“Okay, Mr. Smith, you can take a seat anywhere you like.”
I looked over the room, quickly reaching the conclusion that there was really only one seat to choose from, which was the lounging couch. How very cliché for a therapist.
Glancing to the side, I briefly contemplated to take the therapist’s seat. A regal recliner that must’ve cost several wheelbarrow’s worth of pretty pennies. But I decided against that. No need to piss off the guy who was paid to fix me.
Taking a seat at the edge of the couch, I looked to the coffee table separating us and noticed a lone ashtray. Reaching out, I pulled the table closer to me, not wanting to risk getting cigarette ash on the good doctor's nice carpet.
“I am, of course, the therapist you have so graciously hired,” he said, smiling all chumley at me, like we were good buddies or something. He said some name next, but I wasn’t really paying attention. Besides, I didn't really give a damn anyway.
Plopping down in his seat, with many groans of protest sounding from the chair, he said in a matter-of-fact tone, “So, Mr. Smith, you’re in here for some serious help I see.” He glanced at his clipboard and flipped a couple of the top sheets over. The clipboard, no doubt, showed him every fucked up aspect of my personality, mind, and probably even my bowel movements.
Biting back the retort of my usual response of ‘No duh, dipshit,’ I instead dug into my coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette pack. I’d definitely be needing this by the time we actually get this therapy bullshit out of the way.
“Yeah, I’m sick in the head,” I replied without a drop of sarcasm to my tone, opening up my pack and drawing out a much needed cancer laced smoke. Drawing out my lighter as well, I followed my previous statement by saying, “So, you got the meds to fix that?”
“Oh, no, no, no, Mr. Smith,” he chuckled. Already I could tell I was going to hate him. Wasn’t that much different than anyone else I know. But if he keeps on putting emphasis on the ‘Mr.’ one more time, I was going to punch his glasses into his eye sockets. “Prescribing medication is a job for psychiatrists. I am a psychologist,” he explained, trying his darn best putting on a friendly smile. The gnarled wizard’s beard didn’t help him.
“So what? Both jobs have you working with whackos,” I said, flicking on my lighter and setting ablaze the tip of the cigarette. Sweet, cancer filled relief was inhaled into my body and began its job of deteriorating my lungs. And making me happy. See, I like to think of the positive in more abundance than the negatives.
“Well, both fields have many differences–”
“Yeah, yeah, I get the point,” I cut him off, not wanting to get involved in an educational program. “Whatever you do, I paid big bucks for this shit, so I better get fixed. Got it?”
Pulling at his tight shirt collar that was no doubt cutting off oxygen to his pea-sized brain, he muttered, “Well, therapy is a bit more complicated than ‘fixing’ someone. First, we need to decide upon what mental condition is troubling you.”
“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder,” I replied swiftly. “Dunno what it means, other than soldiers from Nam going balls insane when they came back home.”
“Um... yes. Not the exact definition, but soldiers are frequent to have this condition. Though it is equally likely that someone in normal society can acquire it,” the therapist explained, flipping through the pages on his clipboard. “And it says right here that you show symptoms of this condition.”
“High amounts of anxiety, recurring flashbacks, hallucinations. But why am I telling you this? You probably already have it on that clipboard of yours.” I took a long drag on my cigarette, puffing out smoke to faze out the therapist’s face. Almost made it bearable to see his flabby cheeked face this way.
Coughing lightly and waving a hand to dispel the smoke, he said, “Well, I do. But I’d like to get your word of it. We know you have PTSD, or some form of it, but I’m here to ask the question on everyone’s mind: why?”
I nearly laughed at this, but instead started choking on my cigarette smoke. In a mix of chuckles and coughs, I butted out the cigarette on the ashtray, smiling with a bit of contempt and wildness at the therapist. “Why? If I told you why you’d lock me in the nuthouse with all the other peanut brained retards.”
“Now listen, Mr. Smith, anything you say here is confidential. If you don’t want me to write it down, I won’t. Be free to express your feelings, thoughts and past any which way you like.”
“So... whatever I say can’t be held against me?” I asked, wanting to be completely sure about this. “You can’t lock me up for anything I say here?”
“No, I cannot,” he assured me, taking on a kindly tone with a friendly smile that wasn’t yellowed by nicotine like mine. “I’m just here to listen and observe.”
Taking that as my cue that he will keep his trap shut, I kicked up my feet and laid them on the table while leaning back against the wall. Still didn’t trust how the lounge couch worked its powers, so I opted for a solution to sit back and relax. Though the therapist sure didn’t appreciate my shoes getting his table dirty.
“Well, where do I begin...”
“What about the first step in the traumatic experience that caused your troubles?” the therapist suggested quite eagerly. Like, he was reaching his hand into a goody bag filled with treats. Well, he was fat enough for me to guess that.
“Then that’d be me at the ripe age of sixteen.” I quickly lit up another cigarette, staring up at the ceiling where the smoke billowed. “Teenager, loser, not too many friends, shitty life, and depressed as hell.”
“Were you bullied in school?”
“Yeah, me and every other fucktard that was deemed a freak,” I chuckled, shaking my head back at those long distant memories. “Though this is me just exaggerating things.”
“What do you mean by that?” the therapist asked, interests clearly peaked.
“What I mean by that was that my life wasn’t really so shitty. It was mostly just me having teenage angst and not being able to get some ass. You know how hormones and being a virgin get to you at that age.”
By the quick blink of his eyes, seemed I hit a nerve right there. Smiling, I went on by saying, “Anyways, I lived in the suburbs, played video games most of the time, jacked off to a ridiculous amount of porn, and was generally a waste of space. Like any other teenager at the time.”
“So, this was the time where your traumatic experience took place?” he asked, leaning back in his seat as well. Also, to release more of that tummy he tried his best to tuck away. As if that was ever possible.
“Yeah, if committing suicide counts as one.”
“Suicide?” the therapist noted, followed by a deep ‘hmm.’ “A failed suicide attempt can most certainly cause the symptoms you are experiencing.”
“Oh, it wasn’t a failed attempt. I actually did manage to pull it off,” I said nonchalantly, taking another puff from my smoke.
“But... you are still alive today,” the therapist said, his chubby face baffled at my claim.
“And that’s when we go into the weird territory of my past,” I chuckled, enjoying the confusion striking the therapist’s face. “See, at the time, I was still a depressed idiot. I didn’t see much of a future for myself, thought I had no friends, considered my parents and sibling as all morons and assholes, and generally hated the human race itself for how shitty we are. Jesus, I was such a whiny bitch back then. Anyway, I had my suicide all planned out. After making a note telling everyone to go fuck themselves and that I blamed them for my death, I prepared for my ultimate demise.”
Butting out my cigarette, I took my sweet time to pull out another, antagonizing the therapist in wait for what I’ll say next. Yeah, dramatic pauses can really add excitement to an emotionally depressing story.
“So, I drove my parent’s car over the side of a cliff,” I said, finishing with lighting my cigarette. I leaned back, letting what I said sink in.
“A-are... you serious?” the therapist sputtered.
“As brain cancer. Just flew right over the edge of this cliff in the woods and boom, as dead as my sex life at the time.”
“Then how are you still here?” he asked, scratching the side of his head with the eraser end of his pencil. “I mean, it makes no sense.”
“Nothing makes sense with the shit that follows,” I said. “Next thing I know, I wake up alone in some woods, with not even a scratch on me.”
“Woods? So you woke up near the crash site of the car then?”
I shook my head. “Nah, completely different woods. No car crash or anything. Just me, by myself. Then approximately a minute later, a pissed as hell manticore.”
“Manticore?” the therapist said, tapping the pencil to his multiple chins. “Like those mythological creatures?”
“This guy wasn’t mythological. He was straight up trying to bite off my ass,” I chuckled, feeling at one time terror at that frightening memory and giddiness at actually talking about this experience with someone else for the first time ever. “I thought for sure I was gonna end up as his dinner or something.”
“Could it be that you were... hallucinating at the time?” the therapist asked, waving his hand in the air. “Maybe some head trauma from the crash affected your mind?”
“Well, the scratch I got on my back from that asshole pretty much ruled mental trauma outta the equation,” I said, getting to my feet to lift up the back of my shirt. The gasp from the therapist was most likely the cause of the three deep scars that ran down my backside. No domestic animal could’ve pulled something like that off, and someone’s best guess was that it was from a lion or other big cat.
Sitting back down and tucking my shirt in, I continued on with my tale. “Anyway, after the back injury and losing the manticore, I managed to finally hightail it outta the woods and into sweet, glorious freedom. Didn’t get to enjoy it much since I was suffering the effects of high amounts of pain and blood loss, but man did it feel good to be free.”
“Well... um, what happened next?” the therapist asked, adjusting his glasses back to the bridge of his nose.
“Next, I fell on my face, unconscious.” The lunatic smile on my face must’ve made me look like a loon to the therapist, but I didn’t really care much at this point. Just reamersing about that time just made me nearly crack up. “And then, out off all the places I could've woken up in, it was a frickin’ library!"
“A librarian saved you?” the therapist asked, leaning on the edge of his seat. Man, am I a great story teller or what?
“Well... kind of. She was more of a student to a princess. And a unicorn.” I tapped my chin for a moment. “Wait... no, she was an alicorn. Got that mixed up. And a princess to boot.”
A few moments of silence followed, along with several seconds as well. Just as I thought it was going to go to a full minute, the therapist said, “So you’re telling me a princess, librarian alicorn saved you?”
“Yep.”
“Uh... okay then.” The therapist reclined in his seat and waved his hand. “Continue.”
“Anyway, there I was, bleeding out in a treehouse. Not a house in a tree, but a house that was a tree. Which also acted as a library as well.” The mind boggles at what I just said. Or at least the mind of the therapist. “Then the alicorn chick started using her magic to nurse my wounds.”
“Magic?” the therapist asked.
“Yeah, magic. Anyone with a horn can use it,” I explained, sucking at the end of my smoke to get some much needed nicotine relief. “So she started talking to me, asking where I came from and what was at the edge of the Everfree Forest or some shit like that.”
“Wait, these creatures could talk?”
“Yeah, plain speaking English. Who knew that colorful midget horses could develop a language just like ours?” I choked back, sniffling giggles causing me to snort. Wiping my mouth with the back sleeve of my shirt, I said, “I actually got to have an intelligent conversation with a fucking magical pony! Ain’t that great?”
Moving away from my rambunctious laughter and holding his clipboard to his chest as if it was a shield, the therapist asked, “So... you got to talk to a magical pony? How did you feel?”
“Hurt, confused, headache, itchy, turned on–”
“You were sexually stimulated?” the therapist interrupted.
I nodded. “Yeah, by the pony.”
“Uh... any particular reason for this?”
“Well... at the time, the blood loss was getting to me, so I was light headed. Plus, boy howdy, did she have a hot ass.” I shrugged my shoulder, blowing some smoke from my nose. “So we banged.”
“Banged?” the therapist repeated, arching an eyebrow.
“Banged, rutted, fucked, did the nasty, whatever you wanna call it, doc,” I said, holding my hands up defensively. “All I know is that I was so fucked up mentally from the blood loss that I grabbed her ass and squeezed. Next thing I knew, she was riding my like... well, a horse.”
“I, uh, see,” he grunted, folding his hands over the large gut of his belly. “What happened after that?”
“Well, after losing my virginity to a talking horse, I went to the bathroom to take a dump.” That would probably have to be the weirdest thing I’ve ever said aloud, never mind done in real life. “Then we started talking and she explained what exactly was going on. Apparently I was in some magical land called Equestria. Populated by talking ponies, such as earth ponies, pegasi, and unicorns,” I said, wiggling my fingers with each name of the race to put emphasis on the word. “And I just so happened to end up there after committing suicide.”
“Ah... Equestria. Filled with ponies.” The therapist nodded his head, as if he was agreeing with what I was saying. “Most intriguing. Did anything else happen to you there?”
“Well... I did get into a harem.”
“Harem?” the therapist asked, lifting his back up slightly from his seat.
“Yeah. Also, most of the population of ponies are mares. Which means there aren’t enough stallions to go around. So, guess who was the most popular fuck buddy on the block?” Giving him a smug grin while holding my cigarette between my lips, I pointed both my thumbs at myself. “The guy with the only opposable thumbs... not counting Spike.”
“Who is this Spike?”
“Oh, just Twilight’s pet dragon. Or assistant. Never quite figured out what he was, since he mostly stuck to the background, and no one really gave a shit about him.”
The therapist held up his hand. “Hold up, please. Who’s Twilight?”
“Oh, just the alicorn princess I fucked earlier,” I explained, taking my cigarette out of my mouth to observe its lit end. “I was involved in a harem with her and five of her friends. Elements of Harmony, if I remember correctly.”
“Hold up. Elements of Harmony? What do you mean by that?” he asked, tugging at his beard as he became more enthralled in my story.
“Oh, just some magical Deus Ex Machina weapons of some sort. Never really got into it. Anyway, each of these ponies was a different Element.” I raised a fist and pointed out fingers, listing their names. “Twilight was the Element of Magic, Rainbow Dash was Loyalty, Pinkie Pie was Laughter, Fluttershy was Kindness, Rarity was Generosity, and Applejack was Honesty.”
“Mmhmm,” the therapist murmured, nodding his head. “So, six of these... ponies, in all, you were in a sexual relationship with?”
“That’s right. Fucked every one of them, day and night. They shared me around like I was a treat they could all enjoy.” This drag on my cigarette was the longest yet, me just filling my lungs with as much smoke as possible. Once I was fit to burst, I just expelled smoke like a train, not stopping until I was empty.
Flicking my spent smoke in the ashtray, I actually did bother to lounge in the lounge couch. Pretty damn comfortable. No wonder people pour out all their emotions and thoughts on these things.
“But it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, though those are popular names for ponies there. There was some messed up shit too.” I felt the impulse to pull out another cigarette and smoke draw on me again, but I quelled the urge. Didn’t bother with it. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have the strength or even movement in my hands to get my pack. So, like always, I just continued on.
“Some of the mares were... kinkier than others. Perverted, if you will.” I closed my eyes, willing the couch to allow me to sink into its depths. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. “I wasn’t always comfortable with this.”
“Uncomfortable?” the therapist asked, the tone in the room quickly downgrading to dark now. “How so?”
“Just messed up fetishes” I muttered, biting my lower lip. “See, this mare Rarity... she was this bitch of a primadonna. Was into fashion and everything. Like, every little aspect of her life had to be perfect, just like her dresses. So with me, she... she’d...” I gulped, searching for the right words. “Just bondage. A shitload of bondage. From spandex to ropes to any material lying around, she tie me up and fucked my brains out. I can still feel the burns...” I shuddered, clutching at my wrists.
“So, you were part of BDSM play with this wom–I mean, mare?” he asked, with my nod answering his question. “Did you ever try to refuse her?”
“No. How could I? I was a nameless virgin before then, and now I had a chick with a huge ass who would gladly give me blowjobs. As long as I acted like her slave.” I took a deep breath, in and out, calming my nerves. “She never hurt me bad. Sure, restraints and paddles was her most favor forte. And then there was Rainbow Dash... Man, she was a sadist all the way. Biting, tugging, pulling. And that was just on my dick. Jesus, I had to use a ton of bandages and antiseptic cream.” I shuddered at this memory, still feeling a pain near my lower regions whenever I think of her. “Rainbow haired freak.”
“Ah, so, both these mares were a bit rough in the bed?” the therapist asked. What, did I have to spell it out for him? Show him the scars? Well, technically I already did beforehand, but I didn’t even pull my pants down that time.
“Yeah, but they weren’t the worst. Though one of the tamer ones would have to be Applejack.” I immediately clench my teeth and shut my eyes. “She was just a rougher fucker. Plus, she had the most annoying accent ever. Like, full on redneck inbred country girl. Wanted to blow my brains out just being near her.”
“So, who was the worst one?” the therapist asked, clearly eager to know that little tidbit about my messed up past.
“Pinkie Pie,” I grunted through gritted teeth, a grimace on my face just by saying her name. “Dear God, she was more annoying than even Applejack. All during sex she’d talk and talk and talk! Even when giving a blowjob! It got to the point where I couldn’t even get a stiffy near her because she was so fucking annoying!” Lifting up a finger to point at the ceiling, I said, “But then there was Fluttershy. Now she was bad on the fact she’d just wanted the same thing over and over again. Too afraid to try anything different. She’d just lay there like a fish and take it. Totally unresponsive, like you were fucking a corpse. Was creepy as hell.”
Shrugging my shoulders, I crossed my hands behind my neck. “All in all, Twilight was the most normal with sex. Usually I’d just bang her.”
“Okay then,” the therapist said matter of factly, drumming his fingers on that clipboard of his. “So, how long did this ‘harem’ of yours last?”
“I dunno. Couple of months. All the while I lived in a perfect utopian world. No pollution, no wars. Sure, there was still the occasional asshole out there, but overall, it was a perfect world.”
“Sounds like the type of place you’d never want to leave,” the therapist noted.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t get to enjoy much more of it. Not since the Sombra incident,” I grumbled under my breath. “Frickin’ jackass.”
“Um, who would that be?”
“Sombra, some slave king bastard,” I replied, frowning. “The asshole came back from the dead to take over Equestria..”
“That must’ve been quite troublesome,” the therapist said, pushing his glasses further up his nose.
“Yeah. And guess who was tasked with defeating him?” I jutted my thumb at my chin. “This guy, right here. Apparently, a visitor from another world was destined to defeat him.”
“And did you succeed in your task?”
I chuckled. “What, you fucking me? Of course I didn’t. I got brutally curbstomped and killed.”
Arch of the bushy eyebrows, yet again. “Killed? That’d be the second time that’s happened to you, right?”
“Yeah. And like with the last one, I still didn’t get killed. I ended up on Earth instead.”
“Intriguing.” He coughed slightly, waving his clipboard as if to fan himself. “So, back to square one, eh?”
“More like back to the inner city,” I grumbled, lifting myself off the couch and resting my elbows on my knees. “I ended up in the ghetto part of my town. Dressed in badly burned clothing. And scared outta my fucking mind.”
“I take it that didn’t end up will for you?”
I threw my hands up in the air. “Well duh, of course it didn’t! After getting my ass handed to me, the police took me back to my parents. They thought I was dead, and now they just thought I did a fake suicide attempt instead. So in the end, I was sent to boot camp. There I was taught about hard work and some other shit like that. Basically, it stopped me from continuing to be a pussy, I’d give you that.”
“And this is where your tale ends?” Nodding my head, the therapist smiled. “And then you started experiencing symptoms of PTSD?”
“I get flashbacks on Equestria a bunch, along with the mares. Heck, I even get hallucinations of them being near me.” I sighed and brushed my hand through my hair. “It just doesn’t fucking stop!They’re so real too. And they talk to me... I don’t know if it’s real or not.” Rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand, I muttered, “So, am I... crazy?”
“That term is subjective, Mr. Smith,” the therapist said, flipping through the pages on the clipboard. “What you may be experiencing right now is a coping mechanism.”
“Uh... coping? What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, the entire thing with the ‘ponies’ could have been your brain dealing with your failed suicide attempt and you running away,” he explained. “Heck, schizophrenia could also be a factor if you’re still experiencing visions now.”
“So... you’re saying it was all my head messing with me?” I asked, pinching down the bridge of my nose. “I mean, I thought it was all made up too, but I was never sure...”
“In this type of medical profession, one is never sure of anything. You just roll with the punches and do what you can.” Lumbering out of his seat, he waddled over to me and rested a meaty hand on my shoulder. “You’re a fine young man, Mr. Smith. And whatever troubles you have now can be overcome through help.” Turning away from me, he quickly made his way to the door, calling over his shoulder, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, but I have the bladder of a six year old girl. I’ll be back real quick.”
Opening and shutting the door after him, I was left alone in the room. Glancing along the walls boredly and briefly out the window, I shrugged and sparked another cigarette for me to inhale on. Might as well as enjoy the wait.
“Jacob, are you okay?”
The question nearly made me suck down my cigarette. Sputtering and coughing, I look to my side to be face to face with none other than Twilight Sparkle.
What happened next was me shrieking like a little girl and backpedaling so fast I fell on the back of my head when I fell off the couch. Dragging my body backwards further, I pointed a finger at her frantically and said, “Y-you’re not real. You’re n-not!”
“Jacob, please, we need your help,” she said, opening her wings briefly as she edged closer to me. “I don’t know why you’re in a therapist’s office, but we need you back in Equestria. Sombra must be defeated.”
“No! Fuck no! I’m not dying again!” I shouted, shaking my head wildly. “Th-this is just some fucked up projection of my mind. Nothing else!”
“Jacob, I’m real. The other girls are real. Equestria is real.” Her hoof touched my shoulder. Purple, soft, and definitely making contact with me. “And we need your help.”
I slapped her hoof away, shoving my finger right in her face. “Help? Why should I help you when you guys fucked up my life more than usual?” I yelled at her with spittle flying from my mouth. “I experienced dying twice! I got fucked by you guys on a 24/7 basis! I can’t look at horses without getting turned on! I was sent to boot camp! After all that, you guys can all die for what I care!”
“But... I love you,” she whispered, tears springing up in her eyes. “I always did. It devastated me when you left, but I found my way back to your world to take you back. Please, come back with me! We can be together now...”
Shit, my mind was playing tricks on me again. This wasn’t real. She and everything else wasn’t real. It was all hallucinations. Tricks playing on my mind. Everything was lies, and nothing was true. And I had to escape it before I lost my sanity.
Shoving her out of the way, I raced towards the window. “Fuck you, I’m out! Screw you and Equestria!” I shouted, crashing through the windowpane and freefalling down to the ground below. In hindsight, I should have thought this through...
“What was that noise?” the therapist shouted, barging back in his office and sipping back up his pants. Noticing the broken glass near the window, he ran to the window and gasped.
“Dear lord... someone, quick! A patient just jumped out of the second story window! He keeps on crying about talking ponies! We need a straightjacket and prazosin, stat!”