Salty Secretions had a hop in his step as he trotted home, saddlebag heavy with his new book. He had stopped by his local library to see if they had the latest tragedy story in, and they finally did! His heart beat quickly in anticipation.

The door of his small cottage opened with a short, quiet creak and he entered, the feeling of true freedom sinking in at last. A smile came to his lips as he reached his hooves into his bag and pulled out the book.

"The Filly and the Farmer," he said with reverence. He could already feel tears forming in his eyes as he- no. It had to wait.

He carried the novel to his room, holding it delicately so as not to damage it, and set it softly on his bed. The stallion lit several candles and placed them on his bedside table, more for mood than light as daylight was pouring through his window. The book wobbled about as he climbed into his bed and situated himself in front of it.

The cover was done as a rough, murky painting, showing a small yellow and red filly standing at the end of a dirt road, looking toward a distant farmhouse. Shapes vague and details sparse, it evoked a sense of loneliness and loss, with plenty of unfulfilled desires. Salty Secretions ran a hoof over the smooth cover, unable to keep a soft "mmm" from escaping his lips. The saddest story since The Hoofington Blaze, he had heard. Just the memory of that mare's beloved husband dying in that fire brought a satisfying sniffle. He wondered how this was going to outdo it.

He bit his lower lip as he spread the book open, feeling like the naughty stallion he was. The book's hidden treasures were laid bare before him, making him giddy. Impatience threatened to take hold of him but he pushed the feeling down and began reading, pacing himself.

"Puddle Stomper liked the rain. It hid her tears," he said, reading aloud. Oh yeah, off to a good start. He began to read silently, his midsection tensing slightly as he did.

The filly in the story was recently orphaned. As she struggled with the loss of her parents to cancer, Salty's breaths became more ragged and uneven. His eyes leaked small droplets of salty liquid, mere precursors to a real cry. This was only foreplay, after all.

Eventually, Puddle Stomper was adopted by a lonesome farmer in a small town. The farmer had a tragic backstory, having lost his entire family in a coal mining accident. Salty tensed further, sniffling as he wiped sweat from his brow.

The two grew close over the next year. He taught her how to harvest corn and play banjo. The filly was finally starting to see him as her new father. She was finally beginning to let go of her past. Salty smiled, both from the warmth of the plot and the knowledge of the horrors that were coming soon. Sadness without a plot was just pointless, after all.

Then Puddle Stomper learned the farmer had found three lumps on his barrel. Cancer. The filly was utterly heartbroken. Salty let out a low, soft croon that almost sounded like a pleasured moan as he blinked his blurred vision back to clarity. His eyes flew across the pages as the story progressed. His breaths began to shudder, like a chaotic drumbeat accompanying each one.

He could feel her pain. A soul-crushing hopelessness that filled a hole within him, a black void that fed voraciously on her sadness. It seemed to spread throughout his body, like electricity shocking his muscles into tensing and untensing involuntarily. His nostrils flared, snot beginning to trickle from them.

The farmer lay on his deathbed, his face pale and gaunt, bones outlined visibly by the skin stretched over them. Puddle Stomper cried helplessly as he spoke to her in a sickly, phlegmy rasp.

"I've always wanted a daughter," he said. "And you were... everything I could have hoped for. I just... wish I could have been a better father to you."

Salty could feel his climax approaching as he read those words. The electricity surging throughout his body seemed to concentrate near his eyes as he felt himself nearing the point of no return.

"G-gonna cry!" he said suddenly, half moan, half sob.

And then the farmer took his final breath, his very last grip on life slipping away. Salty Secretions felt the filly's world shatter as she lost her only family member. The utter despair pushed him over the edge.

"Ahn!" he cried in a pained and pleasured wail as he convulsed. Warm, salty fluid shot from his eyes in a neat arc, some splattering against the book's pages, the rest landing quietly on his clean sheets. He quickly flipped over before the next spurt came, and painted his barrel with two thin jets of the clear liquid. Several more salty gushes landed on his chest, matting his hair. The lines of droplets felt cool against the air as he shivered and twitched.

As his tears slowed to a trickle and his sobs died down to a rhythmic panting, he smiled and blushed at the mess he made. He reached a hoof over to a tissue box and grabbed some to wipe himself off, needing to use several of the thin sheets. He closed his red eyes and basked happily in the afterglow.

"Ahhh," he sighed contentedly. He hadn't had a cry that good in months.

After several minutes, he opened his eyes and closed the book. There was no need to read the rest of it. He had already gotten what he had wanted from it. He set it on the floor next to his bed and pulled his blanket over himself. Crying always made him tired.

Closing his eyes again, he yawned, a long and slightly shuddery inhale as the residual pleasure lingered, followed by a smooth exhale. It was still not even evening, but a nap couldn't hurt.

It wasn't long before Salty Secretions drifted into a short but peaceful sleep.

Author's Note

Um... Yeah. This idea came to mind and I just needed to write it. I'm sorry.

(But not really that sorry)