The firm rapping of a hoof on wood draws me from my sleep. Gone are the dreams—neigh, memories—of living in Detrot with my mother. The happy days before my unique condition arose, marking me a pariah and target for bullying, are forever lost to me. Foals and adults alike speak of me behind my back, as though I am some sort of monster or freak, but I’m not. I’m just a filly...
I suppose that isn’t entirely true, as the morning protrusion in my bed sheets likes to remind me; I’m not quite a filly, nor am I a colt. The word the doctor used to describe me was a true hermaphrodite, which means that I have the fully functioning genitive organs of both a filly and a colt. The word the therapist—and as a result, my parents—uses is intersex. It’s a word she claims is supposed to alleviate stigma of the word hermaphrodite. As if!
What I am to everypony else is a dickmare. To most of them, I don’t even deserve to be referred to by name; I’m just that gross little dickmare—the filly with the gigantic penis. Every day fillies and colts at school would find a way to torment me. On the first day after my condition was made apparent, somepony had come into class early to draw a rather crude drawing of a penile sheath and testicles on my desk—not entirely accurate given that my penis grows out from something the doctor called the clitoris, and my gonads are all internalized. Every day after that, somepony would come in to deposit some sort of viscous white fluid on my chair. It doesn’t matter who it was, since everypony smirks all the same each time I have to wipe it off.
The memory of that final day—a school dance—is still fresh in my mind. Of course, nopony asks the freak to the dance, but I’m still expected by the teacher to be there all the same. When I enter, just for a quick moment, there’s the slightest hope that my peers might grant me just one moment of happiness. It isn’t meant to be though. The moment I step out on the gymnasium floor, all the fillies begin shucking their dresses one-by-one, eager to reveal their cruel mockeries of me. Many of them have a carrot or similarly phallic vegetable taped between their undeveloped teats. Then there is one filly—my best friend until my penis came to light—out in the middle of the floor with a glistening rubber shaft bobbing between her thighs, while a too large black harness grips her flanks.
I still remember that hateful look in her eyes as she was dragged out of the gymnasium by a chaperone. It’s hard not to, knowing that your former best friend would go so far as to get herself expelled just to show how much she despises you. I hear that none of the others were ever punished though—some crock about it not being a crime to bring a snack to the dance.
The returned rapping jolts me out of my sullen reminisce. “Mistress Diamond, it is time to awaken,” daddy’s maître d’ calls out on the other side of the door. “You would not want to be delinquent on your first day at a new school.”
“Alright, Gilded Crest,” I answer, trying my best not to bury my face in my pillow. School is the last place I want to be. The fillies and colts here will find out about my secret before long, and then everything will be just like Detrot all over again. I know mom just wants me to have a chance at having a normal school life—nothing will ever be normal about me, though—but sometimes I think she just couldn’t take the staring and whispers, and pawned me off on daddy here in Ponyville.
“I’ve taken the liberty of having the maids draw you a bath, as well,” he continues, courteously. “Shall I have the cook prepare anything in particular for you this morning, mistress?”
“No thank you, Gilded Crest, cereal and orange juice is fine,” I respond, easily falling into the routine that began upon my arrival only a week ago. To be fair, I can hardly be expected to show any interest in eating when most ponies look at me like some sort of abomination. There are times when I even think that nopony but my parents would miss me if I’m gone. At least daddy’s staff doesn’t treat me like some kind of monster, even if they are just being nice because they’re paid to. “Thank you.”
{~H - a - D~}
The carriage ride from my father’s villa to the schoolhouse here in Ponyville is unsurprisingly short. It’s not like this little town really compares to Detrot anyway. All the houses are single-dwelling, and built in a rustic—medieval, even—manner. The roads are merely compressed dirt, and gravel in places, unlike my former home’s clean, cobblestone streets. Most of all, though, the schoolhouse is completely underwhelming. It’s nothing more than a shed with a belfry.
Even as Gilded Crest helps me down out of the carriage, I can’t help but think how... fitting this place is for me. Sure, daddy claims this is the same school he went to when he was a colt, but he’s rich—he’s Filthy Rich! Surely he could afford to send me to a private school, or to pay for home schooling. Maybe he doesn’t really love me? A Detrot filly wouldn’t be caught dead going to this tiny school, yet here I am, an outcast condemned to this school for simple country ponies—just another freak in this circus of yokels.
The maître d’ is patient enough to escort me to the schoolhouse door after waiting for all the fillies and colts to file into the school house. He explains that daddy has already taken care of all the transfer paperwork and I only have to wait to be called out of the entry hall by the school-teacher—Miss Cheerilee. From there, I begin my new life in Ponyville’s school.
Crest doesn’t follow me into the entrance, unfortunately. He only comes as far as the entrance to hold the door open for me. The meaning is clear enough; the rest of the journey is my own. With one hesitant step, I cross the threshold between Ponyville and the cramped entry-hall.
Personally, the entire place is a bit tacky. I mean, there aren’t any lockers, just rows of cubbies for fillies and colts to store their belongings. How is that at all secure? It’s more like a preschool or a day-care more than anything. Not to mention that all of the wood paneling couldn’t possibly have been done by a professional! I can hear the chatter on the other side of the wall, so it can’t have been soundproofed!
“Alright, class, now that we’ve completed roll call I have an important announcement,” a soft-spoken mare declares. “We have a new student joining us today. Diamond Tiara, you can come in now.”
Taking my cue, I push the door open with my head and peer in warily at the classroom. The first thing I notice is the smiling cerise mare at the front of the room. As I look into Cheerilee’s green eyes, I don’t see any of the detached cynicism of my teachers in Detrot. The mare looks genuinely happy to be teaching a class. “Come in; don’t be shy,” she says reassuringly. “Why don’t you introduce yourself?”
Upon realizing that I’m hesitating in the doorway, I shake my head before joining Cheerilee at the front of the classroom. Although the class—consisting of only eight fillies, surprisingly—looks only mildly interested, their attention is focused entirely on me. Whether it’s out of respect for the teacher or they hold some genuine curiosity as to who I am, only time will tell.
“My name is Diamond Tiara,” I begin, tossing my mane dramatically. “I moved to Ponyville from Detrot to live with my daddy.” So far, so good; nopony seems suspicious. I just hope they’ll buy my practiced lie. “My parents are separated, and my mom thought I should spend more time with dad, so here I am. I hope we can all get along.”
All of the fillies in the room break out in polite applause, clopping their hooves gently on their desks. With a smile, Miss Cheerilee comments, “I’m sure you’ll fit right in, here in my classroom.” She turns her attention away from me as she stares momentarily at the class. “Now, there’s an empty desk between Sun Glimmer and Noi,” she explains, gesturing at a lime green unicorn filly in the front row, and then a little yellow earth pony in the back.
Nodding, I quietly assume the empty wooden desk in the middle row, beside a yellowish earth pony filly with flaming red hair. “Well howdy there, new neighbor!” the filly whispers excitedly. “Mah name’s Apple Bloom. Ah hope we kin—”
“There will be plenty of time for everypony to introduce themselves at recess,” Cheerilee interrupts, giving Apple Bloom a firm stare. “For now, I’d like everypony to open their history books to where we left off.” With only a moment’s glance, realizing I don’t have the same textbooks as her class, she quickly adds, “Diamond Tiara, you can read on with Apple Bloom.”
{~H - a - D~}
The class goes by in no time at all. Maybe it’s the teacher’s curriculum that is different, but the class is pretty behind compared to my old school. That being said, even though none of it is new to me, I politely pay attention so that when I’m called upon to read, I know where we’re at. First impressions and all, right?
After history, we move on to math. It isn’t anything difficult, but my partner of necessity seems to be having a few issues. If I wasn’t trying so hard to make a good impression, I could very well accidentally let slip that she comes off as a bit of a bumpkin. Then again, if she’s a member of that Apple family daddy always talks about...
Finally, after an eternity of grudgingly dragging my partner through her mathematics, recess comes. The fillies are polite enough to hold their questions until I’m outside, but the moment I cross into the playground, all bets are off. One after another, I’m bombarded with questions. Who does your mane? What’s it like in the big city? Why don’t your parents live together? Do you miss your old school? Are you rich? Do you like apples or oranges?
There’s almost no room for me to speak between their questions, but somehow I manage. One thing I do notice is that though many of the other fillies lose interest once I’ve gotten to their questions, the geeky looking earth pony wearing glasses—the gray one with the necklace, not the one with the Devil's red hair and a lisp—hangs on my every word. She’s almost too interested in what I have to say, leaving me with the impression of a brown noser.
Unfortunately, I have no chance to relax during the break before class. All of the tense anxiety from this morning is still present, and many of the innocent questions of my peers weigh heavily on my mind. In spite of myself, memories of my old peers, and the torment I suffered at their hooves surface at the forefront of my mind.
What if they find out? Sure, everypony is nice now! They don’t know what a freak I am though. Word probably spreads real fast backwater town—I don’t care if daddy grew up here; it’s true!—like this, and they probably attack what they don’t understand. What if it’s like in that book I once snuck from mom’s collection? What if they burn me at the stake, thinking I’m a witch or an abomination?
More and more, I begin to think about how much I don’t ever want the big, throbbing rod of flesh that sometimes hangs beneath my haunches to ever reveal itself. When the bell atop the schoolhouse rings, signaling the end of recess, I subconsciously fall behind all the other fillies as they crowd through the door. All it would take is one sleepover—one single instance of morning wood—and it’s all over.
As I pass the bathroom and the broom closet, I begin to feel pressure on my bladder. Quickly, I ask a classmate—Twist, I think her name was—to inform the teacher that I have to pee, and that I’ll be in the bathroom. It’s only once the last of my peers leave the entrance hall that I realize my mistake. The pressure I feel isn’t exerted on my bladder at all; it’s the area in front of my bladder, strained by the engorgement of flesh.
“No! No!” I whimper, cringing as I feel a part of me ballooning out from between my nether lips. “Not here; not now!”
Stumbling into the nearest door, I screw my eyes shut, struggling desperately not to cry out loud. If I can just hide out until it goes down, nopony will know! Yeah, that’s it! There’s no need for me to be so worried. Nopony is going to barge in on me in the... broom closet? Oh no.
Opening my eyes, I quickly regret feeling even the slightest bit optimistic. Instead of the privacy of the bathroom, it seems I stumbled into a closet of all places. Still, it’s not like anypony is going to come looking for me in here right away. By the time anypony does come looking for me, my penis should be gone!
{~H - a - D~}
How long have I been here now? Minutes? Hours maybe? It’s so pitiful that I have to hide here in a broom closet, but at the same time, I can’t exactly walk out there with this girthsome protuberance bobbing beneath my belly. With such a pillar of stallion flesh dwarfing my legs in size, it’s hard enough just standing up without getting dizzy.
Not helping things any is the fear that the teacher—or worse, one of my new peers—will come looking for me. All it will take just a single moment of exposure, literal and figurative, and my classmates will ostracise me as a freak and pervert! Then word will spread, I’ll become a pariah, and daddy’s business will tank! I just can’t let that happen.
Unfortunately, my luck is nowhere near as stellar as being able to successfully sit here until my erection simply returns to it’s natural state. Worse, my fears are quickly realized when I hear the clip-clop of hooves coming closer to the door. Darn it all; of course my absence would be missed!
My body tenses up immediately when the sound of hoofsteps stops just short of the door to the closet. Despite the discomfort of it, I throw myself onto my belly, curling my body to cover most of my unwanted member. It doesn’t do me any good though; even crushed almost painfully beneath my sternum, it still protrudes from beneath me almost comically—almost.
“Are you okay in there, Diamond Tiara?” somepony asks. Instead of it being the teacher—Miss Cheerilee, I remind myself—I’m surprised to hear the voice of one of my new classmates. It takes me a moment to process it and compare it to my memory of the recess-time interrogation, but I quickly discern it’s the geeky-looking Silver Spoon.
I don’t answer. How can I? What would she think if I answered, but instead of my voice coming from the bathroom, it comes from the broom closet right next to it? That right there screams suspicious, doesn’t it?
“It’s okay if you’re nervous,” she says softly. “I was nervous on my first day too. It always is with a new school, isn’t it? Leaving your friends behind is the worst.”
Unable to help myself, I snort derisively, before spitting out the words, “What friends?”
“Diamond?” Silver Spoon’s confused response comes accompanied by more hoofsteps approaching the door. “Why are you in the closet?”
I can only watch in abject horror as the doorknob rattles, trembling as the pony on the other side tries to twist it open. “No! Please stay away!” I sob. “I don’t want anypony to see me! I just want to... I just wanna be normal!”
The doorknob ceases it’s manipulation-inspired convulsions, and from my peer on the other side of the door, I hear a dejected sigh. “I know, Diamond Tiara,” she replies sadly. “I know about you, I mean.” Hearing this, my heart sinks. How did she know? How did she find out? Don’t tell me... “I just wanted to tell you... you don’t have to be alone.”
“Wha-what do you mean?” I blather, staring morosely at the door. “How could you possibly...”
“My cousin goes to the school you went to.” The words sound like a shameful admission, as though she isn’t at all proud to say this. “A few months ago when I was visiting, all she would talk about was the... intersex filly who was in her class. She had all these mean things to say, and I couldn’t understand why she was saying those things. Even the filly’s name came up.
“When everypony was asking questions at recess, I noticed that you always danced around the question of friends,” she continues. “Even your reason for moving was too believable. I guess I kind of put two and two together.”
Unable to believe what I’m hearing, I only sniffle. “Why are you talking to me though?” I fearfully ask. It’s not the first time somepony pretended to be my friend. “I’m just a disgusting freak.”
“No you’re not!” It’s the first time the conversation has risen above a door-muffled chat, and for a moment I worry that Cheerilee is going to come. “Why would you say that?”
“Everypony I meet thinks I am when they find out, even if they are polite enough not to say it,” I answer grimly. “Since it came up, my parents always look at me with sadness—worse, regret.”
The door groans slightly, as though somepony were leaning against it. “I don’t think you’re a freak,” Silver Spoon replies with a sigh. “I think you’re perfect... just the way you are.”
She what? She think’s I’m perfect? I don’t wanna believe her words—Celestia knows, this is too good to be true—but everything she’s said has been so candid thus far. “But... why?”
The door knob turns and the door opens, revealing Silver Spoon’s teary-eyed smile. “Because,” she says in a way that her smile pervades even her voice. As I look her over, I notice something rather startling. “I’m just like you.”
Author's Note
Created for the Futaquestria Write-off '13 contest.
Well, here we are. I never thought I would be able to pull this off, a futa fic without actual clop, but despite of writer's incompetence/Internet ADD, I succeeded. I'd like to think I approached some of the themes in this fic rather well, but then again, I have an ego that is probably comparable to Diamond Tiara's non-canon yoohoo.
I'd like to thank DarkxRedemption and BearCider for their inputs and helping pick through this for problems. I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing this.
