It's been months since the introduction of Pon-E, a drug “illegal to own; not illegal to use”.
It’s common knowledge that the law only swings this way because the government didn’t know how to deal with people who were already cuddly ponies from a cartoon show, though there’s still the issue of those who abuse it. A cop wouldn’t haul you in for having a pill on you, but it was a different story if you were carrying anything more than a few doses. It was enforced this way because there were a few cases where some bronies would force another into an overdose just to have a pet pony forever.
But of course, none of this affected you directly. Well, not until recently, of course.
Today, you woke up from a blackout after having been a “casual” user for two weeks straight. You decided that this will be your first prolonged period as a human, not barring the breaks you've reluctantly taken to avoid the big OD.
Getting up, you begin your day with a good stretch, trying to ignore the phantom feeling of “her” wings that still lingers. You smack your lips as you walk forward a bit while your hands rest on the kitchen counter for support. You look around through your many different sodas, looking for -something- to wash out the nasty taste currently assailing your taste buds.
"Okay, try to remember," you mutter as you rub your head.
Blackouts were supposedly only known to happen to the heavy users—the ones who went the bare minimum of time between doses. You knew you weren't a heavy user though—just slightly heartbroken.
Originally, your girlfriend was the user in your home; you chose to abstain from her various habits. She never used in the apartment you both shared, but occasionally you would find pills that had a distinct smell of spaghetti sauce. You would try to pretend she wasn't hooked, even during the long spells where she'd disappear completely, and not be seen for days. You couldn't ignore it, though; not her absences, the way she never had spending cash, or how she so often wore the same shirts and pants.
She was a cupcake chewer. You thought that your town would be too conservative to have bronies of that nature. Then again, you had the habit of always being wrong.
The last time you saw her was at The Argument. You remember how she bellowed, and how the door slammed as she left the room. You swore you still occasionally shook obscenities out of the nooks and crannies of your four-room apartment or at least that’s how it feels to you.
As a couple you’d had your fair share of arguments, though then never went so far as to have her stomp out of the house like she had. You texted an apology to her later, which was usually how you made up, except you never got message back. Nothing to worry about maybe she’d turn her phone off.
Then the doubt settled in.
Then paranoia and worry.
Finally, temptation took hold.
You saw the pills that she'd never came back for that still smelled faintly of marinara. You remember the way the small oval pill felt between your thumb and index finger. You remember how it looked, with its white casing speckled red. The thought pounded in your head: Just once. Try it just once, to see why she likes it so much. Depressed, angry, and full of grief, you put the pill in your mouth and swallowed. It tasted like tomato, just the way it smelled.
The first time was unforgettable. The way your mare body felt so light was amazing, and the way your wings fluttered at your command excited you beyond words (even if they couldn't hold your weight for much longer than a couple minutes). Nothing you've felt before or since has quite matched that moment when you first saw yourself in the mirror, saw your blue fur and darker blue mane, and uttered the first thing that popped into your head: "Dew Drop."
With that, you broke the first rule: no names.
That first time made everything feel more alive; colors were brighter, and the food was tastier. You never liked apples before, but on Pon-E, apples tasted like the best damn thing since deep fried Twinkies. Your baby blue coat made the world feel a million times softer as you trotted around your apartment, happier than you had ever been, even before the breakup.
Happily curled up on a pillow, you tinkered around with the remote to the TV, struggling a few times because of your hooves. After finally managing to queue up MLP, and setting Netflix on auto run for the whole season, you decided to kick back for the night.
About an hour into your viewing, Hearts and Hooves Day began to play. For some reason that escaped rational thought, you couldn't stop staring at Big Macintosh. The tall, strong stallion worked hard for his loved ones. You loved the way he moved, and you loved the way he spoke. The friendly way he smiled encouraged everyone to talk with him, and drew you toward him like a fly to honey. Normally, such thoughts would have made you cringe, but the desire for cuddle time with such a stallion simply would not go away. You even felt a bead of sweat trickle down your forehead as you watched his image move about on the TV screen.
A hot and unfamiliar tingle started slowly making its way through your nethers. Without noticing, you licked your lips slightly. The thought of kissing him and getting a good taste of the apple flavor that his mouth doubtlessly held pranced across your mind, and with it came another: a strong stallion like him would make life *so* much easier. You could rely on him, and he would take care of all your worries. You laid your head down and closed your eyes as you began thinking deeply on the fantasy cooking in your mind.
Biting your lip as he pulled away from the kiss, his lips pressed back for a lingering second. He murmurs your name, Dew Drop, in that twanging Southern accent of his, and the word echoing past your lips caused a shiver to race all the way down your mane and back, and your tail to flick across the floor. Looking up at him as he stood over you with your hooves wrapped around each other, you both held a passionate kiss, while goosebumps emerged along the flesh hidden below your coat.
Oh, how you wanted him.
An eye opened reflexively as you heard the remote hit the floor, but you closed it again right away. The fantasy is all you care about as your back hooves splay out widely with your forehooves rubbing softly against the glistening folds between them. The sticky heat builds as Big Mac holds you down on the bed. His mouth travels downward, beginning from your lips. You let out stifled moans as you bit down on your lip and he continued further downward. Your back arches as the tingle moves up. Throughout your body, your goose bumps keep raising and lowering as you heat up causing your hooves to rub faster. Big Mac's lips continue kissing a hot trail down your belly stirring up girlish squeaks as you squirm under the hot heat of his lips. There's only one place he'll end up if he goes any lower.
Somewhere you're sure you hear the voice of some boring old grouch trying to make you stop doing this, but why should you? It’s soo goo—“OH!" Without warning, a loud gasp escapes your lips, the noise echoing across your apartment.
Big Mac's tongue is the best damn thing in the world at this moment. You're pretty sure the family upstairs could hear you moaning as you rub away at the slit of yours. It didn’t matter, you only cared about the fantasy.
You can hear Big Mac murmuring "Dew Drop" repeatedly between long licks and soft kisses as he takes you to a height you've never been before. As the orgasm tears straight through you, a wave of pleasure makes you moan out loudly with consciousness failing you shortly after. Not a thought of the fifth rule—no sexual activity—passed your mind.
You woke up a day later after sleeping a whole 13 hours. But you woke up in the opposite end of your apartment, face planted sideways in a bowl of cereal. There was no explanation in your mind for that—none except Pon-E. With worry, you made a conscious note to never take the drug again.
Unfortunately, notes are never as concrete as they should be.
You lasted until 9 that night before popping your next dose. It was a long, blazing ride of excitement, as you found yourself lost in hazy sexual fantasies with every pony that had a line or more; each and every orgasm was a wonderful release from all of your worries and woes. A week of such adventures went by before you had decided to quit cold turkey. That lasted two whole days.
It was almost impossible to keep your head straight as the memories continued to replay themselves in your head, feelings of shame running amok in your system. You’re struck with a whyboner as you realize that you *are* an addict—maybe a bigger addict than your girlfriend was. Maybe if you had both used together, neither of you would be in this mess. One pill remains, and it seems to openly mock you still as you’re drawn back to the events of just a few days ago.
You didn't even have time to rationalize before you felt the spicy spaghetti flavor go down your throat as you blacked out completely. That was the first of three total blackouts you'd have; each one progressively longer with every dose, but you had resolved to stop altogether after that first time you'd managed to find yourself woken up in a small play room of a few kids while hidden in a little ball pit.
Locking and chaining the door behind you, carrying the note from the landlord about complaints of loud disturbing noises coming from your floor, you trudged over to the couch and slumped into it. You had managed to last a full three days and had two pills left over. The itching and burning of your skin kept you from thinking straight as you stared at your last two pills.
"I'm not an addict," you mumbled, eyes never once leaving the coffee table. Your fingering started pushing the pill over the hardwood surface as you tried not to think of how much easier it all was as Dew Drop. "I'm not an addict," you repeated, lifting the pill up as your other hand felt around under the lining of the coach for your emergency beer. "I'm not an addict. After this trip, I'm done," you said as you hastily tossed the pill against the back of your tongue, the beer chasing it down. Your eyes widened as the flavor triggered your memory of yet another rule you had just broken:
Rule six: do not blend Pon-E with other drugs or alcohol.
The blackout was less like falling asleep than it was dreaming. You could hear and see everything, but all attempts to influence Dew Drop in any way proved fruitless as she managed to improvise a way to unchain and unlock the door with the handle of a broom.
You wanted to cry as a trio of bronies approached you. Your excitement and anxiety only escalated as they took you to their home down the block. Each nuzzle of your cheek made your heart skip a beat, and every stroke of your mane took away your breath. The bearded brony, whose stubble felt so soft as he gave you a soft peck on the cheek, terrified you as you found yourself the center of a happy cuddle pile. The thought of how good it felt and their gentle nature combined to scare you to your wit’s end. Luck heavily favored you during that event, as you know how sexual they could have been had they wanted to, and you would have made no effort to stop them.
Eventually, the alcohol worked out of your system, and the blackout hit further. Before you knew it, you were back at home, stretching out in the living room.
That was last night.
You look at the coffee table again. You only have one pill left. Pushing thoughts of it aside, you decide a shower is in order. The feeling of last night lingers like an odor you’re far more than eager to wash away.
You take a long shower; the hot water lasts longer quite a while longer than you’re used to, which is a pleasant surprise. The flow of of the water on your head seems to help ease your mind of everything. As you walk out of the shower, you notice that the apartment door is ajar. Holding your towel tightly across your waist as you look around your room, a stupid question escapes your lips: "Anybody here?"
"A-Anon?" comes a response in a voice that sounds like a pony—yet oddly familiar, as well.
You turn immediately to find an adult female; standing at her side is a small stallion with a pale grey coat and yellow mane. "Good evening, sir," the woman says, looking at you as if she were in on *something*. "I believe you know my little friend here. He says you two were close."
You stare at the stallion as he lowers his head. It couldn’t be her; it just couldn’t. His ears fold back as he speaks. "I'm sorry, Anon, I… our argument made me weak." Your heart feels like it’s been stabbed. The sadness in the stallions voice, and his complete sincerity makes you realize that the stallion is—or was?—your girlfriend. Your heart aches as all the awful things you said to her come rushing back in one awful burp; it strikes you like a belch of pure boiled eggs.
"He goes by Tick-Tock now," the woman tells you.You know without any sense of doubt that she’s telling the truth. "She had a dissociative episode at a petting party I was holding. I tried my best, but I lost track of her in the group and I couldn't stop her from getting to the pills in time."
"I'm sorry!" the pony cries as he sinks down onto his belly a bit, laying his head on the floor. "I was so heartbroken, and all I could think of was how awful it would be going back to being me, not having you and… and… I just couldn't take it!" He holds his hooves over his face in shame, sobbing softly as tears roll slowly down his face.
Every word that’s said makes your heart quiver in pain as you see your former girlfriend just where you were a while back. No—she was worse off than that. You could come home each night as yourself, but she OD’d and now has to live in that body, experiencing all of the feelings you’re afraid of for the rest of -his- life.
"So...we have two options here," the woman says as she looks to you. You feel her stare on you and as though she can instantly see something inside you. "One. I can leave her here with you, you give me a small sum of cash to cover the pills that Tick ate, and you can keep and take care of her. It would be difficult—more like owning a pet, but sh—excuse me, HE would be happy living with you and it would probably be closer to having a relationship like you use to have." She pauses a moment before reaching for a pocket in the front of her shirt. She then reaches to pull something from her pocket. "Or," she proposes, pulling something from the small ziplock bag that had been in her pocket, moving something down to the coffee table: a second pill.
"We can make an arrangement for you to both come to live with me as ponies with me and my boyfriend." she smiles a knowing smile; there isn't any cruelty, nor contempt, just a knowingness.
"I have no idea why I'd—"
"He's told me about her old stash and how it was out in public"
The stallion whimpers in shame. "They were all on the coffee table..."
"So either you missed one throwing them all out—which considering their street value, is highly unlikely considering how you live here on this side of town—or curiosity got the better of you. I don't blame you. I’m guessing it’s the latter, since the room smells like horse pussy. "
You feel your blood run cold.
"Thing is, because it was technically you, you can't smell it as well," she tells you calmly. You can't read her eyes to see if she's enjoying seeing you squirm. "And I can see that look in your eyes; you’ve not slept properly in a couple days...even when you weren't taking the pills, you were having weird dreams, I bet."
You try to think of a way to reply, but nothing comes to mind.
"That's typical of the ones who get too deep into the drug; the withdrawal effects are maddening," she explains. "I'm sure you've had blackouts.”
You’re doomed.
"You show all the danger signs of someone who’d either overdose or go insane."Despite what shes’s saying she makes no efforts to seem antagonistic. "Chances are, if I left him with you, you'd last one week before taking this last pill, and rutting with him the moment you turn into your cute little pony self, turn back and probably go out and do who-knows-what to get more of that thrill again. I've seen it before. I’ve seen it be responsible for ruining people" She bends down to ruffle Tick Tock’s mane, making the nervous pony smile ever so slightly. "I'm not a bad person; you know deep down that everything I’ve said is true."
You try mustering up the will to punch this bitch in the face.
"The blackouts would stop you know? You'd have full control again."
And You suddenly freeze up again,"Y-you...that's not possible, though."
"It is," she says. "An old friend of mine had been having blackouts before a massive dissociative episode. He runs a small business now, completely free of his lunatic mare side. He builds websites for a living."
You're trying to rationalize everything now. You don’t even know this woman’s name and yet she’s tearing down everything you'd thought about addicts to this drug...and she's winning!
"It's not as bad as you'd think. You can run a job through the internet, I'd keep you both safe at my home. I have a few other ponies--old friends who overdosed—who stay with me already. I know it sounds terrifying, and I’m certain you’re thinking a million things at once.” She halts for a moment to kneel on the floor and hugs Tick-Tock “This guy thinks very highly of you, though,and I couldn’t stand to break you two up, or even stand to think of where you might be in a few weeks if you refuse.”
"C-can I think on all this?" Your voice shakes a little as all this registers. The fact that you could still have a life as a pony makes the decision to stay as you are even harder. You can't deny you're an addict by this point… any attempt to say otherwise would be disproven by the desire to take a pill and go find the bronies.
"I'll give you a night to think on it." She smiles up to you, showing sincere friendliness. "So, I'll see you tomorrow. you have a wonderful day, and sleep well when you can." She turns to leave.
"Goodbye, Anon," Tick says quietly on their way out.
You never slept that night. All you could think of was that itch, and that constant acknowledgement.
Your girlfriend was a stallion.
You were a mare, or more mentally at this point.
You clearly weren’t going to be able to get off this road; you knew you'd end up selling more than you cared to sell to keep everything going...
The next day came, and soon she was there. "So have you decided?" You nodded in response, picking up the two pills of Pon-E without uttering a word.
There was a missing persons report filed around three days after that. It was hard to believe someone actually missed you when you were told the news by your hostess. You also can’t believe it’s been a whole year since then, but you don’t regret a thing.
Today, you're resting with Tick Tock happily nuzzling his mane. "I love you, Tick," you say happily as he smiles to you.
"I love you, too, Dew Drop," he tells you, angling in to give you a gentle kiss. You know he means it, and the feeling is wonderful.
You sigh happily as the two of you lie out in the sun on the carpet laid across the wooden deck. The light breeze ruffles the feathers on your wings. You both know you aren’t any better than your ex-girlfriend, and then again you know that neither of you are any better than Tick Tock's ex-boyfriend either, no one important; just a couple of addicts who disappeared a long while ago
You're both still addicts though, but you shamelessly revel in all those wonderful pleasures as your hostess and her boyfriend come out from the kitchen with a few glasses of lemonade and some apples as you both rest in your owners arms as you giggle and laugh your way into the fuzzy naps of belly rub blackouts.
-fin.
Author's Note
I'd like to make special thanks to the first and second editor of this, both were of great help in getting this shaped up for publication, I'd also like to thank a few of the friends outside of the editors that provided some help in smoothing out certain bumpy area's.
And then I thank YOU! For reading this whole thing. I hope you enjoyed it.
