In a tiny bedroom in the cheap part of Canterlot, an earth pony stallion by the name of Spank Bank sat at his desk. In front of him was a crystal ball, unicorn-made but usable by anypony, tuned to pick up either picture broadcasts or Aethernet. Tapping his hooves on the desk, he ran through his usual checklist.
Windows closed. That was good.
No lights on in the landlord’s bedroom. That was very good. He really didn’t want to get interrupted and have to explain this.
Box of tissues ready. That was perfect.
With a few strokes of his hoof, Spank Bank lit up the crystal ball and logged onto FriendFiction.
He considered himself a longtime fan. Granted, he hadn’t watched any of the previous generations of My Little People, but he’d been following Friendship is Wondrous since it got popular on Marechan. He watched every episode the moment it came out, he regularly browsed Snookibooru for adorable fanart of humans cuddling, and his fapfics had been featured three times on FriendFiction’s front page.
He didn’t have a lot of notifications tonight, and there was nothing interesting in the featured corral. But there was a new story in the Orgasms are Wondrous group--something called Assisting the Mayor. It was cross-posted to the Human Herds group.
Tammy’s been overworked since she became mayor of Humansville, the story description began. That’s why she appointed her friends as “mayoral assistants.” But their plan to help her relax isn’t what she expected . . .
It was pretty well written, all things considered. Tammy was believably stressed and lonely, and Bank identified with her to some degree--he’d been stressed and lonely for a very long time. Then her friends told her just how much they loved her, and they showed her that she didn’t have to feel alone.
Maybe someday, somehow, Bank wouldn’t have to be alone, either. For the moment, this was the closest companionship he had. He withdrew two tissues, preparing to do something best not discussed in detail.
He didn’t know why so many ponies frowned on this. It wasn’t like clopping to animals or something--humans weren’t even real! But fapfics couldn’t get onto America Daily, and even on FriendFiction, a lot of ponies groaned and complained whenever they made the featured corral.
He swore that if he could go to a world with real humans in it, he’d be off like a shot. It would be so much better than living surrounded by judgmental ponies.
At that very moment, a late-night weather crew transporting a lightning cloud accidentally let a bolt fly loose. It burst through the ceiling, and Spank Bank had no time to react before it zapped him.
Spank Bank lifted himself up off the floor. He was in a bedroom, but it wasn’t his. Almost everything was pink, save for the light blue walls, and it was all sized for someone bigger than him. And right in front of him, sitting on the edge of an enormous bed, was . . .
Bank’s jaw hit the floor.
The woman--the human woman--stared back at him, her bright blue eyes wide and confused. Some manner of electronic gadget dangled loosely from her hand, and after a moment, she lifted it close to her ear. “Chris, are you sure there wasn’t anything in my drink? Because there’s a pony in my bedroom.”
Bank took a closer look at her as she listened to a muffled reply. She looked a lot like Mary the fashionista, all smooth lines and curves with no harsh angles at all, though she dressed more like Anita the farm worker. Her plain white shirt was tight against her breasts, exotically placed by pony standards, and he narrowly stopped himself from drooling. She was beautiful.
“Um . . . Hi?” Bank attempted.
“A talking pony,” the human added. “Not joking . . . No, I didn’t try anything from that baggie! Whatever I took, it had to be in my drink!”
“My name’s Bank,” Spank Bank volunteered--he always tried to avoid mentioning his first name. “I’m not a hallucination.” He hesitated. “I think.”
The woman made a little sound of frustration deep in her throat. “Look, I’ll call you back.” She closed the device and set it aside, stowing it in a small brown purse on the bed. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “My name’s Tammy. What on Earth are you?”
Tammy! She looked like Mary, dressed like Anita, and her name was Tammy! She was all his favorite humans rolled into one! (And she was looking really impatient . . .)
“I’m an earth pony,” Bank explained. “I come from a place called Equestria. It’s full of ponies like me.”
Tammy was still glaring.
“My special talent is taking photos, but I do some writing, too. I’m not sure how I wound up here . . .”
Glaring harder.
“I think humans are really cool!” he babbled. “I never thought you were real, but I love stories about you. You’re so smart, and kind, and pretty . . .”
Tammy laughed, a dry bark, and her expression softened. “Humans are pretty?” she asked. “Well, when I was ten years old, I’d have said you were adorable. You’re not so bad, little guy.” She leaned back a bit and relaxed. “To be honest, I always wanted a pony. I didn’t think he’d be some kind of alien, but I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Worst comes to worst, I wake up and you’re not real, and then I’m sad for a while.”
“You’ve heard of ponies?” Bank asked.
“Not talking ponies like you,” Tammy explained, “but there are ponies around here that are just animals. I guess it would be like if you had a pet monkey, but monkeys are mean, and ponies are really nice.” She smiled blissfully. “You can comb a pony, and ride it, and feed it carrots . . .”
Bank took a step backward, and nearly smacked into Tammy’s wardrobe. “Did you say ride?”
“Oh, not you,” Tammy said. “You’re kind of . . . little. Besides, it’s weird riding something that talks.”
Bank pushed himself up to his full height. His head was still level with the top of her jeans, but he hoped he looked at least somewhat more impressive. “I’m plenty big, and I’d love it if you rode me!”
Tammy couldn’t keep a straight face. “Oh God, you’re so cute like that! You look so determined!” She stood up off the bed, her height far surpassing his. “I guess you’re just big enough, if you really want to. Let’s go out in the front yard.”
“You want to ride me outside?” Bank asked. “Won’t there be people out there?”
“Do you not want people to see you?” Tammy asked. “I guess that makes sense if you’re from another world or something. I could ride you in here if you want--it just seems a little boring.”
“I’m sorry,” Bank said. “It’s just . . . no one’s ever rode me before. I don’t really know what to do. If there are a bunch of people outside, I don’t want them watching me if I screw up.”
“I’m not sure why you’re making such a big deal out of this,” Tammy said. “All I’d be doing is riding you. Does that mean something special for talking ponies?”
“I’m . . . not very good-looking,” Bank said. “And I’m not smart. And I say the wrong things . . .”
Tammy’s face suddenly grew pale. “Uh, little guy? I think we might not be talking about the same thing.”
Bank closed the distance between them, his face close to her slim, tight jeans. “You’re lonely, too, aren’t you?” he asked. “Wishing for a pony to ride . . . Just get those pants off, and I can bring you relief.”
“Ew, no!” Tammy yelled. “I just meant riding on your back, not sex! You’re a pony! That’s gross!”
For three seconds, Bank stood totally still, processing what he’d just heard. Then he rammed into her, knocking her back against the bed.
“That’s it, nag! You tell me you want to ride me, and then you turn me down? I’ll show you--”
Tammy fumbled groggily with her purse and pulled out a small black case. With a single press, Bank’s world was filled with peppery pain.
Bank sat in a small, filthy stall, surrounded on either side by ponies who couldn’t talk, and waited for something to happen.
He’d been here for days. It seemed like no one was sure what to do with him at first. They’d spent a lot of time making sure there weren’t more ponies like him in America. But yesterday, they’d finally come up with a plan.
Bank wasn’t sure what “gelded” meant, but he didn’t like the sound of it.
Author's Note
Half the inspiration came from Twilight Attempts a Fapfic. The other half came from really liking An Affliction of the Heart, but being just a smidge skeeved by the author’s other work. (Though I suppose that’s the pot calling the kettle black . . .)
Edited by Razalon The Lizardman and an anonymous benefactor.
