“WOO-HOO! GOOOOOOOOAL!!”
Rainbow Dash screams it to the sky as she does a quick victory lap around one half of the field. You laugh as you see her enthusiasm, warmed and charmed by her irrepressible zeal. You'd had a crush on her since middle school, and always had a feeling that it was mutual, so you were thrilled when you'd found out that you'd both made the soccer team. From there, the two of you had hung out quite a bit, on the soccer pitch, in the gym, even just jogging around town. She seemed eager to prove herself to you, and you were always willing to try to match her and beat her at whatever it was you were doing at the time.
You hoped that included waiting for her to admit her feelings first.
“Relax, Dashie!” you laugh as she runs back over to you. “This game's just for fun, remember? It's not like we're going up against Manehatten High!” You add a chuckle to that, but it's a little weak. You've stopped to take a few deep breaths; despite the casual nature of this three-on-three game, it was taking a lot out of you, as it usually did when you worked hard to try to keep up with—and show off for—Rainbow Dash.
“What, you gettin' sleepy already?” Dash chuckles right back. “Jeez, you're such a wimp!”
Despite her words, Dash's tone conveyed no malice whatsoever. This was a part of the game for you both: you would take a little good-natured ribbing, then deal it right back with a laugh and an eye roll. It kept things interesting, and it gave you a chance to show off in a non-athletic way.
“I get that from the one getting herself worked up about a silly first-to-five game with Lyra and Bon-Bon?” you snap back in a teasing tone. “What a dork!”
“Come on!” Dash tugs you by the arm to get you moving, rolling her eyes as she does so. “I still need you in this game, even if you are a wuss.”
“Then stop trying to win by yourself, you dweeb!” you deal back with a mischievous grin.
“Oh, is that how it is?” Dash snaps back with an even wider grin, matching you snark for snark. “Well, get your butt moving, and I won't have to, creep!”
“You're the creep, jock-ette!” you retort, poking her hard in the arm.
She responds with a soft punch on the arm. “Nerd!”
“Spaz!” You elbow her in the ribs.
“Egghead!” She slaps you in the back of the head.
“Blockhead!” You bump her with your shoulder, laughing.
“Loser!” She bumps you back, with her hip, laughing even more.
These playful word battles always made you a little hot. You just hoped Bon-Bon and Lyra couldn't see anything “showing” through your uniform . . .
The last goal Rainbow Dash scored (and celebrated about) brought you up to four, while Lyra and Bon-Bon still only had one (Dash had playfully blamed you for allowing that single goal, kicked you in the butt, and called you a dipstick; you figured it was decent payback for when you scored a goal, poked her hard in the back and said she was as slow as a snail). Now, all four field players converge in the middle of the pitch for the restart. You look up at their goal, which is being blocked by Vinyl Scratch. You glance back at your goal, which is being guarded by some blonde acquaintance of Dash's that you didn't know. She grins and waves at you with a smile and a pair of happy (though googly) eyes.
“Hey, focus, dweeb!” Dash laughs as she crouches down, waiting for the signal. “Don't wanna let 'em slip past you again, do ya?”
“I won't if you promise not to pat yourself on the back again like a total ditz!” you laugh back. You're still suppressing a feeling of passion as the two of you insult each other, and it only grows and becomes more unsteady inside you as you catch a glimpse of Dash from behind. You always thought she had a cute butt . . .
Lyra and Bon-Bon glance at each other awkwardly right before the game resumes. Immediately, Lyra takes control of the ball, but Dash swiftly makes the steal. With a strong kick, the ball sails across the field, and Dash races after it. Bon-Bon closes in on her and attempts to steal it back, but Dash expertly lifts her foot and thrusts it back, sending the ball straight to you with a powerful heel kick.
You take possession of the ball, and now it's time to show off. You lift the ball up into the air with the tip of your foot, bounce it off your knee, and give it a hard headbutt, sending it closer to the goal just before Lyra takes it back. You hear Dash call you by name.
“Hey!” she yells out. “I'm glad you found a good use for your head, but quit being such a showboat!”
“Me, a showboat? So, are you the pot or the kettle?”
Dash scoffs and stops the ball, taking it back once again. Lyra and Bon-Bon close in and surround her, about to make another steal play. But Dash sees them both coming, and pulls off the same toe-lift maneuver you did, but does it much quicker and lifts the ball much higher. She bumps the ball off her chest, sending it whizzing over Bon-Bon's head and right back to you. You remember this maneuver; you'd used it in the final seconds of the big game against Fillydelphia High. When the ball's angle of motion is just right, you intercept it with your ankle and get ready to score. Vinyl is covering the goal well, and Bon-Bon is recovering quickly and is about to block you off again. Remembering the maneuver that won your team the game against Fillydelphia, you see Dash in scoring position, check the angle, and make a powerful kick just as Lyra moves in a few feet behind Bon-Bon. The ball sails past Bon-Bon, slips right between Lyra's legs, and Dash completes the pass, lifting the ball airborne again. She raises her leg, delivers a shattering kick, and the ball flies at the opposite angle, feinting and fooling Vinyl at the last second. The ball sails through and hits home.
“GOOOOOOOOOOOAAAL!!”
As Lyra and Bon-Bon sit in the grass, exhausted and pouty, Dash runs up to you, and you meet her excitedly for a hug. Her body feels extra warm and sweaty, but holding her feels good. Especially in the wake of such a great, near-flawless game.
“Yeah!” you call out as you break the embrace, high-fiving her. “Nice one, Dashie!”
“Of course!” she responds, grinning arrogantly. “Was there ever any doubt? Even with you on my team, I had this covered!”
“I'd like to think I helped a little!” you reply with your own brand of snark. “You wouldn't have made that goal if I hadn't made that pass!”
Dash looks at you with a sly grin and a raised eyebrow. “All right,” she relents, “we'll make a real player out of you yet.” She looks over at her three panting opponents. “Better luck next time, girls. But if we get an open spot on the team, we'll keep you posted.” As you stand behind her, she gestures at you with her head. “Of course, you'd have to put up with this creep!” She looks back at you and elbows you in the gut, giving you a wink and another sly smile. “Good game!”
It was a good game. In celebration, your old post-game victory habits come to mind, and your hand flies, giving Rainbow Dash a good, hard slap on the butt.
Within seconds, you start to regret it.
Rainbow Dash stiffens up, her eyes widen and her cheeks begin to turn pink. Slowly, she turns toward you, her eyes suddenly showing great ire. She stares deep into your eyes, and her voice is a low snarl, “What was that?!”
This look shocks you. You'd always remembered the sportsman's slap on the rump every time your team won a game. You'd dealt it to any player who happened to be nearby, male or female. It didn't occur to you until that moment that you had never done it to Rainbow Dash.
“Uhhh . . .” you begin, nervousness getting the drop on you quickly as you begin to shake, “. . . w-what?”
Dash takes a step forward, her eyes narrowing.
“Uhh . . . Dashie? What's the matter?”
She steps forward again, her face slowly contorting to fit her sudden anger.
Now, you start taking a step back. “Dash, why are you looking at me like that?”
But you have a feeling you know why. A deep, buried instinct is telling you why. You crossed a line. And that same instinct is telling you to run.
Your team's goalie runs up to meet you. “Hey, did we win?” she asks cheerfully.
She didn't see the chase coming. Immediately, you bolt for the school building, running past the blonde girl, and Dash sprints after you along the same path. Your goalie spins on the spot several times from the force of your running speed, and when she stops, she moans dizzily, her eyes roll around in her head even more, and she falls back and lands on her bottom.
“I just don't know what went wrong . . .” she mumbles innocently.
If you weren't currently in “fight-or-flight” mode at this time, you'd very likely say the same thing.
“Have you heard?” Rarity speaks up excitedly as she stands by a table in the cafeteria. “Pinkie Pie has found someone, as well! Oh, I'm so thrilled for her! What's this mystery date of hers like, I wonder?” She glances over to her own, standing beside her, and gives a devilish grin. “Hopefully as fun and flirty as you are, darling.”
“Of course, you would know about 'fun and flirty', wouldn't you, Miss 'Can You Help Me With My Groceries'?” A hand slips behind her and gives her butt a good pinch.
“Ooh! You are cheeky, aren't you?” Rarity looks back with an alluring look of her own, and in no time, she gets a kiss.
Fluttershy giggles as she sits on the lap of her significant other, who has taken a chair at the table next to them. “Oh, that reminds me,” Fluttershy says, starting to blush deeply, “you know when we were . . . kissing,” she whispers the word, “. . . in the closet at the pet shelter? And you . . . sort of . . .” she hides her face in her hair as she finds the words in spite of her timidity, “touched my . . . . undies . . . ?”
“You want me to stop doing that?”
“I . . .” she snuggles up close, “. . . I actually . . . kind of . . . liked it . . .” Again, her words come out in a coy whisper. She gets a response in the form of a hand on her knee, gently squeezing and almost tickling her. The hand slowly slips up her skirt, and a fingertip brushes against the edge of her panties. She gasps and snuggles in close, her face vividly red, and she receives a kiss as well. Both pairs keep their tender, passionate moments alive as long as they can, but are suddenly interrupted.
Suddenly, loudly, interrupted.
“GANGWAY!! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!! SHE'S CRAZY!!”
All four look up to see someone racing through the cafeteria, a few yards away from where they were. Students who didn't move were shoved aside in a healthy panic as the screamer made a beeline for a side door.
Right behind him, and closing in fast, was Rainbow Dash. And her voice, if possible, was even louder.
“YOU COME BACK HERE, YOU PERVERT!! I'LL GET YOU BACK FOR TOUCHING MY BUTT WITHOUT PERMISSION!! GET BACK HERE!!!”
As Dash races to the door her quarry had just left through, Fluttershy sits confused in her date's lap, and Rarity gives a feminine giggle.
“Goodness . . .” Fluttershy mutters in bewilderment, then continues in realization, “. . . why is it so popular to touch a girl's bottom, anyway?”
Rarity releases a romantic sigh. “Oh, I'm so glad Rainbow Dash found someone.” She looks up at her significant other. “C'est l'amour, n'est ce-pas?”
“Oui, mon amour.”
Rarity presses her bosom close, and squeals again when she feels a hand tickle her leg. “Why, you naughty thing!” she laughs. Fluttershy, meanwhile, feels arms slide around her and hold her close, gentle fingertips stroking her shoulder.
You race through the door to the gym and stop, doubled over and sucking in breath after exhausted breath. You look back nervously; Rainbow Dash doesn't seem to be following you anymore, and you rest assured that you've lost her. You were hoping she'd break off the chase after she'd stopped to ask her friend Applejack where you went, but she'd seemed to spot you again just before you reached the cafeteria.
What the hell is going on?! you ask yourself once your breathing settles, I've never seen her like this before! One minute, she's on top of the world, next minute, it's like she wants to kill me! I mean, it was just a tap on the butt! It happens all the time at the end of a game! Was it really that bad? You have no idea how something so simple and forgettable could suddenly send your long-time friend and teammate on an enraged frenzy, but you know one thing for sure—that's one backside you'll never have the nerve to even look at, much less touch, ever again.
Careful to keep your eyes peeled for that shock of rainbow-colored hair, you make your way across the empty gym to the opposite entrance, when you suddenly hear the door behind you slam. You turn around, and see the agitated Rainbow Dash locking the gym door, staring at you with malice in her eyes.
“Thought you could sneak away from me, huh?” she speaks low, approaching you with shaking fists on either side. When she catches you glancing at the other door, her face twists into a sneaky grin. “Don't bother,” she explains, “I locked those doors before you got here. Now it's just you and me . . .”
Now with nowhere to hide, your panic reaches its apex as you try to worm your way out of the danger, “Uh, D-Dashie, look, I . . . I can explain, I-I . . . I just, I was caught up in the moment, I wasn't thinking, and you know, we do that all the time when our team wins, remember? Besides, y-you did really well, and you did score that last goal, and if it makes you feel any better, I can tell you that it was actually nice and firm. Have you been working out? I bet you have! I mean, it would make sense, after all—Dashie, I didn't mean anything bad, I wasn't trying to offend you, I mean, you're my friend and we've played together for years, and I didn't think it would be so serious—Dash, please don't be mad! I won't touch again! I promise! I'm really, really sorr—”
Dash shuts you up by grabbing you by the mouth. As she squeezes your cheeks between her thumb and four other fingers, she eyes you with a strange look. She no longer looks angry, but she's far from composed. She moves her face close to yours and says, “I'm not mad.”
She releases her hold on your face, but this doesn't give you incentive to speak. In fact, you're not even sure what to say. “Uhhh . . .” you make a weak attempt anyway, “. . . you . . . you're not . . . ?”
Dash shakes her head, and slowly, her devious grin returns. “Not for the reason you think, anyway.” Before you can question this, however, you flinch slightly as you see her right hand move, faster than you were expecting. She grips your right shoulder, then her right foot moves up behind your right leg, tripping you up. She pushes, and you fall backwards, landing hard on your butt, and her foot quickly follows up by pressing against your chest and pinning you to the ground. Now, you're even more frightened—you have no idea why you should be.
She crouches down, her right foot still pressed against your chest, with her other knee on the floor and her head hovering above yours. Her vivid, multicolored hair hangs inches away from your nose. You feel a cold sweat break out all over you, and you stutter as you try again to speak, “B-but . . . I-I don't . . . I d-don't understand, I . . . i-if you're not mad, th-then, why—”
Again, Rainbow Dash grabs your mouth to shut you up. “Stop talking already, you dork,” she says. At least, you think she said it; they were definitely her words from her mouth. But she usually insulted you with a playful, non-serious tone and a laugh. This sounded like a tone of desire, lust, as if she were ready to . . .
She is.
A split-second after removing her hand from your mouth, she replaces it with her own, and she surprises you with a frenzied kiss. Her foot, while not hurting you or putting particularly excessive pressure on you, is still making it a bit harder for you to breathe; the kiss is making it worse. But even with all of this, it still feels like heaven, and you quickly lose yourself in your connection with her. Her hand grips your shoulder (much more gently this time, almost massaging it), and your hand caresses her face. Finally, her foot lifts off of you and allows you better breathing, and that knee hits the floor on your other side as she straddles your chest. You feel her perky breasts and her crotch press against you, and your free hand finds and locks onto the back of her slender, yet muscular thigh (it stops just beneath her buttock—you remember your promise, even now that you're in a fit of lust).
Dash pulls her face from yours, and you both start breathing heavily, especially you. Dash sits up, but remains on her knees and on top of you; you can quite clearly see her shorts, on full display, under her skirt. She looks at you with a leering, almost superior grin.
“So . . . .” you try to speak in spite of your shaky breaths, “you . . . you know?”
“How you feel about me?” Dash replies. “Of course I know. I've known for a while. And I know that you know how I feel, too.”
“So . . . what was all that before . . . chasing me, screaming at me . . . I thought you weren't mad.”
“I was, at first,” Dash admits, “but mostly because it didn't happen as soon as it should have.”
“W-wait a minute . . . . if you've known this whole time, then why did you freak out?!”
“Chill out, jumpy!” Dash giggles (it's the closest thing to an effeminate giggle you've ever heard from her). “Because, think about it! The insults, the names, the pushing and shoving, you always trying to beat me, and all that—that's kid stuff! But what happened just then? You slapped my butt!” Dash bends down lower and eyes you steadily. “If you wanna get to that level,” she concludes, her voice back to that same low, lusty tone, “I wanna hear you say it.”
There is a long, quiet pause, and the fact that you two are the only ones in this vast gymnasium is made more painfully obvious. Confusion envelopes your mind and befuddles you, and you feel it pressure you to ask, “. . . . What do you mean? Say what?”
“You know what,” Dash answers. “I know how you feel, and you know how I feel. We've been picking on each other and trying to outdo each other since junior high. This whole time, it's been a game to see who admits it first.” She bends even closer, down near your ear, as her voice goes down to a near-whisper, “And you know me. I hate to lose.”
When she picks herself back up, that sassy, sultry stare lands on you again, and you're not sure how to counter it. At first, you're not even sure how to answer her insane words—all of this about a silent battle of wills to see who confesses their feelings first doesn't make any sense. But the more you think about her words, the more you think back to your relationship with Dash over the years (you're fairly certain there are few others that call her “Dashie”, like you do), the more you come to realize that she's absolutely right. Even out there on the soccer pitch, you were taking shots at one another's skills and personalities, calling each other immature names, and even knocking each other around physically. As far as you can tell, that's the way each and every soccer game you've ever played with Dash has gone—even games against rival schools. Neither one of you has ever spoken up or come forward with how you felt, but you'd always had a feeling, even today, that you and Dash had something unique together. Until now, you'd never had the guts to call it what it was.
It was a game of love. And Dash wanted to win.
Giving you another quick grin, Dash gets up off of you, and you conclude in your own head that this whole thing has gone way too far. While it's true that you do want to tell Dash straight out how you feel about her, the fact that she's making it into a game takes the emotion out of it for you. You start to get up off the gym floor and dust yourself off, letting her know how you feel, “Look, Dashie, I know this is fun for you, but . . . but I can't play this game anymore. You were right, this is kid stuff, and we're too grown for this kind of thing. Maybe when we're ready, but not—ugh!”
You feel something wrap around your waist and pin your arms to your sides. “Oh, no, you don't,” Dash teases from behind, “you don't get to give me a swat and expect to be the mature one. Come on, say it.”
You struggle against whatever Dash has you caught with, but she has a surprisingly strong grip. You look down and see a bundle of purple-and-white fabric, and it occurs to you that it looks familiar. You glance behind you, and see Dash's black shorts, uncovered and totally viewable, and you know right then what it is.
“Is . . . is this your skirt?!”
“Never liked it much, anyway,” Dash continues to tease you in that sexy tone, “too girly. Course, at least I get to see you in a skirt!” She laughs uproariously and pulls you backward, and you can feel her body push up against yours as she binds you. “Come on, say it! Just one time!”
Now, you feel like a jumble of unfocused emotion. On the one hand, your attempt to be the mature one ending with Dash still trying to claim victory—and in a most childish way, no less—is hurting you more than her wound-up skirt digging into your arms and waist. You want to be able to have a good, solid relationship with Rainbow Dash, but her behavior may just prove that, unless both of you can move past this phase of juvenile crush games, that won't happen. And with Dash holding you both back from that, it stings more than you can put into words.
On the other hand, you're surprised to find that you actually like it when Dashie ties you up like this.
You don't realize at first that you haven't spoken, and Dash loosens her hold over you while putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, come on,” she coos to you serenely, the softest you've ever heard her speak, “you know I'm just playing, right? You've always been my best rival, and you've always been a good friend. I don't wanna hurt you. I never did. I just want you to tell me straight. 'Cause if we get together, we'll stay together. You know me, so you know I'd never leave your side. I've worked hard to keep up with you as a rival, and I've been there for you as a friend. I'd like to be more than that for you.” She leans in and kisses you on the cheek, and you feel your face start to grow warm.
SMACK!
“Ow!” you yelp as you feel her hand swat you across your behind. Now, your face feels hotter.
“Your disciplinarian!” Dash laughs and releases you, tossing her skirt to the side. When you turn to face her, she approaches you before you can say anything; out of everything she has done to you today, this leaves you the most surprised. She hugs you. Not just a victory hug after a game, either, but a sweet, soft, sentimental kind of hug, like true lovers. She holds you tightly, presses her face to your neck, and whispers tenderly, “Come on. Say it once. For me.”
You are completely left in awe by how mature Dash can be, and yet how quickly she can switch to it from her earlier infantile actions. Moments earlier, you thought she was still just being a child playing silly mind games, but this is probably the deepest, most touching moment you've had with her, or will ever have. You clearly underestimated her, and you start to believe that that was the point of her constantly shifting behavior all along: to fake you out. Thinking back on today, that was your true mistake. And for that, you find yourself more than willing to concede in Dash's little contest of wills. She's earned it.
“You win, Dashie,” you tell her as you separate and hold her at arm's length, “you win.” And with no further words, she let out a surprised squeal as you pull her in close and kiss her full on the lips.
She gradually melts in your arms, seizing you by and caressing your shoulders while your hands find their way to her waist. Feeling one less layer between your hands and Dash's skin serves to excite you, even more so at the texture of the tight fabric stretching over her hips and butt. Dash moans into your mouth and lets her hands slide down your body, stopping when they reach your gym shorts. She wiggles in place when your hands find the same place. She give your butt a light pinch, you give her shorts a slight tug. She responds by pinching you harder, on the back of your thigh, and you tug down on her shorts again. Finally, her other hand shocks you by grabbing you by the crotch, and you pull your face away long enough to gasp.
SMACK!!
“Ouch!” Dash yelps, her hips jutting forward into you. She turns around to see where you smacked her butt once again, and shows more than a little awe herself. In her excited desire, she seemed not to notice that you'd slipped both her shorts and her panties down off of her backside. Seeing a pink hand print beginning to form on her pale blue skin, she looks back up at you with wide eyes, and a smile starts forming on her face; she seems excited at having been smacked a second time—this time much harder, and on her bare bottom.
Dashie caresses the back of your neck with one hand and rubs the sore red spot with the other. “I changed my mind,” she mutters as she rubs, just before the two of you sink back into another kiss, allowing her shorts and panties to tumble completely off her hips and to the floor. “You win.”
I guess I can understand why he said what he said. After all, I didn't even really like him to begin with. I just used him to further myself. And even though I'm a different person now, I guess I don't have any reason to be upset. I mean, stealing a magical artifact and turning into a mind-controlling succubus destroys any and all trust pretty well. Even if he hadn't said all that, I would still be a long way away from earning his trust back.
But knowing Flash doesn't want me back because he's moved on to Twilight?
It shouldn't hurt. I shouldn't even be surprised. Twilight's a great pony, even here in the human world. She's strong, capable, wise, and a better student to Princess Celestia than I could ever have been. Heck, she's even really cute as a human. So, nothing I'm feeling matters. Flash made his decision, and I only have myself to blame for it.
So why does it hurt so much?
Maybe it's because Rarity and the others have all found someone? Maybe it's because they're much better people than I was, and could find love a lot easier than me? Maybe I've just sent everyone running away in fear of me? That makes the most sense, now that I think about it.
Or . . . . maybe I was just meant to be alone? I chose this path, and even without all my past mistakes and sins, I'm still an outcast. I was once a pony, but now I'm a human. I don't belong here. I never did. It stands to reason that I should just stay alone.
Rarity, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, and Applejack have been nice, and all, but I'm pretty sure they're insisting on being my friends out of pity. I don't have any real friends. I don't have any real family.
So, I guess I'll never know real love.
So why does it hurt so much?
All I want to do anymore is cry . . . .
. . . . . .
Wait . . . who is that?
Author's Note
Sorry about those last few paragraphs being kind of a downer. But that's the setup I have in mind for a certain someone's love story. 
And if you're asking, no, I know nothing about soccer. So if the game seems unrealistic, I apologize.
