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.