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.