought. She saved me. After that, whatever I was thinking about, I don’t remember, I—“ I start laughing suddenly.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just ironic. The whole thing started because I was having trouble remembering, and now I can’t remember what I was even thinking about.”

“That is pretty funny,” he agrees. “So what happened? You’re obviously all better now.”

“Oh right. Well, after thinking too hard for what must have been years, I discover I’ve been inadvertently ignoring questions from Pearl. I’m getting really frustrated with myself, forgetting things all over the place. I decide I want to go home. I have a, kind of, journal y’know? I’m sure something in there will remind me of what I was trying to remember. When I get home, I can’t even remember where I keep the stupid thing. I look through my desk and find a letter I received a few days ago, unopened, from my family. I read it, Pearl was there too, watching me react to all these things about my family. It just made me so happy to know how they were doing, how they felt. I was a little sad, hearing about my dad’s condition, and how much they all miss me.”

We’re sitting at the front of the stage now. Noh asks, “What about your dad?”

I shake my head. “If I tell you now we can’t get together for lunch tomorrow.” How did I remember that on a whim?

“Sure we can,” he claims. “We can find other stuff to talk about.”

“I’m not going to risk it.”

We only chatted for a few more minutes before I had to ask when the lesson would start. He began with tips on warming up, lots of scales and vocal exercises to make sure my throat was clear and my vocal chords were awake. Then he remembered dinner. Just a simple dandelion sandwich and juice box for each of us. I felt like a kid again, sitting on the floor drinking juice from a box. The warm ups brought me back to high school, a lot of them being the same as in chorus, or the theater club. Are warm ups universal? Are all singers taught the same ones just so they all know the same ones if they ever sing together?

We got back to the lesson, warming up again after eating. He asked me for a song I wanted to sing, but I couldn’t think of one. He chose a solo from the previous play. I already knew it well, but I had to practice it over and over. He gave me tips on how to be better, stuff like posture and diaphragm strength. I was sure I’d learned it all before, in high school chorus. I really enjoyed learning them again, though.

63 In Control

Before rehearsal started, I asked him what the director said about his hair.

“Oh, you know,” he griped. “He was kinda mad, but like still lenient. He liked my long hair, said it fit the character well. But, like, he never told me that so he knew it wasn’t my fault.”

I finished my juice box then took it to a trash can. “I guess that’s fair. I had a similar situation in high school. Though, instead of cutting my hair for fun I cut it for the sake of the part. I thought it would be better to, basically shave it all off. My director was not pleased. I never did anything like that again.”

“Yeah but you get it,” he affirmed.

“Yeah, I didn’t know not to until it was too late.” I looked up at my dangling bangs, still astounded that they’re so wavy. “It didn’t even look good that short.”

He looked at my head thoughtfully. “I dunno,” he said. “It might make you look more distinguished. Like an…nnn smart philosopher.”

I grin at his clever avoidance of the word “old,” as if it would hurt my feelings. “I’ll have to put some thought into it.”

“All right.”

Curtain Call came in just then and greeted us warmly, shaking off his umbrella. We explained our intentions and he was pleased with the idea. “So were you intending to write plays or perform them?”

I’m surprised at the amount of sass in the question. “Well, if I make a career in writing, why can’t singing just be a hobby?” I combat and he grins wryly. “And speaking of writing…” I run back to my bag, remembering that I brought my rough draft with me. I grab the papers from my bag while Noh and Call chat up front. I notice I’m smiling. I’m not even convinced it’s good yet, but it’s as good as it needs to be for now. I jog back to the front of the room and hoof the rough script over with an excited smile.

He looks as elated as I feel. “Oh wonderful! I can’t wait to get started on this.” He looks it over, flipping through the paper I had loosely bound with string. It didn’t even have a title. “For now, we ought to get started with rehearsal.”

He smiles at me again before turning and trading my script for the one in his bag. Just as he began reviewing notes with Noh, a few more actors waded in from the rain. I excused myself to warm up the coffee makers. Most of the actors preferred hot tea, so I set up some of the machines just to run boiled water. I prefer hot tea, too, so after doing a quick scan of the dressing rooms I quickly made myself a mug.

Rehearsal went on normally, though I couldn’t explain my good mood. I just kept thinking about Noh’s lesson. His sister, Kabuki, noticed once and started chatting with me. We had a pleasant conversation, though it didn’t last very long. She was happy that I was happy, but we don’t have much in common.

The rain had stopped by the end of rehearsal, and Noh left me with a cheery smile. When I got home there was a note under my door. Thinking it was from one of my friends I scooped it up and basically danced inside. After leaving my things by the door I hop onto my bed to read the note.

“Hey Timber. It’s your brother Mill. Tried to stop by but you weren’t here. I’ll be at the Toppleton Hotel when you get some free time. See you soon.”

My good mood died. I had no prior knowledge of his visit, how did he even know where I live? My past was riddled with bad experiences with my eldest brother. They weren’t all bad, though. He was very much like dad, just a lot less confidential. And a lot more conceited. And sometimes violent. I used to fantasize about hitting him upside the head with a shovel, and stuff like that. It always made me feel terrible, though. I always knew he had just as much stress from dad about achieving greatness, I think. I might have just tried to justify feeling guilty. Or maybe Aura was… The memories are vague.

Regardless, I was suddenly very down. Just past midnight, and I’m sitting on my bed trying to imagine a best-case scenario that could unfold while meeting with Mill Jr. Somehow I feel like Cosh breaking down the door and arresting my brother is just a little bit too extreme. Why would I bring Cosh into it? I mean, it’s not like he’s a bad pony. I just don’t know why he’d appear in a day-dream. He’s not exactly special to me. Though he is the only police officer I know personally.

Still, Cosh would have no reason to randomly bust down the door. Besides, Mill was being very civil. He’s probably just trying to be brotherly, maybe he has some good news to share. Maybe mom’s just making him do it in hopes of patching a torn relationship. I haven’t spoken with him in at least four years. He only visited home once or twice after he graduated and moved out. He seemed content with his work, didn’t need any of us. I was content with him being far away.

I don’t need to be beating myself up over this. I can handle one afternoon with him, we can chat about our lives, then get on with them. Go our separate ways… What will he want to know, though? Does he know I’m gay? How will he react when he finds out? Is that why he wants to see me?

My thoughts go to the plastic bag under my bed. Who cares? A smile spreads across my face. I’m a little bit terrified at first, but I’m also excited that I can finally be who I’ve wanted to be for so long. Even if it’s not really what I wanted, it’s a great start isn’t it?

I take out the toy and the accessories. A brief moment I stand in stasis, trying to decide on where to start. The main room seems a little too… revealed. The kitchen? That seems a little outlandish, I think. It might be easier to clean up in there, though. How messy would it be? The bathroom is definitely the most private, easier to clean. I can jump right into the shower afterward. Not a lot of room, though. How much room will I need?

I settle on the bathroom. With the box tucked under one front leg and the plastic bag in my teeth I made my way there. I made sure the front door was locked, then locked myself in the restroom. I unpacked my things, tossing the plastic bag in the waste basket. I cleaned myself out, according to vivid direction on the douche’s packaging, then left the item in the bathtub. I also feel like making this clear; I do take pretty regular bathroom breaks, I just don’t feel like it’s important to write it down each time. You never read about that kind of stuff in most novels so…

After cleaning up, I suctioned the rubber toy to the tile floor, taking a moment to psych myself up for the experience. I thought I was prepared, I wanted to be. Still, some part of me was somewhat intimidated. At least I could take it at my own pace, not worried about the pony on top being too much, too hard or anything like that. I had complete control.

64 FIrst Time

With my body ready, and the toy drenched in a couple tablespoons of lubricant, I lift myself above it, standing on my hind hooves and balancing against the wall. I try to use my best judgement to line up, take a deep breath and sit slowly onto the head. I miss the first time, and the second. I reach a hoof down to help aim and finally get the fake flesh to tease my living taint.

With another deep breath, I try my hardest not to clench and squeeze the head back out. I get it in, gasping harshly against the brevity of the first pinch of pain, into a heavy sigh. Now that it’s penetrated my rectum, how far can I get it?

I move slower than time. I silently thank Patches for getting such a soft rubber for my first toy. Something touches me just right, making me gasp again and clench unwillingly. I bite my lip, and remind myself to open my eyes. It’s not crucial, but this is a learning experience. I suddenly glance to my side, spotting the two towels hanging on the door. I laugh at myself, squatting against the bathroom wall with a synthetic phallus in my ass hole.

My smile drops as I squirm and the rubber touches parts of me I didn’t know about. I vaguely remember times at home when I would tease myself with a hoof from time to time in the shower. That was nothing like this. This was a deep, infinite pleasure. I have an idea to rotate my hips and squeal out loud at the feeling that comes after. I don’t know how to explain it. I slowly take myself a few centimeters back upward, taking yet another deep breath, then thrust my body down once more.

I grit my teeth, hating myself for going that little bit too fast. The pain fades quickly, though. I look at myself and my penis is reacting as expected. Already almost fully hard, it dances in midair as I gawk at it like a picture in a book. I wiggle my body some more and moan into the wall. Then I bite my tongue, afraid of making too much noise. My tongue between my molars, I choose to make another thrust downward, however slowly. Then back up…

I feel the head tug at my rectum slightly and start moving right back down. Instead of speed, this time I go for depth. Barely keeping my voice down, I eventually feel the toy’s stimulating medial ring. It feels almost threatening, but I press slowly against it. More deep breaths and I survive the catch and take a short break, gyrating some more. My cock is leaking pre-cum from the pleasure, but my insides feel full enough for now. I raise myself slowly, hearing the ring pop out suddenly. I clench reflexively, then gasp at the sensation.

Admiring my erection for a few more short seconds I decide to start making some more moves.

Widening my stance slightly I arch my back to prepare for something more serious. My body seemed to know what it was doing without my instruction. Or Pearl’s instruction.

Where’d that thought come from?

I quickly push it away, unintentionally finding Stitches at the front of my mind following Pearl. With my eyes closed, I try to remember the first time he kissed me, and start replaying the scene. The warmth of his breath on my face, his taste. My lips react to the strong memory, and I barely stop myself from kissing the wall.

I envision the kiss, then reach downward with one hoof and stroke my meat gently with the crook of my pastern. The dry stroke feels nice, but the dick inside me feels better. Lowering myself again to my limits I can’t help but moan out loud. Looking down again I’m not entirely satisfied, and have a new idea. Narrowly keeping the phallus inside me I reach for the bottle of lube and drip a few drops into my hoof. I stroke myself again, now in sync with the penetration, along with a deep breath through my teeth.

I let out the long sigh and stop short to adjust my position again, taking a second to drop my glasses on the vanity to my left. With both hooves against the wall I move my hips vertically a little quicker. My front right hoof slips just a bit, thanks to the lubricant. I end up pushing past the medial ring by mistake and getting a sting of pain. While unexpected, it didn’t slow me down. I grit my teeth and lift back up past it. I resume my prior movements, adding a few hip rotations now and then to add to the stimulus.

I go on that way for some time, though it didn’t really feel that long. My dick is bouncing around wildly while I pick up the pace gradually. I grab it again with my ankle and begin again with attending it. The sudden incitation charges my body with electricity, causing me to clench. A mix of pain and pleasure storms my ass and I slow down just a bit. The pain subsides, so I decide to squeeze again. It’s breathtaking. My scrotum shrinks and my dick seems to harden some more. I stroke faster, rotating my hips, and slowly lowering myself further. The medial ring passes one more time and my penis twitches. I’m getting close.

I close my eyes and bite my lip, trying to move faster, deeper. I’m past the middle ring and still digging. My stomach churns, though enticingly somehow. I get so deep that I feel a strange pressure behind my naval, and I cry out. I’m sure I sound like a mare, but I don’t care. I do care at how loud I’m being. But how did I ever get this deep?

I suddenly start thinking of the show from before, putting on that first pair of panties. I imagine what I must have looked like to the others, uncharacteristically gregarious and sensual. Who was I back then? Who have I become? I’m unsure, but it’s perfect.

The new thought brings an all new inspiration to the exercise and I arch my back some more, taking the dick at a different angle and startling myself again. I don’t slow down, or ease up in the slightest.

My hind legs are bent so far I decide to adjust again, sitting on my hocks, deeper than I ever imagined. My dick flares, nearly at its climax. I suddenly decide to sit all the way down on the toy, relaxing my back legs and letting the rubber reach all the way inside me. The fake ball sack touches mine and the discomfort is quickly drowned out by bliss as my loins convulse.

Wave after wave follow rhythmically as I shoot my first conscious load against the tiles of the bathroom wall. My voice has abandoned me, crying out into the room with the orgasmic splatter like… I can’t even think of what it was like. I sounded like a filly, but I didn’t care. I might have trouble making eye contact with my neighbors for a while, but I hardly did anyway other than to be polite.

Thoughts foggy, I resist the urge to lie down on the floor. I lean back and sigh, stretching my neck backward, then hear the suction cup pop off the floor. My anus squeezes suddenly, and a pinch of pain shoots up to my jaw. Curious. Still sitting on the dildo I look down at my softening dick, then at the mess in the corner. I put a hoof on the wall of the tub to my side, sigh again, then smile idiotically. I knew I was going to regret taking the full length like that. Then I knew I’d likely do it again without a second thought.

I lift myself slowly, careful not to instinctively eject the mass from my colon. I turn the shower on and let the water fall over me for a few seconds, then lie down in the tub. The warm, pressurized water pummels me as I relax. The douche is still there, and I rinse it off then leave it aside. I turn myself around and turn the heat up, letting it massage my backside as I ease up on the intruder. Eventually I started pushing, but that was dangerously uncomfortable. Instead I choose to reach around and pull the thing out by hoof.

I take it slow, pausing at the medial ring and head, reminding myself to ease up a little more for the extra width. Once I do get it out, my now empty orifice reflexively clenches several times. After initially ignoring the feeling of needing to take a massive shit, being so empty so suddenly was now an even more awkward sensation. More instincts make me feel like I’m not completely empty, and try to get me to push more waste out. I resist, fearing the development of a hemorrhoid.

I take more deep breaths for a minute or two, eventually remembering there were other things to be done. I sigh, then smile, really just happy I finally got to have this feeling.

Then I feel sad, almost like I betrayed my first real partner. It didn’t last, since I knew this was for the best. I definitely would not regret this.

I shut off the water and get out to start cleaning up, wiping up my ejaculation with a wet rag that needed to be washed soon anyway. I dry myself off, then my dildo and douche. Then I decide to wash each one with hoof soap. After drying those off again I squeeze them both into the same box, the little rectangle the dildo came in, along with the bottle of lube. I’m pleased to see I haven’t even used a quarter of the contents. Perhaps not even one-sixth. I’m not great with estimates though.

I dry myself off and step out of the bathroom, ready to start the coming day.

65 Flash Back

I saw Pearl unlocking the front door to the café from a block away. I wave, making her look up and wave back. I’m smiling like a moron, though there’s still an uneasiness in my backdoor. It feels as though tiny insects are hatching inside me, while my anus is doing a poor job of closing off the outside world. Well, that’s a little dark, I suppose. It doesn’t feel bad, just uncomfortable. I’m still semi-consciously clenching over and over at the emptiness.

When we get inside I tell Pearl about the feeling, starting off with how I started off, then skipping right to the part about how I feel now.

“Oh, that’s right,” she snaps.

“What…?” I’m a little worried, like she forgot to tell me something crucial.

“I just had the feeling we forgot something, at the store,” she explains. “Just, another little toy. A plug, if you will.” We leave our belongings in the kitchen, greeting Gourdy as he bakes. Back in the front, “It’s not entirely necessary, but it’s a good idea to use if you’re not going to take it easy the rest of the day afterward.”

I’m a little confused. “What do you mean? I don’t…”

“After having the… the dildo inside of you, and I assume you came while penetrated—“

“Came?” I question. I had not heard the word before in this context. At least, not that I could remember.

She makes a face like she’s getting a little impatient. “Yes, came. Cum. It’s just a… slang term for orgasm. Or… semen, sometimes. Anyway, you came with it inside you and all the muscles clenched. I won’t ask how deep you were, but basically if you didn’t lie down and fall asleep to let your body reconfigure, uhh… I think, your prostate like, yearns for it or something. Anyway, the plug keeps your body… stable I guess, while also keeping your hole closed comfortably.”

I laugh awkwardly while she ties my apron for me. “You know I want to ask how you know that.”

I sense her eye-roll. “Whatever. I took an anatomy class in college, and my roommate told me the rest. I basically know everything about your body that you don’t.”

“And the weird facts about the toys?” I question her skeptically.

“I told you, my roommate.” She lets out an awkward chortle and moves back to the front of the store. “One of them anyway. The fun one.”

A few things pop into my mind when she says “fun,” making me think about just how “fun” that roommate was. I shake my head, laughing, forcing the thoughts away. Pearl wasn’t like that.

I’m restocking sugar packets when Patches and Stiches come in. I lock eyes with Pearl. She gives me an inquisitive look. I shake my head; I don’t want to talk about my recent practice with them quite yet. I hope beyond reason that they didn’t see the exchange.

At the very least, they don’t bring it up. I’m grateful that the day can move along like normal. Patches makes up gossip about school until dishes start piling up. Stitches and I mostly just listen, occasionally giving each other knowing looks when something one of them says contradicts something said previously.

About an hour into the day business starts to rush. I’m keeping up with orders but I can’t chat with my friends anymore. I make small talk with the customers, most of them are pretty nice. Some just need their coffee.

At some point I notice I’m sulking. Somehow monotony has poisoned my thoughts and I chastise myself, though unwillingly. I try to distract myself, but stop myself from thinking about last night. Or, this morning? My time before work, earlier. I don’t want to accidentally arouse myself while on duty.

Traffic has died down slightly and the sun’s starting to show. There are only a few patrons still waiting for breakfast when a new group comes in, laughing boorishly. They’re all drunk, I can tell. Why would anypony be this drunk on a Monday morning?

Pearl groans beside me. It’s been a while since we’ve had trouble like this, but I know she doesn’t like how friendly drunk stallions tend to get with her. I offer to take them off her hooves.

I introduce myself and offer to take orders. The first one yells at me, “Hey where’s the pretty one?”

I’m stunned and don’t respond. The next one chimes in, “Well this kid’s kinda cute. *hiccup*”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” the first one agrees. “Hey how old are you?”

I smile politely, “That’s, not important. Can I get you something to drink?”

The third one finally speaks up, “Coffee, black. All around.”

The other two are laughing their heads off for some reason. I smile at the last one, clearly the most sober.

I turn and head for the bar to brew a fresh pot. The first stallion shouts after me, “Where you going gorgeous?”

I ignore the compliment and make my way behind the counter where Pearl is picking up an order. “I can see why you don’t care for benders, this behavior is incorrigible.”

“If you can’t handle it I can take over,” she offers.

I watch the pot steam with fresh coffee, breathing in the coarse scent. I didn’t like the taste of coffee at all, but I would always love the smell. “That’s fine,” I respond. “They can’t really do anything bad to me.” She smiles and takes her tray away. I wait a few more seconds for the pot to fill, then pour the three drinks. I carry my own tray to the table of drunks. Another group walks in, younger and definitely not drunk. Pearl’s still handling her own small crowd, so I decide to make my way over the first chance I get. “Anything else I can get you this morning?” Sometimes I really hated how I sounded when I tried to be polite.

The first guy speaks up instantly, “Yeah I’d like to see what specials aren’t on the menu.” He makes a look that I assume was meant to be flirtatious.

(You haven’t even seen the menu.) “Everything we have to offer is on the menu. Would you like a copy?” Copy? What were they novels? I guess they were all copies of an original. It just sounds weird.

The third friend comes in before either of the others. “We’re fine for now, thanks.” He’s talking quietly, like he’s getting a headache. My head starts aching sympathetically.

I smile and move past them to the new arrivals. The group of four order a specialized coffee each and ask for menus. I pass out the booklets and tell them I’ll be right back with their drinks. While I move past the party table, one of the stallions tugs on my tail. I almost yelp, but contain it. Instead I just gasp and glare at the barbarous patrons while they laugh some more. The one is apologizing profusely with his eyes. I sigh and continue toward the front. Or, back I guess? The opposite end of the café from the entrance, with the register and barista station.

Pearl makes it back just after me and places another order for Gourdy. I prepare four more mugs and fill them with the specially ordered drinks. Balancing them on my back try I move to return to the barnyard. Pearl catches me just before I go, “You sure you can handle those guys?”

I’m happy that she cares, but I don’t want her to worry. “I’m fine, really.” At the very least they’re a break from the depressing melancholy that was looming overhead previously. “They’re just here for some coffee. I’ll give them some time, go back in a few minutes and have them pay up.” I doubt they’d leave much of a tip. Then again, that one guy seemed pretty responsible.

I take the tray of coffee mugs to the young group. I imagine they’re college students or the like, taking some time out after an all-nighter. Pearl told me she used to do that with some pals during college. I envy the feeling, completely neglecting the fact that my friends and I do basically the same thing a lot anyway.

I take the students’ orders and make my way back again, this time with no reaction from the party table. They’re still being loud, but keeping it to themselves now, mostly. I can tell some other clientele are unhappy with the noise. Clientele? That’s not a good word. Whatever. I place my order, Pearl takes a coffee pot to refill one of her customers. I put another one on without thinking.

Why have I fallen into this stasis? My day was going beautifully before, but out of nowhere I feel like I’m in a rut. There’s a gloom in my head that I can’t explain, making me angry at myself. I suddenly think about what I did this morning. It must be that. I was feeling guilty because I rushed into it, not really thinking about my future. What future? I mean, why would I feel guilty for doing something that was more or less completely necessary? What if it wasn’t necessary?

I can’t tell where the thoughts are coming from; whether they’re me, Aura, or something entirely new. But what else could they be? What else is there?

I receive the order I don’t entirely remember placing. I carried the breakfast platter to the college table, missing another barrage of “compliments” from the fun club. Muscle memory fills in the lines, reacting to the strangers with bizarre charm. Once it’s established nothing else is needed I turn around once again. My mind is still killing itself for no reason, trying to find a reason.

I feel a pressure on my back and panic. It’s warm, confining. I inhale sharply as visions flash back to that night in the park, just after my birthday party. My life was nearly ruined by the actions of that stranger. Was this guy seriously doing this? Did he really mount me?

Gripped with fear I lower my head and shrug my shoulders, sliding out from the unwelcomed embrace. There was noise, I think. Ponies were shouting, laughing. Where was Pearl? Where was I?

A hoof tried to contain me, but my back leg reacts. I don’t know what part of me knew to do that, but my hoof was up between his hind legs before I exhaled. The stallion crumples and falls off of me. I turn to face the foolish attacker when his friend has a go at me. He seems offended, like I had no right…

I threw my head into his nose. I felt a sickening yet satisfying crunch under my crown as cartilage crumples and teeth crash together. His head flies back from the pain, I finish him off with a measly shove. He trips over his pal, landing on top, writhing in pain. They both convulse.

I watch them, mortified. What came over me? What were they thinking? What should I do now? Was the other guy angry at me, or them? Should I apologize? Should I try to fix things?

I bump into a chair before I realize I was backing away. My anus clenches, I wince, expecting pain. Why?

I look around. Ponies are in a frenzy. Pearl’s trying to get my attention, the customers are complaining. The bleeding drunk has gotten up from the floor and is spitting at me. Stitches comes running and helps the other stallion hold his injured friend at bay while I back into a wall and start crying.

66 Trance

Gourdy diffused the situation with a very commanding voice. I don’t remember what he said. I’m still heaving, my ears throbbing. Pearl has led me back into the kitchen, I think while trying to get me to speak. She’d want to know what was going on in my mind, what I was feeling. Obviously I was crying, but was it sadness? No, it had to be fear, right? What if it was just a reflex? My body knew it should be crying, so it was…

Patches is there, her eyes filled with worry and anger. She must be upset about what happened. What happened? The stallions came at me. Well, the one was on top of me. My mind was dead by then. Wasn’t I zoned out long before? I can’t quite remember… I’m pretty sure I was drawing blank just before the incident.

My lungs are empty. I take a quick breath.

Ponies are talking loud and fast in the café. Are the police here? I don’t want to answer any questions. I don’t even want to be here right now.

I whimper and force myself to inhale again. “I want to go home…”

Pearl lies down next to me. I guess I’m lying on the floor. She puts a hoof over my back and rests my head on her shoulder. “Shh, shh… You’re gonna be ok… Cosh is here, he just wants to know what happened.”

I shake my head, awkwardly against her body. “I don’t—don’t want to—“

She strokes my head and shushes me more. Her hoof passes over my scar. It feels normal, so why did I notice that? I manage to take a full breath.

My glasses aren’t on. Where are they? Who just came in? “Timber? By Celestia, not again.” He’s quiet for a few seconds. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.” What a sweet guy. “I’ll give you… some more time.”

Cosh leaves the room and shouts some orders to other ponies. I sob again. Pearl strokes my mane. Patches leaves. My breathing is slowing. Still shaky, words find their way to my mouth while my mind plays catch-up, “I don’t want to see my brother.”

Pearl and Cosh take me home in a taxi, silent the whole way. I’ve fully come to comprehend the dilemma, and I believe I’ve told an officer everything I know. Once inside Pearl gives me back my glasses. I put them on without thinking. I feel like an idiot, having simply shut down like I had. It wasn’t even because of what happened. As far as I could tell, which is only as much as anypony else could, I was truly terrified of the thought of seeing Mill Jr.

I hadn’t even thought of Mill since getting home from Bridleway last night. What part of me thought about him and caused me to fall into such a crippling trance? Did it have something to do with the drunk ponies’ behavior? Did they somehow trigger some kind of post-traumatic stress caused by growing up with Jr? He’s never been drunk around me, or condescending enough to force himself on me. He happened to show abusive tendencies, but he never really hurt me that badly.

Cosh has stepped outside, either feeling uncomfortable or just knowing there’s nothing he can do to help. Or, did he say something about work? Maybe that was it. Justice never rests.

Pearl goes to the kitchen to get me a glass of water. I’ve still not gotten used to the flavor of city-purified water. Back in Green Stables we had our own well. It was filtered directly into our house from deep underground. Tap water in the city just doesn’t taste as clean, I guess. It’s just as refreshing, but there’s a hardness to it that I don’t prefer.

She sees the note on the breakfast bar, the one I got from Jr. She frowns at it, then brings me the cup of water. It’s not in a wine glass, but that’s probably a good thing.

“So, you’re brother came to visit?” She asks. I nod. “He didn’t seem to give you much of a choice about it, in his note.” I shake my head. I’m not trancing anymore, more or less fine. I just can’t bring words to life right now. “You don’t want to go see him, though…”

I shake my head again, then take a quick drink. It’s cool, rejuvenating, however bitter. She’s looking at me incessantly. “I don’t have many good memories with him,” I offer. Connections are made in my brain, fast as a falling star, but words are still taking their time. “Whatever few pleasant ones there are, I can never bring them to mind. It’s like I never wanted to be related to him.”

“What kinds of memories do you have?”

I shake my head slowly, “Borderline abuse. He rarely ever struck me, but the pain… it’s like it’s tattooed on me, somewhere. Somehow… He, shared my father’s ideals. They’re both painfully old-fashioned. Or, they were. Just, Jr was much less caring toward me. Toward any of us.” I instantly remembered that he gave little affection to any of us, his siblings. I couldn’t speak for them, but they couldn’t have had it much better than I. “Why did he come here…?”

Pearl sighs, leans in to kiss my forehead, then goes to the door. I watch for a few steps, then turn to look at the floor, taking another small drink. She says some things to Cosh, who was still outside the door. He canters off and she walks back toward me. “I asked him to let your boss know. It’s still Curtain Call, right?” I nod. “’Kay… Well, I told him not to tell them too much, just that there’s been an incident, or whatever. You’re taking the night off.”

I feel like arguing, but it’s probably a good thing she did that for me. If I forced myself to go to work after what just happened I might never recover. Noh would have a conniption. Is that spelled right?

Pearl touches my forehead suddenly, and I lock eyes with her. “Is that ok with you?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah, I mostly just want to sleep this off.” I don’t know if I’ll ever get to sleep, but if I don’t try then I certainly never will.

Pearl nods slowly, tracing a crease above my brow. “Ok. Stitches and Patches will probably want to come by later and check up on you. Is that ok?” I nod. “Do you think you’ll have a good time for that to happen?”

I think for a few seconds. I usually sleep for about six hours, then spend whatever free time I have left to write. I wasn’t sure if I’d get a whole lot of sleep today. I had to tell them something though. They wanted to help, I should let them. It couldn’t hurt to have friends around. “I’d say, maybe around six, or seven tonight.”

“You sure?”

I remember it isn’t even noon. Patches and Stitches have classes this afternoon, I think. They usually do on Mondays. “No, I mean noon. Just knock and I’ll let you in.”

She smiles and nods again. “Okay, we’ll see you then.”

I force a smile in response. “Thanks,” I croak. “Travel safely.”

67 Violence

I haven’t written in a few days, after what happened.

It took me a while to calm down enough to make rational decisions. I spent a lot of time running through memories, trying to decipher my emotions and figure out what I really wanted. Whenever that happened I always managed to come back to how lonely I was. I just need a stallion who can comfort me. Stabilize me, perhaps. I don’t know how Pearl does it, or Noh. I love it, but it’s not really enough. I always end up thinking it’s not right, not what I really want.

At the end of it all I figured I was ready to give my brother a chance.

I thought I recognized the name of the hotel he was at, Toppleton, it was the hotel I stayed at with mom and grandma over a year ago. That was an eventful night.

I ask the receptionist for Mill Jr and get his room number. I catch him in the hallway on the way there.

“Hey buddy!” His smile was more or less genuine, meaning it was more a smile of betrayal. His lips said “it’s good to see you,” his eyes said “talk and I’ll cut you.”

“Hey Mill,” I remember he doesn’t like being called Jr. I accept his uncomfortable hug.

“What’s been up with you lately? Working at that theater can’t be that stressful.”

(As if you’d know what kind of stress city life has at all!) “You’d be surprised,” I manage, forcing an awkward smile.

“Well at least tell me you get out plenty, yeah?” He’s gone from uncomfortable to insensitive. “You got any ladies waiting for you?”

Oh that’s right. Being out of touch for so long he wouldn’t have any idea about my sexuality. Should I tell him? “Oh no, nothing like that.” (Smooth.) Yeah? And where have you been this past week?

“Well I’m not in town for much longer, so I’m afraid I can’t help you out much with that one.” He nudges my shoulder and we start walking. He’s leading me toward the pool. “Mom wanted me to come visit, y’know. She said she was kind of worried you were getting lonely.”

How could Jr visiting make me less lonely? He didn’t know a thing about me. He was a jock, I was a queer. There’s no way she could honestly expect us to get along. Did she have ulterior motives? Was she sinister enough for that? “I can’t imagine why,” I toy. “I’ve got plenty of friends. We spend lots of time together, they even brought me to a strip club once.” I laugh awkwardly. Why did I bring that up?

He prods me with his elbow. “There you go, living life and shit. What was the place called? Maybe we could hit it up before I ship out.”

Dammit. “I don’t actually remember,” basically a lie. “It was for my birthday.”

“Ok…” his brain cells are drowning right now, trying to remember when my birthday is.

“It was a few months ago. We haven’t gone back since.”

He gives me a puzzled look. Maybe more like, “I knew that, nerd,” but then he smiles and elbows me again. “Right, well it can’t be the only place.” He laughs raucously, though not in nearly as cute a manner as Noh. Jr was much more brutish. It wasn’t even funny. “I was just going for a dip in the hotel’s hot tub. Feel like joining me?”

I smile peacefully, “Yeah I could go for a swim.” With as long as it had been since I’d dived into deep, clear water I’m honestly surprised my body isn’t going through some kind of withdrawal. I love swimming a lot, so I silently chastise myself for taking such a long hiatus from the pass-time. Maybe I just had too much going on. Plus I didn’t have a place to go regularly. This hotel wasn’t too far from my apartment, but I’m pretty sure the pool is reserved for paying customers.

Mill goes to the hot tub, where only one other patron is resting. I feel sorry for her, but not much. I wade into the pool and dive straight for the deep end. A few spins and swirls make me feel free. More free than I’ve felt in a while. Other than that spa day. I’d have to remind myself to go back for another mud bath at some point in the future.

I surface a few times and re-submerge. At last I stop for some deep breaths and float for a few seconds. I look around the spacious room, with its high ceiling and tall, tiled walls. I look to the lifeguard chair, merely intending to be friendly to the pony working just so I could have fun.

The first glance I take my heart skips. Is that…? It has to be, the same life guard from my visit over a year ago. His eyes make contact with mine and I think I start blushing. He smiles, friendly. I smile back, so as not to be rude, then dive under water again. I let a few bubbles out and sink a couple of meters. I don’t think I’m in the very deep end, and I hit the bottom within a few seconds. I don’t know how long I can hold my breath, but that’s not what’s really on my mind.

That lifeguard, I knew I recognized him. His warm orange coat and rosy mane. And the stylish, almost military-grade flat-top. It was just a little bit longer than what I assumed was military regulation, but I don’t know a lot about that. They’ve been inconsistent in recent years.

Whatever! This stallion was at the spa the other day! He was so nice…

Oh come one, can I really be lying at the bottom of the pool daydreaming about a lifeguard? (Yes, yes you can.) While my brother is in a hot tub a few steps away? (What does that matter?) Maybe if I stay down here long enough he’ll jump in and save me. I wonder if he’d even be willing to give me a chance.

My lungs screaming, I resurface and gasp frantically. After the splashing and gasping dies down I hear laughter and look toward the pool steps. Mill has the girl from the hot tub there, messing with her, splashing water that was despairingly cold compared to the water they were just in. I sigh, perturbed by my brother’s antics. Then smile unwillingly, satisfied in knowing that he does have a softer side. Even if I don’t know it that well.

I realize I’m still wearing my glasses and laugh at myself. Then another mare comes running from the hot tub to splash with my brother. I didn’t see two ponies in the tub before. Strange.

I understand that Mill will likely ask one of them out, and that he’ll likely try to do me a favor by hooking me up with the other one. Before I can stop myself I look up at the lifeguard. He’s shaking his head at the roughhousing, but smiling. He notices me looking and lifts an eyebrow like “can you believe these idiots?” I roll my eyes in agreement. He chuckles shortly, then goes back to scanning the water. There are only four of us in the pool right now, so I don’t know what he’s looking for. Sharks maybe?

I play around on my own for a while longer before Mill nearly gives me a heart attack by appearing right above me. I come up coughing and choking. I kind of hope the lifeguard doesn’t overreact. “I got you a date,” my brother informs me.

Of course he did. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, those two,” he leans his head toward the door where the mares are just leaving. “We’re gonna pick ‘em up tomorrow night.”

“Well that’s… nice.” He starts swimming out and I follow him. I’m almost terrified at how excited he is. “You know I don’t know if I can make it tomorrow.” I didn’t have most nights off, rehearsals and all. Then again, that wasn’t really why I gave the excuse.

“Well when do you work?”

I was afraid he’d ask that. Should I lie? “Uhh, seven o’clock.” Why didn’t I just lie?

“Perfect, we can take ‘em out to dinner and have you out of there before you’re late.”

I’m in too deep now, aren’t I? (Not if you play this right.) How can I possibly play this without him getting upset? We’re walking back to his room. He’s talking about ordering room service and watching a movie. I can’t imagine what movie he has in mind. (You have to tell him something. Plus there’s no guarantee that he will freak out.) Right, so I’ll just go in blindly and hope for the best. (I don’t see why not.) I roll my eyes. Mill doesn’t notice.

He unlocks the door to his room just as I grow the balls to bring up the subject again. “Look, about tomorrow night…” He opens the door and lifts an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to continue. “I’m just not all that, interested, to be honest.”

“Why’s that? Mom said you were lonely, I’m just trying to help.”

“Well… Mom assumed I was lonely, but really I’m doing fine.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but as much as he needed to know.

“Right.” He flops onto the huge bed. “Well, sorry but the plan’s been made.”

I shrug, growing impatient. How dare he force me into this situation? “Well, then I guess I’ll disappoint her. She seems nice, but I’m not interested.” That might have been a poor choice of words.

“Not interested?” Shit. “Did you see her?”

I sigh, “Yes, I saw her. That doesn’t change the fact—“

“What are you, some kind of fag?” Dammit. I squeeze my eyes, hurt, then look away. My body language explains perfectly. “Are you serious?” He’s raising his voice. “No you’re not! What kind of stallion isn’t into mares?”

“That’s not the point!”

“God dammit, Timber. Please tell me you’re joking?!” I wish he’d lower his voice. “What do you think dad’s gonna say?”

“Don’t bring dad into this,” I start getting defensive.

“And why not? You don’t think he can handle it? If anything he’ll knock some sense into you, if I don’t first.”

Is he threatening me? “Look just because you don’t understand—“

“I think I understand fine. My little brother thinks he likes dick so he’s running away from home.”

I’m really starting to get pissed off, but I don’t really know what to say.

“Is this the real reason mom sent me here? Is it?! Does she know? Cos she probably sent me here for this reason.”

“Oh don’t act like you care. You’re the one that ran away chasing some broad. None of us have heard from you in years!” Something’s coming over me. I don’t stop it. It’s about time I speak my mind.

“At least I was chasing a girl. Whose dick were you after that made you come to the city?”

I’m choking up involuntarily. “Stop saying that! You obviously don’t understand what I’ve been through. You’re the only one here that’s being led by his sex drive.” I don’t think I’m being too loud, but I lower my voice halfway through habitually.

“You can’t blame me for not knowing stuff about you since you never talk to me!”

Wow, what an accusation. I have to laugh at that. Then the thoughts leave my head and I stop talking. Why now? Why can’t I just keep arguing? He doesn’t have any valid points, I can win this.

“And what are you laughing at, fag?”

“Stop saying that,” I grumble.

“Why should I? It’s what you are! You know dad’s probably lucky he can’t remember stuff anymore. If I ever tell him he won’t have to remember that you’re such a disappointment.”

“Leave dad out of it!” I shout against my will.

He hits me then. A quick strike across my cheek. It wasn’t too hard. My glasses stay on, barely, but I cry out in shock and fall to the floor. There’s a knock at the door.

“Hey open up! What’s going on in there?” Is that the lifeguard?

“Piss off, it’s none of your business!”

“As an employee, domestic disturbances in the hotel are my business. Now, open up or I’m calling the police.”

Mill curses under his breath, steps over me and glares unforgivingly. He opens the door a crack and meets with the lifeguard. “See? There’s nothing wrong.”

“My ass,” the stranger retorts. “Where’s the younger one?”

“He’s just lying down. We just got back from swimming and he’s pretty tired.”

“In a room with one bed?” This guy’s serious. I think I get why I’ve fallen for him.

I have to put a stop to this, though. We don’t need to make a scene. “I’m fine. I was just leaving.” If he says anything against that he’ll have lost.

“Yeah you think you are,” Mill snaps. I smirk. Check mate.

The lifeguard comes back in while I pick myself up, “That’s it I’m ending this. Out of the way.”

“Piss off. He’s my brother and he said he’s fine.”

“He’s your hostage and he’s terrified of you. Now out of the way or I’ll have to detain you.” How heroic. I didn’t try to seem sarcastic, thinking that, but it just came out that way. Though, it didn’t come out, really. Whatever.

“I’d like to see you try,” Mill challenges. I turn just in time to see my brother try to push the lifeguard away, only to have his opponent twist his elbow past his head and push him to the ground in a very uncomfortable-looking position. I’m a little scared that I’m going to regret this somehow. I should be elated that my brother is getting what he deserves. Does he really deserve this? Sure he’s a dick, but he’s my brother.

I don’t get long to dwell on the thought. The lifeguard commands me to step outside. I oblige, thinking I might start crying. Why though? I hate my brother and don’t want to be around him anymore. My cheek hurts, so that might be it. No, this isn’t physical pain that’s hurting me. Thinking back I know I was upset that the visit went worse than I expected. I never expected anything good to come out of meeting my brother, but this was far worse. I was upset knowing that I’d likely never get to see him again, though. What’s mom going to say?

A door slams and the lifeguard is calling out for me. I had been walking briskly toward the front door of the building, intending to get far away fast. Then I remembered my savior.

He runs up and cuts me off. “Hold it, I want to make sure you’re all right.”

“I’m fine now, thanks.” What was I saying? This guy was Magni-Stallion. I should at the very least thank him genuinely. What would that entail though? I guess… at the very least I could indulge him.

“I don’t think so.” He’s looking me dead in the eyes. I was crying, so there’s that. He moves my head sideways gently with a hoof. “He hit you?” I just move my head away. He sighs, “I know he’s your brother, but this stuff is not ok. How long has this stuff been going on?”

I don’t answer. I really don’t know how to. Mill’s been a problem for me since we were kids, but we haven’t seen each other in years. What kind of answer does that merit?

He takes my silence as dismay and intrudes my thoughts. “Come back to my room. I’ll get you some ice and let you settle down.”

I think hard about it. I didn’t have to work at the café today, but I needed to get back to the theater. Though it was barely past noon. What if Pearl or the others try to check up on me? If I’m not at my apartment they’ll probably get worried. I didn’t leave a note like last time. What’s more I didn’t want to get my hopes up if this guy wasn’t into me. He probably wasn’t but maybe I could just have another influential friend? I’d love the chance to come swimming whenever I want.

Before I realize it, I’ve got a wing over my back and a body by my side, leading me through the hallways. I almost want to cry with how perfect it is. He notices I’m staring at him and smiles peacefully. He has bright silver eyes. My lips quivers. “Ok.”

Author's Notes:

In which I tell myself "It's about time."

68 Bastion

We get to his hotel room, which is lovely for being on the first floor. It’s got a king-sized bed like any other, but also room for a couch and full kitchen. The bed’s made and the room is mostly clean, but there’s still evidence that he’s been living here a while. I see books piled up beside a radio and smile. The light’s on in the bathroom, which he rushes to shut off, silently cursing himself.

He has me lie down on his couch, which is comfortable. Grey linen with very sturdy cushions. I notice a little stain that looks like wine and smile apologetically. Like, “oh no, poor guy…” Or whatever.

“Here,” the lifeguard hoofs me an ice pack.

I take it. “Thanks.” I hold it against my cheek. The cold startles me at first, but I adjust to it quickly. He sits down beside me, dread in his eyes. When he finally looks at me I can tell he’s a little uncomfortable. “Look… I—I know he’s you’re brother but…”

I sigh. I was hoping we’d gotten past that. “I don’t care what you do. I’m already never going to speak to him again, now that he knows…” I realize too late that this stranger doesn’t really know the details of the argument. “I mean, we were never really great friends, but after that I doubt we’ll ever meet up again.”

He sighs, “Right, ok.” He’s silent for a moment, which I’m grateful for, but I can tell he’s still uncomfortable. Somethings bugging him. He fidgets for a few minutes while I ease into a pillow. “Did you want to… talk about it?”

I take a deep breath. I feel like I owe it to the guy, but I don’t know what I’d say. Would I give him every detail, or leave some things out to spare myself? Or spare my brother? “I guess,” I offer, though remain silent for a few moments. Once I draw up the courage I begin, “My dad’s pretty old fashioned, and with him being the oldest he was raised to basically uphold all the standards my dad set without question. He’s very hard working. They both are, and most of the time put their jobs before the world. I guess, the way I’ve been acting hasn’t been up to their standards.” That’s fine, he should understand now, I don’t need to go any further. “Then when he found out I was gay…” Well crap.

“I see…” he mumbles. He’s quiet for a bit, then, “Well, that takes a load off for me.”

I look at him strangely, leaving my ice pack behind. “What…?”

“Just,” he scoots closer, “finding out you’re gay. Now I don’t feel as awkward admiring you.”

My mouth falls open, so I close it again. I’m blushing. How do I respond? Should I laugh? It seems kind of funny at how perfect this whole situation is. He’d probably get offended. Should I cry? That seems like a pretty appropriate response. Though, should I cry out of joy? Or fear that it won’t end well? Do I get the choice? I don’t really feel like crying, or laughing. How would he even react? He seems like he’d be a great boyfriend. He has ever since we “met” back at the spa. But that doesn’t answer anything. What if I’m wrong?

In the end I don’t react at all beyond wide eyes. “Aww, jeez,” he groans. “I’m sorry, that was not the right time.”

I gasp, not wanting him to get the wrong idea, “No, not really.” Then again, maybe it is. Maybe that’s exactly why I can’t find the right reaction. “It’s just… I’ve never really been hit on before.” I smile awkwardly and seal the deal.

He laughs acceptingly. “Is that true? I don’t believe you!”

I laugh at how cool he’s being. “It’s true! Most ponies don’t even believe that I’m gay. My brother certainly didn’t.”

“Well he wouldn’t believe anyone if they told him the sky was blue.” I laugh at that, then my head throbs unexpectedly and I wince. It wasn’t my cheek, though. I rub at the top of my head. He moves my hoof and inspects my hair line. He’s tracing my scar. Please don’t bring it up… “Where’d this come from?”

I smile sheepishly. I don’t want to talk about it, but I don’t really want to talk about anything. “Oh, that’s, a long story. A while ago my dad starting losing his memory…” I cut off suddenly as another thought comes to my mind. I was supposed to see Noh for lunch on Monday! When those drunks came in and… Did he see Pearl, or anyone else? What did they tell him? I haven’t seen him since Sunday, he’s likely worried sick.

I feel a wing rest on my back and look at the lifeguard again. “It’s ok…” he reminds me.

I tear up. He really is perfect, reading the situation, understanding at least partially that something’s wrong, and taking into account the last subject I was on and knowing it might have been a touchy subject and not asking about it more. That might just be a fluke, but it’s something I often take for granted when spending time with Pearl or Noh.

Suddenly I feel like I’ve neglected my friends somehow. I only believe that I don’t deserve them, and I certainly don’t deserve this lifeguard. I have to cut this out before I take it took far. Why do I think that? He’s perfect. Maybe too perfect. But, is that even possible? I don’t want to hurt him. Can I hurt him? If I leave him now I’ll hurt him. I should just give him a chance.

“You want to lay down?” He asks. I notice he’s gotten up from the sofa and is gesturing to the bed.

I smile, a little sad. “Yeah, I do.” I leave the ice pack on the end table and lie down on the right side of his bed, facing the middle. He gets in opposite me and looks at me. I’m still smiling like an idiot, then my lip quivers. He was smiling, too. He takes a deep breath, as if demonstrating, then he slides closer to me and lays a hoof over my shoulder, pulling me in to rest in his bosom. I sob. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” I whisper.

“I may have some idea,” he coos. His voice is so powerful, even when he’s quiet.

Our bodies close together, I quickly lose track of time. I don’t really care, though. I’ve never had something like this all to myself and I wanted it to last. He knew I didn’t want anything else yet, and he wasn’t rushing me. He just wanted me to be happy. I sob—or maybe it was a laugh—again and he pulls me closer. I’m wrapped up completely in his embrace, his front left hoof under me, his front right wrapped around me holding my head, his right wing draped over my mid-section. I’m curled up against his chest, protected from the world by his bastion. I’ve stopped crying, if only to breathe in his scent. He smells just like the pool.

Then he starts humming. I recognize the tune as what I considered a love song by a relatively famous pop artist. He hummed it slowly, and in such a low octave it resonated through his chest and into my whole body. I don’t want to lose this.

69 Love

I feel so comfortable in his warmth that I open up. Once he finished humming I take the opportunity of ease to start telling him about myself. I tell him my name, followed by the whole story of my scar as he strokes a hoof down my back a couple times. He asks a few questions, though only when he thought it was safe. I tell him about some early crushes I had and about each of my friends. I tell him about Noh, and the deal we had to meet for lunch. He questions jokingly about that, accusing me of already having a boyfriend, but he isn’t serious.

I tell him about when I first discovered I was gay, keeping my composure when I bring up Loaf. I tell him how each of my friends and family members reacted when they found out. He seems really interested in my first kiss. He’s astonished to hear about Churner, and how I helped him discover bisexuality. That made me laugh.

After that he starts talking about himself. He tells me his name was Bolden then about how he got his cutie mark, and how it was also his first “gay” sensation. Apparently he’d been a little curious for a while, like I had, then had it all figured out when he performed mouth-to-mouth on a colt back in grade school. He got his cutie mark, and they both were a bit experimental after that, but it seems Bolden was the only one to whom the feelings stuck.

We joke a bit about how closeted we are, and if we went public if we’d start acting like more stereotypical homosexuals. I feel like it seems a little mean, but I’m really just glad we can both joke about it. Considering neither of us were very flamboyant, or up front with our sexuality at all. Most ponies we know could never guess we were gay. Except for Pearl, who apparently he’d love to meet pretty soon.

After a while I decide I just want to cuddle some more, and he agrees. We’re quiet, until I tell him I’m getting a little uncomfortable. He lets me turn to my left side, then brings himself right up against my back. His body fits perfectly against mine and I almost cry at how relieving it is to feel so perfect in this cradle.

Before too long I feel an unmistakable stiffness rising against my back. He shifts a little uneasily, and I can’t help but laugh. “Give me a break, it’s been a while.”

“No, no I get it. Believe me.” I grind my backside against him daringly, teasing him.

“I guess that means you’re a bottom?” He asks.

What does that mean? “I don’t know,” I admit. “What is that…?”

“Well, when two stallions, love each other very much…”

I laugh, but he trailed off like that was all the explanation I needed. I’m catching on, but definitely still need a little more, if only to hear him say it. “Go on.”

He groans. “Two guys having sex is a… complicated, phenomenon.” I’m surprised yet intrigued by his choice of words. He continues, “With our only penetrable orifices being the mouth and anus, our options are limited. If we ever have anal, one of us will… surrender to the other, allowing him to… penetrate, them. The one who penetrates is known as the top. The one who takes it is the bottom.”

My face had gone through a wide range of looks during the portrayal of information. It was definitely something I ought to know, but I was mostly caught up on when he said “if.” “What do you mean, ‘if’?”

“If what…?” He asked, legitimately confused.

I roll my eyes. “You said, ‘if we ever have anal.’ What did you mean by ‘if’?”

He chuckles, “Well, I just wasn’t sure. Originally I just wanted the official guarantee that we’re together.” He had a point; we never technically made it official. Even though we were spooning in his bed, we never declared it. I can’t believe I didn’t realize that earlier, considering how specific I am about all my other relationships. If we never said we were dating, I’d never think we were. “After that,” he adjusts himself, lifting up onto his elbow and looking down at me, “I just didn’t want to scare you by rushing into the idea.”

He’s almost too good to be true. If his junk wasn’t just grinding against my butt I might have thought this was a dream. There’s no way, though; in my dreams I can breathe underwater, and with nearly drowning myself earlier the idea is impossible. I turn my head to smile at him, “You’re right, I don’t want to rush it. However…” I trail off, turning my head at an almost painful angle to get my lips to touch his.

He accepts my kiss graciously, digging in himself with unbridled passion. He moves himself again and rolls me onto my back so that he can lie down on top of me. He looks me in the eyes once more before returning to our tongue duel. He tastes like chocolate milk, which makes me smile, and I wonder what I taste like. I can’t remember the last thing I ate or drank, thanks to this new sensation. I definitely brushed my teeth though, right?

Nothing like that matters. His body is so warm above me, his hooves resting on either side of my head and straddling my back legs. I reach my hooves up and pull on him until he’s lying directly on top of me. His weight makes me struggle to breathe, but only barely. I’m starting to breathe faster, especially once I notice our dicks rubbing together. I moan into him as I’m quickly aroused, sighing heavily when he starts to grind against me. He lifts himself up to look at me. I’m panting.

He’s also breathing heavily, with our meat sandwiched between our hot bodies. He smiles at me and grinds slowly some more. I’m pleading with my eyes, whispering, “I’m not ready.”

“That’s fine,” he promises. He moves down off me then, I watch as he arcs his back and lifts rear end into the air. He’s dragging his muzzle across my belly, eyes still on mine. He steps off the end of the bed smoothly and winks at me as my shaft appears from beneath him.

I’m still panting, almost afraid of what he’s about to do. I don’t know why, though. I just wasn’t sure I wanted this to be the first impression I gave, relying so much on him to only pleasure me. “Wait,” I beg. “I don’t know if this… I don’t think we should do this yet.”

He smirks, “You sure?” Then like a stern with a salt lick, drags his tongue all the way up the length of my penis, me moaning the whole way. What a jerk, but if he really wanted it…

I lay my head back and let him, trying not to think about how this is technically rape. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but considering I never really gave consent he shouldn’t continue. Still, I wasn’t stopping him, and that was consent in my mind. He took the head and I moaned again.

He lifted off again with an audible pop. My heart is racing, my cock throbbing desperately. I glance down to him again, but his head has gone lower. I cry out at the feeling of his tongue on my scrotum. He cups my left teste in his wide tongue, then dragging it up my shrinking flesh to where it reconnects to my penis. He licks along my whole length once more.

“Wait,” I stop him again. I don’t totally know what I’m thinking, “I want to… too.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Have you ever…?”

“Well…” I don’t want to be the only one getting treatment, but he had a point. I didn’t know what to do with a penis in my mouth. I’m curious as to how he knows, but it’s obvious he’s much more experienced.

“Just let me take care of you,” he insists with a smirk.

I flinch when he takes the head again. This really isn’t what I want, though. I had always imagined that my first time with another would be more meaningful. I wanted to explore his body, feel him over me and embrace him lovingly. I wanted to feel his body against mine, to hold him while he was inside me. “Stop,” I command, afraid I might start crying. He stops, though still with a few inches in his muzzle. “This isn’t…” Am I serious, though? Of course there’s something I’ve always wanted, but am I really willing to give up this feeling for that day? What if it never came? “This isn’t what I want.”

He pulls off quickly, slurping up saliva as the head pops out again. “Ok, that’s fine.” I realize I really am on the verge of tears. How could I be so worked up about this? Just because it wasn’t perfect didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy it. I sob, then take a deep breath, looking away quickly while my eyes glaze. “Hey, hey, it’s ok really.” I need to stop. He listened to me, he’s climbing back up to see to me. He really has no intention of destroying my vision. “It’s gonna be ok.”

I’m taking shaky breaths while he pulls me into him. I’m only crying because I’m angry at myself, “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I’ve never had this and I’m afraid of doing it wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong, I promise,” he ensures, petting my back. “There’s nothing wrong with taking our time, really. I just thought you might enjoy it.”

“I would. I did. Just… I’ve always had this, idea. This vision of what I thought I wanted. I don’t know… I just don’t want to ruin…” I take deep, albeit wavering breath, “ruin us, by not fulfilling the dream. But, I also don’t—don’t want to ruin it by ignoring it. I don’t want you to think I don’t want it and end up resenting me…”

“Shh, I don’t resent you. I could never,” he strokes my mane and pulls me closer. Any closer and I might get sucked in. “I love you.” He couldn’t mean that. We barely knew each other. He couldn’t mean that. “I want you to be happy.”

I sniffle, pressed up against his chest. His heart is beating fast, though his erection is gone. The lust has died, so he must just be worried about me. He’s panicking simply because I’m crying. I need to stop crying.

He strokes my mane endlessly, for what must have been hours. He starts humming again, and eventually I do smile. I can’t give this up.

Author's Notes:

In which I shamelessly tease an overused innuendo.

70 Midnight

At some point I see the clock by his bed and get a little panicked. It’s only 5:00, but have I really been here that long? How long have I been here? When did I leave my apartment?

“Something wrong?” Bolden asks.

I sigh, “No, I just… have to be at work in a few hours.”

“Oh yeah, me too…” How could we forget about something like that? Did I fall asleep? “Want me to walk you home?”

I laugh a little bit at the offer, though I can’t tell why. Honestly, why would he want to walk me home? Just to see where I live? Did he want to sneak in one day while I was sleeping? That’s preposterous. “I’d love that.”

From his big-spoon position, he kisses my cheek then jumps up out of the bed. I follow close behind, though much more slowly.

He asks where I work and I tell him Bridleway, then I tell him a café. “I’m just an intern at Bridleway, at least for now. I work at the café with my friends, pay my living and all that.”

“Sounds neat,” he compliments. “I’ve been working at this hotel for about three years now. Not a whole lot goes on and nothing ever changes. I might have to find someplace new just to shake things up.”

Playfully, I mock-gasp, “You’d cheat on your hotel?”

He puts on a sinister smile and wiggles his eyebrows at me. I laugh and shake my head. Part of me thinks he was implying something, but I refuse to believe he’s cheating on somepony else with me.

We make it a few blocks while he tells me about the summer-long training course he took to become a legitimate lifeguard. I had never thought about the kind of work one had to put into becoming a life-saver. I look at him while he talks. I stare, lovingly. I know it’s a loving stare, because I really do love him. He has such an immense joy in his silver eyes while he talks. He mentions the CPR course and blushes a little, remembering having to practice on live subjects. I love the way he smiles, his plush lips drawing back to reveal almost-perfect teeth. One or two were just a little crooked.

He gets to a part where he actually saved a pony from choking. Which, in a place like lifeguard training camp, seems like a hard thing to get the chance to do.

He has such sturdy muscles, probably just from swimming to keep fit. I love thinking that he’d be able to hold me up, even carry me around like it was nothing. He’s just so… symmetrical.

He catches me staring and blushes like crazy, “What are you looking at?”

I had just been watching his eyes again, the way they lit up while he spoke, and the overall sparkle in their silver hue. I smile, “Just you.” I lean my head on his shoulder then. What was I thinking?

He sighs, “You know, ponies are staring.”

I sigh, too, “You want me to stop?”

“Only if you want to.” He brushes his chin against my scalp. “I won’t make you.”

We walk like that the rest of the way, which isn’t far. He admires my apartment, my bed, my desk. He doesn’t look through anything, and I’m not sure how I’d feel if he did. He had a right to know everything about me. Though, maybe at a slower pace.

He tells me he has to get back to work at seven, that that’s when he’s really scheduled to guard the pool. “I was just covering for, a co-worker. She just had surgery, or something. I usually work seven to midnight, then close up the pool until morning.”

“That’s not so bad,” I comment. “I usually get out of the theater by midnight, too.”

“Well isn’t that just perfect?”

I smirk, “Yeah, and I guess I don’t need to be there until seven, either.”

He lifts an eyebrow, “You… want to do something?”

I ignore the feeling that he might be implying anything sexual. “Yeah I might make a sandwich. You want something?”

He scoffs, “Nah, I’m good. I don’t want to deplete your stocks.”

I laugh a little at that. “You want to go out and get something?”

“Well,” he shuffles, “I don’t have any money with me.”

“I can treat you,” I offer, which is sort-of unlike me. Then again, maybe not. I enjoyed doing things for my friends, if they ever gave me the opportunity.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” he deflects.

“I don’t care,” I insist. I move from my kitchen to stand dangerously close to him by the door. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Well, really I’m not too interested in going out tonight.” That’s a shame. At least he’s honest.

“Okay,” I give in. Then I sneak a little kiss, startling him. “You sure you don’t want a sandwich though?”

He laughs silently while I make my way back into the kitchen. “To be honest, I’ve been looking forward to some leftovers I have in my fridge.”

I chuckle a bit at that, “Well all right then.” I have most of the fixings out, so get back to the kitchen to work. “When can I see you again?”

He smiles flirtatiously, “You sure you’re okay with me going?”

I didn’t want him to stick around if he didn’t want to, what kind of boyfriend would that make me? Still, part of me just wanted him to stay and share dinner with me. “I’ll be fine,” I lie. Well, it isn’t really a lie. I’m just happy to know he’s all mine. After being through everything with Stitches, then Noh, however miniscule of a chance I had with either of them I didn’t feel like risking anything else with either of them. Especially now that I had Bolden. And while parts of me think I might still be moving too fast, most of me just wants to spend a whole day with him, doing whatever we both liked.

He kisses me then. “Okay, good. I wouldn’t want you going back to work stuck thinking about me.” Oh, I’m sure I will be. “And, if it’s all right with you, I’d like to come right back over after work.”

I smile, because that’s exactly what I wanted. Were we moving too fast? We obviously both just wanted to spend time together. I guess he kind of just wanted to get into bed with me, or part of him at least. I did, too, partly. I still wasn’t sure if I was ready.

I get stuck thinking about earlier in the week, with my toy. I had no idea how much bigger he would be.

Then I think about the drunken pedestrians at the café. Then about Lavandula. Am I well enough to feel intimate with another stallion? Of course I am! I’ve been waiting too long to be scared away by the thoughts of would-be predators. Still…

Suddenly he's right beside me in my kitchen. He lifts my chin up, I look into his eyes. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” he smiles, “Okay?”

How dare he command me, or accuse me of something so irresponsible? What does he think I’m going to do? What could I possibly do that was stupid enough to make him worry? I’d be seeing him again in just a couple hours. And the way he’s smiling…

But his eyes. He’s really concerned. I should just stop thinking so hard. It tends to give ponies the wrong idea, make them think I’m depressed.

I smile, only thinking about having him with me from now on. I hug him, “I love you.”

Author's Notes:

With which I figure, that's enough for a while.

71 Newspaper

Take a breath.

Wait... who?

I'm sorry it's come to this, truly. I'm also sorry, but I have to ask, who's fault was it?

Whose fault was what? Who are you?

Remember.

I remember.

Take a breath. I want you to tell me who's fault it was.

It was my fault. I wasn't able to handle what I had been told, all the new information, contradicting everything I knew.

It couldn't have been your fault. Take a breath. What happened?

He... his sister came to me.

What did she say?

I don't remember... She told me how he felt.

She told me about him, his feelings. He was having trouble recently...

Take a breath. Remember.

I remember.

Noh... his sister came to me. She told me how important I was to him. She told me that I could have been more important to him than he was to me. He had been through a break-up...

Take a breath. Who did he break up with?

...I don't remember...

There was no name. He broke up with a stallion.

Noh... he's gay?

Remember.

I never even spoke to him about it. How could I have only assumed he was straight?

You're justified. He was cut-off, distant from his feelings.

Kabuki told me that. She said that Noh had been through a break-up, that he feared falling in love again. But he was so strong when he was around me.

He needed you to remind him the comfort of love.

He needed me? I... I'm tired of ponies needing me. I need him, or... who?

Take a breath.

Why do you keep saying that?

Who do you need?

I don't know. Who is there?

There are many. You're lucky to have so many who care for you.
Wait... no... They don't need to care for me. I...

Take a breath. Understand that you do. There are needs to be met, both by you and those you are with. You cannot fulfill all these needs yourself.

I just want to be with one... who do I love?

Love is present within all relationships. Who do you love?

Who...? Well, I don't know. Who is there?

You have good friends. What are their names?

Pearl... Patches... Stitches... Noguki...

Do you love them?
I guess I do.

Take a breath. Who else?

Bolden...

You told him.

I told him I love him. I barely know him.

You're desperate. It's okay because you haven't known true love for some time. But you have to choose.

Between whom...? Who?

There are three, that you know.

Bolden, Noguki... Stitches?

Take a breath. Who was the first?

Was it Stitches? Before that... Was it Loaf? Loaf was the first pony I felt true love toward. Where is he?

He is with me. Would you like to speak with him?

I can't. I want to, but if I do I'll only miss him more when I leave.

Take a breath.

"Timber."

Loaf...? Your voice... You haven't changed at all.

"It's okay to cry, you know. There are more ponies out there than me that you can trust to lean on when you feel lonely."

Take a breath.

I've felt your comfort, in others. I know I can find that comfort. But, who do I choose? Why do I have to?

"Understand that desperation is not misguidance. You seem to know what you're looking for, and these qualities can be found in each of your choices. Stitches is a good friend and has helped you learn a lot, in a similar way to how Churner had in that you know more about what you want. They both love you, but neither is right for you. You have the comfort and empathy of the actor, or the dedication and security of the lifeguard to choose from."

I want... I don't know who I want. I've been friends with Stitches for the longest, I know him well, but I don't know if true love is what he's after. I know Noh feels mostly the same way I do, he has comfort that I know I want, but he rushed into this.

"That leaves Bolden--"

No, his sister... She was the one who told me. Was it her fault?

Take a breath.

"Timber, listen. I love you, and I'm happy that you miss me. I want you to keep me in your heart, but still know that you can let me go. Once you find what I offered on that night you'll know. I won't forget about you because I can't. I didn't get the chance to live my life, but I can live through you. Will you live for me?"

Where are you going?

Take a breath.

"Please, live for me..."

"I will." Where are you going?

Take a breath.

Why do you keep saying that? Where did Loaf go?

If you breathe, you will live. Live for him, who is with me.

Who are you?

Take a breath. Ask again.

...Where are you.

I'm in your head.

I wake up in the hospital. Loaf is... no, Bolden is asleep on a recliner in the corner. It's so dark.

"Timber?" Stitches?

My eyes adjust a little better to the darkness. He's by my side, but it hurts to move my head. He moves from my left to the foot of my bed. He sees my eyes are open and starts crying. It's a silent cry, but he lets out a sob as he reaches my side again. Bolden stirs from his rest. Once he notices my consciousness he jumps up to join Stitches at my side.

"I heard you say something--" Stitches wimpers. "It was like... like you promised something."

I blink slowly. My head hurts... "How long--" I choke, my throat dry.

Bolden's leaning dangerously far onto the bed. My right fore hoof aches. I wince and he backs off. He moves around the bed to be by my other side. I still can't move my head.

"You've been unconscious for six days," Stitches explains. There's a silence that can only be explained by curiosity; they want to ask so many questions but keep silent to spare my feelings. They don't want me to think they're judging me, so best not to ask me why I jumped.

I find the strength to turn my head to the right. I wince the whole way. Stitches is crying, worry in his eyes. I feel a hoof stroke my mane, but it's dull, as if there's a bandage between the hoof and the back of my head. Obviously there is. Stitches is so worried. Has he been working here? He's dressed like he's on duty at this hospital. Was he assigned to my room? Or, did he ask for it? Was it coincidence, or fate? Was he even working?

I close my eyes and prepare to turn my head the other way, to the stallion petting my head. Bolden's been crying for six days. How could I do that to him? I swallow hard, then wince again. "It wasn't... your fault..." I try to tell him. My mouth is so dry, most of the words are whispered. The rest are not words, only silence.

He sobs drastically, then swallows. He grabs my head with his hoof, which doesn't hurt like I thought it might, and holds me still while he kisses my forehead. He rests his head on mine and whispers, "I'm so sorry..."

Don't be sorry, please. My lip quivers as I start to cry.

I had gotten to the theater a little late, Noh was already on stage and would be for just about the entire time. All the while I was looking forward to the night with Bolden. I wasn't excited, though. I was anxious. I didn't really know Bolden, how could I have already claimed to love him? How could he already love me?

I was stuck in thought when Noguki's sister caught me off-guard. I was unboxing bags of chips for the snack table, lost in thought as usual. She touched my shoulder, made me jump. "Woah, sorry," she backs off.

"I'm sorry," I offer.

"A lot on your mind?"

"I guess," I fool. Obviously there was, she could tell. Anypony could tell.

"I uh, wanted to ask about that bruise, on your cheek." She pointed, I turned away. I had forgotten.

My thoughts began to race again, trying to decide what I should tell her. I quickly decide, "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Ok... As long as it's not anything serious."

I thought about saying something, anything to make it really seem unimportant. Whatever it was would have to be specifically chosen to make that point. Nothing that came to mind could possibly succeed. I just smile gratefully.

"Is there something else you want to talk about?" She asked.

I hardly ever want to talk about anything, but I felt the need to tell her something. Then my attention was drawn away by an overly-exaggerated line shouted from on stage. Noh was getting some notes from the director, I don't know what about.

"He loves you, ya know..."

I feel my pupils shrink in fear. What did she just say? Maybe she didn't mean...

"He just broke up with his boyfriend a few weeks ago. Been a little down ever since. Up until he met you." How could she be telling me this? How could any of it be true? "He and I followed you into the box, and the look he gave me when you laid your head in his lap..." Shut up, please! Just shut up, I don't want to know! "He was afraid, and still might be. He's not sure if he's ready to fall in love again, but I can tell by the way he looks at you..."

I remain silent, for perhaps too long.

"You should talk to him," she suggests.

How could I possibly? "I guess.." I could never! I was with Bolden now, so if anything she said was true there was no way I could get together with Noh! But, was I seriously with Bolden? Of course I was. He cuddled with me. Told me he loves me. Hell, he even went down on me, then stopped at the exact moment I asked. He was where I felt my love. My true love. I felt love for Noh, too, just not in the same way. He's a friend, so I love him in the same way as Pearl or anyone like that.

Besides, I was pretty sure Noh's straight. Every chance he's had to portray a gay vibe has passed. He's actually been afraid of looking gay, leaning away from any kind of scenario...

Didn't she just say what he was really afraid of? Falling in love, right? What if I was really what he wanted all along? Well, I'm sorry. I'm with Bolden now.

Kabuki touched my shoulder again, startling me out of a trance. I looked away from the stage while she asked what was on my mind. I spotted a clock, reading 11:57. Any minute now Curtain Call would call everypony in to break everything down. "I have to go," I insisted. I didn't hear what she said next, I was hurrying to gather my stuff and get home. I was really afraid of talking to anyone else.

...I don't remember climbing the stairs to the roof. I was in such a stupor since I left the theater. There was so much going on all around, being the city that never sleeps. I remember, at last, looking down from the ledge. Fifteen stories down to the busy street.

Your friends will only blame themselves.

...

Or each other. Do you really want that.

"It won't matter if I'm dead."

It will matter when your memory lives on. With me. How could you spend eternity watching your friends and family dread the events leading up to and following your passing?

"It will be an eternity I deserve, after the confusion and torment I've caused to all my friends."

You haven't caused any kind of pain for any of your friends, but you will if you jump. And nobody deserves to endure the pain of loss in their loved ones for eternity.

How do I even know where I'll end up once I'm dead? How do I even know you're real, and not just a figment of my twisted mind?

What will all the city ponies think when they see your dead body? There are innocent foals down there, ponies who don't want to see your dead body. Imagine the paperwork for the police assigned to your suicide case.

...I guess you're right...

I began to turn around. At the thought of inconveniencing the city, I had given up on killing myself. Then I... lost my balance?

No, there was a newspaper. My neighbor, from down the hall. A grumpy old stallion who likes to read the paper on the roof and judge the city ponies as they scurry about below him. He must have left a copy there, on the ledge. I stepped on it. I fell backward.

The sensation of falling miraculously brought me joy. I hate to admit it, but I dare say I loved the feeling. I don't know if it was anything like flying, or even floating on a cloud. Whatever it might compare to, it had to be my favorite thing in the world. I loved the silence of mind that came with the rushing of wind in my ears. I loved the stir of colors passing my eyes, the freedom of my body giving way to gravity, and not having anything below me to stop me.

Too bad I'd only get that feeling once.

72..Outline

What can I tell them? They all believe I jumped, and can't imagine why. They must blame themselves, or each other. They want to ask so many questions, but they don't want to hurt my feelings. I don't know if I want them all to be here, so I can explain it once to everyone. I don't want to be surrounded by them all, all of their eyes on me. I don't think I'd rather talk to each of them individually, telling the story over and over again until they all knew the truth. I can't risk telling only one of them, either.

My friends don't know a lot about my family, but they don't seem to like each other. Dad didn't come, mom hasn't explained why. She brought Dale and Picker, and when they met Pearl, Patches, and Stitches in my room there was tension so sharp it could cut a knife. That sounds a little odd, I guess, but I'm gonna stick with it.

The main problem with only telling one pony would be that the pony I tell will have to relay all the details and might leave something out, or misinterpret something I said. Or, they might tell it wrong, leaving it to the misinterpretation of the next pony. Plus, it would take too long, whoever I told, to get between my friends and family.

I really just wish they'd ask. With the pressure of their expectations, I'd have to explain. I can't ignore it if they insist, it's who I am, but as long as they ignore it I will too.

Bolden was the one who found me. He was on his way back to my place after work when he said he heard a pony scream. I didn't scream. Just some perceptive passerby. He looked up and saw me falling. He didn't see me slip, only fall. I landed on my left side, and Bolden laughed uncomfortably when he told me about the look on my face. He said it was so serene. Eerily at peace, lying in my pool of blood. I wasn't smiling, he said, that it was more like I was sleeping.

He told me that he'd never flown so fast, thinking he could go fast enough and catch me. Somepony called the police, probably just to draw my outline on the sidewalk and remove me from the view of the populous. Bolden said he wanted to pick me up, hold me... When he got close to me he noticed I was still breathing, hijacked a taxi and rushed me to the nearest hospital himself. He dealt with Cosh and other officers for two whole days, didn't leave the hospital once.

When I woke up I told him to check with the hotel. They fired him, but he swears he doesn't mind. It's my fault, but I'm comfortable knowing he'd rather be by my side than at work. What a stupid stallion...

Stitches' nursing abilities were put to the test when he was assigned to monitor me. I was a simple enough case, once they put me back together, but I know he had trouble being in my room constantly with so many questions and not being able to get answers. He got to know Bolden, same with Noh. They seem confused by each other, more than anything.

Stitches kept his mind on work more than anything else, which was surprising for me to hear. Honestly, I hadn't even known he was working at a hospital yet. How lucky was I to have him in charge of me? Or, whatever...

Noh was the most torn, though. Apparently, he didn't visit me more than twice, but he went to my apartment, which I had left unlocked when I went to the roof. He hadn't spoken to me at all before then, not since my music lesson so long ago. Kabuki told him what she told me, and he naturally assumed it was his fault.

It was my fault, though, that he felt that way at least. I shouldn't have run, I needed to confront him or somepony. It was stupid of me to try to deal with everything all at once, all on my own.

Noh went to my apartment trying to find some kind of clue to my condition, trying to convince himself that it wasn't his fault. He found what he was looking for in the form of my personal journal. He read every page, only getting interrupted once when Pearl showed up with Cosh to investigate for themselves. She and Noh comforted each other, Cosh just wanted to know what Noh was reading. They let Noh finish reading, and he learned just how messed up my life's been.

He cried when he saw me awake the next day. I had never seen him cry. I didn't cry. Bolden cried more silently, I stayed indifferent. Noh sobbed at the side of my bed while he apologized. Not for causing my distress, but for not seeing it. I smiled gratefully, but it was forced. He told me he read my journal, how much he loved reading it for how much it taught him. He said he loved reading it, how perfectly it described everything so that he could understand. I didn't believe him; there was no way I could have written everything so well that now he knows everything.

I finally cried when Stitches came in, just recently. He had my journal under his wing and seemed ashamed when he confessed to reading it. He told me how just about everypony had read it, now.

"Makes it easier for me," I admit. "I don't have to explain as much now."

He's silent for a few seconds. Then, "As much?"

Finally, a question. I still hesitate, trying too hard to carefully choose what to tell him. All I have to do is answer the question. "Yeah." I'm looking out the window at the dark city horizon.

"You still think..." he stutters. "Do you still have something to explain?"

I barely have to think about how to respond, which is miraculous. "Is there anything you still want to know?" I ask, looking at him.

He lifts his eyes to lock with mine. I can see all the questions racing through his mind. He read my journal, but he must know less now than he did before. "Why did you jump?"

At least he started simple. "I didn't," I utter. After a few seconds of silence I know I have to elaborate. "I know I was up there, and I know it was my idea, but I didn't jump. I... There was a newspaper on the ledge..."

"You slipped?" He asks, curious relief washing over his face.

I nod slowly. "But... it really felt more like I was pushed."

I'm looking down at my bed, thoughts racing. I must have told him too much. How was he going to handle this new, cryptic information? "Who pushed you?"

I lock eyes with him, startled by the question. My eyes are stinging, my head throbbing. My memories flash back to when I had fallen and split my head open on a rock. I was worse off now, in more ways than physical.

I blink hard and a tear drips from each eye. I don't know why I suddenly thought it felt like I'd been pushed, and I had absolutely no idea who could have pushed me. I know what he's really asking; whose fault I thought it was. It couldn't have been Aura's fault, he was the one who convinced me otherwise. Although, what if he had ulterior motives? How could I think that? He hasn't spoken to me since I woke up... Did he secretly want me to do it, just so he could speak with me more seriously? What did we even solve by speaking through that veil?

All he told me was how important it was for me to live for the sake of my friends. But, also for Loaf. Had he pushed me so that I could see Loaf one more time, so Loaf could tell me how important my life was? Did Loaf push me?

I had reclined back pretty far and covered my face to sob. My left forehoof was sealed in a cast, same with my back leg on the same side. My torso was wrapped tightly in bloody bandages, same with my head. It hurt to be breathing so hard, so fast. It also hurt to take deep breaths. I had no idea where my glasses were, what kind of shape they were in.
Stitches placed a hoof on my left shoulder. He wasn't crying.

"I..." I stutter. What was I trying to say? "I pushed myself... My--my thoughts, my demons, everything in my head. I put myself on that ledge, but it was everything in my mind that... that pushed me over the edge. I don't believe I really slipped, b--but I don't believe that I jumped... parts of me convinced me to step down, but the rest of me wouldn't let me." I sob a few more times, wincing at the pain that followed. When I steadied myself, I continued, "The... tranquility of falling..." He's petting my shoulder. "Everything I learned, talking to... to parts of myself, inside my own head. I felt so relieved when I woke up, but I don't remember why. All I know now is--is that I have to choose, between you, Noh, and Bolden. All I know, is that my life should get easier once I choose..." I couldn't tell you where this was coming from, because just a few hours ago, writing the last chapter after Pearl brought me something to write on, I didn't know at all what I had learned from talking with Aura and Loaf. I just believed they wanted me to live for the sake of living. "I'm such a mess," I mumble.

Stitches strokes my head slowly. My heavy breathing hurts so much I fear I might start crying again. "If it makes you feel any better," he offers, "you won't have to worry about choosing me."

I look at him sideways, my head resting flat on the bed. Where did my pillows go? "What...?"

"I just... it's not me. I'm glad to have you for a friend, and I'll always be grateful that I had to, to teach me... I love you, but... only as a friend. Is that ok?"

He's smiling, uncomfortably. I smile too, relieved. "It's ok," I sigh. "I'm glad I could help." He takes a deep breath, and I do the same. "That just leaves Noh and Bolden."

He strokes my head again. "Would you like my personal opinion?"

Another deep breath before, "No thanks." I should regret being so blunt, but I'm ok with the truth. "I need to make the decision myself."

73 Deep in Thought

I eventually started feeling more calm, ready to ease back into regular life. I thought so at least. I wanted to stop crying, and start laughing instead. I wasn't sure if I was ready for laughter yet, with how much pain I was in, but that's all I want.

The first thing that comes into my mind while Stitches checks out my I.V. is my family. Pearl said she wrote to them, using the return address on the letter they had sent me so long ago. She felt like it was the right thing to do.

My mother had come with Dale and Picker as soon as they could. Pearl hasn't told me what exactly she told them, but they came. When everypony was in the same room, my family wouldn't converse with my friends. Pearl tried, and my mother would politely respond, but there was a steady tension.

"How do you like my family?" I ask Stitches calmly.

He glances at me, pauses. "They're nice," he responds.

"What's wrong with them?" I insist, certain that he's just being nice.

He shrugs, "I dunno... You never told me much about them, except your dad. They just never seemed like ponies worth my trouble. No offense."

I smile, understanding. "They take some getting used to." I wasn't even sure I wanted them to come back, but I knew they'd be here in the morning. Bolden was at my apartment, after being evicted from the hotel for no longer being employed there. He should be cleaning up, or maybe still unpacking. I have no idea how much stuff he has. He'd be back in the morning, too.

Pearl, Patches, and Stitches had to get to the cafe, business as usual. I wasn't sure I could handle being in the same room as my family and Bolden. He knew even less about them as Stitches. He hasn't been rude to them, preferring to pay more attention to me than them, but there's certainly some awkwardness. Maybe he's just uncomfortable being around them and referring to me as his boyfriend. I was a little uneasy when he said it, too. He saw it on my face, I'm certain. I wonder how he'll react when I tell him I have a serious decision to make.

I wonder what Noh will say. He'll probably be here in the morning as well. Will I be able to handle their expectancies? (Expectations?) Will I be able to live with disappointing the pony I don't choose?

"I know you said you didn't want my opinion," Stitches interrupts my thoughts, "but I have to say something. I don't know Bolden, and I know you only just met him, too. I've seen the way you lean on Noguki, we all have. That looked like love."

I look away. I said I didn't want his opinion because I knew it wouldn't make the choice any easier. "You think I should choose Noh?"

"Well...no. Honestly, I think you should wait." I barely keep myself from glaring at him, confused. I just think I'd better not look into his eyes yet. "I know how long you've gone without, I get that. I just, don't know if you're well enough, mentally, to make this kind of decision. Not mentally, sorry. Emotionally. Just, give it time, get to know them both a little better. Help Noh to forgive himself. More than anything, I don't want you to choose one over the other out of pity."

I'm looking at the floor thoughtfully. He has a good point. I should put more thought into it than who I want more, or who deserves it more. I deserve to be happy, right? So why don't I give it a little time, to know who truly makes me happy?

What if taking time only makes it harder? What if they compete with each other for my affection? How despairingly perfect would that be? A dramatic performance of competition would tie together this saga in a perfect cliche, wouldn't it?

"What if I can't choose?"

I hadn't meant to ask out loud, but I did. "Then we move on, I guess."

What kind of answer is that? "How can we move on? How are we ever going to move on from this? This hell I've put you all through. And now I have the nuisance of a decision based on who I love more?" I'm trying not to raise my voice, but I'm also trying not to cry. My head hurts...

"You don't love anyone more," he explains. I remain silent. Confused, but silent. He continues, "The fact that you're having such a hard time choosing proves that you don't love either one more than the other, and you might never... From what I can tell, you even love me just as much."

"Then how am I supposed to choose?"

He shrugs, "I don't know, trust?"

I'm breathing so hard I don't know if I can speak, even if something comes to mind.

"All I'm saying is, you're desperate. But, that doesn't mean you're misguided."

Wait, what?

"You really want someone you can call your boyfriend, but just think about what everypony's done for you. You've cried in Noh's lap. You probably cried in Bolden's, too, based on how he acts around you, but they're both friendly. They're both the safety you're looking for."

The first thing that comes to my mind is "so are you." I don't say it though. I know he's off the table.

He's silent for a moment, looking at the floor like I was; deep in thought. Then he straightens up. "I just, want you to be happy."

He kisses my forehead then, before turning to leave.

Dammit.

74 Family Visit

Bolden showed up minutes before my family, with a teddy bear. Imagine that; he already knows I don't like flowers. Maybe he just got lucky.

He sat beside my bed, tired love oozing from his eyes. He was telling me about how he's been organizing his things; mostly in piles the empty corner on the other side of my desk. He didn't want to take any space from me or move anything of mine.

My mother walked in with a small bouquet of lilacs and a get-well card. I sigh and smile. "How are you feeling?" She asked.

I take a short moment to respond, thinking about how to do so. I could tell her the truth, risk devastating her with the weight of my issues. Or, I could lie to her and risk having her not believe me. I just shrugged, implying that it isn't clear whether or not I am well. "Where are Picker and Dale?"

She came closer, placing the flowers in a vase in the window sill. "I sent them to the cafeteria. I was hoping to get some time alone with you." She gave Bolden an awkward glance. When he looked at me, concerned, I just smiled and nodded. I couldn't guess what she wanted to talk about, but I'd be fine for a few minutes. He left promptly, and my mother took his place by my side. "You have... very nice friends."

I know she forced the compliment. She doesn't know them at all. "You blame them, don't you?"

She wouldn't look at me, tell-tale that I was right.

Y'know, I'm trying really hard to keep using past tense conjugations but it just doesn't feel right. I know I've been pretty inconsistent in a lot of my previous chapters, and I can't decide how it's supposed to be, but writing about myself I feel should be in mostly present tense.

I take a deep breath through my mouth; my body telling me I'm beginning to panic. I let it out slowly, then take another through my nose to try to calm down. I don't know what to say, but there's no way she's going to say anything.

She proves me wrong, "All I know is that you've never done anything like this back at home."

I bite my tongue; my body telling me I want to yell at her, even though I have no idea what I'd yell. Another deep breath. "Just because I never acted on them doesn't mean I never had thoughts." I sense her stare at me, at the back of my head. "Living in the city..." What am I trying to say? "It's so different. But has the same effect as living back at home. I'm still closed-minded, afraid to be myself most of the time." I turn my head slowly, look her in the eye. "The difference with living here is that instead of being afraid of my family judging me, it's being afraid of strangers, and it's not nearly as bad because I have friends here that can help..." I hesitate, but I know the next part has to be said, "more than family can."

She swallows, but still squeaks on her first word, "A-are you saying, you don't trust us?" I lay my head back down, turning to look out the window. "Do you blame us?" My eyes are stinging, and my head is throbbing. "Timber, we could have helped! We love you just as much as anypony could. You could have just told us—"

"Told you what?" I interrupt, turning back to her. Black spots fill my vision. "I get that I kept things from you, and from dad, but you know how well things turned out when he found out."

"Because he found out! You didn't tell him."

"And how different would it have been if I had told him? The second time he was an imposter, you know that so don't you dare use that. He was a stranger to me, and me to him. All he knew at that point was that I was his son, and he was supposed to love me." I lay my head back down, blink away tears. "Who knows what I would have done in the woods if I hadn't fallen..."

She gasps. Silently, but I still notice. Yeah, maybe I would have tried to hurt myself on purpose, maybe even kill myself. There was a lot going through my mind.

"I—" mom stutters. "I don't... believe—"

"Don't believe what, mom?" I insist. "That I'm suicidal? That I have a serious problem and being away from home is the best solution I can come up with?" Why am I talking like this? I've never spoken to my mother this way. Either of my parents or anyone at home... Has living in the city changed me? Or, was it just that nearly dying opened some windows? I had to keep telling myself not to yell, keep biting my tongue and try not to say anything else...

"I don't believe, that being away is better for you." Don't yell, don't yell. "I think you left, confused and scared." Don't yell. "I think it might do you some good to come home." Please don't yell. "Spend some time away from these ponies."

"These ponies are the only good!" I yelled, damn. I turned my head too fast, yelled too loud, my vision is incredibly dark, but I surprisingly don't feel any pain. The darkness reminds me, almost too much, of when I split my head open so long ago. It's exactly the same, right down to the lack of glasses. "I left because you're all poisonous!" I foolishly try to sit up, sending pain down my left side and my head. "None of you had what I needed, and I couldn't get what I needed in those Celestia-forsaken boondocks! I came to the city to live my dream, but I found a kind of love that you ponies couldn't give me!" I'm breathing so heavily. I think something's bleeding.

She's stunned, speechless. I'm speechless, too. I can't remember the last time I'd risen my voice. Given the circumstances, I regret doing so now. I see red in my eyes, past the dark spots, and I can't decipher whether it's blood or outraged tears. I fall back onto my pillows, a little too hard but nothing can hurt anymore: I had just yelled at my own mother.

"I don't care what you think. Maybe it was your fault I jumped, I don't know." What am I saying? "I'm sorry you had to see me this way." I need to breathe a little. There's too much I have to deal with, and my family doesn't need to be here to make it worse. "You need to go. I'm sorry... I just, think it'll be better..."

She sniffs, "Ok." My eyes are shut tight, fighting through the pain. I hear her leave.

I know somepony else is in the room, and open one eye to see. Multiple figures appear, and I put together that it's Bolden and my brothers. They came in when I started yelling, likely worried something was wrong. "She's probably going to cry for a while," I tell my brothers. "Hopefully you'll all forgive me."

They're both silent for a few seconds. Then Dale speaks up, "You know we will. And, even if you don't want to... just know that, we'll always let you come home."

Picker didn't say anything, but he might've started crying. They followed mom at a quick trot. I'm not sure what they'll do next, how soon they'll go home or when I'll see them again. I just want my stupid body to heal so I can climb into bed with somepony.

But who the hell is that even going to be?

I sob out loud, and Bolden steps closer to pet me. He leans his head onto the mattress and lets me rest mine there. This is the first I've really cried since I woke up. I love having Bolden right there to hold me, however uncomfortable I am right now. He's half on the bed, just letting me lean against his body and weep. I slowly ease out of it, take deep breaths so I can really appreciate his presence. It's hard though.

He's stroking my head, shushing me, telling me it'll be all right. I don't believe him. "I c-can't stop," I sob. "I don't kn-know, who..."

"Shh," he whispers. "I know, it's a hard choice." He strokes my mane gently, leaving me wondering. Then he answers, "Stitches told me. He's worried about you."

I take a shaky breath. "Worried... I'll make the wrong choice." I guess.

"No," he insists. "There is no wrong choice. He's worried about you worrying too much. We all are."

I'm still shaking uncontrollably, trying to manage my breathing with crying. I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't know if I'll be able to stop worrying, even after making the choice. There's too much going on, in my life and in my head. I think I'd rather just go to sleep, but that won't solve anything.

75 Home Safe

I haven't written in a while, so sorry. Not that it matters. I've recovered and my friends have been helping out, visiting plenty, bringing me things to do and everything like that. Noh and Bolden haven't seemed to be fighting for my affection, but I'm not sure if Noh even knows about the issue.

He told me that Curtain Call convinced the producers to get my script edited and that they're swapping focus from "Stallion of the Sea," to my "Sir Flattery." The name of the lead, the inventor. I don't feel like I would have gone with that title, but I'm not very good at titles.

I was astonished to find out what the director had done. They had already made so much progress on the other play, how could they just pick up and move like that?

I pretended to be flattered, happy that they felt so dedicated to me but anxious that ponies would judge the play poorly, or that it wouldn't perform the way I had envisioned. That was bound to happen anyway, but all that was coupled with the stress set on by having to switch from all the progress that had been made on another play. Who could deal with that? Why would anypony willingly put themselves, and an entire crew, through something like that?

When I was well enough to leave the hospital, I realized my expenses had all been paid. None of my friends would tell me who paid, but I knew it was my mother. Or, maybe my grandmother, through my mother. Maybe it was my friends' joined efforts. All I knew was it wouldn't make the choice any easier if I knew.

I noticed something else, too. I don't remember where I saw it, on some kind of document or something, they gave me two names; Timber Quill. I can't imagine why, but being me I didn't argue. I like it though, it fits me better. I think...

Nopony would explain that, either. Though, I only pointed it out to Pearl. I probably won't use both names often. Only if I have to sign something, or introduce myself formerly. It mostly just feels nice to have a name that sounds more like me.

Pearl, Bolden, and Noh were all with me to take me home. I didn't want to go home, to my apartment, I just didn't want to. I didn't know what I wanted. They took me home.

I looked around and sighed, relieved. Everything was normal, where I expected it to be, just cleaner; the bed was made, floor swept, even Bolden's things were organized in his corner. The first thought I had about him living there, with me, was how it might feel to share this bed. It was a good bed if a bit smaller than his bed in the hotel.

I sat down by my desk and waited for somepony to ask something...

I did it again. I'm sorry, I was telling the story in past tense again, and was about to change to present when I got to the dialogue. I've been doing that the whole time, I know. All I knew was to write, and all I was writing was my story. I barely gave it second glances the whole time I was writing, let alone edit inconsistencies or grammar.

I glance between each of them, scared and confused about what they're going to say, why they're taking so long.

"Go on," I urge. When their response is more silence I try harder. "I know there are things on your mind, questions you want to ask. Get it over with."

They hesitate some more, but Pearl comes in, "We all know how vulnerable you feel. We don't want to make you uncomfortable..." She trails off, either not knowing how to finish or assuming I get the idea.

After some more silence I respond, "So you're all just going to sit there? Don't torture me, ask me something. Ask me..." I was about to tell them to ask me why I jumped but thought better of it. Instead, "Ask me who I'm going to pick." I don't want them to ask that, either, but as far as I know it'll be easier to answer than what made me want to kill myself.

"We're not going to," Noh insists. I look at him: he's locked eyes with Bolden. "We want you to... be happy, and if you're not comfortable—"

"If you're not ready," Bolden cuts in, "we don't want to rush you. We won't try to force you to choose one of us over the other."

I purse my lips, turn my head to look back out the window. The sunny sky seems inappropriate for the situation. Maybe if it was raining...

"Is there anything you want?" Pearl asks.

I shrug. "I don't know. There... are a lot of things, I probably need—need to do, to look for or try... I don't know. I know I should want something, but I just feel..." There's an uneasiness in the room, coming from the other stallions; each of them wants to comfort me, support me and make me feel better, but they don't want to unintentionally make my choice harder. "I don't know."

"Do you think... you'll come back to work soon?" She wonders.

"Or to the theater?" Noh adds. "We've only had one lesson." There's pep in the comment, like it's a funny little fact. I feel him smiling.

I just shrug again. I take a deep breath, then, "I just don't want to stop being friends with you. Either of you..."

"Timber," Bolden coos. "Whoever you choose, we'll all still love you."

That wasn't what I meant, but I didn't know what I really meant. Not at the time, at least. I turn back to them. "You think we could go out for pizza tonight?" I ask.

Pearl beams. The guys smile too, but she is purely ecstatic. "Absolutely!"

"Yeah, sounds great," Bolden and Noh say around each other, relieved.

I smile, wearily. It's only like, noon, but I feel really tired. I already don't remember doing anything at the hospital besides sleeping. Other than when my family visited, that is.

"Thanks," I offer. "I'd like to get some sleep, though." I realized I was kicking even Bolden out, who had nowhere else to go. I didn't think about it. I just wanted some alone time.

"Sure," Pearl smiles. "We'll come get you around five. That sound good?"

"Yeah," I agree. "And don't let me change my mind." The guys have already started filing out, silently. Pearl smiles and turns. I stop her, "Hey... is Stitches busy?"

76 Stitches

Pearl was confused at first but understood that she couldn't expect me to explain. I mean, she could, but she wasn't going to. She still believed it was for the best not to ask me questions. She tells me Stitches was doing some studying today, but she could give him a call for me.

"I'd appreciate that."

"All right," she offers. "You want to talk to him before dinner tonight? Alone?" I get the feeling she's catching on to my intentions, which is fine by me. As long as she doesn't mention them now since she didn't bother asking. I nod, she smiles. "I'll send him right over."

I smile gratefully. She leaves. I still have no idea where Bolden might have gone. I refuse to think about him though. Instead, I decide to go through my things. I end up reminiscing a lot more than I would have liked.

I laugh at myself when I find my hidden lingerie, then again at the dildo. Not only does it all make me feel foolish, but it makes me feel happy. It got me thinking about how much fun I'd had with my friends so many times, then how upset they made me other times.

I'm crying my eyes out when Stitches comes in. The door was unlocked, so he came right in asking for me, then came right over to hug me. I didn't mean for this to happen. I didn't want to force him into this situation. I was just trying not to think about Bolden or Noh. Now Stitches was holding me in a way I thought he never would.

Which, of course, made what I wanted to say that much harder.

He strokes my head, still sore from the stitches. No doubt he sees what I was looking through that made me cry. He's breathing heavily...

"I want..." I gasp, then whimper. "I want, you..." I'm not sobbing, entirely. Just breathing hard into his chest, rubbing my tears against his fur. He's also breathing heavily, but he's silent. "I can't choose, either of them. I–I want..."

"I know," he inputs. I start calming down some, so he lets go. I look in his eyes for clarity, answers. Of course he knows, but there's more. He sighs, "I know... that I mean a lot... I know that I was the first one to really show interest. I just..."

"I know," I sniff. "I'm sorry, I know. I just... I really just wanted to ask, for your help."

"Help with what?" He steps a few feet away.

"I..." How do I put this so that he won't ask questions? I don't think that's possible. "I want to move out of the city."

His eyes widen. "Are you kidding?" Dammit. "Timber, you can't just run away from this."

"Don't tell me that! You were the only one I thought I could trust to help me with this. I know it's unfair for me to just leave everypony like this, but I can't make this kind of choice. I can't handle everybody pitying me..." I choke.

"We're not pitying you. We just want what's best for you."

"But you..." I don't let myself finish.

"I know what you want... but I'm sorry." He's choking up too. "I'm not who I thought I was, who I told you I was. I–I've matured. Since you jumped. Or, fell... I know I've fucked up your life, but I can't pretend my whole life just for your sake."

"You think I don't understand that?" I demand. "Of all the ponies who would understand what it's like to pretend–"

"I'm not asking you to understand!" He shouts, through tears. "I–I'm asking you to forgive me. I fooled you. I made you think, something about me that wasn't true, all because I thought you were what I needed, but I can't fool myself as easily. I'm not..."

"You're not like me," I finish.

He swallows hard, eyes pressed shut. I shudder. "If you want to run," he mutters, "fine. I won't stop you. But, if you can't let me go, then it's probably best we don't keep seeing each other."

I'm breathing heavily. I'm not crying, not right now. I'm infuriated. At least this time, I know who I'm mad at, so I'm not stuck being mad at myself. Someday, I ought to thank him for that.

He looks me in the eye, sees the hatred he's placed there. Then he steels himself. "Goodbye, Timber."

"Goodbye."

I don't wait for him to leave before I start preparing myself. I don't really know what I'm preparing, but being angry at Stitches made it easier to choose to leave.

I'm not going to apologize. I hope you can understand why I've made this decision, why I had to leave. I might be running away, and I might regret it in the future, but I feel so stuck in this situation and I can't see a satisfying way out of it.

I don't really know how to explain it, but I really do hope you can understand.

I'm taking everything of mine with me, Bolden can have the apartment. Tell Curtain Call I'm flattered that he's producing my play, and that I'd love to see it once it's finished, but please try to explain to him why I left. Try not to make him feel guilty for it, which I hope none of you do, because it's not your fault.

You should also let Gourdy know that I've gone, that I quit. I don't Want him feeling guilty either.

Ever since I can remember I've wanted to get away from my family, to move to the city and be my own pony. I wanted to prove to myself that I can control my own life, choose my own life and make my own happiness. Now I see that I haven't made any happiness, only strife.

Don't worry about me, though. I'd always planned on Ten-Pony as a sort-of plan-B in case Manehatten didn't work out, and in case any of you feel so inclined to follow me, that's where I'm going. Still, I only want you to understand.

I look forward to the future, when I've straightened out.

77 Timber Quill

It certainly wasn't the best letter I'd written. I was just trying to get anything I could think of written down before anypony showed back up. I just wanted to say goodbye to everypony, let them know everything was OK, tell them what needed to be said but that I couldn't bring to life in person.

Pearl came in to see me crying over my desk, in the middle of writing my letter. I had stopped feeling angry at Stitches, and once again only felt angry at myself. I couldn't explain why, even to myself. I just stopped writing and started crying. I don't know how long I'd been crying, but Pearl had come back early to check on me.

"What's wrong?" She asks. When I force a deep breath and look away she wraps a hoof around my shoulders. "It's OK, Timber. No pony's expecting you to make this kind of decision in a day."

"But I c–can't..." I take a long pause to cry, still looking away. She lets me cry for some time: until I just about forget why I'm crying and slow down. "I don't think... I can't make this decision."

"I know it's hard—"

"It's impossible," I interrupt. "I love them both, and can't face..." I trail off and pause again. I have no idea what to say.

Pearl pulls me off my chair slowly and has me sit on the floor beside her, resting my head on her shoulder. I've just about stopped crying, and really just feel tired. I don't want to talk anymore. I don't want to explain myself or answer any questions. But, I don't know what I want.

"Listen," Pearl says, "Stitches told me. He said that, he was your first choice, but that he had to turn you down. He understands that you're angry with him, but he feels terrible. He wanted to apologize, but with how he left your last conversation... Plus, he was afraid you would be leaving soon." She pauses. I lift my head from her shoulder and look away, ashamed. I knew it was a stupid idea. But I also knew I'd only feel that way if I got caught. "We don't want you to leave..." She puts her hoof around me again and pulls me close.

I'm still looking away, trying to be steadfast in my decision, but my lip starts quivering again. "It's all I can do..." I choke out.

"No, it isn't," Pearl tries to reassure me.

"That's all I was doing before," I explain, barely keeping my composure. "I only moved to the city to get away from problems with my family. It was the only thing I could think of."

"You're being ridiculous," she scolds me softly. "You told me you'd always wanted to work on Bridleway, and that you've always dreamed of living in the city." I squeeze my eyes shut tight and sob again. "Running away wasn't the.... it wasn't the only choice you had, and it wasn't the choice you made. It was just convenient that you moved away right when things were getting bad."

I turn and fall into her embrace, utterly ashamed of myself and disgraced for being so stupid. I sob like a fool while she just holds me and pats my back. I try to apologize, but it just comes out as sad moans. She holds me close and lets me cry.

When I finally start to calm down again she comes back in, "I think you're a little tired."

I sniff. "I guess so."

She pushes back and I lift off slowly. "Why don't you get some sleep?"

I just nod slowly. She gets up and is about to leave when I stop her. "Wait. What about Bolden?"

She stops and turns, giving me a look of anticipation—as if she thinks I want her opinion on him. "Bolden?"

"Where is he?" I ask.

"Oh," she sighs. "He's just staying at my place." She smiles, and I smile back in thanks. She turns again to leave, then stops once more. "I don't... I don't want you to choose one over the other out of pity."

I close my eyes and sigh, "I know."

"No, I mean..." She steps a little closer—as if that will make the point more clear. "I know you've been told a lot lately, and heard a lot of questions. I can't imagine what you're going through, and I don't want you to tell me. I know it sounds a little selfish, but I don't want to know what you're going through." I'm beginning to think that what she's saying has nothing to do with her first statement, which is a pretty funny thought. I don't smile, though. "I just want to go back to normal. But, knowing you, you might want to hold on to this for a while."

That almost hurt, but I don't quite understand. "What?" I insist.

"I mean–ugh... You... crave excitement. After all the time I've spent with you, I've learned how desperate you are for something interesting to happen in your life and now that something has happened, and you're reacting like a normal pony about it, you—at least a part of you—must feel like... I don't know! Like you've made some kind of mistake." She pauses and takes a deep breath. "Remember how you felt... like, unwrapping presents, or going out to eat! Or, on your birthday at the club. Or even just an average day at the cafe. You can be happy, Timber. You just have to, I don't know, choose to..."

I don't know how to respond. What does she mean, "choose?" How can I choose to be happy?

"Just... I don't know how to explain it. This whole ordeal has me worried for you, no matter how much you don't want me to worry. And that's another thing! You have a tendency to let yourself feel bad as long as no pony around you does. That's all well and good, but try to understand that we want to help you. Telling us what's really—really—on your mind, it's what we want. Don't hold back on details just to try to spare us, it's what we're here for. That's why we're your friends; because we want to help. We want to be there for you, to hold some of that burden." She pauses, takes a deep breath to keep herself from crying. Tears are rolling down her face, same as mine, however different the reason. "You don't have to wait for the right stallion to let go of it all. You don't even have to choose one because you think he'll be better at it." Then she smiles, chortles at herself. "At this point, it's pretty much who you want to sleep with more."

That makes me smile. I sniff again, starting to get angry at myself for crying at something so simple as sentiment. She's crying because of how hard she's trying just to convince me why I shouldn't cry, and why I shouldn't leave. I get it, though. "Thank you, Pearl... Thanks for reminding me..." Reminding me of what? Just, reminding me I suppose. She knows.

She sniffs and wipes her eyes. "You're welcome," she smiles, "Timber Quill."

My smile drops. Where did that name come from? I could ask her. Sure, why not? "Hey, where did you get that name?"

She gives me a quizzical look, still smiling. "You mean your name?"

I roll my eyes, then shake my head. I didn't mean to roll my eyes. It's not like she could have understood. "Well, my name is 'Timber.' Where did you get the second part?"

She looks around, thinking hard. "I don't know. I heard it somewhere. Or heard somepony call you that. It wasn't you, though... I guess I just always thought it was your second name, but you just preferred the first name." My eyes dart around the floor, not really looking for anything. I'm just trying to remember the first place I heard it. "I won't call you that, I guess. If it's not your name."

"No, it's not that. I like it, I just don't remember who said it."

She smiles, shrugs, "Well let me know if you remember."

I smile back. "Will do."

"I'll let the others know dinner's off," she reminds me. "You just get some sleep."

"Right," I sigh. "Will do." And this time, I'm not going to run.

78 Mid Summer

I don't remember what I dreamed about last night, only that it was very pleasant. I woke up and smiled. It was a sleep like any before; immemorable and deep, without really granting me the pleasure of waking and feeling truly rested. Yet still, I smiled. I can't imagine what had come over me.

I poured myself a bowl of cereal and slowly eased into my day. I saw my letter from the night before and scoffed, crumpled it up and tossed it into the wastebasket. Sometimes I really hate the pony I become when my emotions become flared.

Pearl knocks at about 9:30 and I let her in. We smile and hug.

"How'd you sleep?" She asks.

"Well," I respond. "Still a little sleepy though." I couldn't remember how late I'd stayed up, or what the weather had been like. "How about you?"

"Pretty good," she offers. "How are you feeling?"

I shrug, "Better." I turn back into my apartment. She closes the door and follows, still curious. "I still don't really know who to choose, and maybe I won't..."

She sits on the floor and looks at me. I'm looking at my bed, still thinking hard. I mentally call out to Aura, who hasn't spoken to me since I woke up in the hospital. He's still silent.

"That's ok," Pearl suggests. "As long as you're feeling well, and happy."

"I know," I respond. Then I smile foolishly. "It's funny, isn't it?"

She cocks her head to the side and knits her eyebrows. "What is?"

I look at her and laugh a little. "Just... When I moved out, or maybe a while before, I was OK with the idea that I might not find my special somepony for a little while. I was... content in believing that there wouldn't be many stallions interested in me. Now, in the past month or so, I've gotten three." I look down, thinking of something else that's funny. "Well, two and a half, maybe." Pearl laughs along. "It's just... now that I've got what I thought I'd never have—"

"You're not sure you want it..." Pearl finishes for me. She moves closer and sits beside me. "I know how you feel. I've been living in the city for six years almost, going between school and work, thinking I'd never get a date. I think I've had two boyfriends in all this time. Took me the whole first year before I found the first one. From the looks of it, it took you just about as long."

I grin and sit on the floor next to her. "Sometimes I like to wonder what exactly happened in my life that changed everything so incredibly."

"What do you mean?"

I sigh. I always regret having to explain things like that. "Well..." It takes me a minute or two to come up with a reliable explanation. "You know about my journal, right?" She nods. "Well... you kind of mentioned last night, how I crave excitement. I have a tendency to really only write in my journal if something exciting happens. After I left Green Stables I kind of stopped for a while, because life was just so... normal. At some point, I came back to it, and my life just started becoming so much more interesting. There was suddenly so much more to write about."

"Wasn't it the night of your birthday?" She suggests. I give her a clueless look and she clarifies. "I... Well, we all read it while you were, recovering. You came back to writing around the night of your birthday, the night you were... you know."

"Almost raped," I include.

"Right," she agrees. "But, before you even wrote about that part you like, re–... revisited? Well, you went back to the previous year. You wrote about everything that had happened between your last entry and that night."

"So, what? What are you saying?"

"I... don't really know," she admits. "I just... You make your life interesting. You, you know, choose to. When you write... I don't know."

"I think I get it," I say. "Anything's worth writing about," I smile, "to a good writer."

"And everything's worth reading," Pearl adds.

I smile again but remain quiet.

Pearl comes back in, "You interested in going out some time today?"

My smile widens. "I thought you'd never ask."

She smiles wide like me and hugs me. "Wonderful, because karaoke night starts at six tonight, but we're gonna go to the park for lunch."

"Did you already have this all set up?" I demand while she gets up to leave.

She turns to me, but looks away with mock–embarrassment, and answers, "We may have been putting together a celebration for when you got out of the hospital. We didn't want to do anything you didn't want to, but I think the situation has changed."

I laugh, amused. "Not really."

"Of course it has," she insists. "We're going to the Mid-Summer Theater Revival Matinee this afternoon to quietly judge the amateur volunteer actors."

"They're not that bad," I argue.

"I know, but it's so much fun."

I roll my eyes jokingly, "You're incorrigible."

"Thank you!" She shouts, before turning to trot out the door. Once outside, she turns back for one last word. "Be there by noon, got it? You can tell me what 'encourageable' means." She winks.

I laugh. "Sure thing."

She's just about a gallop away when she stops again. "One more thing." I lift an eyebrow impatiently. "Don't stress about choosing before you get there. If anything... sleep on it, again."

"Yeah, sure," I mock. "Whatever."

She nods, then winks. "And just so you know our wager still stands!"

I want to ask what she's talking about, but she's gone before I get the chance.

I watch her run down the hall to the elevator and shake my head, laughing. I don't know how I would've lasted this long without her.

Now I've got some thinking to do before I go.

While I sat thinking about what to wear, my eyes drift to a box of private items stowed beneath my bed. I feel my face redden as thoughts bounce around quickly, which make me laugh at myself. Without thinking I lean over my desk and throw the window open. I catch Pearl just about to cross the street and shout to her, "Hey, Pearl!" She looks up. "Are..." I rub the back of my neck, a little embarrassed. "Are you doing anything right now?"

"Not particularly!" She calls back.

"Do you, maybe, want to go shopping?"

79 Eavesdropping

I told Pearl I wanted to go back to Fondler’s, which she seemed sarcastically enthusiastic about. She gave me this look when I caught up with her outside. “I just don’t want to go alone, or be alone with my thoughts right now,” I tell her.

“I can respect that,” she says. “Anything, in particular, you had in mind?”

I know she’s asking about buying something. I smirk, “well I saw this neat saddle bag the last time we were there…” I trail off, and she rolls her eyes, getting the joke that I’m obviously not going to a store called “Fondler’s” to pick up souvenirs. “To be honest, I haven’t put much thought into going back. I just think it’ll be fun. We get a lot of trouble out of us while we’re out together.”

“I love that about our relationship,” she comments. “We can just be so, open with each other. While still sharing a good bit of laughs.”

I nod in agreement, also chuckling at her poor grammar. “Maybe I’ll try on some more lingerie.” I say the last word slowly, seductively. It’s as if the word itself mustn’t be used unless flirtatiously or sarcastically.

“I wouldn’t mind,” she jokingly flirts back. “Have you even worn either of your other pairs of panties since the first time you tried them on?”

The reminder surprises me. “Come to think of it, no I haven’t. It never really occurred to me to just wear them for fun. I mostly want somepony else to see me in them.”

She laughs. “Well I’d be happy to see you in them, but they’re not totally acceptable in public.”

“It’s a step up from my regular outfit,” I joke.

“I thought you didn’t like that joke?” She reminds me. Which makes me laugh more. “It’s more the idea," she continues, "I think. You wear something like that, to draw attention to that area. Without ‘em, ponies will just see you the way you are.”

“I get that,” I confirm. “Maybe I need some more lubricant?”

“There’s no way you used that whole bottle for one time.”

“How was I supposed to know how much to use?” I jest. Her jaw drops open, without words. She doesn’t know how to respond. Obviously, I hadn’t used all the lube in the bottle for a single session. “I’m kidding, I still have plenty.” She sighs heavily.

After a few steps, she brings it back up, “How was it, by the way?”

I take a second to respond. First confirming, “Using the toy?” She nods. I feel a little blush in my cheeks. It felt awkward to just start talking about it so casually, though in truth I had wanted to talk about it to someone since I’d done it. “I thought I already told you…”

She rolls her eyes. “You told me how your anus felt afterward. I want to know more what you learned from the experience.”

I take a second to ponder the inquiry. “Well,” I begin, “it probably wasn’t a great idea to take it all the way to the base the first time.”

Her eyes go wide so quickly that I jump back slightly at the surprise she gave me. “You took that whole thing? On your first try?”

“Well, I had already been going at it on the thing for a couple minutes, and I used plenty of lube…” Thinking back, “maybe a third or so of the bottle… It felt, like, really good I won’t lie. The ring kinda hurt, which makes me think I should’ve, like…
I dunno stretched myself first?”

“Well, yeah,” Pearl cuts in. “It’s a good idea to prep the opening before really going at it.”

“Sure, now you tell me,” I tease.

She chuckles a bit. Then, “Yeah, just… Stretch, your… hole before-hoof. With a hoof, or a smaller toy.”

I nod like those are pretty good suggestions. I accidentally meet the gaze of a stallion walking past. He looks away quickly and pretends he didn’t see me, so I did too. It was basically city etiquette to pretend nopony else was around, unless it put you at a direct inconvenience. In which case, it was always the other pony’s fault. It didn’t always go like that, especially for somepony like me, apologizing profusely whenever someone ran into me for not watching where they were going.

After a year living here, it became second nature to not care at all if anyone could hear or see me, because they were probably in such a hurry, or having their own conversation, that they didn’t have time to listen in on anything I said or heard. I know I barely bothered to hear what anypony else said, let alone remember what it was beyond a second of their passing.

“Or a tongue,” Pearl mumbles.

I freeze in my tracks. Luckily no one runs into me from behind, but I still start right back up at my previous pace, just in case, then laugh silently, embarrassed.

She grins innocently. “I’m just saying, it’s a viable strategy.”

I laugh some more. Honestly, it never occurred to me, but she wasn’t wrong.

She makes some more dirty jokes at my expense while we trot the last few blocks to the store. I wasn’t sure if it would be open at this time of day, thinking it was more of something you’d want to do at night, but they were open and had a steady amount of traffic coming and going. I suddenly had a second thought about going in. The first time wasn’t so bad; I was less involved in myself, and there were fewer ponies around.

Pearl holds the door open for me so I figure there’s no turning that down, better just go inside.

“Where to first?” She asks.

I look around, seeing only five or six ponies total; two pairs I assume are couples and a few lonely ponies here and there. I look toward the back corner hiding the toys and tools and such, interested in browsing what else they had to offer. Then again, if I became too infatuated with something fake, how would I feel about the real thing? What if I got so used to so many toys that my future boyfriend just didn’t measure up? That’d be depressing…

Pearl grabs my hoof and starts leading me to the back. “You were talking about how you wished you’d prepped, right?”

I begin blushing, suddenly thinking every other patron can hear every word either of us says. The store is noticeably quieter than outside, but the same rules applied: just because it was possible for them to listen, didn’t mean they were. Most of the time they weren’t because that’d be rude. Plus, they have their own business to attend to.

At one point on our way to the back, I see a stallion I apparently recognize as the lonely fellow we scared out the last time we were here. This time he was with a spry young mare… looking at blindfolds and gags.

I look away, not wanting to be rude by investigating their otherwise private lifestyles.

Pearl drags me right back to the shelves we visited before. There are no other ponies there at the time, but I saw a middle-aged looking mare walk away as she noticed our approach.

Pearl picks up a small black object from a shelf beside the assortment of dildos. It looked like a rounded arrowhead, and much softer to be sure, with very gentle curves and a flat base separated from the rest of the rubber by a short little handle. Within the first glance, I can guess where it’s meant to go. I give Pearl a look as if to say, “Are you serious.”

She groans, “Seriously. It’s called a plug.” Then quieter, “a butt-plug. Basically, you use it to keep your tail-hole comfortably wide for whatever you’re about to put in it.”

“That’s hard to believe.” I take the object from where she suspends it in the air and inspect it more closely. “It looks like once I get past this wide part, my… I dunno, my ring would just close right around the skinny part here.” I gesture to each part as I explain my confusion. “I mean, sure it’ll spread me nice and even, but once it’s in—”

“I don’t know how it works, okay? Just, put it in carefully, leave it in there a while and it makes the next dick you take that much easier.”

I have to laugh at her excellent maneuvering of the conversation. In the end, she finds anal sex just as awkward a topic as I do. I wonder what inspired me to go into such depth in the first place. Maybe I’m finally getting out of my shell…

With a thought, “What size should I get?”

I look over the shelves at different sizes, colors and, oddly enough, designs. I just find it strange, is all, that if the plug really only has one purpose–to go in and stay in–why would it need a spiral design? Or need to look like anything but a plug?

“I suppose you might want to start small, unless you think you can get a bigger one in you…”

“I don’t know. I’ll probably want one bigger than my toy, right?”

“Not necessarily. If that toy’s the only thing you’ll be taking for a while then you only need to keep yourself prepped for its specific dimensions.”

“That makes sense,” I agree. “But what if it’s not the only thing I take? How big are most stallions?”

She lifts an eyebrow, still glancing over the rows of plugs, “How big are you?”

I flush a little, “That’s not really something I—”

“I’m just saying,” she cuts in, looking at me for a second. “You’re probably average size, right? So if you think you can take your size, or need to practice…” She trailed off to let it sink in, which it did. “If you want, get one that’s almost as wide as you, or just a little bit wider.” I snicker suddenly and she catches it and asks, “What?”

“I don’t know, just,” I’m grinning foolishly at the thought. “Talking about me… well my penis, as ‘me,’ it’s just a little silly I think.”

She laughs a bit too, “I guess so. I don’t even know where that started…” It was a curious subject, to say the least. “Why do we refer to those, as ‘them?’”

“I really don’t know, but now I’ll never take it seriously again.”

“Ha, yeah thanks a lot for that.” We laugh a few seconds more. Then, “So whatever you want, I guess. Oh, but not the corkscrew one. As easy as it might be to put in, it might also come out just as easy.”

“That makes sense.”

In the end, I went with a dark purple plug that I thought was approximately similar to “my” width, which Pearl assured me was likely within the average width of any given stallion’s penis.

80 Saying It

After assuring Pearl I still have a good amount of lube and don’t want any more toys for the time being, we choose to move on and browse a little bit. We stay in the back for a while and converse about all kinds of accessories we come across, both seriously and jokingly.

“How about this,” she prompts, then proceeds to admire something embarrassingly kinky like a saddle or mouth bit. I couldn’t imagine myself or anyone I knew wearing something like that in public, let alone in bed with somepony.

I chuckle and instruct her to replace the object. Whether or not she obliges will determine whether or not I play along. She occasionally finds something to be that much more entertaining and so goes on with it a while longer. One item in particular was like any ordinary rubber phallus, only attached to long leather belts. She showed me the toy, and upon seeing my confused face went ahead and demonstrated just how it was to be used: strapped around a mare’s pelvis to imitate a naturally erect penis.

Seeing it waggle about between her hind legs made me laugh with embarrassment, backing up and covering my blushing face while she rotated her hips to make it bounce wildly. “I don’t get how you stallions can handle this,” she griped. “Seems like it would get annoying real fast.”

I shake my head, still laughing quietly. “It’s not constantly erect, you numbskull. Will you please put it back?”

“Who knows? If you don’t get a boyfriend, you could probably convince me to use this thing on you.”

I cover my face again, pushing my glasses far up onto my forehead. Oh, and yes I went ahead and spent a good portion of my savings to replace my glasses after my incident. I’ve been saving up for a while, and a “good portion” still isn’t even half of my savings.

“I hope not,” a voice came from my right. It sounded familiar…

I uncover my eyes, but my vision is still blurry. “Why’s that?” Pearl asks while I straighten my glasses.

I still don’t recognize the stallion, but that voice is definitely familiar. I listen more closely, straightening my back while he comes closer. “His butt’s way too tight.”

I raise an eyebrow at the stranger, and Pearl speaks up for me. “And how would you know?” Seriously?

“Trust me,” he winks at me. “I’ve massaged a lot of butts in my days, but I couldn’t forget yours.”

My masseuse? How long has it been since I’ve actually been to that salon? How could he possibly remember me? And what were the odds of seeing him here? I grow even redder. He laughs, quietly and reserved. Dammit, it’s adorable.

“All right, mister,” Pearl breaks the tension, “what’s the big idea? You stalking him? Is his backside so memorable you couldn’t get enough?”

He laughs quietly again, “No, nothing like that.” He rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. “To be honest, it’s been a bit of a dry spell.” I notice the bag hanging on his side and something cylindrical resting inside. It wasn’t quite the same as a dildo…

“Girlfriend not putting out?” Pearl suggests. Is that it? Is the toy he has something he can penetrate?

“Well, no, not exactly…”

“Boyfriend?” I find myself saying. The thought suddenly comes back that he had given his number to Stitches.

“Actually, still no. I’m single right now,” he admits. My eyebrows elevate slightly at that.

“Ah, lonely love,” Pearl nudges.

“I guess,” he sighs. “I noticed you and felt like talking, lonely hearts and all that.” He looks at me… longingly? “How are you doing? I don’t think I caught your name, by the way, I’m Peppermint Wisp, but you can call me Pepper.”

I shake his hoof, “Timber. Still single, too. Did it not work out with Stitches?”

He looks at me quizzically. Then, “Oh the other stallion, from the salon? Well, I don’t know. He never called me.”

Lightning strikes me: What could that possibly mean? I guess it makes sense; Stitches had made it pretty clear he wasn’t really gay, just a little confused. Hadn’t he?

“Come to think of it, I have seen him though,” Peppermint recalls. My eyes darting between his, waiting for something. An explanation I guess, but for what? “He showed up to the salon a week or so ago, just spent some time getting a haircut and a steam.”

Pearl grumbles something like “How dare he go without me,” but I’m still listening intently to Peppermint.

“He recognized me first, stopped me in the changing room… Wanted to know if you’d called, actually.”

I’m speechless. Peppermint seems lost in thought, possibly reminiscing the conversation with Stitches.

“He seemed really worried about you… Wouldn’t say why.”

My eyes drop. I think I start seeing spots, my eyes are darting back and forth as my thoughts travel at the speed of sound within my skull. Am I shaking? “I was in the hospital.”

“Is everything alright?” Peppermint asked.

Dammit…

“It’s a pretty sensitive topic,” I hear Pearl explain. “I think we’d better go. It was nice seeing you.”

Pearl leads me out. At some point I hear her apologize to someone, accusing her of stealing. She fumbles around, gives something to the cashier who was working. It was the toy she was wearing. But, wasn’t there something else we got while we were here?

“Wait,” I stop her just outside the door. “I didn’t pay for the plug.”

“That’s ok,” Pearl reassures me. “We’ll come back another time.”

I want to argue with her. Nothing about what just happened should be jading me like this. Sure it was a little confusing that Stitches didn’t take Peppermint’s offer, but the only reason he seemed worried about me was because of what I had done. I was unconscious for days, in the hospital for weeks. That’s right… they kept me there for a while. They were worried about my mental health. They didn’t want to let me go, in case I was still a danger to myself. I put on the biggest act of my life to get them to believe I was healthy enough to leave.

I gave Stitches permission he didn’t need to call Peppermint instead of me. Why hadn’t he? Stitches was the one who found the masseuse attractive. So what if I was the one he had his hooves all over?

“You okay?” Pearl asks. We were standing on the sidewalk outside the store. I don’t know if she had been trying to get me to walk, or just leaving me to think.

I nod, then lock eyes with her. “Do you know Stitches’ phone number?”

“Uhh, yes but…”

I don’t let her finish before turning quickly and going back inside. I look around for Peppermint for a second, finding him quickly. He’s at the counter, checking out. “Peppermint?”

“Oh, yes?” He looks at me while the cashier filly bags his items. I didn’t bother looking at what they were.

“I don’t know how you feel about Stitches, or about me, but Stitches is a good friend of mine and he’s lonely too so…” I glance at Pearl, stepping up beside me, then nudge her, “give him a call, please?”

Pearl makes a gasping sound, then asks the cashier for a pen and paper.

“A-are you sure?” Peppermint stumbles.

I look down, “Honestly, no. He and I… well we’re at a rough place, but he needs somepony. Somepony new to take care of him. He thinks what he wants is somepony to take care of, but… I don’t think that’s true, otherwise—” I wanted to say “otherwise he’d want me,” but stop myself. “He needs something balanced, a relationship where he can give and get at the same… the same ratio, I guess.” That’s why he can’t have me. I can’t give back as much as he can. Why was this all becoming so obvious suddenly?

Pearl puts the paper with Stitches’ number in Peppermint’s bag.

“Just, take it slow. He might still be… uneasy, but I’ll let him tell you everything in his own time. Give him the chance…” (The chance I couldn’t.) Exactly.

“Well,” he’s still thinking it over. I’m begging him with my eyes. “Ok, if you say so.”

It’s a crude way of agreeing, but that’s just his passive personality. At least he agreed.

We part ways, I buy the plug and Pearl and I make our way back to my apartment.

After a few blocks, Pearl finally speaks up, “That was… something.” I just nod. “Where’d it all come from? I mean, I didn’t think you had it all figured out.”

(I didn’t.) “I didn’t.” Wait, what?

“Then, is that really how fast your mind works?”

“What…?”

“Well, after you started spacing out, I took you outside… We barely left for like, ten seconds before you ran back in and started spouting all that off to Peppermint. Did you seriously figure all that out in those few seconds outside?”

(More like as he was saying it.)

Damn you, Aura.

81 Aura

“As you were saying it?”

It took me a second to register that I had said that aloud, as I had said everything before.

I don’t respond to Pearl yet, as I’m struggling to get another word out of Aura.

“Is everything alright?” Pearl asks.

There’s still no response from me, as I still have no response from Aura.

“It’s taking you a lot longer to say anything now,” Pearl points. I hadn’t noticed at the time, but we were walking and approaching a crosswalk. “Is it Aura?”

How much does she know? She knows about Aura, but does she know I haven’t heard from him since the hospital? Does she know he was there in my dreams? How much did I tell her?

“I–I don’t…” I’m stammering. I should just tell her what I know, find out how much she knows later. How long have we been walking? “I don’t know. I think so…?” That’s real classy.

“I want to talk to him,” Pearl states.

I knit my eyebrows at her. If anything, she has to know it doesn’t work like that. He’s not some kind of entity or alter-ego that can just take over at-will.

(What do you want to say?)

“What do you want to say?” What am I saying? God Dammit, Aura. Talk to me!

“Well,” Pearl begins, eyes wandering thoughtfully as we stride through another intersection. “First of all, what the hell?” I’m stunned. She has to know she's actually talking to me right? I won’t have all the answers suddenly. Or… will I? Will Aura? “Sorry, wait. What… the hell are you?”

There’s silence, relatively speaking. Aura doesn’t have an answer, so neither do I. “I don’t know.”

“Ok…” She’s winding up for another question. I want to stop her, tell her it’s too complicated for me to just explain everything so suddenly when I don’t even know what’s going on. I don’t actually come up with the idea to say any of that before she starts talking again. “Where did you go?”

(I never left.)

“I… He says he never left,” I speak, barely correcting myself before speaking for him.

(That’s not right.) I hear. What?

“Ok…” Neither of us was prepared for this, so we don’t know what to say. “So, I don’t know if it is Aura, or if it ever was–”

“Please,” I stop her. “I don’t have any answers right now. Let’s just, go…”

She watches me while we walk, while I watch the ground. I can feel her sympathetic gaze shower over my matted curls like a baptism of curious respect. She sighs, and her eyes fall forward again. “Ok…” I wish I could tell her something, but I have no idea what would make sense at this point. I’ve lost my mind over this; I’m torn between trying to get Aura to say something to me and thinking of something to put Pearl’s mind at ease. We wind up back at my apartment without another word between the three of us. It’s almost noon.

Pearl reminds me to meet her at the park for lunch, everypony’s going to be there. I have no idea when the plans came together, but she’s putting a lot of effort into this picnic so I know I can’t let her down…

“Unless you want me to come back and get you?” She offers. I thought she had already left. “Just in case one of us is late, or you don’t want to walk by yourself?”

I appreciate the offer. “That’d be nice,” I end up saying. Somewhere in my mind I know I have a lot to think about and that I might lose track of time, despite having to leave in less than half an hour.

She nods slowly, visibly worried.

“Actually,” I stop her as she turns, “I’ll just… I’ll meet you there.” We have a regular area that we enjoy visiting. Not necessarily private, but more secluded than most of the park. A sort of grotto, surrounded by trees with a number of large boulders more or less strewn about. I wonder if Bolden knew where it was, or Noh for that matter. “I’ll leave really soon.”

“Ok,” she agrees, still a little worried. “See you there.”

She finally leaves, closing the door and galloping away. I watch out the window as she trots quickly down the street toward her apartment. I look at my desk, the number of loose papers and writing utensils. I think about my quill, the one my mother and grandmother gifted me over a year ago, stored in a drawer with my memoir. I only took the time to write this chapter.

Now I have to get ready for a picnic.

Author's Notes:

In which I spoil a little bit from the next chapter to fulfill the word count.

82 Empathy?

How embarrassing, to wake up in the morning with your muzzle on your desk. My head is killing me, there’s drool on my most recent sheet, and my skin feels hotter than sunbathing in a wool sweater. Maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea to go so far for my first night of drinking.

I don’t really know what I have to say about the picnic…

Well, first off I guess I went to the wrong rendezvous. I had shown up to our group’s grotto as I had expected our gather to take place there. As it happened, however, we were meeting at the mid-summer Theater Revival. It’s not mid-summer anymore; we barely got to visit the last performance of the season.

Anyhow, I wound up waiting for a while at the grotto, ponies came and went like the scent of flowers on the breeze. I had worn my favorite hat and taken very little along with me besides some money, some tissues, a novel (just in case), and my ID (for the bar). I hadn’t known I would need ID when I left my apartment, but I like to keep it with me.

As for the park: Being left to myself always led to some kind of mental altercation. I wondered where my friends were, among the fact of my predicament between stallions. I wondered if I should have dressed up more, or left my hat behind. I thought about how well I would sing, what I would sing, how ponies would react… And eventually remembered the wager between Pearl, Noguki, and myself. I smiled to myself, though at the time I pretended it was Aura. It didn’t feel like Aura, but I was having so much trouble hearing him and remembering what he actually sounded like.

I waited nearly half an hour I suppose before I got too frustrated with my friends. I obviously thought I had messed something up, but partly blamed them for leaving me out of important information when the event they were hosting was clearly for my benefit—

And when that thought crossed me was when I felt the anvil land on my shoulders.

“Amazing to see you here,” I heard the some-familiar voice from far away. I turned to look at the source, to be disarmed by a sandy pegasus with a cloud-white mane. “After what I did…”

“I could say the same,” I proclaimed to the sexual predator, whose name had escaped me. I briefly considered mentioning that I had been here frequently with friends; it was a good mid-way between our apartments. I thought better of revealing it, though, in case he thought to use the information against me somehow.

“I have no choice, actually,” he admitted. “After being released from custody, I was fired from my job and then evicted. I’ve been living here.” I watched cautiously from the corner of my eye, he gestured to a spit of shrubbery arranged to brace a tarp over a moderately-sized wool blanket, and various boxes. I had to look away… How long had he lived here? Did he already know I visited friends here? “I’m not going to try anything…”

When he said that I realized I was incredibly tense. I didn’t relax though. I continued to watch him from the corner of my eye. I didn’t want to be able to read his expressions.

I wanted to say something. I had to. Wasn’t it my fault his life was like this? That can’t be possible, even remotely. Why did I feel like it was? No! He attacked me! He has to face the consequences. Even though he softened himself amidst the assault, and turned himself in to the authorities… Was this Aura talking? Justifying?

“I don’t want to tell you to relax,” the pegasus said, “but I don’t want you to mourn for me, or anything. I got myself into this mess.”

“No, you didn’t…” I said without really thinking, which is rare! It took a second for the rationale to catch up, and it might have been Aura. “It wasn’t you, it wasn’t me. It was your father.” I turned my body toward him some more, not entirely though. “I don’t want you to get angry at me for shit-talking your dad again though. I just have to say it, and I won’t be afraid to either. You were raised in a torturous setting, under… harmful jurisdiction. I can’t begin to guess what kind of things you were taught. All I can say for sure is that a lot of it was bad. But you still have the common sense to know what’s really bad.”

My body is at a profile from his perspective, he’s sitting facing me directly. As I speak freely his emotions change rapidly between hurt, defensive, and terrified. I expect him to react, in some way. In any way at all. He doesn’t though. “You’re right.”

“So tell me,” I command. “What’s right?” I pause, thinking of leaving it rhetorical. Then, “Rape, and punishment? Justice served scripturally, and mindful innocents left to weep? Or… Something else?” I swear I had something meaningful coming from this. “Something more, simply because it’s what you feel is right, and not what some… some monster destructively embedded into your subconscious?”

“Please stop…” he pleads. “He was my father…” He chokes, forcing himself to believe that his obedience is all that matters.

“He was your sire…” I trail off, starting to choke up with empathy.

The wind separates our silence, counting the number of breaths the world takes as we ponder our next words. “In what ways can I change? Change, what he’s made me into?”

I watch a tear streak through the dirt on his cheek. “I don’t know. I believe you already know right and wrong, as much as anypony can. Use that, somehow. I don’t know.” I laugh at myself.

From the void comes the reminder of the Theater Revival, and I scold myself for losing the information so easily. I don’t want to leave Lavan behind like this though. His name had finally returned to me, and I wanted to use that to start to make up for… for what happened to him.

“Will I find you here?” I ask.

He grins painfully. “I’ll be tending the flowers.” I remember his name – Lavandula – which briefly sounds familiar to something from some time ago. How long ago?

With that, I leave him. The wish remains open for now, to be fulfilled once I clean up my own fucked-up life. However different our problems may be, I’ve come too far to start ignoring myself now. At least, that’s what Pearl would have me believe.

. . .

I’ve been away too long… I’ve left this pile of trash here for weeks, fermenting in my sweat, tears, drool. I’ve forgotten so many details that have taught me so much about myself and other ponies. I’ve gotten drunk, so often I scared myself with alcoholism and eventual homelessness. I’ve made my final choice... if you remember what I’m talking about. You probably do, whoever you are, reading this… I’ll get to that.

Once I discovered I could hear Aura while drunk, I tried to come up with any excuse to indulge; I’d go out more often, allow plenty of stallions to court me, visit bars with friends and explore the city at night… as long as it meant I could have some fun as what I wanted to believe was my “true self,” and speak to the entity that knew everything about me.

I’ve gotten back into work at the cafe, kept busy and managed a smile just about every day. I don’t think anypony has bothered to stop and ask how I’m feeling, which I’m grateful for really. I feel like it used to happen so often… So fucking frequently that it was seriously just pissing me off.

I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m being so grouchy.

Well, actually I kind of do. I mentioned that I made my choice? Well, I haven’t informed… The pony I’ve chosen... of this choice. I’m terrified of the aftermath.

The theater told me there was more work to be done on my play. It could take another year or more to complete the editing and write the music, plus all the advertising. A new play hardly gets noticed by a majority of the population within its first year.

It honestly doesn’t concern me much. If it ever does start making money, then good for me I guess. Not like I need it.

Grandma died. Broke both her hind legs in a hang-gliding accident, they didn’t heal properly, and a blood clot caused a heart attack that took her life while she slept.

Shortly after, Grandpa followed her. Also suffering a heart attack in his sleep that many family members accredit to a broken heart.

Their fortune was immense, enough to be split by will to their only daughter and all of their grandchildren in a large enough sum that I could probably afford to buy an automobile. I can’t imagine what I would do with one… But I could buy one. Makes me wonder why Grandma and Grandpa never had any. They had a nice house in the mountains of North Handhash, along with their own island and a sailboat for getting there. I was always afraid of visiting any of their homes because Grandpa did not get along well with foals.

The funerals were quiet, felt shorter than they were. I don’t remember really any conversations I had with my family. I don’t remember any names or faces from the extended family. I just know we were all very sad, and tense around each other. Especially Mill…

The only thing I’ve spent any of my inheritance on is liquor and nights out with everypony. Pearl thought for a while it was because I was still in mourning over my grandparents. At some point, I managed to clarify that if I was mourning, it wasn’t over my grandparents and that I’d been mourning for longer than I can remember.

I’m sitting here in my studio apartment, writing word after fucking word, trying to distract myself from – remind myself of – everything that makes me depressed. I want to… to tell the stallion I’ve chosen that I love him… He really does make me happy. But… He’s not the only one, is he? I think I’ve felt pretty happy with these other stallions. They’ve all taught me so much about life, fun, sex…

That’s right. I do have a few more toys now. I still haven’t gotten the balls to actually settle on a boyfriend, so of course, I haven’t had actual sex yet. I’m just so afraid of what the others will think, what I’ll think… If and how it will end…

I could try mixing some more.

With all the liquor I’ve bought I’ve taken to practicing cocktails. I read a few books about mixology and spoken at length with bartenders, and I think I’m really started to get good. I have lots of drink recipes memorized, and lots of ideas for original drinks too. It feels like a pretty good creative outlet since I haven’t been very motivated to write as much lately. The only problem is that somepony has to drink every experiment, and being by myself as often as I am when I “practice” leaves me to “clean up.” And I really am afraid of becoming an alcoholic…

I’m running out of things to write about… I don’t want to make any drinks right now… I kind of want to call Pearl and talk to her about this choice I’ve made, but I’m afraid I already know what she’ll say. Then again, maybe it will be good to hear some actual words of encouragement, instead of just imagining them?

I’m not going to get anything out of Aura much anymore. I need somepony right now… I just wish it could be the one I want to love, and to have love me, possibly for the rest of our lives.

I’m just… afraid. I know, I’ve said that a lot. I just… really don’t want to make a great big decision like love, thinking — hoping it will be true love, if there even is such a thing, and whether I deserve it. I don’t want to end up getting into arguments… I don’t know… I just don’t want it to end badly. I know that sounds selfish. I’ve just got to suck it up, grow a pair, deal with it… He’s had his heart broken before, right? He’s a great example of living and loving again.

But what if I’m not as strong as him? Not strong enough to get over a broken heart?

He wouldn’t want a broken heart. And I will do everything I can not to break his heart.