Staring at the shower/bathtub combination in my bathroom, I know my plan of having just a simple shower has gone out the window. A turn of my head and a sidelong glance tells me that my new form is too long to comfortably turn around in there. Further complicating this, the bottom of the tub does not have any anti-slip treads. I don't need to be a genius to figure out that a slick surface like the bottom of the tub is going to play hell on a pony's balance. One bad slip and I'm lame.

A quick look at the towel-rack on the back of the door gives me an idea. I have three towels hanging there, the bottom is always the designated bath-mat, but the middle one should be fine to stick into the bottom of the tub. It's almost fool-proof! Then I remember that I still need to get the two towels down.

I could use magic, but what would happen to a towel if another telephone incident occurred? Would it explode, catch fire, or shed itself into oblivion? It wouldn't be that big of a stretch to ask Mom for help, but that would be like admitting that I'm incapable of caring for myself. No, I think I'll risk a towel fire. With the bathtub right beside me, it isn't like I can't just put the fire out.

If there's something I'm good at, it's apparently wasting time pondering tiny details and getting nothing done. I could smack myself in the face, and tell myself to get going, but I'm nowhere near competent enough on my hooves to do that. Instead, I just get to work and drag the towels down using the least amount of magic possible. One by one, the towels fall to the floor in a heap.

Smooth sailing. Once I have the bath-mat and the makeshift shower tread in place, the only real challenge is getting over the bathtub's edge. Simple enough; it's just a hop skip and a jump... at least in theory. I might have slightly misjudged the edge of the tub by just a smidgen. How I landed on my belly facing the right direction is still beyond me. I'm just glad I can finally wash up.

Pushing myself up, I look at the tap and smile. Finally, I have something I can effectively manipulate with a touch of my horn. Dragging the shower curtain closed is a simple enough endeavor, albeit a gag-worth one. Fighting a giggle as the tip of my horn comes into contact with the cold metal—the feeling is just so uniquely exquisite—I push the tap into the warm position, and count myself lucky that I left the faucet into shower mode.

A cool mist spatters against my hindquarters and tail almost immediately. It takes a great effort to not simply jump from the expected temperature shock. To my surprise, it isn’t all that cold. Is this the benefit of a thicker hide and coat? What do I care? I’m here to get clean, not contemplate my new body. I scoot back in the tub to allow the water access to my blackened face and mane.

Almost immediately, the water mats my mane to my face. Instead of that fluffy albeit dirty mint-green mane, it’s like someone has dumped a load of wet noodles on my head. I’d come up with a better comparison, but I’ve never had particularly long hair, and the way it’s just hanging there reminds me of many tiny limp spaghetti noodles just sitting there on my head. At least the bits of debris I can feel trapped in my mane aren’t putting up a fight. They rinse out with ease. With a groan of hunger, I whip my wet mane back to let the steadily warming water stream into my face.

It’s simple enough to get the front washed, but alas, my tail is also fairly blackened and filled with debris too. “Maybe if I just... Ow. Perhaps the other way then?” I shift this way and that, hoping to find a way to adequately turn around in this cramped space. Ultimately, I decide the best plan is a variation on the stunt I pulled opening the door.

Carefully, I lift my front right hoof, placing it on the hand-bar. By shifting my body weight onto my back hooves as well as my front-right, I’m able to awkwardly shift into a standing position. Shuffling my hooves, I turn around, switching from my right fore-hoof to my left before finally dropping down. Huzzah, I’m not a locomotive moron!

The only problem now was that the water from the shower head was just short of getting my tail and back end, spattering uselessly just up my back. Ugh... How am I supposed to get anything done like this? Pretty much the only way I’m going to get anything clean is if I scramble into some really awkward, degrading position. Some sort of combination image of a cat presenting herself to a mate and Sweetie Belle scooting along the floor using only her hind legs comes to mind.

Now, how the hell am I going to do this? My forelegs need to be flat against the floor, and my rump has to be raised in the air. I back up on the towel in the bottom of the tub, rethinking everything. “How would I even get into that pos—OOF!” I took one step forward, and immediately trip on the unevenly spread towel, both fore-hooves underneath me. I would laugh but my muzzle bumped the back of the bathtub.

Well, now that I’ve assumed the party escort submission position, I can feel the water splashing against my flank and tail. This rinse feels absolutely wonderful. The warmth against my flanks fills me up with relief, yet I find myself wanting more. Without even thinking, I lift my tail aside. The sensation of the high pressure streams of water hitting my backside is like nothing I’ve ever felt before. My entire face is flushing red from the stimulation.

It isn’t until I inadvertently let out a moan that I realize what’s happening. Oh god, I’ve been perving on Lyra! This is crossing a line! It isn’t my body and I have no right doing this. I should have the same respect for her body that I would want her to have for mine! Even if I am perversely curious about certain feminine sensations, I’d rather it were my own body and not that of someone else. So what if I’m a shameless pervert? I should still have principles!

Knowing that I’m going to feel guilty if I don’t stop this—because it feels so wonderful—I lower my rump, and cautiously try to worm my forelegs out from beneath myself. I’m a bad person and I should feel bad about it. It’s time to get out of the shower anyway. I’m rinsed clean, and that should be enough for now. Yeah, that’s it. I can have a truly clean body once my mind isn’t being influenced by pleasures that aren’t mine.

All I have to do is repeat my hand-bar pirouette. Simple enough, right? Too bad I wasn’t aware just how unsteady my hind legs were after the incident. Halfway through the maneuver, I lose my balance and fall backwards. Of course, being the incompetent that I am, I somehow manage to flail my front hooves about and kick the tap into full hot before landing flat on my back.

As soon as the scalding hot water begins washing down my back along the bottom of the tub, I let out an inhuman shriek. It really hurts, so I have no choice but to roll onto my side and somehow get to my hooves without my belly touching the water. I’m not keen on finding out how sensitive teats are, particularly not through a scalding incident. I can feel a burning-hot mist against my back, so I stand up as slowly as possible, and turn the control valve to its off position. I feel one last dribble of hot water on my back as the water pressure dies off.

“Soren, SOREN! Are you alright in there?” I can hear my mother on the other side of the bathroom door. “What’s happened?”

“Sorry, I slipped in the shower, and accidentally knocked the tap up to ‘burn me alive’,” I rasp, pulling the shower curtain open with my teeth. A lot more carefully this time, I hop out of the bathtub onto the bathmat. “I’m fine now.”

“I know you don’t want to ask for help through all this, but we’re here if you need us.” Mom sounds surprisingly sad. I don’t blame her; I’d be sad if my son had become a freak-show too. “You don’t have to be alone.”

I remain silent, instead choosing to stare at the bathmat. Glancing toward the door, I levitate the remaining towel off the rack and onto my head. It’s a cloud white, and is surprisingly fluffy and soft. Rubbing myself dry is a surprisingly simple task; it’s almost as though unicorn telekinesis magic was specifically evolved to take over in certain mundane tasks, without the need for concentration on pressure. Needless to say, I’m thankful for small favors.

Given the day I’m having, it won’t surprise me in the least if something else goes wrong... like having forgotten to turn on the circulation fan, causing the mirror to fog up. I laugh at the absurdity of that thought. I can’t even reasonably get up to the counter’s level in order to use the mirror. I’d have to have that step-ladder brought back in from the back garage at some point.

“Are... are you still there, Mom?” I ask, sullenly.

There is a short pause before I hear her voice again. “Yes.”

“There is something I could use some help with.” I let out a half-hearted laugh. “I could use some help maintaining my mane and tail. I’d do it myself, but I can’t get up to the counter, and even if I could, the mirror’s fogged up. The door isn’t locked.”

“Can’t you just use that magic you were using earlier?” she replies, peeking her head in through the door. “You made it look easy, before.”

I wiped my hooves on the makeshift bathmat, before trotting unsteadily over to the cabinet beneath the counter. “I know, but it’s weird. Some things about this telekinesis seem completely natural, some are completely automated, and others require focus,” I say, before pulling open one drawer with my teeth. Dipping my muzzle in, I pull out a comb. Staggering back to sit on the bath mat, I nod for her to come in. Using the slightest bit of my telekinesis, the comb floats toward her. “I’m not sure I’ll ever have complete control over it. Did I mention that I nearly concussed myself with the phone?”

Mom chuckles slightly, as she crosses the floor to kneel beside me. “Before or after you blew it up?” Her tone of voice was lacking any implication that she was serious, but her face told me that she was still kind of miffed about the whole explosion-and-now-I’m-a-pony thing.

“Before...” I offer sheepishly.

“I’m just glad you’re alive.” She pulls me into a tight hug, and begins stroking my mane and back. Pulling back slightly, she adds, “Wow, your coat is really soft. It’s like a plush pillow.” She releases me and then starts running her fingers and the comb through my mane. “Your mane is so silky too. You’re so surprisingly huggable; it’s almost cartoony.”

I groan. “Thanks. I wasn’t feeling emasculated enough.” I squirm anxiously on the spot as she fights a tangle. “If you even think about putting ribbons or bows in my hair, I’m going to go live in the back garage for the week.”

She gives me an amused look. “Be that way then. You’re a woman now, albeit a colorful female unicorn, so why not live a little?”

Mom has a point, but it isn’t like she can go painting my nails, or picking out dresses. I have hooves, and there are no pony dressmakers here. Thank god there’s no Rarity or anybody like her here either. I mean, she might be a generous and usually kind pony, but she’s also pretty insufferable in my books. I don’t have anything against her; it’s just that her demeanor grates on me. With a sigh, I decide that I can only be glad my mother isn’t the prissy type.

Doing my best Twilight Sparkle impression, I mutter, “Fine.” When she motions for me to turn around so that she can do my tail, I hastily add in, “Just a braid though... or maybe a bun.”

“Alright.” She smiles and pats me on the side. “Just remember that you still have to tell us everything you know, and I mean everything, Soren.”

Author's Notes:

Edited by ReFro

Re-edited 10 July 2017