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.