Feels Like the First Time
Feels Like the First Time
Admiral Biscuit
Hey, are you busy right now? No? Okay, let me buy you a drink.
Yeah, I've got something on my mind. I—look, this is kind of awkward, but I've gotta get it off my chest. You . . . you've been a good friend to me, you know? And I haven't got anyone else to turn to.
Okay, a pint for me, and a pint for my friend Macintosh over here. In fact, keep 'em coming. You see an empty glass, you bring another, got it? You know I'm good for it, but here's some bits to get it started anyway. I . . . well, I suppose giving you my car keys wouldn't be useful.
A car? It's a self-propelled wagon. See, back on Earth, it was against the law to drive one when you'd been drinking, and some bars would hold your keys, and get you a taxi home if you had too much.
Never mind. It's an Earth thing, that's all.
Okay. I—look, Big Mac, I'm not drinking alone. You wanna know what I've got to say, right? Well, I'm not going to tell you until half that mug is gone.
Half.
I know I didn't say that when I came in, but I'm getting cold feet. It's like—I've got to say my piece, but I'm scared to, you know? Okay, that's good. Let's—a toast, yeah. To two friends sitting together in a bar, and just being guys together.
Regular old guys.
Okay.
You've had a drink. I've had a drink. So, we're both . . . well, if this doesn't go well, maybe we can say we're under the influence of—well, then, drink more.
Of course it solves problems. It's a social lubricant, right?
That's just a human thing? Well, what do you call it, then?
Huh. I guess that kind of makes sense.
Okay. Okay. No more stalling. You're . . . come on, Berry, keep 'em full. I already gave you a shitload of bits. Just one more sip.
Right.
Well, I . . . I guess—you're kind a a quiet stallion, but you've got a good eye on what goes on around town, right? You must; I bet you just sit there in the background like a wallflower or something and the mares and stallions just gossip on around you, like you aren't even there.
No, that's a compliment. Hell, I can't shut up.
Right.
I saw you at the harvest festival, and I guess you must have seen how I was hanging out with Minuette. We've kind of been close for a while now. It—well, it started with a dental exam, of all things. She said something about my teeth, and then I made a joke about Diamond Dogs . . . I can't really say how it went from there, you know? I'm a guy. I can't remember stuff like that. But that's not the point. We kind of drifted together.
I don't know. Maybe the feeling of having her magic in my mouth was what did it.
Listen, I swear to you that my grandfather married my grandmother solely on her skill at making clam chowder. Which you don't have here, so never mind. Maybe this isn't a good idea . . . how did you hook up with Cheerilee?
Really?
Okay . . . that's a bit odd.
But that can't be how everyone does it. Sure, I've seen them, and you're right, they are a walking—trotting—disaster, but they can't have been giving love poison to every couple in Equestria. That's not feasible.
Right, just an example.
Sure.
Yeah, I suppose being well-endowed counts for something.
Not that I look.
I don't. Not on purpose.
Well, you kind of just let it dangle out sometimes, you know? That's a little weird. Like, if a boy—a stallion's got a mare he's interested in, does he just sort of stand next to her and let it flop out? 'Cause that would get me arrested back home.
Look, let's just chalk it up to weird social rules. I'm not making judgments . . . but imagine if you went to a world where you had to cover it up except when you were alone at home, and if you didn't, you'd be taken to jail.
Right, right, that's not the point. My beer's a little low. You doing okay?
Good.
All right. So we were kind of together, but maybe not 'serious,' I guess—well, I didn't think so, but you do things your own way, and I try not to fuck up too much. So I didn't think we were serious. Still, I wasn't chasing after other mares to . . . ha. I wasn't 'chasing tail.'
Why isn't that an expression here?
So, we went to the festival together. I didn't know it was a thing, but it's not like I had plans, and when she asked, I was more than happy to go with her. She likes explaining to me how your culture works. I guess it's a nice break from staring into mouths all day long. She's actually kind of talkative once she gets going. And really understanding, too.
I was doing all right. It was like a cross between an Earth carnival and a church picnic.
Well, never mind. You were there.
So we did all the things that you do at a harvest festival. I've got to say, it's kind of weird how every pony is so excited about the agricultural contests. When the mayor announced the winner, you'd think she was announcing the next Pope or something.
I'm not really tuned into your signs . . . yes, about that.
Uh-huh.
I know it's kind of protruding like a muzzle, but trust me, we don't rely on scent nearly as much as you do. So she could have been giving off pheromones like nobody's business and I'd hardly have known—
Oh.
Someone could have told me.
Okay. So I'll just skip ahead a bit. You can already see where this is going, right?
So we're hanging out at her house afterwards, 'cause it was closer than mine. We're sitting on the couch talking, and she keeps finding reasons to get up and get me stuff, and she was . . . well, she was keeping her tail really high. Like, higher than normal. It's usually just a passing glance where you see it, I guess, but she was making sure I got an eyeful, and then when she'd sit down, she'd snuggle right next to me . . . it was almost forceful.
I mean, I didn't mind. It's not like I hadn't had fantasies before, and it looks like I'm stuck here. Plus, whatever happens in Equestria stays in Equestria, am I right?
So it wasn't that long before my hand was running over her back, or through her mane, or touching her ears . . . and she was touching me, too. This wasn't a one-way thing. It was staying PG, but—don't worry about what that means. I'll tell you later.
Here I am, feeling conflicted. I've got one hand on her back—almost on her hindquarters, and I'm thinking about how what I'm gonna do next is maybe very very wrong, but at the same time a voice in my head is telling me how long it's been since the last time, and how I'm not gonna find a human woman here, and so maybe—just maybe—this might be the right thing to do.
I'll never forget this, not as long as I live—I ran my hand down her side—it was the first time—and I brushed across her cutie mark. I hadn't really meant to, but she lets out this soft happy hum, and then her muzzle was just an inch from me. I felt her breath wash across my face as she leaned in and then her lips were on mine.
I'm kissing a horse, I thought, but it didn't really matter any more. She was pressing me back in the couch, and she was so warm and it had been so long that I just opened my mouth a little bit and then our tongues were intertwined and she was gently stroking a hoof down my chest, while I pulled her closer with one arm and had the other in her mane, working my fingers against her scalp.
Back on Earth, there's kind of a ritual to what comes next. I suppose you guys have your own routine. She helped me take my shirt off, and spent a long time rubbing herself all over my chest, while I was contemplating what you ponies consider second base. Like, normally I'd be going for the boobs, but you haven't really got those, and they're in the wrong place.
I was still considering when she started to take off my pants with her mouth.
I was beyond awkward, and into the 'let's roll with this' territory. My . . . ah, my. . . .
I think I'm gonna finish this pint before I go on.
All right.
My—I was fully aroused, and with her muzzle right there she couldn't miss it. I went for broke and slid my hand all the way back, across the rise of her hindquarters and along her tail, following down her butt, and then towards center. It was like crossing a weird no-man's-land as I went from fur to bare skin, and I was just thinking about how different it felt when my fingers found their target, and. . . .
I know my way around girls. I'm not what you'd call an expert, I guess—I don't know what you consider a standard number of, ah, encounters for a ma—a stallion.
Really?
Not just you, but a stallion in general?
Oh.
For me, it's been . . . nine?
Don't give me that look. Drink your beer and listen.
Anyway. You can't imagine . . . picture nothing being the same as you were used to, and having no idea what turns a mare on. But I'm getting ahead of myself. I'd just felt actual skin under my fingers for a moment, and it felt nearly like a human woman, and then I found just the right spot, and before I could even take a moment to consider my actions, my fingers sunk in, and it was so warm. I can't even do it justice; you haven't got fingers. I could feel that she was soaking wet, and I think that was the last time I considered the potential consequences, because my fingers were in a mare and she'd just figured out how to get me out of my boxers, and her mouth was just as warm as her vagina, and it was all over my dick.
I still had a hand free, so I slid it down her belly and began playing with her nipples while I was gently rubbing all around under her tail, vaguely wondering where her clit was or if ponies even have those, but it was really hard to focus while she was slobbering all over my rod, along with grinding herself down on my hand.
I don't know who came first . . . do mares fake it?
Well, you've got a female-dominated society, from what I've seen. That throws my expectations off.
Either way, she was moaning around my cock, while I just kept my hands doing what they were doing.
I probably should have warned her, but at the time I was thinking that she was so talented with her tongue, and an adult who has probably had other, ah, experiences, that she ought to know what was about to come . . . no pun intended. And she didn't act mad, she just kept on working her mouth, until I had to take a hand off her and pull her head back.
She was quivering all over as I lifted her muzzle up, and without any hesitation, began kissing her deeply. She was still grinding against my other hand, pressing it down into the couch, and I could feel that my fingers were going numb, but I wasn't going to stop. She'd just given me one of the best blowjobs I'd ever had, and I wasn't going to quit until she was quivering on the couch, begging for mercy.
I pushed her back, and she resisted at first, but I think I outweighed her. I've never tried to pick up a pony, so I don't know how much an average mare weighs.
Yeah, I have no idea what that translates to in pounds.
No, I've never compared a peck of apples to the weight of a mare, but I'll take your word for it. You're the expert.
Anyway, I pushed her down on the couch and began kissing down her chest. There's a ruff of fur that runs down the center, where the two sides come together, right, and I used that as my happy trail, breaking off to suck on her nipples for a while. My fingers were still doing their work, and since I had my other hand free, I was exploring. Trying to get a feel for what was down there, and see what got a good response, you know?
All this time, she's thrusting into me. I probably could have kept my hand steady and got her off that way. I may not be the most experienced guy, but I can tell when the girl—the mare—is really into it.
So I had my mouth on her nipples, kissing and sucking and biting, and my hand's just a few inches lower. I'm conflicted again. I want to go on; I have every reason to go on, but I've never done it with a pony before.
She just gave you the best blowjob you ever had, I remind myself, and maybe that was what pushed me over the edge. I let her nipple pop out of my mouth, and I went lower. Past the end of the fur and. . . .
There's an almost metallic taste to a human girl. She was sweeter, more perfume-y, and the instant my tongue reached between the folds, I knew it was right. She thrust herself into my face, and I was confronted with the heady smell of her arousal. I'd noticed it before, but not really known what it was. Having my nose right in it was a real eye-opener, and I could feel myself beginning to get hard again.
I repeated my earlier explorations with my tongue, running it all over her. One hand was caressing a nipple and the small rise of breast—or whatever you call them—around it.
What?
That's not sexy at all. Don't tell me that you've never suckled a mare's . . . tit.
Yeah, and I could go on about tumescence and the inner labia, but it's too damn clinical.
Right. I kept it up until she was shivering under my tongue. I thought I saw sparks from her horn, but it was hard to tell. I was only focusing on one thing, you know.
Sure, Berry, I'll—wait, how long have you been standing there?
Damn it, it's a guy thing. Right, Big Mac?
There, see? You're supposed to discuss this with mares, and we discuss it among ourselves.
I guess.
But you'd better give me something stronger. And on the house, got it?
Keep going . . . there. That's a good amount, right there. Did you make this yourself?
No, I'm just curious, that's all. Still trying to figure out the whole cutie mark thing, and how it relates to jobs and pleasure.
Okay, yeah, fill it again.
Seriously, are there any mares with, like, a dick cutie mark? Or maybe a vagina?
What about suspiciously-shaped flowers?
Two beans and . . . you know what, that's going to go right over your head. So where was I?
Oh yeah. I'd just finished eating her out, and we were snuggling a bit. She'd rolled on her stomach once I was done, and I was up against the back of the couch. Minuette was kind of pressing me in, like she'd trapped me, but I didn't mind. There are worse fates a man can suffer.
See, this is the part where in every cheesy romance novel, she'd have led me up to her room, but that's not what happened at all. She gave me a quick kiss on the lips, and then another that lingered, before she got up off the couch and moved into the center of the room. She dropped her hips a little and spread her legs . . . no, Berry, I don't need an illustration; I saw it for myself and I'm sure Big Mac's seen it.
Her tail was up and off to the side, leaving nothing to the imagination—not that I was hiding any secrets of my own at this point. She muttered something, but to be honest, I wasn't paying attention. I still haven't figured out your body language, but that was a clear invitation; she might as well have been wearing a sign which said 'fuck me.'
It . . . it didn't go well. I blame it on anatomical differences. I couldn't quite get into a comfortable position—she was just a little too tall for me to be on my knees, but too short for a comfortable squat. The whole thing was a comedy of errors, really. If I hadn't had a good view and a hand to guide me, I probably would have stuck it up the wrong hole.
I could tell she wasn't all that happy with how things were turning out, either. She shifted her weight around, at one point dropping her forelegs all the way down. I was having enough trouble myself—first off, it was a moving target, and on top of that, I've never done it with the lights on. I—
That's a generous offer, but I'm gonna have to decline.
We eventually got it figured out. It felt like the first time, with all the awkward fumbling, you know? And I'll be honest, it wasn't great. It's like, you have this expectation on how the first time's gonna be, and then when it's all over, you're thinking about what you could have done differently. There's that moment where you're looking at each other, and you know you're both going over how it went.
Yeah, that's why it's better with the lights off the first time. You can fool yourself, if that's what it takes.
I thought she was going to tell me how bad I was, but she didn't say that. She didn't say anything. Here we are, lying together; I'm still in her, and we're both soaked with sweat. Our breaths are slowing down and I feel like I ought to say something to break the silence, but I'll be damned if I can think of a single thing to say. I've just got this instant replay running through my head.
We laid that way for I don't know how long. Like, it was over but neither of us wanted it to be over. My elbows were locking up, and I kind of relaxed on her back, but didn't put my full weight down . . . I didn't want to crush her.
She tilted her head back, nearly stabbing me with her horn, and kissed me on the lips. It wasn't like before; this was a meaningful kiss, not a desperate, horny kiss. I knew it was time to move, and so I pulled out of her, almost instantly feeling the chill.
I dropped on my side next to her, and wrapped an arm around her, squeezing tightly. I wanted to hold onto the moment for as long as I could.
She rolled to face me, and there were a few awkward moments as we moved into a more comfortable position, facing me, her belly pressed up against my chest. She threw a leg over my shoulder, and another over mine, hooking me in so I couldn't get away. I saw her horn light, and then a blanket fell over us.
We didn't say anything, but I fell asleep there on the floor, and I'm sure she did, too.
I woke up in the middle of the night, and began gently brushing her mane. Once again, my thoughts returned to the evening before, but this time it was with fondness. She was so—so human. I felt like we'd shared something special, a gift not freely given, and it gave me hope.
It sounds silly, talking about that here in the dim lights of the bar, but that's what I felt. Hope and contentment.
She moved as I brushed my hand against her horn, and gave me a peck on the cheek, before pulling me into a tight embrace.
“Let's head up to bed,” she suggested, tossing the cover in the direction of the couch. I couldn't help but stare as it made its sparkling arc to the arm of the couch, a move so casual and yet so skilled.
She pushed herself up and led me to her bedroom, and we made love again. Where it had been urgent and desperate before, this time it was slow and gentle. We took our time exploring each other's bodies, and kept nothing back. We must have spent hours there, communicating in nothing but hushed whispers, moans, and touches. It was no longer about the destination, but the journey.
We didn't arrive together—I think that only happens in made-up stories—but it didn't matter. When we were done, our hunger was sated. This time it was not exhausted sleep which claimed us, but a genuine comfort with each other. I was on my back, with her head on my chest. My arm was around her shoulders, and I felt like I was the king of the world—when I woke, we were still in the same position.
I can't really do it justice. I could say how the sheets were still damp from the previous night's lovemaking, or how my arm was numb and tingling from her weight on it, but all of that paled in comparison to the rightness of the setting, to the way her mane fell on me or the soft rise and fall of her barrel against my chest.
I knew when she woke; I could feel the change in the rhythm of her heart and how she shifted around slightly against me, but she did nothing but grip me gently with her foreleg. We both knew that when we got out of bed, there would be questions which needed answering, but they could wait.
Author's Note
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