I have to say, the dreams that come along with sleep are easily the highlight of my day. It has always been that way, and I choose to believe that it always will be. It's that ignorant bliss that comes from delving into a world not bound by the regular rules of logic or the realities of life. There's just something undeniably appealing about speeding along a busy city street, ramping off of oncoming sports cars towards an apartment building that you somehow enter from the top, only to race an elevator down a stairwell in order to reach a secret passage that you somehow know is opened by the cat that would otherwise be crushed by the elevator.

Random—important keyword here—adventures as some variation of myself have always been the motif for my dreams. No matter if I'm boy or girl, in a place unfamiliar or known, in my present, past, or future, I've always dreamed of being me. Being aware of being myself has always been the one indelible stone in the ocean of disorder inside my subconscious mind. It's absurd to think that would change just because I'm in a different body, right?

When I open my eyes, I find that I'm not in a familiar place. This isn't so unusual when you've found yourself in an upside-down castle on the side of a whale. So why do I feel so disconcerted? Furthermore, where is this contradicting feeling that all is normal coming from? I mean, I'm pretty sure I still have hooves; I'm certainly still aware of them.

Speaking of things I'm aware of, there is a strange and uncomfortable warmth between my loins. It's almost like an itch that yearns to be scratched. “And everypony wonders why I sit the way I do...” My body mumbles. I know that voice; It's the one I've been using since my computer exploded! “I think I caught some kind of infection from some disgusting pony who couldn't simply wipe herself clean. Stupid train conductor and her prudish 'a proper Canterlot mare can't sit like that!'”

Lyra turns her head and stares at the clock mounted beside her bed. The clock reads 9:02. It's clearly not what she wants to see. “I'm going to have to hurry if I want to make the checkout time,” she says with a moan. “I should have sprung for the extra night, just in case I don't find more permanent lodging today.”

With a tremendous yawn, Lyra slides out of bed, casting a smile towards a lyre case in the corner of her room with the rest of her limited luggage. By this point it's clear that it isn't my impulses driving this dream. I'm more interested in what's outside the window, but Lyra just plods on into the en suite bathroom without even glancing in the window's direction.

I won't go into the details of dream Lyra's toilet habits or anything like that, but I will say that for a dream, this toilet is much better suited to equine physiology. Everything is, for that matter. The sink, the shower stall, even the cabinets beneath the sink are all calibrated for pony life. This is easily the most incredibly detailed dream I've ever had.

As Lyra steps into the shower, I relish in the warmth of the water striking her. After the day I've had, a nice warm shower—dream or not—is exactly what I need. When she starts telekinetically soaping and scrubbing herself clean, I can't help but feel guilty about my poor job washing her body when I showered. All I really did was rinse, and yet here she is lovingly caring for her body.

I know that this sort of thing isn't something I should be paying rapt attention to, but I can't help but locking the floodgates of sensation open. Every sensation and ministration is mine to experience and catalogue so that when I next bathe, I can do it properly. The shower even feels nicer thanks to Lyra's lack of apprehension. After all, why would she feel bad about perving on herself?

When she starts washing her mane and tail, my mind is all but blown. I'm not unfamiliar with how nice it can be to massage shampoo into my scalp, but the way magic feels when she massages the shampoo into her mane and tail is completely out of this world. All the careful pressure one could expect from one's fingers is there, but there's also something I can only describe as similar to the pins and needles sensation you get from lying on a hand for too long, without any of the negative after effects. It lingers just a moment after the touch. It's heavenly.

In spite of the lovely fruity scent of this hotel soap and shampoo, there's a primal, musky scent in the air. My mind starts ticking away, tallying up what I know. Musky scent and a warm yearning itch... Jesus fuck, is she aroused? She's not going to seriously going to start jilling herself here in the shower, is she? Stop the train, please. This is a private thing that I—oh! The answer hits me like a sack of bricks.

“Darn it,” Lyra moans. “What did I sit in to get this way?”

I can't believe what I'm actually thinking, but if I'm right, she's in estrus and she doesn't even know it! Surely this isn't right. She has to be at least as old as Twilight and the others. Surely she's been in heat before, right? Or am I really dreaming that I'm experiencing her first estrus? Still, she should know on some level. Surely ponies have sex education! Oh God, why me!?

Unfortunately for my already addled mind, she dives right into vigorously trying to scrub the musk out. Fortunately—unfortunately?—she's going at it hard enough that it doesn't particularly feel good, but it doesn't really feel bad either. If I had to describe it, it's like scratching at a mosquito bite. The scratching feels good, but it only leads to the need to scratch some more. At least Lyra is a smart enough cookie to cue in on this too.

With a sigh, she steps out of the shower and begins brushing her mane and tail. While it felt nice brushing her mane, neither of us take any notice. We’re both more focused on the heavy musk in the small hotel bathroom. She really doesn’t know what this means, does she? God, this is not going to be a fun dream.

Content with her mane and tail, Lyra returns to her bedroom. She takes some perfume from her luggage, and that seems to cover up most of it, but it’s still noticeable in the air. “I hope nopony comments on the smell,” she murmurs before returning the perfume to her bags. “I’d just die of embarrassment.”

Exiting the room and going down into the inn’s lobby, Lyra creep up to the front desk. That yearning itch has returned, and already the stallion at the front desk is eyeing her—me too, as a result—with a look more fitting to a dog contemplating a burger on the counter. What he is thinking is plain as day on his face, so why doesn’t Lyra notice?

“Checking out then, Miss Lyra?” Thank god he’s acting from the standard script thus far. “Was everything to your liking?”

“Everything was wonderful, thank you.” From a saddlebag, she levitates the room key and places it on the counter. “I just find myself wishing I had paid for an extra night.”

“If you wish—” Oh here we go. “If you want, I could give you the room for another night, free of charge.” What I hear is, ‘All you’d need to do is be the mother of my foal.’

“Really?” Lyra’s cheeks flush. “That’s really nice of you to offer, but I’m hoping to find an apartment by tonight. Thank you for the offer though.”

Defeated, the stallion at the counter gives a friendly smile. “Thank you for your patronage, miss. I hope you’ll consider using our inn again.” Lyra begins trotting for the door before he's even finished switching back to the script. “Have a nice day!”

Out of the frying pan, and into the sexual harassment oven. Even as we cross out into what is unmistakably Ponyville, I can feel all eyes are on Lyra. They aren’t leering like the desk agent in the inn, but it’s still plenty obvious. They can smell a fertile young mare, and they’re all dying for their opportunity to woo her.

I suppose it’s only natural her first stop would be a news stand. After all, I didn’t see any newspapers in her room at the inn. But wouldn’t you know it? The pony operating the news stand is a stallion too, and he’s probably got his share of flirting too. Please, just shoot me.

“Could I please get a copy of today’s local paper?”

“Certainly, miss.” He gives her a once over. “First time in Ponyville?”

“Yeah,” Lyra replies happily. “I decided I needed a change in scenery, so I decided to move here for a while.”

“For you then, free of charge,” the stallion says with a disarming smile. “So you’re looking for a place to stay then?”

Lyra nods. “That’s right.”

Here we go, bad flirting to go. “I don’t really know much about apartments, but I know of a great place you could stay.” It’s called his sex dungeon. You can come, but then the only one coming after will be him. Nobody will ever find you there.

Evidently, Lyra is as uncomfortable with the implications of his offer as I am. She might be naive, but at least she isn’t stupid. “That’s nice of you to offer, and I’ll certainly keep it in mind, but I'd still like to read through the classifieds.”

Lyra takes her copy of the Ponyville Post, and scampers off. I honestly don’t blame her. He’s obviously hitting on her. Please, Lyra, if you go home with a man, please have the courtesy of not falling for these lame pickup lines. In fact, if you’re going to get laid, have the courtesy of blacking out first. I really don’t need this.

Laying on a park bench, luggage and lyre case at her hooves, I can’t help but enjoy the cool morning breeze between her knees. Sure, it isn’t the most modest position, but damned if it isn’t comfortable. New plan Lyra, you read the classifieds, I’ll enjoy the breeze for the both of us. It’s goofy to think she can hear me, I know. I can’t even glean her thought processes or surface thoughts.

Idly, Lyra levitates a highlighter—wait, they have highlighter markers, but still use quills and ink?—out of her saddlebags and marks one particular ad:

Roommate wanted! Looking for roommate to split my apartment with. Must be willing to submit to background check. Co-ed not an option, applicants must be mares. Seek out Bon-Bon for more details.

Wow, okay... So either that is a very obvious trap and I’m extremely jaded, or whoever made that posting really has a problem with stallions. Surely ponies don’t actually have the sorts of bad experiences here in Equestria that occur back on earth, right? Then again, that means I’ve been incredibly unfair towards the stallions who’ve only been trying to be nice. I can’t help it though.

They can clearly smell the pheromones she’s emitting—hell, I can smell them and can tell what they mean—and seem to be going nuts about it. It makes me feel vulnerable. And sure enough, Lyra’s eyes leave the newspaper for a moment, and there’s a group of adolescent colts gathered, casting glances Lyra’s way and exchanging whispers. Clearly one of them has just worked up the courage to make a pass at her.

A lanky pegasus colt trots up to Lyra’s park bench throwing on his best concerned face. “Excuse me, Miss, are you alright?”

A blush creeps into Lyra’s cheeks again. I know what she’s thinking without access to her thoughts. ‘Oh no, can he smell it? Is he going to ask? Oh shoot me now.’ “Yes, I’m fine, thank you.” she says hastily.

“Oh, it’s just, you’re all alone and you looked so under the weather,” Yeah, sure buddy. Why don’t you tell her you’re Celestia’s nephew, too. He motions to his friends with a hoof and an idle grin, saying, “If you’re feeling lonely you could come hang out with us and-”

“Beat it, glory hounds, she’s clearly not interested.” No way, was that who I think it was? I watch as the colt buggers off to join his friends. He shakes a hoof in the air at this newcomer before his group flees the park. “Sorry about the welcoming committee. I swear, they think the gelding punishment isn’t a frightening enough prospect by the way they act sometimes.”

Wait, what? Yes, I suppose with that hanging over their heads, any guy would be reluctant to flagrantly flirt. I know that no means no laws are important, but I can’t help but cringe anyway. Isn’t that overkill?

“Why would they be gelded for—” Lyra’s hooves release the newspaper—note to self, figure out that trick—as she covers her mouth. “Oh my gosh. I’m not... am I?”

The newcomer giggles. Lyra finally looks at her in astonishment. Her curled pink and indigo mane stands out marvelously against her cream coat, and the blue-green wrapped candies on her flank go wonderfully with her bright cyan eyes. No matter where horny young colts are looking for strange, Bon-Bon is on the prowl.

“Oh dear, is this your first time?” Bon-Bon blushes, realizing she’d just put Lyra on the spot. “Sorry if I embarrassed you. It’s okay, I was just as oblivious my first time too. You’d think they’d do a better job letting young mares know what to expect, huh?”

There’s a nervous laugh. Whether it’s from Lyra or me, I don’t know. I’d be nervous too if a stranger just started talking to me about being in heat. “Heh, yeah,” Lyra quickly replies, glancing away slightly. Is that attraction I’m experiencing? Towards Bon-Bon? Eeek. “I’m Lyra, by the way.”

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Bon-Bon.” She offers a hoof, which Lyra shakes earnestly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Lyra.” Bon-Bon looks down at the newspaper and the highlighted ad. “Looking for a place to stay?”

“I—yeah!” Oh god, Lyra is so blushing right now. “I just moved here last night but I haven’t found a place to stay yet.”

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice you highlighted my ad. Would you like to get some tea?”

“Sure!” Lyra perks up.

Without warning, Bon-Bon leans forward and gives Lyra a little peck on the nose. The world starts to shudder around me and suddenly, I’m screaming. I can feel my entire body being shaken, and I’m quickly aware that I’m standing somewhere. I could have sworn I was laying down when I slept. The dogs are having a complete conniption.

Wearily, I open my eyes. My mother is looming over me in a terrycloth bathrobe, a concerned look in her eyes. “Soren, it’s alright. It’s alright. You were just sleepwalking.”

I look around. Instead of my bedroom, I find myself standing in front of the front door. “I was sleepwalking? Great... Another thing I need to ask Lyra about.”

“What were you dreaming about, anyway?”

“Lyra’s first time going into heat, apparently,” I say in a toneless voice. “I just hope it was actually a dream, or I have even more questions for her.”

Author's Notes:

Edited by ReFro.

Re-edited 10 July 2017