Author's Note

Chapter 1: Solo stallion masturbation
Whilst the clop in this chapter is not substantial, I hope you enjoy the story and premise enough to continue reading. I wish also to thank you for choosing to look at my fic, and I will wish you a second thank you for if you read on ahead. Have fun.
And if you leave a dislike, please leave a comment explaining why so I do not repeat the same mistakes. Thank you.
Chapter 2: Voyeur And Bad Coffee Coming soon

Chapter 1: This F*cking Day

I looked over the contents of the magazine with a morbid fascination. I flicked from page to page like a guitar string, each page drawing out an ‘ooh’ or an ‘ah’ from my mouth at each turn, essentially turning me into a jukebox, and every track was simply titled ‘curiosity’, with the occasional slipped in disc of ‘eagerness’. Each time my eyes scanned the page I flipped to the next, which somehow was better than the last. After a while I found myself biting my bottom lip, my cheeks ablaze in what felt like a blush. I only wish I was born a unicorn, so that I could fulfil the urge of my body to send my hooves lower down to treat my hardening cock, but then I wouldn’t be able to soak in the images of the book. I could only imagine seeing the ponies in images before me… their long cocks in my hooves, or my mouth or… my flank. The idea made me smile nervously, such a lewd thought I had never considered or even practiced before in my life. I had an affinity for the more feminine ones, the dichotomy of seeing a dick so large on a stallion who looked so pretty created a weird, but oddly more alluring image. I wondered what another stallion would think of me if they saw me in these pages, revelling in the idea of another coming to orgasm because of me, pumping their thick cock and milking out seed at only the sight of my hard dick or firm flanks. Of course I was only mimicking the words of the magazine, half of the stallions had a blurb beside their picture, expressing delight at the idea. I could only wonder what if…

Too interested in the book was I that I could barely cover myself in time when my door was bucked open, my very angry sibling in the doorway. At first she held a face of fury, but it dissipated into confusion, and then disgust. The light traced around her silhouette, making her carmine eyes stand out amongst her own shadow, and I could only express my shame and humiliation in the form of the form of an ajar mouth, words lost in my throat, my entire body shaking with fear.

“Mom, mom!” She called, running from the doorway. I pursued, my obscene erection swinging beneath me, smacking against my stomach. I dropped the magazine behind me as I chased, although upon leaving my room she was already halfway down the stairs, and I gave up. I sat broken on my flank, hoof on head, rubbing my skull as I let out a frustrated sigh.

When I raised my head I was before my parents, the magazine in question in the centre of the table. Mother looked furious, her jaw clenched. Father looked disinterested. Mother, her coat a plush lavender, had her hoof pressed into the cover. ‘Playmare: fall edition.’ Stolen from my sister’s room, but I wasn’t here before them for theft. I was here for what my sister called, ‘being a colossal faggot’, and although she was reprimanded for such language, I was still sitting here for being just that.

“What do you have to say for yourself young stallion?” Mother scolded me, brows furrowed in a stern expression.

“S-Sorry?” I offered meekly, eyes downcast. It was so awkward and embarrassing, I wanted to curl up into a corner somewhere and cry, and then die. I don’t mean to be ‘that’ angst filled teenager, but I’d rather go through physical pain than to suffer through this.

“No, Silver, I’m sorry. I should never have brought you shopping with me as a colt. I see that I have irreparably damaged you,” She lamented with what another would think was an exaggerated gesture: heart on hoof and mournful swoon, but I knew better.

“Mother, ple-“

“Now you listen here, young colt!” Mother admonished, pointing at me an accusatory hoof. “You’re going to perish these thoughts from your head, you hear me clearly? No son of mine if going to fantasise of cuddling colts, or being cuddled by colts, or any menagerie of hoof on body, body on hoof action that you’re currently thinking of.” My mother ranted. She was wrong of course. I currently thinking; ‘What should I eat for breakfast tomorrow? With mom as angry as she is now, I’ll probably have to settle for apple jam on toast.’ Which unfortunately was followed by a slight dribble, which made mother blanche.

“Aureate, punish your son!” Mother commanded of my father, breaking him out of some kind of stupor. Probably thinking of a new jewellery design, or something of the sort.

“What’s wrong if our son is a coltcuddler?” he replied with an arched brow, shrugging. Even I find my brows creasing.

“I want to have grandkids when I die, and I want them to be in our name, Aureate!” Mother snapped, that vein in her forehead throbbing.

“I’m sure, Gem can convince her future husband to put them in her name.” Dad replied, which only seem to further enrage mother.

“What is this family dissolving into! We’re not some backward progressive savages! I swear, if only Luna reigned dominant we would not be having this discussion.” Mother sat back in the couch, forehooves crossed, pouting angrily.

“Son,” Father began leaning close, my mouth had long since fallen ajar, my brows knitted together as I looked back and forth in confusion. “it’s okay if you’re gay. We’ve all been there.” He ended with an almost, dare I say, dreamy expression. I grimaced.

“Aureate!” Mother exclaimed, I cringed at her shrill voice. “I cannot believe what I’m hearing!”

“He’s free to explore his sexuality, Lustrous.” Father explained pedantically, rolling his eyes. “If he’s gay, he’s gay, nothing wrong with that. Besides, if it’s a phase, then he’ll drop it after a few months and you get your wish. I’m happy, you’re happy, and he’s ‘queer’.” He ended with over pronunciation, winking and gave himself a prideful chuckle. Me and Mother both wore expressions of abhorrence.

“Fine, dear.” Mother relented, her tongue clicking against her teeth, tut-tut. “Although if he doesn’t abandon this abhorrent course, I’ll continue to be mad at him for the rest of his adult life, for both not granting me grandchildren and for ignoring his mother.”

“You’re so tolerant dear,” Father began, and I honestly couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or serious, looking at Mother with the same love-blind look he and her adopted after every brief verbal argument, “I love you.”

“And I, you, my Auri-kins.” She cooed, the gap between their faces dissipating as their lips neared each other, and I felt overcome with confusion when they locked lips in a loving kiss. A sickening sight. My head fell onto the table.

“Silver?” I heard my name called and I rose my head with a start, becoming acutely aware of my surroundings. Other students, clad in uniform (as was customary in Canterlot schools) trot between the tables. Other ponies sat, eating and talking, all what was usual during lunch period. I looked ahead, the perplexed expression of my friend, Maple, greeting me from my reverie.

“Yes?”

“What the heck is wrong you? First you don’t get lunch – which thank you by the way, my mom’s dieting me, ‘F.Y.I’, so having a second tray of food for lunch would go a long way in satiating me whilst mom starves me. Cunt,” Maple’s concern was always followed by complaint, usually about how it affected him in some way, and I rolled my eyes. He was egregiously fat, his obese face repulsive to look at, his umber coat having many folds, a countless number. He did manage to be endearing, when he wasn’t trying to be kind. His intent more often than not backfired, but he was a loyal and good, if somewhat heavily flawed, friend. “Go on. What’s made you sour.”

“Nothing,” I insisted, waving off his question with a hoof whilst resting my head on the other, “just thinking, that’s all.”

“Right…” He didn’t seem convinced, eyeing his over-generous portions of food hungrily. I could tell he wasn’t committed. “Heard about that new colt? Apparently all the fillies are fawning over ‘im.”

“Who, and why?” I asked, curious, and also wanting to rid myself of the thorn called ‘boredom’ in my side.

“Oh-ho,” He scoffed, dropping his fork. “Get this. He’s called ‘Synary’, his mom and dad are apparently some big-wig philanthropists. Real close with Celestia, or so I hear. But naming your kid that? It’s like they wanted him to grow up into some faggot... Not that I have anything against type of thing, or mean it in ‘that’ way.” He added with an disarming gesture of his hoof, looking to the rest of the table who overheard him, casting him stink eye.

“So why are the other fillies ‘fawning’ over him?” I asked, trying to act disinterested.

“’Cause he’s cute or something, I don’t know,” he replied, disinterested.

“Yeah, but like… cute how?” I asked nonchalantly, looking down at my food, trying not to appear interested – Which I sorely was. Already I pondered if he looked alike any of the stallions in the magazine: A barrel-chested lady’s stallion, or a slender but attractive colt of some sort, or maybe he was completely average – He just so happened to be a sycophant.

“I don’t fucking know. Am I mare or something? It’ s just what I heard, geez, Silver,” He spat along with some food in his teeth, causing me to recoil.

“Well, what does he look like?” tone half angry, half prying, some of his dinner in the table in front of me as chewed up refuse. He rolled his eyes, but found his attention grabbed.

“That’s him, right over there.”

I followed his sights, landing on a small crowd of mixed figures. They appeared to me at least, a congregation of popular fillies, whose pompousness and vanity emanated from them like a thick impenetrable aura.

“I don’t see him,” I said, squinting as I tried to discern a colt amongst them. ”all I see are fillies?”

“Dude, he’s one of them,” The comment of was off-hoofed, and I looked at him with bemusement.

“What do you mean ‘He’s one of them’?” I asked, looking at him with scepticism.

“The one with the whitish coat and blue mane,” he had entirely been absorbed by his dinner, or rather vice versa, stuffing his face. I rolled my eyes and cast them back to the flock, and then, with Maple’s vague description in mind, I found him.

From afar I couldn’t see him clearly, but he and the crowd he was attached to came ever closer. He was lithe, tall, and one would mistake him for sickly. His hips were wide, and he walked with a near sensual sway; that judging by the disposition of his averted expression was definitely not intentional. His beige coat and cerulean mane were soft to the eyes, and created a pony that one could easily look upon for a good long while without aversion. His face was a strange androgynous mess, which I do not mean as derision, just a simple statement of face. In one instance I swear he was a mare, but then the next he was unmistakably a stallion. And judging by his outwardly shy and flustered looking character, I can see why he could be judged as being ‘cute’ by the other fillies, and myself included. As he neared, I could make out his cutie mark. It looked like a sack of some kind, maybe a coin purse. Administration? Could simply being rich qualify you for a cutie mark?

I found that my eyes were upon him for too long, his vision suddenly shifted from the ground, and for the briefest of seconds our eyes met; his eyes amber. Unsure of what to do, I tore away and looked down, shoving the first thing into my mouth, hoping that I could avoid the moment ever happening; immediately gagging and spitting out the morsel, a piece of Maple’s previous refuse. He glanced up at me with creased brows, the folds created by his eye brows adding to his plethora already featured on his face, but attention was immediately taken by the school bell.

“Lunch’s over,” he said almost mournfully, “You got gym, right?”

“Yeah, you’ve got math, I believe,” I said.

“Ha,” he scoffed, shaking his head, “In that case, I’ve got an appointment with the exit!”

“You’re just gonna leave?” I said, arched brow.

“Listen. Miss Median could look like Celestia’s hotter younger sister, have flanks of divine proportions, and a vagina so tight it could snap my dick off. But it wouldn’t matter anyway because she’s a fucking asshole,” Maple ranted, swinging off the table chair. He had a crass way of putting, well, everything. Although he was simple like that. Simple is good. Not like the images coursing through my pubescent brain, the conjured ideate of Synary on his front, hind hooves crossed, looking up at me on the bed; his tail flicking as my erection inches ever closer to his hole. I shook my head, clenching my eyes shut and rubbing them, condemning my mind.

I opened my eyes, closed, and opened them again. There was no way, there was simply no way. Synary was in line with us, fidgeting, clad in the standard P.E. uniform, his tail twitched nervously just above the hem of his shorts. He was only separated from my side by one other colt, whose bored expression I adopted, for it was gym class, and it was boring. I had momentarily forgotten my ennui, Synary’s mere presence had snatched my attention from the droning on teacher, whose drab character seems to contrast physicality of the subject he was teaching.

“Alright, guys, we have a new student with us today,” Mr Kegel aimed a lazy hoof in the direction of Synary, who immediately shrank under the attention. Every eye flew to him, both the interested and disinterested, and even mine, and we waited for his greeting.

“H-hey. I’m Synary,” he said, meek and afraid. I could see on the opposing side a few colts arched brows, and behind me I heard a couple of sniggers. He sounded so quiet, almost like a little colt. I wonder where he was before he came here? It must have been infinitely better than here, considering his parents’ likely inexhaustible pockets, which even amongst the rich would make him a viable target for abuse from his peers.

“Well, now that that’s out of the way,” Mr Kegal began, his horn alighting with a green aura, a large red ball suddenly flying into his right upstretched hoof. Several groaned, others gave malicious teeters. “Dodgeball!”

“Oh, I am gonna kick flank,” said the colt beside me, his horn lighting up pink.

“Hey! No magic, or we’re all gonna take turns pounding you with our balls so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week! Silver you’re up!”

“Wh-“ My exclamation of my interrogative was interrupted by the firm red ball colliding with my face, knocking my head backwards with an audible ‘smack’.

My head collided against the tiled walls, the other colts pushing and shoving past me to their arbitrarily chosen stalls. The game had devolved into a mess, with dozens of balls flying through the air with no course or direction, it simply became chaos without an end. Those who were hit refused to leave the game, and received no backlash from it, seemingly enjoying throwing projectiles at others for no reason other than to hurt… or maybe they just didn’t want to stop having fun. Strange, sadistic fun, but fun nonetheless. Regardless, I breathed a sigh of relief when the whistle was blown, signalling our departure from the hall to the showers. Uniforms were strewn and thrown haphazardly into a communal hamper, ready to be cleaned, and given back to use next week.

The doors all closed in near unison, my eyes following from left to right as they slammed shut, until only a single stall remained at the complete right end of the room. As I walked, the other colts bantered between walls, their conversations loud and indiscernible… not that I was trying to hear what they were talking about.

I pushed open the stall door and winced. The wall was covered in assorted graffiti and hackneyed gratuitous vandalism of the written kind. I was reluctant to touch anything, lest I contract a disease of some kind from age old ink, but I put those fears to bed – I wasn’t, not more than twenty hours ago, fantasising about licking the cock of a stallion within an erotica magazine, who more likely than not had contracted a disease of some kind from the countless stallions (and possibly mares) he’d fucked. Never mind the mental image of feasting upon that, which was in another’s ‘back door’ sometime in the past.

I rose on my hind hooves, and I twisted the knob, regretting it almost instantly as I was hit with a barrage of cold water, which shortly thereafter became intolerably hot; before settling at a more reasonable lukewarm. I never understood how a school located in arguably the biggest melting pot of the rich in the country could have such lacklustre utilities. But I suppose like third born sons of the aristocracy, some parts or doomed to be left in the corner and forgotten. Although the more I think about the boring, it occurs to me that I’m doing this intentionally.

It wasn’t the result of yesterday’s affair with the magazine. It had been happening for a while now. My mind – which could arguably just be the fault of puberty, which is relentless upon me – constantly goes to sex and the provocative. Ever since I turned thirteen, it’s been unending. I saw a mare in the street, and imaged her prideful expression disappear as she went down on my cock, and her husband looked upon angry – it was then the fantasy changed into something that would leave me confused even to this moment – He joined in. Him and wife, eagerly servicing me. Yet as I looked upon them from my table at the café, drooling and lost in lust filled stupor, I was never once drawn out of it. That is, until they left, and the waitress delivered to me my order, and then she became the subject of my desires.

Although stallions have been on my mind as of late. Maybe I am, as my sister put it, ‘a colossal faggot’. I’m certainly perverted, even as rub my hooves down my own body, washing away the sweat, I can’t help but imagine my own body as that of another. I could picture it vividly. My barrel, pressed into the back of a smaller stallion, his heart thumping audibly in his chest. I nibble on his ear, wrapping my hooves around him, my throbbing co- No!

My cock was stiffening beneath me, the unflared tip pouring out of my sheath, and I can’t help but make it throb, the large meat smacking against my own stomach with a heavy ‘thud’. I bite my lower lip, and take all to consideration. I was sufficiently blue balled yesterday, and my cock begged to be touched. However, not a couple of metres to my left, there was another colt, separated only by a inch thick wall of plywood. I tried to ignore the urge, but it lasted for all but a second as the colt I was imagining, who before was a unrecognisable shape summoned by a lusty mind, became clear.

Synary was with me in the stall, kissing the nape of my neck as I mounted him from behind. My erect cock rested between his ample flack, gliding slowly up and down, his ponut soft and inviting to be filled beneath my erection. The image alone made my hoof move on southward on my body, my teeth gritting and I inhaled a gasp as my hoof prod against the tip of my dick, the sensitive spot being touched made my entire rod twitch. I’ve never been this hard before, whether it be due to a day being pent up, or the mere thought of Synary. Regardless, I’ve never been this compulsed to touch myself this much before.

I turned and leant my back against the wall, shower still running as to obscure noise. My cock jutted out from me obscenely, so engorged with blood, and so heavy as to swing nearly between my legs instead of sticking to my stomach. I never gave too much thought to it, but my cock was an impressive column of veiny meat. White, mottled grey, and looked comparable to the ponies in the magazine, maybe even larger than a few of them.

Eyes closed, the image Synary in my mind, I wasted no time in getting to work. Both of my hooves snaked down my body, and came to press on either side of my appendage, the stiff rod hard to the touch. I pictured Synary face down, plot up, his tail flicking eagerly. His smile of want was probably uncharacteristic, but it is a damned fantasy! I pictured myself sauntering to him, my cock swinging under my stomach, his hooves going to his flank and spreading his cheeks apart to accept me.

I bit my bottom lip, my hooves circling on my medial ring, my dick twitching and bouncing to my touch, pre leaked to join the water flowing down the sinkhole. Next I pictured mounting him, pushing my hips so hard down on him that he buckled, his body bearing the full weight of me. I kiss the nape of his neck, thrusting my powerful tool up and down his ass, my hooves firmly pressed against his flanks. As I tease the flare of my own cock, the sensitivity nearly making me buckle in pleasure, my fantasy self prods against Synary’s awaiting hole.

My hooves pressed against the top of my cock, and I imagined inching my way into Synary’s tight ass, my hooves trailed down my rod on either side with light pressure. I bit my lower lip, my hooves pressing into my medial ring, rotating in tiny circles on either side. My cock practically pulsated at the concurrent stream of pleasure coursing to my brain, only my head kept me balanced, as my hips had gradually angled further upward with every slight thrust I made toward a plot that simply wasn’t there.

I needed release, and I needed it now. I began to stroke rapidly from the base of my cock upward, coming back down just as quick to glide of the pleasurable ridge on my erection. I felt my sack tighten, my legs going firm as I tensed up, still managing to release a little pleasurable squeal despite how harshly I bit my lip to keep quiet. I was pounding him, my hips slamming against his flanks as I neared orgasm, my colthood throbbing inside of his tight plothole as he moaned aloud his desire for my cum. A gratuitous thought, I know, as well as highly unrealistic. But that hardly mattered, my hips bucking into nothing as my hooves ground into my medial ring, my body shivering in sheer bliss. My cock gave a strong throb, my dick erupting a torrent of my seed from my flared tip, my balls tightening in my sack as they emptied out their contents onto the shower floor. Five strong convulsions, seed trickled down onto the tile, washing away from the shower. I couldn’t help but release a low husky moan at the sensation, my hips pushed so far from the wall that my softening cock aimed directly at the ceiling, semen dripping down it like some kind of lewd ice pop, before landing against my stomach, coating some of my fur with my own cum. Huh, it does go quite far up me, I wonder if… wait!

Down at my right hind hoof, I noticed something that wasn’t there before. A small green rectangle, unmistakably soap. It must have slid through the shower stall by accident, but who… oh. My eyes slowly trail to my right, following the likely trail of the suds ridden square. My expression was deadpan, my cheeks blaze a red, a familiar pair of orange hue eyes looking upon me with an expression I can’t read. His hoof was a few centimetres from the soap, he likely reached for it without thinking anything of it, and caught me like this. I don’t know how long he was looking at me for, of whether he caught me now, or just at the end.

Regardless, I panicked. The second I opened my mouth, he fled, retreating from my stall with an agility I’ve seen before. I heard his stall door open and slam shut all too quickly, and in my attempt to catch up to him, I made an unheeding error. I slipped, my head colliding with the stall door, that same bar of soap that alerted me to his presence was now my undoing. Dazed, I opened the stall door, still soaking wet, and stepped out to him not at all, that is to say: long gone. It seems to be a theme as of late. Somepony catching me doing something lewd, and then it’s my downfall. However the consequences of this are quite unclear… I’m going to have to talk to Synary tomorrow…

…Crap. The rain was coming down hard. It pelted against the window like a thousand little stones, and was distractingly loud. I’m going to loathe walking home in that… Miss Median’s flapping jowls spoke, but her words devolved into white noise, all I could hear was the infuriating and unending taps against the glass. Although I suppose I could take the minute to think on my current predicament.

I was caught with a playmare: Check
Family thinks I’m gay: Check.
I jacked off in public thinking of a colt: Check
Synary saw me do it, possibly: Check

I mean, I may as well admit it to myself. I’m gay. There, that wasn’t so hard. I don’t know what all those colt cuddlers in mom’s magazines are saying. I think I just proved being a colt cuddler is a choice… Does this mean I have to act the part now? Surely not. I think it’d be too jarring a change, to pronounce my ‘super’ as ‘fuper’, and hit on every colt I meet. Although maybe I’ve been around Maple too much. Is it possible to offend oneself? And now that I think about it, I’ve only heard my mother say it’s a choice… I can just keep being myself can’t I? Maybe this won’t be too bad…

After the final bell rang, I resolved to go home, and wake up the next day content with my decision. This decision, and the smile I wore because of it, was immediately wiped away when I heard the certain words of a irked math teacher.

“Silver, a word please,” Miss Median said, prompting me to grimace before turning around, a false smile on my face.

“Yes, Miss Median?” I tried to sound cordial, although she adopted a scowl.

“Have you seen your classmate, and friend I believe, Maple?” She asked, her brows furrowed in a barbed expression, her ire thinly veiled.

“No I have not, Miss Median. Although if I do see him, I’ll be sure to carry along that you dislike his absence,” I said straightforwardly, expression neutral. She sighed and leant back down into her papers, horn alighting purple as she picked up a pen.

“Your friend creates garbage, Silver,” Miss Median said just as I turned to leave, suddenly halting my exit. I was about to turn around and express confusion but she opened her mouth before I could say anything. “A good friend will take it out instead, just so you know…”

“Right,” I said curtly, leaving.

“Also, do something about your hoofwriting… It’s atrocious!” I left with a wrinkled nose, rolling my eyes and closing the door behind me.

Others were walking toward the exit with a brisk pace, anxious to get home, seemingly uncaring of the rainfall, which helped to hinder the movements of my hooves. Maybe a minute more and it’ll stop? But even deep inside the interior of the academy I could hear the raindrops collide against the school like the beating of drum, except there was no millisecond of pause between strikes. It was just an ever constant vibration.

I turned a corner, the number of students sparse by now. The last few trickled out into the rain, unicorns raising magical umbrellas, pegasi raising their wings to flap above the clouds; I, an Earth pony, has no other choice but to brace for the incoming downfall to land upon me. Yet as I allowed my hooves to walk ahead, my eyes landed upon something

It was a mare. Her coat cherry blossom pink, her long soft looking mane a light red. She was looking ahead out into the rain, and was completely still, even as my hoof steps made sound in the empty hallway. I don’t know why I was suddenly walking with an even slower pace, almost as if I was walking on dry leaves and she a stray deer, and I was trying not to scare her away. I haven’t even seen her face yet, but if I was going only by her body she was incomparably beautiful. I wonder why she’s just sitting there. Doesn’t she want to go home?

Nonchalantly, I stopped walking and plopped myself beside her, a few feet separating us. There was a cold breeze but otherwise the air was tepid. I want to look at her face but I don’t know how to go about it. Maybe steal a glance, or call at her and run? No, not that. I don’t want to come as a creep. Maybe just greeting her would do it. Turn my body, look at her with a smile, and say hello.

“Hey,” she said, catching me in mid turn. I was left unsure of what to do. Her face was just as beautiful as I imagined, her face symmetrical and without makeup, her eyes like shining emeralds. I felt my heart skip a beat, and was left immensely confused. Perhaps sexuality wasn’t as straightforward as I imagined, and I couldn’t help but vocalise my confusion.

“What?” I exclaimed, brows furrowed.

“What?” she exclaimed too, concerned, her voice soft and mellow.

“What!” I exclaimed again, almost accusatory this time. Just when I thought I blew any chance of a conversation, she giggled.

“Sorry if I surprised you,” her voice was soft, her accent much more posh than my own, but lacked any kind of arrogance in it nor did her face express any kind of pompousness.

“No, no. Don’t apologise. Sorry I reacted the way I did. I get startled easily,” a lie, but seemed more ordinary than the actual reason, “I’m Silver.”

“Blossom Bloom,” She replied, smile and nod, “Silver? Ah, you’re Gem’s brother aren’t you?”

“Yep. How do you know her, if you don’t mind me asking?” I asked out of fear. If they were close friends, Gem might have disclosed the predicament she found me in yesterday via gossip, and this conversation could easily collapse if she said ‘you’re the gay one, right?’

“Of course I don’t. She’s a friend of a friend, really. Nevertheless I still remember your name being thrown around a couple of times. But I can see the resemblance,” Blossom said, her lip curling slightly as her eyes looked over me.

“Ah, right,” I said, nodding, “I’m sorry to say I’ve never even seen you wandering about, nor are you in any of my classes.”

“That’s not too surprising actually. I’m in senior year, I presume you’re a year below?”

“Correct,” I replied. That’d make her seventeen, or eighteen. Although from what I hear she’d dislike me asking that question. What could I possibly talk to her about? Usually, at least in my experience, friendships and conversations are had communally, usually at a table during a lesson or something similar. Somehow from that, it transitions to simple one on ones, and then maybe friendship. How the heck do I have a conversation right off the bat? I have no clue what we have in common, other than the shared acquaintance of my sister. But I know for a fact that if you can carry one conversation with someone for more than ten minutes, cordial familiarity is assured. But what do I speak to Blossom about? What else do we share…“Tell me, did you ever have Miss Median as a teacher?”

“Ah, yes. That bitch!”

Those words sparked within me a feeling of déjà vu. They were the first thing I heard walking through the front door of my home, my coat slightly damp from the last spittle the clouds had in them walking home. It was typical of this day that I shouldn’t have an easy… well, anything really. The brief respite with Blossom Bloom aside, everything else was going horrendously. So with that in mind, I furrowed my brows and mentally braced, pressing on into the foyer of the house.

“Ah, Silver dear, just the pony I wanted to see…” Mother greeted, her entire expression (a smile, welcoming eyes) was obviously false, “I have somepony I would like you to meet.”

“Mother…” I began, tone flat, “you can stop before either of us is humiliated, and you know full well it’s only going to be me.”

“Trust me, she’s an absolute delight!” Mother closed her eyes, and for some reason looked at me in a condescending way. Suddenly she tilted her head back and to the side, “oh, Twinkle, darling!”

Before I could interject, my eyes were cast the staircase, and atop it caused my heart to momentarily seize. Now, this was not a ‘skip’, it was as if it was holding breath out of fear. The mare at the top was completely black, as if coated in tar, her admittedly well maintained mane like coagulated ink, and her eyes were a garish hue of red. I would occasionally see her teeth, her mouth masticating a stick of gum. Additionally she looked upon both Mother and me with a blank expression. I would call it stoic but I had no idea if she was capable of feeling emotion of any sort at all.

“Hey,” she started, tone dead… oh, that’s it.

“Mother,” I said hushed through gritted teeth, leading her off to the side, “you really shouldn’t have done this.”

“Now, now, dear. I’ve brought you a mare. Now bed her, please,” she requested, unabashed, and then it hit me.

“She’s a prostitute?!”

“Dear, that’s a bit vulgar isn’t it? Surely, ‘mare of the night’, is more respectable.”

“You brought her here in broad-fucking-daylight!”

“Language!” she scolded me, and I just gave her a look of disbelief.

“Mother, you brought a prostitute under our roof in the middle of the day with the intent of having her have sex with your underage son, I think my ‘language’ was perfectly justified,” I explained, scowling. For whatever reason I glanced to my left, double taking when I saw Twinkle’s bright red eyes staring right into mine directly beside me. “O-oh fuck.”

“Language, Silver!”

“Hey,” Twinkle said… all she said.

“Mother, pay her, and get rid of her. I’m going to my room,” I left the circle backwards, spinning on my hind hooves and climbed up the stairs.

“For what?”

“I’m not going to use her ‘services’, so get her to do something else, or think of it as a tip. I don’t care which,” I half yelled over my shoulder, disappearing from the foyer into the second floor hallway.

I breathed a sigh of relief, but may have been too soon on my part. As soon as it went passed my lips Father appeared from out a room, horn alight. I internally groaned. I was caught between Mother and her prostitute, and I could only theorise Father’s plan to blight me.

“Ah, Silver! Just the pony I wanted to see,” Father spoke in a tone that filled me with dread, and I visibly grimaced.

“Yes, Father?”

“Now I know your Mother had reservations about you being gay,” Father said, and I felt my face crease.

“Y-yes?”

“Well, I just want you to know I’m here for you son,” Father gave me a smile, and for a moment I felt a small glimmer of warmth in my chest.

“Thanks Dad. That means a lot to me, thank you,” I found my expression contorting into a small smile.

“Yes, well, in order to help you on your way I looked into my old college stuff, and look at what I found!” Father’s voice high in elation, and my face immediately sagged.

“Great…” I teetered off as a suspicious brown package floated out the room behind him.

“Now back in the day, we had only the greats I tell ya!” he reminisced, going misty eyed. “’Tripod’ Star, ‘Carnivore’ Flowers –Very good at eating ‘meat’, if you know what I mean – I swear, some of those stallions were packing. I swear, when they stood on two hooves all they needed to balance was get ha-“

“Ah-oh-‘kay!” I interrupted, skirting passed him. I didn’t bother to look over my shoulder, and could only guess he was still ‘reminiscing’. Regardless, a few more steps down the hall I suddenly found myself bumping into my sister, “h-hi, Gem.”

She pulled back her lip into a slight sneer, furrowing his brows. “Ew.”

“Nice to see you too.” I rolled my eyes as we passed by one another, and I silently hoped Father would include to impart his memories of youth unto her as she passed by him.

Thankfully I suffered no more interruptions reaching my room, the door of which I pressed quietly closed despite my mood. I didn’t want to attract any more attention, especially from my ‘loving family’… ok, that’s not fair is it? Their intentions for me are purely out of their love for me – even if there exist slight discrepancies in their motivations – I remember when I was a young colt, and one day I woke from sleep in the middle of the night. It was caused by a bright flash, and when I looked at its source, I began to weep.

It was quite a nice one. My new cutie mark a silver goblet with a large blue sapphire in the middle. Gem’s was a large diamond, refracting many colours. Mother’s was three golden ingots, piled on one another. Dad’s was two iron wreaths overlapping. Whilst in terms of design they weren’t particularly unique, but they all depicted their distinct talent or overarching personality. Mine? I had no clue. So I cried, my sobs loud enough to wake up the entire household.

That entire night my family worked above and beyond to make me feel better. My ten year old sister tried over and over to make me laugh, Mother gave me a shoulder to cry on, and Dad kept rubbing my back as he spouted off words of consolation. That night we all slept on my bed, one big sandwich of comfort and I the filling. With that memory in mind I found my anger evaporate. Maybe I wouldn’t scream into my pillow like I had initially planned, but instead I would need to think on today’s events.

Climbing onto my bed, looking at the ceiling, I immediately closed my eyes and begun to think. Blossom Bloom took up a portion of my thoughts, her name kept suddenly being exclaimed out in my head, always in the middle of critical thought; my eyes kept parting whenever it happened to the point of being frustrating. And when I relented to the whims of my mind, Blossom at the forefront of my mind, replaying out our conversation over and over in my head, Synary’s blushing expression appearing beside Blossom’s. Those two have left me immensely confused.

My eyes parted, and I felt exasperated when I realised the mere thought of them caused a great stirring in my downward ‘area’. And with a tut, and a sigh, I put both Blossom and Synary on the list of problems for future Silver, and decided to have a moment of pathetic self-indulgence with those two in mind…