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?