Author's Note

Get it?

Ahem.

What do you get when you needlessly expound upon a fetish to death? You get this chapter.

I touch up on a lot of stuff here, and I also brush shoulders with a lot of subjects that I probably shouldn't have. Needless to say, I felt compelled to put this chapter here at this point in the story. Oh--and look! There are characters used as speaking vessels for it!

Talking projectors syndrome!

Fart!
-SS&E

The Masturbation of Our Discussion

"If you saw something in my mind, Sunset... something that somehow... influenced me and my thoughts and my... er... proclivities... then I'm afraid that I don't remember it. That's a memory that's only been exposed to you."

"Well, let's just concern yourself with what you do remember, Flash."

"Okay..."

"Was that moment with Concepcion's godchildren your first time embracing femininity?"

"No. I mean... yes? It's the first time I ever experienced it... uhm... outside of my mind. But even before then... for as long as I can remember, really, I... I've liked girly things."

"Mmmhmmm."

"But... I-I guess I should probably put that into context. Uhm... ... ... It's not so much that I like girly things, but rather... I like... I-I've always liked that which I've perceived as 'girly.'"

"Uh huh."

"Cuz... what does it mean to be girly? Or a woman? Well... I mean, hypotheticallys peaking... you're the biological vessel for conceiving and birthing infant members of your species. That's it—the meat and potatoes of it. Or just the meat."

"Heehee..."

"I don't believe... I've never believed that there's any legitimate psychological definitions to being a woman. Yes... chemicals are different between sexes. Hormones are different. But... when it comes down to it... to the essence of a person... well... it's all conditioning. We're people—plain and simple. Now gender roles... that's different. That I have... always seen as a construct of society... something imposed by culture and tradition and—"

"You believe everyone is born gender neutral, then?"

"... ... ...huh?"

"Most people these days will contend that gender is something that only an individual can determine for themself. Now... if they—if we are all born gender neutral and somehow society turns us one way or another—"

"Oh! Uhm... I-I wouldn't know anything about that, Sunset. Seriously... I... we shouldn't have to analyze it that hard."

"You sure?"

"Uh, yeah...?"

"Cuz... heehee... you were gettin' in there pretty deep, Flash. I couldn't help but ask an analytical question—"

"What I mean is... mrmmmm... … … I'm sorry..."

"What are you sorry for, sweetie?"

"I'm not trying to talk down the facts of... uhm... being a gender or being transgendered or... wh-whatever. In truth, I wouldn't know anything about that."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Why... do you not believe me?"

"You're telling me that you've never thought of it, Flash?"

"Thought of what?"

"That you might be transgendered?"

"Huh? Me?"

"Yes, you."

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

"I mean... you've been fixated on feminine things all your life. You're thoughtful. You're empathetic. You're less aggressive... more passive..."

"That... that's just me, Sunset."

"Hehehe... fair enough. Not saying it shouldn't be you. But I also imagine that most biologically-born males who have felt the same way you've felt and have—"

"—grown the way I've grown...?"

"... ... ...it would shock me if it never crossed your mind."

"I... I can't lie, Sunset. I have considered it once or twice. But... then again... with the way my body is? How it works? How it doesn't work? I've often wondered if I was dropped here on Earth by aliens."

"Heheheh... I'm sorry. Do go on."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Sunny. It's a perfectly reasonable question. But... I've always been acutely aware of my masculinity. I... I know you may find that strange."

"Not really, no."

"You don't?"

"Flash, you tried ever so hard... ever so desperately to portray yourself as 'masculine.' It stood to reason that you had something you wanted to defend. To preserve—convincingly so."

"Are you talking about when you and I dated?"

"Even after that. It was... it is such an uphill battle for you, Flash. At first, I thought it was cute. Okay... I lie. I still think it's cute. Hehehe... ahem. But... uh... that's not... it's not my place to find amusement in something that you... struggle with...?"

"I can't pretend that it's not been a struggle. I just... can't 'man-up' like society expects me to. Like I expect for myself. And yet... there's stuff about me... very tiny stuff that... that I just can't get rid of. And, to be honest, I don't ever want to get rid of it."

"Mmmmhmmm."

"Because even in all the years that I tried... fought to be more... uhm... m-macho? Yeah... I... uh... well... I-I knew it was because I was fighting to restore something... not to attain something. It... I wish I could explain it, Sunset. But I feel... changed. Every day... every hour... every second of my life I feel as if I'm... me... and yet I'm not me. It's like... I'm a me that some celestial entity took a shrink ray too. Or... perhaps... a pink ray to."

"… … … ... ... ...you okay, Flash?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"I just felt a tiny shudder go through your body."

"It's... uh... it's the tooth coming out of Mick Foley's nose. As much as I love this match, I can't stand to look at that camera footage close up."

"Flaaaaaaaaaash..."

"Okay. Okay. Okay. Here's the crux of it..."

"Heheh... do tell."

“No, I mean it!”

“Mmmhmm. I'm waiting, sweetie.”

"I... I like girly things... and femininity... deep down because... b-because I see a contrast between that and who I am."

"... ... ...really?"

"Yeah. I mean... isn't it obvious? In my mind... in my heart I'm a guy. A dude. I'm masculine. Just like the young man you s-saw in the dreamscape, remember? How my dream-self was represented?"

"Mmmhmm. I do remember, Flash. I have to admit that I was surprised."

"I feel as if somehow... long ago... something happened to me to... change the outside of this. Of all this. But I'm still a dude. And... and..."

"... ... ...and what, Flash?"

"I... I kinda... mmmm..."

"Spit it out. It's okay."

"I can't spit it out. I can't force anything out. I... I'm just not built for it. Even if I'm designed for it."

"I'm afraid I don't follow..."

"Ugh. I know. I know I'm not making any sense. But... Sunset... Sunset—all my life, I... I feel like I should have been someone else. A different me. Like... it's as if I'm in the wrong universe. The wrong reality. I should be something... far stronger... far bigger... but I'm not. And... and all my life, there's been this force steering me towards something else. Like... I was made for a tough mattress... but I keep being pushed towards a bed that's way too soft... night after night."

"You poor thing, Goldilocks."

"Sunnyyyy..."

"Heeheehee... go on, Sweetie."

"And... y'know... I've fought this push for so long. Trying to man-up to friends around me. Trying to be a proper boyfriend to the likes of you. Trying to... uh... t-to be a responsible son to my parents. But none of it works out. Or... in the end... I-I just don't have the willpower to make it manifest. And... and I-I just have to admit to myself that... that I-I kinda like where I'm being pushed. I would absolutely love to... ahem... to snuggle up in that s-soft bed. Provided... uhm... the sheets were clean and it was floral-scented and easy to wash..."

"Uh huh..."

"And... and the reason I would like it is that... it'd be a relief to me... after having fought that battle for so long. And... uhm... uhhhhhhh..."

"What, Flash?"

"It's just that... erm... mmmmmmm-mmmmmm..."

"Celestia, you're red as a beet! We must be getting close to the truth!"

"Mmmmmmmmmm..."

"Sayyyyy ittttttttt..."

"I... I-I love knowing that such a soft b-bed isn't m-meant for me...!"

".... ... ...huh?"

"I... I find feminine... girly... dainty things so... mmmm... p-p-pleasing... gllp... b-because... I... I-I acknowledge the gap between who I am and... th-the role that I feel drawn to play..."

"You... enjoy seeing the contrast between reality and expectation?"

"Life sucks, y'know? I mean... in general. It does. For a lot of people. I can complain about myself, but I won't. That would be ignorant and cruel to all the people who have been legitimately dealt with the heartless cards of fate. Those who can't afford to change... or transition... or acclimate. But... for me? I... I-I would... uhm... I-I would relish the idea of being in a suit th-that's not mine."

"Don't you mean a dress?"

"Guhhhhhh..."

"S-sorry..."

"Don't be, Sunset..."

"Because—I think I see what you're getting at, Flash. And it's something I've thought of when I've done research on transvesticism."

"Huh?"

"Cross-dressing."

"Oh. R-right. Uhm..."

"Because that's the key thing, isn't it? Many crossdressers are already set in their own gender identity, but they choose to immerse themselves in an identity that they don't personally associate with, and the emotions that come out of such an experience are considered pleasing... comforting..."

"Y-yeah. Sure. I can buy that."

"Granted, that's not why everyone crossdresses, but... maybe you see where I'm getting at."

"Actually, I think you see where I'm getting at, Sunset. Mmmmmmm... there's always... there's always this sense of... of mischief..."

"Heehee... yeah..."

"A sense of peculiarity... of trespassing... of deviance—oh shoot. That's a bad word for it, isn't it?"

"I think there are lots of old words that—when used for it—come across as 'bad' as well."

"... ... ...is it wrong that I like the 'badness?'"

"Depends on the context. And audience—I suppose."

"R-right..."

"So long as you are not attacking anyone or shaming people—"

"Except those who want to be shamed."

"Pffft—What?"

"Ah jeez. Never mind that. Forget I said that."

"Hah—What? Flash, no! Elaborate!"

"No no no no that was gross. I'd rather not get into it."

"What if I want to hear something 'gross?'"

"... ... ...really?"

"Heh... you think you're gonna get another chance at this?"

"Another... chance...?"

"Big buxom woman? Cuddling you close? Asking you to share 'deviant, gross, bad secrets?"

"Alright-alright-alright—"

"Hehehe... chuuuuuu—"

"Ackies! St-stop smothering me! I-I'll share!"

"Hahaha... goddess, you're so cute."

"Yuh huh. Uhm... where was I...?"

"You wanna lie in some big metaphorically abstract soft bed."

"Right..."

“... … ...by yourself?”

“Mrmmmm... one step at a time, Sunset.”

“You mean one ballerina step at a time?”

“Gaaaaaah—will you stop teasing me already?!?”

“I can't help it! Whenever I make you blush, you seem to get closer to the heart of it all!”

“I... I...”

“The big... fluffy... pink... l-lacy heart of it all...”

“Phweeeee...”

“S-See?! Hahaha—It gets you so flustered! Flash, honey, you're good at being super-analytical when it comes to your feelings and concerns and persuasions. But—when it comes to desire? You should treat it exactly like fear. Face it directly. Dive in deep! Rip the band-aid off!”

“I... I just... it's... it's all so very... mmmm... s-silly...”

“... … ...do I need to tell you to tell me?”

“H-huh...?!”

“Do you need a strong, tall, intimidating-yet-caring authority figure in your life to force you into making the move?”

“I... erm... oh gosh...”

“You really don't like making decisions on your own, don't you?”

“Sunset...—“

“I'm not trying to ridicule or guilt trip you, sweetie. It's just... it's your thing. Doesn't take a mind-reader to see it. You... like being given orders, don't you?”

“I... I-I...”

“You like it when someone else carries you. Moves you. Forces you. Dominates you.”

“What are... I... you... hoooooo boy...”

“Hmmmmmmm... so short of breath all of a sudden, are we?”

“Guhhh... Sunset, could... mmm... c-could I just—”

“Flash...”

“... … ...”

“Flash Sentry.”

“Eep...! Y-yes?”

“You're a girly little pink sissy at heart and you love it. And you're going to tell me why.”

“I... I-I...”

“... … ...NOW”

“Guhhhhhhhhhh—I l-like soft, cute, pink, cuddly, pretty things! I-I want to be surrounded in prettiness! I w-want to be pretty! I want to be adorable, sweet, sugary, and candy-coated! And yet I also wanna be spicy, attractive, fabulous and... and... and...”

“Yes...?”

“Vulnerable! I-I want to be vulnerable! Delicate! Malleable! Fragile! I want to be so helplessly prissy and yet so inescapably precious that everyone would want to protect me. Defend me. Fight for me. And... and...”

“Go on. You're making good distance.”

“... … ...I want people to want me. Like... like society says that men want women... pretty girls... sexy ladies. I... ah jeez... I want to be a princess, Sunset. Not a queen—not a powerful ruler—but a princess... a pretty and dressed-up figurehead. I want to be a treasure for all of the superficial reasons that most self-respecting women don't want to be it... or have learned to move beyond it. I want to be... to be the object of desire... that is drilled into people's skulls from infancy by media, advertising, and propaganda. I want to be something that most women struggle to maintain. A look... a smell... a sense that takes countless time, effort, and sacrifice to achieve. I want to be that impossibly innocent thing that middle school girls roll their eyes at and high school girls forget about and college girls revisit with melancholic nostalgia. I want to feel excellent in my beauty... but bottomless in my worth—a self-defeating object that revels in its two-dimensional artifice. I... I want to be something simultaneously priceless and pathetic... because very few others have the courage to be it. I want to... to be used to bring others joy, satisfaction, pleasure. Even if just by looking at me... acknowledging me... as I've become. I... I want to be... to be... mmmmm... what you j-just called me, I guess...”

“What? A girly little pink sissy at heart?”

“Yeahhhhh... … ...good gosh, I didn't even need to say a single thing, did I?”

“Hahahaha... well of course you did, Flash.”

“Mmmmmm...”

“Does it feel any better?”

“... … ...it feels alright...”

“What even is a 'sissy,' anyways?”

“You're the one who called me it.”

“Only because you've thought that word multiple times yourself.”

“... … ...I did?”

“Since I picked you up at CHS, and even years back shortly after we stopped dating—”

“Yes yes. I get it. Gosh... I hate telepathy.”

“Don't lie, Flash.”

“Ugh...”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What does—”

“—the word 'sissy' mean? Well, it's me, isn't it?”

“Is it?”

“Just look at me, Sunset. I'm a string bean. I'm a waif. I'm a flighty fart of a human being.”

“Those all seem... quite negatively connotative.”

“That's 'sissydom' for you.”

“But does it have to be like that?”

“... … ...”

“Or—perhaps, Flash—there is a certain degree of pleasure... nay... pride that comes in accepting the term?”

“Uhhhh...”

“Assuming that you've accepted it.”

“I... I erm... it's a back-and-forth thing, Sunset.”

“Sure, I'll buy that.”

“You can... erm... be into the things that I'm into... uhh... without... b-being... something like that...”

“But...?”

“... … ...but why hold back, huh? I mean, I guess that's the way I looked at it at some point in my life. There's... there's something at the end of the long, pink, lace-embroidered road. And... and why stop halfway there?”

“Why indeed.”

“I... I... oh Sunset...”

“Let it out, sweetie.”

“I... snff... I would just love... to... to just spend one evening going the whole nine yards.”

“Heehee... and what would that entail?”

“Mrmmmmmmmm—dressing up. Glpp. Dressing up... like... well... first, a pedicure. A milk bath. Skin moisturizing. Getting my hair done up just right. Makeup. Not me doing it—I would stink at it. But... getting it done professionally. Professional help. And... and underwear. The prettiest and most f-feminine ever. A brassiere—even if I would never need it. Who cares. A girdle too. And a slip. And... and p-p-petticoats... squee(!) And the fluffiest ballgown ever. Pink. Everything pink. Drowning in pink. Even if it looks nasty—it has to be pink. The color's an optical illusion to the human eye, but—if you ask me—that makes it worth yearning for all the more. And... and to dance with someone. Someone handsome. Someone... who would actually find joy in being with someone as small and delicate as myself. Someone whom I can make happy... make the whole exercise worth it. And... and just to twirl in his arms... to laugh and be happy... to be a name... to be a song... to live out something in one of those Disney films or faerie tales or Hallmark gift cards—you name it. I know it's fake. I know it's silly. But if I could somehow just... make it real for one night... … … yeah, I... I guess it's just pumpkin carriage nonsense, but that's... that's it, I suppose. That's the fantasy...”

“Do you only ever dream of a one-night situation, Flash?”

“No, Sunset. I... I imagine more. Cuz what's a fantasy if not something that reaches forever into the unreasonable? What I wouldn't give to... feel soft and smell fragrant and taste sugary all the time. To have my own room to come back home to. A woman's room. A girl's room... with that floral, powdery, perfect-pink little girl room smell. I know there's no such thing. Women are people and people are at perfect liberty to smell awful, no matter how they're built. But the idea... the ideal... birthed in sitcoms and department store commercials but somehow possibly... just possibly achievable through sheer determination. And to immerse myself in that fluffy cute cleanliness forever... warm and soft and happy... a thick fluffy pink bed where I can lie down and giggle and stare at the stars and make wishes forever and know that none of them would ever come as kissably true as this.”

“Heehee... mmmhmmm...”

“I... I relish the idea of losing two hours at the start of the day just showering, brushing, moisturizing, making up, and dressing up... and just as much sacrificed time dressing down to sleep in the evening. The concept of... essentially torturing oneself to meet the aesthetic demands of society. I mean... it stinks! It really stinks, Sunset! In the real world, it's absolutely stupid and unfair. I won't pretend to say that women should go through with what's oftentimes demanded on them. They don't deserve any of that nonsense but... … … good golly gosh alive... I would happily sign up for that nonsense. Gllp... Wearing layers of clothing. Sandals and exposed toenails. Tight pants or shorts with no room for pockets. Even... even... even using... uhm...”

“I know what's coming next. Go ahead and say it, Flash.”

“Ghhh... h-hygiene products.”

“Torture indeed.”

“Just the idea of carrying a purse in public just... g-gives me shudders all over. You ever think about that? Why do women have to carry purses around, anyway? It's like a pink ball in chain. If society was fair, we'd endeavor to find ways where half of the population wouldn't have to lug around a bunch of unneeded weight and cosmetics. But... I'm not talking about what's right... just what I admire. What I envy, for some crazy reason or another. And I... don't want to be a living insult to women. I don't think... any person like me does... or intends anything cruel or unsympathetic by desiring what we do. But... but there exists an ideal, Sunset. And... and I guess that ideal means more to us than they do to others. It's the ideal that... that entices me... that entices many... and... and I would... gl-gladly be up for the challenge. To be that image... that ideal... that fantastical figure of allure. And... and knowing that I'm from the outside looking in... that I'm a young who perceives himself as a desperate vagrant stuck outside the walls of true femininity... well... that just makes the allure m-more... alluring. It's... it's... it's all just—”

“A lifestyle.”

“I... was going to say a 'fetish,' Sunset. It's all fetishiziation. Plain and simple. It's not about respect. It's not about realism. It's about... imprinting personal satisfaction and pleasure on... an object. Or a series of objects. Or... in vague terms... a status of objectification.”

“A role.”

“Exactly.”

“Tell me something, Flash: What if you suddenly got to have all of these things realized. What if all the stuff you just described you could be? You could wear? You could embody? Like... a snap of the finger, and it was real?”

“... … ...a snap of a finger?”

“You heard me.”

“If... I could be all of these things... all of these pretty things... snff...”

“Yes... … …?”

“I... snff... well... I... I think I would sit down on the edge of a pink bed in a pink room before a tall dressing mirror... and... and I would just cry.”

“Oh?”

“Just... cry. Have a good... long... cry. Until my makeup ran. And then I would clean my face... make myself pretty again... and cry some more... I... snff... dang it... gosh dang it...”

“Shhhh... it's alright, sweetie...”

“No, it's not alright. Snff... I'm sick, Sunset...”

“No you're not, Flash.”

“I am. My brain's broken. I'm obsessed. All these years—fighting reality and unwilling to smell the roses—I just can't shake loose this obsession. It's pathetic. I'm pathetic.”

“You're nothing of the sort, honey. Shhh-shhh-shhh... it's okay to cry, sweetie. But let's not undue everything. Especially after you've come so far in telling me this.”

“What's even the point? I... I-I'm sorry, Sunset. But... you've been so kind and generous to me and all I-I've done is waste your time...”

“Well... not exactly...”

“I don't know how you could possibly say that...”

“Well, because I have another question for you.”

“Snff... oh yeah? What's that?”

“What if... I was to tell you... that you can live out this dream.”

“... … ...”

“Even right now. This very night. This very hour. Going forward. With the sky as your limit. You could live a life as pretty and girly and princessy as you've always dreamed?”

“... … ...”

“What would you say to that?”

“... … ...”

“... … ...Flash?”

“... … ...”

“... … ...Flash? Did you hear what I just said, sweetie?”