Pinkie's heart shattered as she watched Rainbow Dash and Applejack kiss. She fumbled with the pieces, shoving them away in a small, hidden nook before running into town. The pieces rattled around as she watched a young colt give his marefriend her first kiss, and she held them closer to her chest, begging that they not slip out of her grasp. Her eyes watered as she ran past the restaurants and venues where young lovers danced and ate and kissed and fucked when they thought nobody was looking. She saw it all, and she hated it.
Happy Hearts and Hooves Day, Pinkie.
She didn't look at the patrons of Sugarcube Corner as she ran up the stairs to her room. She didn't dare glance at the Cakes or let them see the tears running down her face. She didn't even hear it as the door slammed behind her, nor did she care as she threw herself on her bed and wept.
It was like every other year. Everypony got hitched, found love, and woke up with that same golden afterglow the next morning. They felt their bodies grow closer as they bared everything before one another, let them see all of their imperfections without a care in the world. They felt the greatest forms of pleasure as they experimented. They felt their hearts soar as their lovers held them tight, and they looked ahead to the bright future with a certain sense of optimism. Everypony did, but her.
Pinkie sniffled, wiping away the tears and snot on her shirtsleeve before standing up and looking herself in the mirror. Was she really that ugly? No, her face was smooth, her teeth straight, and she had a cute little smile about her that she knew she'd love in another mare. She certainly wasn't hard on the eyes, though there were quite a few mares prettier than she.
Her hands reached up underneath her blouse, pulling it up and over her head. She reached behind her, tugging at the clasp of her bra before it came loose. She stared critically at her breasts, squeezing them a little, running her fingers over the pert nipples she'd seen since the day she was born. While she had a little bit of a baker's pudge, constant activity had done a great job in keeping her body in reasonable shape. It couldn't be that.
Finally, Pinkie slid out of her skirt. She hadn't even bothered wearing panties that day, hoping that some mare or stallion would take notice and comment. That they might be interested... Of course, if anypony had noticed, they certainly hadn't said anything.
She looked down at her thighs, at the little tuft of pubic fur that accentuated her vulva. Her eyes drifted over every inch of flesh with the scrutiny of an army drill instructor, hoping to find any major flaw or blemish that might have turned others ponies away. All she saw was flesh, just like any other pony.
Deep down, she knew better. In truth, it'd never been about the flesh. She was everypony's friend, nopony's lover. Everypony knew who Pinkie was, and she'd maintained a level of friendship with them that no other pony could boast. But that was it, wasn't it? She wore a childish veneer, hoping to make ponies smile. Ponies loved children. To them, she was a mare in body and a child in mind. It's hard not to be friends with a bubbly, childlike personality. But that came as a double edged sword. It was alright to be friends with a child, but to be lovers with one? Nopony ever asked for her love. Nopony ever would. Why would they?
Pinkie threw herself on her bed, and she wailed. She wailed for the deep kisses and warm nights she'd never experience. She wailed for the gentle caresses she'd never feel, the children she'd never bear, and even the sorrows she'd never face. But most of all, Pinkie wailed for the life she'd never live.
And that's when she felt it. Her fingers traced along the edge of her flower, stroking the wet slit that hadn't ever felt the touch of anything but Pinkie's own fingers. The pussy that would never feel anything else. She slid them inside of herself, rubbing them against the walls of her vagina, dreaming that they were somepony else's. Her hips thrust upward every now and then, matching the strokes, caressing them.
She didn't even try to hide her moans. Her fingers were damp at first, then soaked. She slid them in and out, closing and opening and closing her legs again as she fondled herself. Her off hand reached up and grabbed her breast, squeezing tightly.
Pinkie imagined everyone she knew. She saw herself in bed with Rarity, the gentle fashionista trying desperately to look ladylike as she rode out her orgasm. She could imagine herself in Applejack's barn, Big Mac's giant cock slapping in and out of her body before cumming all over her. She could see herself in Twilight's castle, bent over as the purple alicorn fucked her silly with that clinical approach that only one OCD mare in the world could match.
She could see herself with any of them, all of them even. Roseluck, Zecora, Luna, Fluttershy, the Cakes, Shining Armor, Princess Celestia, and even Granny Smith. She could picture a million ways in which they could grow intimate, discovering new heights of pleasure, or how they could simply cuddle close and talk about sweet nothings. She saw it all as her fingers rubbed her clit, scrubbing it furiously as if to cleanse it of the loneliness she could never erase.
And in the solitude of her home, by herself, with nopony to love or be loved by, she did the one thing she understood.
Pinkie masturbated.
