I don’t have a piss fetish. I have an awkwardness fetish.
The road never ends. The day is long. The trees calling me to sing their song. The fire that cold, grows from the ground. The sheltered sturdy walls, yet to be found. They sing their wooden song into our hearts. Their growth thick and long when it imparts The greatest things we know and love. Littlest toys, to the roof above. They sing their song long after they fall. The trees the flesh the lumberjacks collect. Their fire shines to warm us all. Their swarthy grace in our respect.And the sad thing is, as easy as it is to sing, I can’t remember the words afterward half as easily. I couldn’t possibly write them down. I whisper what I can remember to myself, after the singing has devolved into messy eating, trying to make sense of what they might be trying to teach me, and also to distract me from thinking about stallions. I’m sure there’s tons of lore that I could get just from those song lyrics alone, besides just “lumberjacks are important deal w/it,” but the exact details just keep eluding me. Why in pony hell do they have to have a heart song about sexy lumberjacks? Scootaloo thinks I’m crazy for trying to remember a heart song. She doesn’t call it a heart song, of course. That’s just something I picked up from speculation in humanland. Scootaloo doesn’t have a word for what happened, because as far as anypony here is concerned, nothing did happen. I’m curious just how much prodding it would take before Scootaloo realized how odd that singing is, but I don’t really know what would happen. Even if it didn’t tear open any dimensional rifts in Scootaloo’s cranium from the galactic forces invoked by mere contemplation, it would certainly make her as bothered about it as I am, which is not a good state of mind to aspire to. Rarity approaches me—us, again saying, “Those lumber ponies certainly are a lively bunch,” with just a hint of disdain in her voice. I can’t help but notice that Rainbow Dash hasn’t approached Scootaloo at all today. I wonder if it’s– “Sweetie Belle sure liked the lumber stallions,” Scootaloo says to Rarity in a teasing tone. Shit. Shit shit shit. Scootaloo you stupid chicken. Okay damage control time. I barely flick an ear before going, “Eww, you mean like boys?” managing to draw my lip up in honest disgust, if not for stallions, for Scootaloo’s foolish bomb dropping. “That’s gross, Scootaloo!” I tell her in a whiney tone. Scootaloo looks betrayed. Good! “You were even singing it!” she says. Oh she’s playing dirty now, huh? “I was singing about the trees,” I lie blatantly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But you...” Scootaloo stutters up short, saying, “But you said... and then...” I sigh, looking at Rarity with a sympathetic eye. “Scootaloo just thinks I’m too super girly to do anything cool,” I mumble resentfully. “I do not!” Scootaloo protests hotly, sitting forward. “Then why are you teasing me?” I beseech her. “I don’t. Like. Boys,” I say with a confident finality to my voice, “That’s just dumb.” Let me tell you, never place a reclusive sociopath in the position of having a lot of obligations to talk and interact with people, and then put them on the spot. You’ll get something like this happening. As far as I can see though, everything is fine! Rarity seems to sag with relief with every boy hating word I say short of the literal phrase “cooties.” Scootaloo is fuming, but I figure I can patch things up with her later. Giving Rarity the misimpression that her baby sister is some kind of perverted stallion hunting deviant is something I could never patch up, even if I technically am some kind of perverted stallion hunting deviant at the moment. The real Sweetie Belle doesn’t deserve to have to live with the fallout afterwards, certainly. I mean, all those rumors of Rarity hearing about Sweetie’s sexual proclivity, and ending up committed to an asylum chanting “My sister is not a whore,” over and over again wearing a strait jacket in a padded room are... probably slightly exaggerated. Am I Rarity’s baby sister, though? I mean, I look like it, but maybe I’m just judging wrong? I didn’t think ponies were supposed to begin dating until after they got their cutie mark, but maybe I’m just conservative about it? I sure do know just how young wild Earth horses start getting frisky, and it’s pretty damn young. But ponies are way longer lived, so it’s probably... not the case? Anyway, even if by some miracle of science Sweetie is considered a teenager, it’s nice to give her a bit of a head start instead of bringing the shackles down on her prematurely by talking all about how “into boys” she is. Education, birth control and freedom, that’s my way of doing things. And I don’t want someone denied that, just because the demonic presence in their head had to open their big mouth about it. I can’t expect anyone is going to raise their kids to be awesome like I totally would, if I ever had a chance to have kids. Which I didn’t... and won’t ever... but my point still stands. Rarity doesn’t need to think Sweetie is into boys, and Scootaloo was way out of line there. If Sweetie is even old enough to have kids, I mean. Not that I wouldn’t just... use... Wow, I have no idea if ponies have birth control. Yeah, never mind any weird tingling sensation between my legs, I am not so much as looking at a stallion again, until I have a good idea of that. A pregnancy at this size? I’d explode! We’re talking extremely high PSIs here. They’d have to roll me around to get me anywhere since my legs wouldn’t touch the ground. The other crusaders would have to use me for their beach ball after Twilight destroyed their other one. In case it’s not obvious, I use dark humor as a coping mechanism for when there’s something I am absolutely fucking terrified about that I don’t want to face. Could I really... do that? I mean... I’ve never ever had something that I could put things into before. I wonder how much I could get in there? I wonder if you can hold onto stuff with it? Should I stretch it out? Do I have a hymen? Horses don’t have hymens, right? I think only humans do. But why would only humans develop it, then? It’d make sense if humans bred it into themselves, so warlords could better track their feminine conquests. Part of the whole concealed ovulation thing, with only those who could control their women passing onto the next generation. So, maybe ponies have hymens now? They developed civilization, so the reward for intelligence and control that a hymen provided would be naturally selected in their genes, too. Though, in the case of ponies, wouldn’t it be the males... who... okay no, this train of thought is getting really weird. Let’s not go past perverted speculation right into crazy town today, hmm? Actually I think this weird tingling sensation between my legs might be something else I was dreading. I do believe I may need to go pee. There’s one hurdle I want to put off crossing as long as possible. Rarity pulls me aside after breakfast, telling Scootaloo to run off after Apple Bloom. Scootaloo is quite happy to do so. Too happy to do so. It hurts watching her run off so quickly. I mean, should I even feel this way? I just liked her as a fan of the show; Would I actually hurt if she ran away? But I did just tell her off, and I didn’t want to, so it really is my obligation to fix things. Still, something twists inside me that I’m really not familiar with feeling before. Poor Scootaloo... Rarity gives me a short ride, to an out-of-the-way part of the lodge, away from the door, on a wooden bench propped against the wall. She settles down with a satisfied hum, and faces me with a pleasant smile. “Tell me Sweetie, how are you feeling this morning, now that you’ve some food in your belly?” Rarity asks. Oh... oh no. She... she didn’t notice– she couldn’t notice! I was feeling– and the– and those lumber ponies and...! “Fffine?” I squeakle. “I wasn’t thinking anything, honest!” No no, Sweetie. You were thinking about a lot of things, weren’t you. Rarity knows; I am so dead. Rarity blinks at me surprised, saying “I was only wondering if you were up for some horn exercises, darling. What do you mean thinking?” Well, at least she didn’t know anything was up. Hello foot. I would like to introduce you to mouth. Wouldn’t you be such close friends? “Ww-ell I was um,” my brilliant stage acting enables me to blush heavily, as if trying to say something really embarassing, when secretly I’m actually blushing heavily trying to say something really embarassing. “It’s just I was about what Scootaloo said, thinking, I mean about liking stallions because they came in and... why did she say that?” Rarity purses her lips, muttering past me at the lodge wall, “That filly gets her snout into far too much for her own good.” She looks down at me saying, “Sometimes, Sweetie, a mare will... like a stallion. It’s only natural. Like Special Someponies! You won’t have to worry about it for a good while though; don’t mind what Scootaloo said.” Briefly, I worry whether my disturbing tendancy to have an early puberty carried across the dimensional divide. Rarity keeps my attention though, saying, “But how are you doing upstairs?” I look at her blankly. “I mean, in your magic centers,” Rarity clarifies a bit flustered. “Have you had any further flareups?” Not looking away from her, I reach up and gently tap my horn. It feels like something’s vibrating through me when I do that. Not like, my horn vibrating, though it does make a nearly inaudible click to touch hoof to horn, but more like something through it singing ...purple? It must be my magic, but, I can’t even comprehend it, never mind explain it. It does feel very weird though. “No, I don’t think so,” I answer at length, “The only thing was when your magic was turning the faucets. I could feel it um... waving something, and Apple Bloom couldn’t, and I still saw it even closing my eyes. Could I do that before?” The corners of Rarity’s mouth twitch up ever so slightly. “Well, that is certainly an interesting way to describe it,” she says, voice heavy with irony. “But don’t worry, that’s simply the aether. You do seem to have a greater sensitivity now, if you were feeling it just from my fiddling with faucets, however you may have simply understated your senses...” She breaks my gaze, a bit of sullen creeping into her voice when she says, “...before.” “I’m sorry R... sister,” I say, leaning against Rarity worriedly. “I am trying to remember, but there’s just so much. I didn’t even know about the aether.” “Well, now you do,” Rarity says in a satisfied tone, squeezing an arm around me briefly. I can’t help but feel affection blooming inside me from her touch, and her warm approval. “At any rate, have you had any sparks or tingles yet?” I shake my head. Then I realize something, shaking my head a second time and saying “Wait, no I don’t! What’s the aether?” Rarity stiffens and regards me in bewilderment. “You don’t remember the aether at all?” she exclaims. Gulping my heart back down, I shake my head, ears going low. “What do you remember of your magical studies?” Rarity asks with not a small amount of apprehension. I pause to think, letting my head brace on my upheld arm, the pastern hooking under my chin. I should be able to come up with at least something from the show that would satisfy her. Something Twilight went on about, maybe. Like in Magic Duel. Where Twilight learned... bumfuck nothing about magic, and just used trickery instead. Okay maybe another episode... oh, maybe dark magic? ...no, too risky. Dark magic was top secret, even in the show. Oh. “I remember that you can’t use magic to make a cutie mark appear!” I state cheerily, looking up at my sister. Rarity’s not smiling anymore though, just rubbing at the bridge of her nose. “Poor Bright is not going to be happy with this,” Rarity mumbles. Before I can ask, she turns to me and says, “Why don’t we start with a simple grounding. You remember how to ground yourself, don’t you?” Before I can say yes like an idiot, she answers her own question in a note of disgust, “Right, of course you don’t. Alright Sweetie, I need you to imagine a piece of twine attached to your horn. I haven’t any with me so you’ll just have to imagine for now. When the twine is levitated you feel yourself pulled up straight by it. Can you do that?” “I can try...” I say without confidence. Closing my eyes, because you always close your eyes for these things, I try to imagine that little bit of twine pulling me up, and actually that helps me notice how I’m slumping, which makes me straighten out sitting up more properly (if sitting like a dog could ever be considered proper). This reminds me of that meditative exercise back home, where you feel a string pulling you up by the spine, and once it’s almost lifted you into the air, you release it and ground yourself, metaphorically at least. Always only metaphorically... “Alright, now imagine the string has released, and you sink into the ground,” Rarity says helpfully. Huh. I guess it is that exercise after all. You know, I’d exposit on the parallels at length, but I’m busy at the moment imagining being suspended above the ground by an imaginary piece of string. So I just go with the grounding exercises I’ve already learned, as useless as they turned out to be. When I release and ground though, that’s pretty much where any familiarity ends from my experience before. It really does feel like the bench dips underneath me, and just for a moment, everything lights up around me. Like... not lighting up but... activating? Awarenizing? I feel that aether stuff swirl around my body as I exhale, feeling a queer sense of vertigo. Something bizarre pours down my horn. Then I remember I’ve had my eyes closed this whole time. Opening my eyes, it’s... just the lodge before me. It looks unexpectedly mundane. I feel peculiarly heavy against the bench. “Did I do it right?” I ask Rarity, who is looking down at me a bit shocked. I look down at myself, but I seem to be fine. If by fine, you mean Sweetie Belle. “Now dear, I need you to not panic,” Rarity says in a panicked tone, her horn lighting up, “It’s just a little splinching. I’ll have you out of there in no time.” just a... JUST A LITTLE SPLINCHING?? Okay yes, maybe I do panic a little bit at first, struggling frantically without being able to lift my hooves. Now I understand what’s wrong here. Not that I “understand” much of anything at all. I can’t lift my hooves off of the bench anymore, because they go beneath the surface of it, like they’re fused with it, along with my generous posterior. Thus the term ‘splinching’. Which apparantly is a term. Am I even speaking English anymore? Even as Rarity’s magic starts to envelop the bench, I calm down at the realization that she must not mean splinch-splinching, otherwise my butt would be in so much pain right now. What I would expect from a splinch is explosive bloody results as two things cannot exist in the same place at the same time. Buuuut apparantly here they can. It feels like I’m embedded in it, or... alongside it, sort of, but caught inside? None of my precious little unicorn tissue feels any different. Just my... position in regard to the bench. Did... Did I just glitch into the bench? “Almost got it Sweetie, just remain calm. You’re being so good about this!” Rarity says in a nervous, syrupy sweet tone, a single drop of sweat trickling down her temple. She’s standing by the bench now, slowly enveloping the entire thing in her magic. But oddly enough, I can’t feel her magic at all on my body. I can feel it... doing things to the bench, but where it caresses past my embedded hooves, it doesn’t actually touch them, simply goes beneath them. “Alright,” Rarity says tensely. “Piece of twine, remember. Ready? And here... we... go!” The bench pops underneath me. Or something?? Whatever the fuck just happened definitely made a popping sound. The other 5 senses, I’m not as confident about. But the bench is still here, and I’m still here. Experimentally, I try lifting a hoof, and it smoothly rises off the bench’s surface. “Awesome!” I exclaim excitedly. Wait, no. Bad mouth! Bad! I blush and look up at Rarity saying, “I–I mean, what a relief!” putting a hoof into my generous curls and leaning back as if affected. No, that was bad and I feel bad. “I mean... thank you,” I say more somberly, “And sorry I didn’t mean to it just ...slipped?” Rarity settles down on the bench next to me looking frazzled. “Perhaps it’s best if we avoid any more horn exercises until we have the advice of a professional,” she says. When she sits, I can’t help but notice that the legs of the bench won’t scoot anymore, having become one with the lodge floor. “It wouldn’t have been awesome, if I could never get up from that bench,” I murmur sympathetically. That bungled horn exercise teaches me one thing, that’s for sure, which is I’ve got a live wire embedded in my forehead, just waiting to cause disaster. Couldn’t I just have been frustratingly impotent, like Sweetie Belle is supposed to be? Oh sure, being able to use magic would be awesome, until I make my horn explode, or enchant some brooms, or get somepony killed, or teleport my heart out of my chest. “How... much longer until we leave?” I ask tremulously, craving the security of knowing how not to blow myself up on accident, despite the danger I feel a medical examination poses to my continued existence. “Terribly sorry, Sweetie,” Rarity tells me, “We decided not to take the morning train, as you clearly needed your sleep! But that means the afternoon one won’t be along until another few hours. So why don’t you go play with Apple Bloom and Scootaloo until we’re ready to depart?” “Um... because I can’t walk?” I answer her rhetorical question with a tiny little innocent smile. Rarity’s smile cracks. “I... I’m sorry about that, dear,” she says, lifting a hoof at my increasingly guilty little filly self seated there on the bench. “You just look so... normal it’s easy to forget that you’ve been... hurt...” God I am such a heel. I wasn’t even feeling resentful when I said that. The only reason I said it was because it was an answer to a rhetorical question, and I love those things. Oh sorry Rarity, I didn’t mean to be a huge jerk, but there I am ruining your day! I’m not a horrible person making light of your suffering, honest! I’m just addicted to wordplay! I... have no idea how to put that into words that I could actually say out loud, without sounding like a lunatic. Or a huge jerk. With a guilty determination, I lurch off of the bench, planting both of my front hooves down on the wood floor. Okay, I can’t breathe, but I’m not going to make her feel bad, and I’m halfway there. Folded just about in half over the edge of the bench, it’s relatively easy for me to get my hind legs to the floor, just by walking forward with my front ones, until my hind legs touch down, one after the other. Relatively easy, that is. Nevertheless, I do manage to plant down on all four shaky legs, and stand there trying not to quiver, smiling at Rarity and ...trying to make it look encouraging. “It doesn’t hurt,” I say impotently. “I’m just a little... unsteady.” I slide down defeated to a sitting position on the floor, not really feeling like I want to go practicing the art of falling on my face, under the presumption of walking practice. “So could you, um...” I find myself unable to look at Rarity as I ask, “Carry me?” Rarity has the decency, at least, not to scruff me, not that I particularly mind that, but I can’t imagine it would make her look good in front of a room full of raucous and suprisingly bawdy ponies, whose existence I am furiously trying to ignore. So once again I’m slid down onto Rarity’s back, and with little fanfare she carries me with her, walking outside the lodge into the bright sunlight. There is a small park, right by the north side of the lodge, that looks artificially irrigated. There, the other two Crusaders are running around, playing like fillies should be able to. Both Apple Bloom and Scootaloo trot up to Rarity in short order when she approaches, looking at me with eagerness and curiosity. And with resentment, on Scootaloo’s part. I repeat the now familiar process of dismounting my sister, settling down in a sitting position on the soft cushion of dirt below. Rarity leaves the three of us to ourselves, so she can take care of “A few odds and ends.” I secretly suspect that she just wants some peace and quiet, in order to deal with having a sister now dangerously inept at magic. And... that leaves me right on the bullseye of Scootaloo’s laser targeted glare of vindication. To make matters worse, I’m really starting to feel like I maybe need to really go pee. Soon as Rarity is gone, Apple Bloom says “What–” “Sweetie Belle is a liar,” Scootaloo tells her angrily, glaring at me. “Yes,” I say clearly, but then hesitate, not knowing what to say next. Scootaloo seems surprised that I agreed so readily. I probably should have thought my response out more than one word in advance. And there go my ears down again. Apple Bloom looks at me with concern, saying “Sweetie, what–” “Scootaloo was just trying to make Rarity think I like boys,” I blurt out. “And... um...” Dammit where did that suave motherfucker who was talking to Rarity go? No one left in here inside Sweetie Belle but me. I’m just feeling like shrivelling up under their accusing stares. “And I pretended she was just teasing me,” I mumble into my hooves. “You do though!” Scootaloo protests hotly, “It was obvious! You even said so!” “You didn’t have to tell Rarity!” I snap, glaring back at her. “Didn’t you think how much that could hurt her?” “Hurt her?” Scootaloo said disbelievingly, “How would that hurt her?” “It–” I slump down even further, trying to think of how to say it. I can’t just tell these... these fillies that if you like boys you’ll get a dick up your poonanny and then you’ll have to give up on your friends and fun because you’re too young to support yourself let alone a foal to say nothing of the bloody consequences of pregnancy at an early age. And your best older sister in the whole world might find that a little fucking terrifying? I don’t even know how much they know about this sort of thing. Apple Bloom’s a farm girl so she probably knows all about it, but maybe she doesn’t? And what’s the whole... Rainbow Dash thing with Scootaloo? Dash isn’t even around! “It’s complicated,” I manage to say, trying to buy myself some time. Scootaloo rolls her eyes, saying, “How do I know you’re not just lying again?” “You don’t,” I mumble. “Seriously Sweetie, what’s this all about?” Apple Bloom asks, putting a hoof on my shoulder. “You cain’t be lyin’ to your friends, but how’s it gonna hurt Rarity that you...” she pauses in her consoling tone, and adds somewhat shocked, “You really like boys now?” “No I–” I stammer, “I don’t really I mean...” My argument would be a lot easier to form if I wasn’t blushing so hard. “I just had a... reaction,” I say haltingly, “I don’t know if that means I like them or not, he was just... I mean look at them!” Waving my hooves at the featureless lodge walls doesn’t seem to convince them. “It doesn’t mean I like boys just because some super stallion mountain comes walking into the room,” I argue ineffectively. That was probably the gayest sentence I have ever uttered aloud. “Aren’t you kinda young for this sorta thing?” Apple Bloom responds critically. I blink at her, then say slowly, with a tremulous quaver I don’t even have to fake, “Oh well, I’ve... forgotten, sorry. How ...old again are... we? Like you, Scootaloo and um... me...” “I’m 9,” Apple Bloom says evenly, “Scootaloo is eigh–almost 9, and ...you’re 8. You really forgot how old you are?” “So I’m the youngest of us three?” I ask undaunted. Apple Bloom nods. “By a little bit,” she adds. Scootaloo at least seems... sort of cooled down now. “And when is a pony an adult?” I ask furtively. “Thirty,” Apple Bloom answers amiably. I ...blink. “You mean I’ve got puberty for 22 years??” I exclaim aghast. “Pube-what?” Apple Bloom asks me with an odd look. “You mean the cutie period?” My eyes alight with eagerness, as I try to ask casually and indifferently, “Oh? What’s the cutie period?” Even Scootaloo looks a little shocked at that, and a little guilty. I guess she still blames herself for my “amnesia.” “The cutie period is when a filly or colt goes and gets their cutie mark,” Apple Bloom explains, “Then there’s the growing period, and... then you’re an adult.” Thoughtfully, I ask, “How long is the ‘growing period’?” “Uh, 4 years, if I recall?” Apple Bloom says uncertainly, “It’s a ways away, so I ain’t thought about it much.” Huh. I guess that would land them... us, definitely in prepubescent then. “And... no pony grows until the growing period?” I ask hesitantly. “Naw, you’ll grow a little. That’s just... that’s just the big growth spurt.” Apple Bloom says, scratching a hoof. “I don’t rightly know the details, but ah been gettin’ about a centimeter a year or two. Ah’m gonna be a big pony, though!” she finishes confidently. “So wait,” I say in surprise, “Why are we trying to get our cutie marks then, if we can’t until we’re... 26 years old?” “You can get it any time, Sweetie,” Scootaloo says demurely, “It doesn’t have to be all the way at the end!” I need to stop picking these fillies’ brains and apologize. “I’m sorry I lied, Scootaloo,” I say earnestly, pulling myself up to stand on all four hooves and look her directly in the eye. Blowing my bangs out of the way so I can look her directly in the eye. Dammit, this is less than impressive. Why couldn’t I be a confident filly, like Diamond Tiara? “What I meant when it would hurt Rarity,” I testify as truly as I can, “Is... it would make her feel like I’m all grown up. Because um... grownups are the ones who like boys and... that sort of thing, unless I’ve forgotten, I mean, sorry.” Scootaloo shakes her head, “No, that sounds about right. I mean you can’t get married until you’re that old, and it’s only grownups that get all weird and dumb on Hearts and Hooves day. Even (mumble)dash.” I don’t catch that last part, but I think I get the gist of what she’s saying. “So,” I explain earnestly, “If Rarity sees me as a filly one day, and then a grownup all of a sudden, she will know it’s not true, but she’ll feel like I was um... put in an enchanted sleep for 22 years! Like if you went to sleep and then your entire childhood just passed all at once, and you didn’t even do anyth... get your cutie mark in that time because it was so fast.” I don’t know if this mental imagery is the right way to put it, but from the looks of horror on their faces I think they’re getting an idea. I continue to entreat them, saying, “So it’s really important that Rarity doesn’t think I’m grown up until I am grown up, because even though I didn’t lose all those years, it would still make her sad and scared.” “Wow, Sweetie Belle,” Apple Bloom says in astonishment. I hope I didn’t lay it on too heavy, there. “I never thought about it that way,” she continues, looking down at her hoof, “So, every time ah been tryin’ to be a big grown up pony, Applejack has been all...” “It’s okay to want to be grown up,” I reassure her. My legs are kind of tired already, so I sink down onto my belly again, continuing with, “It’s natural, I mean, they’re bigger and stronger and can do so many amazing things. It’s just... hurrying there won’t let you be a grown up any longer, than if you just take it easy, and enjoy what you are right now.” After a pause, I add, “There’s a lot of advantages to being a young filly, too.” “Pff, now you’re just being silly, Sweetie,” Scootaloo says. She’s smiling though, not angry anymore, so I think I saved her friendship with Sweetie Belle. Despite, um, me. “That’s what grownups say,” Scootaloo asserts aversely, “But they’re just trying to make us feel better.” I frown at her in indecision. “Well, we’re smaller, for one thing,” I offer to that orange filly. Scootaloo looks surprised that I actually had an answer, her head tilting just a little bit. “Getting into smaller spaces is easier,” I explain, “And we don’t have to eat as much.” Total guesswork there, of course, but the calorie/mass requirement is pretty fundamental as far as physics are concerned. The two fillies seem to buy my explanation, so I shyly add the other thing, “Plus we don’t have our cutie marks.” “I thought you were talkin’ about advantages?” Apple Bloom asks me in a very unconvinced manner. “It means we can be anything we want,” I say, trying (and failing) to remember the exact words from the first CMC episode. “We have unlimited potential and we can change, if things... change.” Yeah that wasn’t anything like the show. Oh well. “That’s a real nice way of sayin’ we’re good at not bein’ good at anything,” Apple Bloom says wryly. “If everypony is special and we’re not,” Scootaloo adds, “Then we’re like, double not special.” “Well,” I say thoughtfully, “What if there was a plant disease, or a curse that made all the apples go away? They got turned into oranges or something, or ponies stopped eating apples so you had to grow something else?” At Apple Bloom’s look of horror I hastily add, “It would never ever happen, and it would be terrible, but you could still get your cutie mark if it did. It could just be cherries or oranges or something.” “But...” Apple Bloom says quietly, “What about Applejack?” I shrug casually, saying, “Maybe um... cutie marks... can... change?” Before they can outright deny that, I add, “It sounds like it would be a lot harder than getting one in the first place, though.” In the somber silence that follows, the sounds echo out to us faintly, of entirely inappropriate bawdiness going on inside the lodge. “So,” I say, desperate to break the tension, “Any ideas for how to get our cutie marks?” They look at me incredulously. “I mean, I still want my cutie mark,” I say hastily. “A teeny little advantage that only helps if things are really bad, in only one certain way, isn’t nearly as good as a special talent! I just like to... find good in everything! Even being a blank...flank.” Wow, even saying the phrase ‘blank flank’ is depressing. I swear that the skin on my thigh crawls down there just thinking about it. Do I want to get a cutie mark? I mean of course I do, but, why would I? “If all the apples went away, Applejack would be the best pony to bring them back anyway!” Scootaloo says consolingly to Apple Bloom. “She’d find a way.” “Ooh,” I pitch in excitedly, “And if all the apples turned into oranges, and her cutie mark is made of apples....” Apple Bloom actually snickers at that. “She just wakes up one day, an’ bam oranges.” “She’d be so surprised,” I agree, holding back a laugh myself. Orangejack is bestjack. “Alright, alright,” Apple Bloom laughs, “We did have one little idea for our special talents. You wanna hear it?” “Sure!” I say agreeably. Apple Bloom elbows Scootaloo, who nods and looks at me, saying, “So, you can’t walk and all, and we were thinking maybe we could help you practice!” “That sounds great!” I say with an excited quiver. I would so love to be moving around on my own. “But...” I hesitate uncertainly, “What special talent would that even be?” Apple Bloom smiles and announces, “Physical therapy!” “Physical Therapy?!” I exclaim. “Isn’t that something you need lots of training for?” “It can’t be that hard,” Apple Bloom says dismissively. “All we gotta do is get you walking again!” “If it’s our special talent, then we don’t need training,” Scootaloo adds smugly. I struggle to resist the urge to facehoof. “I suppose it can’t hurt to try,” I say reluctantly. And actually now that I think on it, this might even be better. A professional might be able to tell I wasn’t just recovering from an injury or something, and that I was lying about my physical state of being. Or something sort of like lying. But these fillies are just going to accept whatever’s wrong with me, at face value, and try to fix it directly. And they know how to walk, so... it should be easy! “Try and walk again,” Apple Bloom says eagerly, craning her head down to look at my hooves. “Maybe we can see what you’re doin’ wrong!” I start to lever myself up to my feet and Scootaloo says, “Woah, woah what are you doing?!” I sink to my belly again, looking at her questioningly. “That can’t be easy on your elbows,” she says critically. “I don’t stand up like that!” “How do you stand up?” I ask her curiously. If she demonstrates, I’ll totally take advantage of that. Scootaloo continues to puzzle silently trying to explain it though, so I prompt her, “Can you show me?” Nodding, Scootaloo settles next to me, matching my sitting posture, with my front hooves flat before me like my palms are down, and my hind feet flat on the ground too on either side. “Alright, so,” she says, and then she lurches back like something came at her face, and the action lifts her torso high enough to get her front hooves planted. Then she rises up on her back ones like I did before. “It’s kind of like... rocking?” Scootaloo explains uncertainly. I take a deep breath and try it, but I just jerk my head back ineffectively when I do. “You gotta put your back into it, Sweetie!” Apple Bloom says encouragingly. I give it another shot, and this time I do manage to lurch up like Scootaloo did, but my front hooves scrabble uselessly, before I slide back down again. I pause to catch my breath, then say to the two of them, “One more try.” It actually takes two more tries, but the third time I rock back and rear up, and my front hooves manage to plant firmly. Then I just slide my back hooves up and once again I’m standing. “It worked!” I say delightedly. The two of them immediately check their flanks. “Oh oh, I meant the standing, not the um... cutie marks,” I stutter out, to their great disappointment. “Maybe if I try walking?” I suggest unconfidently. “Alright,” says Apple Bloom looking me over, “Go ahead. Shoot!” I stand there another couple of seconds before saying, “Um... maybe you should shoot. I mean, can I see you walking first?” The two immediately start strutting around in front of me. “Wait, stop,” I say. When they stop I watch Apple Bloom closely, and say, “Okay go. Wait, stop. ...okay, go.” Whenever Apple Bloom starts she rises up a bit as she moves her front hoof forward, and then rocks back and forth on opposing hooves, her hips swaying gently as she does. So I lift up my left hoof, then... straighten up on my others and step forward. I immediately fall forward a few steps before planting my face into the dirt again. “So close, Sweetie!” Scootaloo moans. “No, did you see that?” I counter, “I walked some steps! It just sort of happened! Even though I fell over.” After a pause, I say, “I’m gonna try again.” It’s frustratingly fleeting and arbitrary, my ability to walk steps forward. It’s kind of like crawling forward, but on my tip toes, and with my shoulders locked against me and with my heel touching my knee and my hind legs barely rotating in order to step, and with nothing to grip with. So, not like crawling at all. The worst part about it is every time I fall on my belly, my bladder decides to remind me of all that water and juice I drank earlier, and while it’s a feeling I’ve felt many times before, I don’t want to think about what the result will be. At least the more I do it, the better I get at standing up. But I just can’t seem to get past that first step into a genuine walk cycle. For the umpteenth time I’m trying again, snorting with frustration (like a horse! hee!) and then giggling at my sound, because it’s just impossible to stay frustrated when I’ve got so much good stuff going for me at the moment. Scootaloo stops me, bracing her hoof against my shoulder then, and says, “Sweetie, wait! You’re just leaving your tail flopped on the ground.” I nod hesitantly to Scootaloo saying, “I don’t kno–I don’t remember how to move my tail.” Then my eyes widen. That tail on my butt is huge, so of course it’d be dragging me down! Apple Bloom walks behind me looking at the already dirtying, curly, purple and pink thing, thoughtfully. Then she hooks her hoof around it and grabs it, and lifts it straight up. A full on blush floods my face at the sensation of that. It doesn’t look like anything titillating, but it kind of tugs at me, and the grabby feeling of her hoof on my tail, back there, is just... “That feels really weird,” I say to her. To my disappointment, Apple Bloom lets my tail go, and it flops down like before, tingling from where she touched and pulled on it. “Oh, sorry!” she says, blushing herself. “I just wanted to see if it’d stay up if ah lifted it.” “It’s okay,” I assure her with a weak smile, “I’m just not used to feeling it being touched or pulled on. I don’t even know what it feels like to lift it. I mean, it’s a tail!” They look at me kind of oddly. I bite my lip and look away from my own butt, tilting my head down gloomily. Then my head shoots up because they’re both grabbing my tail, and rubbing it with their hooves! “Feel that, Sweetie?” Scootaloo says. Actually she’s the only one rubbing it I thought they both were. Apple Bloom is just looking at Scootaloo with shock, while supporting the tip of my tail by grabbing its hair in her mouth. “Try to lift there,” Scootaloo says in her rubbing, “Right where you’re feeling my hoof!” “Okay I’ll...” my words drift off into restrained pleasure as Scootaloo massages all the way down to my tail base. I have to bite back a whimper, trying to focus on her minstrations as a key for what to flex, not as some kind of sexual turn-on. “Cut it out, Scootaloo you’re hurting her!” Apple Bloom says through the corner of her mouth to the orange pegasus, irritably. Scootaloo drops my tail, backing up, leaving it entirely buoyed up by Apple Bloom’s mouth. “No it’s okay, it feels good,” I assure them, “It really will help me move it, I think.” “It feels good?” Apple Bloom asks me confusedly. Uh oh. “Try me, Scootaloo!” Apple Bloom says, dropping my tail and sticking her butt in her friend’s direction and raising her tail for stroking. FUUUUUUUUUUUU “Mmm, that is nice,” Apple Bloom says closing her eyes when Scootaloo rubs at the base of her tail making it twitch upward animatedly. “Wait, wait could we hold on could I think maybe just do it we could,” I say intelligently. It gets them to stop at least, looking at me in utter confusion. “We need to focus on making me walk, if we’re going to get our physical therapy cutie marks,” I conclude legibly at last. “Sorry, Sweetie,” Apple Bloom says pulling her tail out of Scootaloo’s hooves, “Was just gettin’ a bit distracted. Hold up your tail and we’ll... oh. Raht.” She facehooves. Apple Bloom and Scootaloo both carefully lift my limp tail and start ...massaging it. I can feel it twitching up when they put pressure on me from behind, no doubt what will become the presenting motion when I mature. That’s what I need though, is it to twitch it up. I feel my... my back muscles, not my butt muscles twitching, and try to focus on them, to focus on what pulls my tail up and what flexes to move it from side to side, all the while trying to ignore that funny feeling building up between my legs. Not to mention the pressure in my bladder. I dourly hope those two sensations are not as closely related as it is for Earth mares. At last, Scootaloo pulls left and I manage to resist her pull, and when she lets go my tail swings to the right and stays in the air. Meaning I swing my tail to the right! “It moved!” I say excitedly, and a bit breathlessly I have to admit. At least I’m young enough that it’s... not... obvious to others what I’m feeling. God if I start like, leaking, I don’t even know. “Y’sure are smellin’ sharp, Sweetie,” Apple Bloom says offhandedly. “You need to go pee or somethin’?” “No it’s–” I gulp down a squeak, “I’m fine. I mean... actually I do sort of have to go pee, yes.” I imagine Scootaloo bearing down on top of my butt and my tail twitches up hornily. Catching that tiny twitch, I keep pulling with those muscles, my tail rising up until a pleasant tension is achieved. “There, think I... got it,” I say, feeling guilty about how I got my tail up, but pleased nonetheless at my success. That’s when the floodgates open. “Oops!” I exclaim, “Oop– oh no!” They’re backing away, looking at me flabbergasted, and I’m just feeling my bladder cheerily compressing down, emptying itself. Oh god the piss I can feel it everywhere! They’re just watching it spray out behind me. “Hold on I’ll–” I spit out determinedly, panicking as I flex my muscles down there looking for some kind of sphincter or kegel or—owww... I manage to cut off the flow as my bladder painfully crawls to a halt. It’s the imaginary act of twitching my ghost dick that does the trick, pushing on whatever thing that needs to block off my uh... tube I guess. What do you call it when you just have a hole to piss from? Piss hole, there you go. ...no. Sweetie Belle is never going to willingly utter the phrase “piss hole” as long as I’m her. Pee place, yes that sounds much less horrifying. So I manage to cut off the flow from my pee place and have the additionally bizarre experience of the last drops dripping off my little folds back there. Now, this experience is in the interest of full disclosure, and I really don’t have any sort of piss fetish, but I can definitely see why people would get one, especially girls. You can feel every bit of your body that hot liquid flows along on its way to the ground, and those particular bits I feel are the single most convincing argument that I’m a girl now. For me, feeling those bits so ...comprehensively is just a little bit disconcerting. But, you know, if it was what I felt like I was supposed to feel, then I suppose it could be for sexual. Turning to look, I see it’s only a teeny little bit of pee, after all. I think I would die if I hadn’t figured out how to stop it from coming out right away. With my bladder and my dignity well and truly quashed, I easily crane around to look down at the ground below my posterior, wrinkling my nose at the smell, then scuff some dirt over it with a hind leg. “There,” I say confidently, facing forward. “That never happened.” I pause, and blush again saying, “B-but some toilet paper would be nice.” “Let’s just go to the toilet,” Apple Bloom says distantly.
I don’t have a piss fetish. I have an awkwardness fetish.