“Scootaloo!” Rainbow Dash used my full name. Which meant it’s something serious. “Have you always had that?”
“Yeah. But since last year it’s gotten larger. And more…noticeable.”
“Scootaloo! Do you have any idea what that is!?”
“Erm…well…I always thought it was a 5th leg or something that didn’t form correctly.”
It’s not like I ever showed it my parents or my aunts. It’s not I like I showed them my private junk to them. They see me so few times every year that they couldn’t have noticed. I swear, Dad knows a cragadile’s anatomy better than his own daughter’s.
“That’s not a leg, Scootaloo. No no no. That’s a dick. Like, a male…part. You’ve got…a female part…AND…a male part. Like, for real!”
And that’s all I’m gonna tell you about how I (and Rainbow Dash) found out. Really the discovery part of my story is pretty similar to what you read in fiction books. So I won’t tell you much about that part.
You know there’s a whole section of fiction on the subject in the bookstore. Futa, I think it’s called. All the futa books are in the lower basement of the bookstore. That’s the basement below the basement. The upper basement has all the romance books. When I go with Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, we always go the upper basement. We read all the romance books with beautiful princes and princesses in them. It’s not like I can relate to the characters or anything. I’m not “graceful.” I’m not “pretty.” And even if someone described me that way, I hate wearing “graceful and pretty” princess dresses.
But Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom go nuts over the stuff. So I just sit there most of the time and watch the two of them read. They can see I’m bored. They even ask me, “Scootaloo, are you bored?”
“Yeah,” I say, “Hey, let’s go down into the lower basement. I heard they’ve got some books down there.”
But then when I try to go to the lower basement, they stop me. “Our sisters said we can’t go down there. It’s not appropriate for fillies.”
Not like that stopped me or anything.
The first time I went down to the lower basement, Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom followed behind me curiously. I remember seeing this creepy stallion that sits in the corner reading the books while furiously masturbating. He’s actually quite harmless if you don’t bother him.
Now romance books I hate, but the futa books I love. I always knew I was never really gonna be a princess. Or a prince, for that matter. The futa books are different. They’re so raw. And juicy. And hot. That’s what I am. Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom almost puked the first time they read a futa book. They’re so different. Sometimes I wonder why we even got to being friends in the first place.
All the futa books have a similar storyline, actually. The futa pony’s secret is revealed. I call that the “discovery” phase. Then there’s a steamy sex scene. I call that the “fucking” phase. Rainbow Dash taught me that word. She blurted it out when she got mad at me for dropping her Wonderbolt medal and almost cracking it. I did it intentionally. It’s my strategy to learning swear words.
After the fucking phase, there may or may not be a weird pregnancy, weird because a mare (that’s a futa) made another mare pregnant (who is or isn’t a futa). Or they both make each other pregnant. That can happen too. I call that the “pregnancy” phase. And then of course there’s the “ending” phase. And there’s always a happy ending.
These futa stories get so predictable after a while, you know. They all have the same 4 phases: “discovery,” “fucking,” “pregnancy,” and “(happy) ending.” After you read futa for a while, you almost get to thinking that it’s just a real-life, everyday occurrence. Some ponies have male and female anatomy. And it’s just…normal.
But there is no real life futa. At least I thought that until I discovered myself. There’re practically thousands of fictional futas, you know. But I, I am the only real-life futa. Nopony’s ever seen anything like it. Princess Celestia’s never seen anything like it in her thousands of years of life. Yes, I had to show my junk to Celestia (and Luna, and their guards), in the throne room! And she didn’t even bother to draw the curtains.
You know, it actually sucks being a futa. This isn’t fantasy after all. This is real life.
I mean, have you ever actually thought about what would happen if somepony were a futa? I mean, for real? Have you thought about it? I mean, really thought about it? Because if you really think about it, it actually sucks. (And no, I don’t mean suck in a sexual way!)
Much of my story is not like a fictional futa story. At all. No, I didn’t fuck with Rainbow Dash after she found out. I swear. It didn’t happen. I was 13, for heaven’s sake! Wouldn’t that be crazy?
Rainbow Dash took me to the doctor. And after the doctor fainted, she took me to Princess Twilight, who told little Spike to go to his room “IMMEDIATELY!” At least she didn’t faint. (Wait “little Spike”!? What am I saying? He’s the same age as me!)
For a while Twilight just paced around me, examining me with her eyes. I subconsciously covered both my private parts with my hooves. Twilight used her magic to move my front hooves away and spread my hind legs apart. Which is plain creepy. Honestly, if she had asked politely for me to move my hoof away, I would’ve done it.
Then, quite calmly, she asked me to well…fap in front of her…and deposit my cum inside a test tube for her to examine. She watched me the whole 15 minutes. Real. Close. And I saw she got pretty hot under the collar.
Now I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not true. Twilight didn’t fuck me or anything like that. This isn’t a futa story. Stuff like that doesn’t happen in real life.
Anyway, after I finished masturbating and Twilight collected a…sample, she flipped through some books in her collection. She’d look at her book for 2 seconds, then gaze at my flaccid cock, still trickling with some cum, for about 10 seconds. It was dead silent.
“Erm…actually…” I said. “I’m kinda hungry, Twilight. Have you got any—”
“Hold up, Scoots. Lemme see something.” And she continued examining my “male part.”
So I just sat there. In the cold, drafty castle. With my hind legs held apart by a certain purple alicorn that happens to be a “princess.” With my junk being examined by said “princess.” For 3 whole hours. By a “princess” who was hot under the collar.
Not very princess-like, if you ask me.
“Well, I’ve certainly seen nothing like it in my experience,” Twilight finally said to Rainbow Dash, who was also there. “But look, I do see allusions to such a form in this scholarly text. For example, here, on page 69, there are references to ‘the mare’s bulbous, juicy cock’ and ‘the musk of a juicy cock mixed with the blossoming flower of pussy.’”
“Hmm. I see. So you’re saying other ponies have had this before?” Dash asked.
“Yes. I believe so, in ancient times. And that Scootaloo’s case is simply a recurrence of this.”
Then I noticed the cover of the book Twilight was looking at. I had to tell her. “Twilight! I think you’re mistaken! That’s not a scholarly text, that’s a copy of ‘Futaquestria: A Sexy Tale’ by E. L. Manes!”
That was so funny. I was practically choking from laughter. Rainbow Dash and Twilight didn’t seem to be laughing though. I guess they didn’t think it was funny.
“Oh,” Twilight simply said. “Well…I’ve read through every book in my collection. I can’t seem to find anything that can shed further light on your predicament. I’m sorry, Scootaloo.”
“Don’t be…hee-hee...” I was still having residual laughter. “You made my day.” Twilight didn’t even have the hint of a smirk on her face. Rainbow Dash neither. Come on, admit it, it is pretty funny!
Later that afternoon, there was a CMC meetup. At the beginning of the meeting, I did tell them about my…dick. And they said, “Oh, so the rumors are true?”
“Yeah,” I said. Word gets around fast in Ponyville, if you haven’t realized that already.
“Oh. Okay,” they said.
And all in all, it was a pretty normal CMC meeting. We discussed the fundraiser that we were hosting on Friday. We also discussed what snacks to serve at our meet and greet on Saturday.
But after I said, “Meeting adjourned,” Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom did kind of…stare at me. Not just a stare. Like…a grin. They were grinning like two horny lesbians at a strip club or something. Not like I had it out for everypony to see. I kept it sheathed inside. I mean, what sort of pony do you think I am!?
“What?” I said. It was silent.
“Well…it’s just…I’ve never actually seen one before,” Sweetie Belle said. She gave me this look like she was gonna ask me for a favor. A HUGE favor.
“Ya haven’t seen a dong before!? Yer kiddin’ me!” Apple Bloom said. “Big Mac an’ I used to take baths together when we was little. But…I’d be curious to see yer dong…Scootaloo.”
Ogling at the space in between my hind legs, Sweetie Belle said, “Can I see it? Please? I’ve never seen one before. And I mean, we’re friends and all.”
I said no, and both of them said, “Oh. Ok.”
I heard Applejack’s voice outside. “Hey y’all! Supper’s ready if you wanna head back to the house!”
“On our way, sis!”
That’s it. End of story. Now I know what you’re thinking. I mean, all I said was that they looked like horny lesbians. Not that they were horny lesbians. This isn’t a futa story. The CMCs are not sex maniacs, you know. They kept their hooves to themselves. And they know that “no” means “no.”
I shouldn’t have stayed for dinner, either. They all stared at me, but in way so that I wouldn’t think they were staring at me. I guess Applejack knew from Twilight, and so her family knew from her. But they were so polite, they didn’t bring it up the whole of dinner. All Applejack said to me was, “pass the salt, will ya squirt?”
“Sure, tha—”
I got cut off. It was Apple Bloom. “Don’t call her that, AJ!”
“Call her what?” she said.
“You know…‘squirt,’” she said very quietly, but I could hear her. “It’s offensive.”
“Why? Oh—oh, right. I see.” Squirt is related to ejaculation which is related to sperm which is related to dicks. It’s a stretch. I wasn’t offended at all.
Applejack began sweating and chuckling nervously. “I’m real sorry, Scootaloo, I didn’t mean to—”
“No, don’t apologize, AJ,” I said. “You can call me squirt. I’m not offended.”
“Ya don’t mind if we call ya squirt?”
“Yeah.”
“Ya 100% sure, sugarcube?”
“Yeah. Honestly, I’m less offended by ‘squirt’ than ‘sugarcube.’”
Applejack sweated even more. “Ya mean you’re offended by me callin’ ya sugarcube!? I…I’m so sorry, erm, honey, I…I should’ve thought about yer feelings before I—”
I shouldn’t have tried to sound witty. “No, no, I mean, like…both are fine,” I said. “You can call me squirt. Or you can call me sugarcube. Just chill, AJ. I’m pretty lenient on nicknames.”
“Aw…awright then. Jus’ don’t want ya feelin’ uncomfortable or somethin’.”
And then it got silent again. Big Mac didn’t even say “eeyup.” I kind of wish they would have talked about it. That dinner was the most awkwardly silent dinner I’ve ever been to. Not quiet, but silent. Silent, like something was being silenced from the conversation. I don’t like silence.
“You’re saying they have no idea?” Rainbow Dash asked me.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Well, I think you should tell them yourself. They’re your parents. They have a right to know.”
So I started drafting the letter. I already kind of had an idea of what I was going to write. “Dear Mum and Dad, how’s the weather in Shire Lanka? The weather in Ponyville is nice, but the weather just isn’t the same without Rainbow Dash at the helm of the weather control team. Today I got an A on my math test. I’m also taking shop class with Applejack and I’m learning a lot of new things. Oh and by the way, I’m half male and female, I have a dick and a pussy. I learned those bad words from my friends at school, so you don’t have to feel bad that you said a bad word in front of me the one day that you decided to show up and visit me in over 5 years or something like that. Best regards, Scootaloo.”
My final letter was basically that, other than one or two minor alterations. I sent it to the post office. Derpy was on duty on day, so I wasn’t sure whether the letter would reach them.
Well, 2 weeks later, I did get a response from them.
“Dear Scoots,
“We’re not sure if you’re trying to be sarcastic and/or passive aggressive here. But it isn’t working. We may not get to see you very often, but we’re not stupid. Your babysitters from when you were a foal all noticed it. We weren’t sure whether to tell you or not. We’ve been away so often, you see, and we weren’t sure how you’d take it coming from us. We thought of letting that blue pegasus that you like a lot tell you. We can’t recall her name.
“Now that you’re older, I guess you found out for yourself. We wanted to talk to you about your hermaphroditism the last time we visited, but unfortunately you got caught up in all the business about moving to Shire Lanka that we didn’t have the chance.
“That’s why we hoped that you would come and live with us. Sort of to make up for the way we’ve treated you in the past. Your room is waiting for you if you ever decide to change your mind.
“If not though, we’ll be sure to come and visit you more often.
“Love, Mum and Dad.”
It wasn’t like my whole life completely turned around after I discovered I was a futa. I wouldn’t say I lost or gained any friends. My friendships just…changed a lot. Rainbow Dash stopped calling me “squirt.” I’m sure Rarity and AJ told their sisters not to pick on me or talk about my…affliction. But that’s not bad. The bad thing is that they feel like they have to be nice. But it’s not nice. It’s something else.
I’ll give you an example. Before she found out, Sweetie Belle would always critique my mane. Like, when we were sitting in class, she’d say, “Scoot, your mane looks like a bird shit on it. You need to come over to Rarity’s this instant to get a makeover!” And we ran over to Rarity’s with huge smiles on our faces. And we’d laugh and goof off until the sunset. That’s how I learned the word “shit,” by the way.
But then after the whole futa thing came out in the open, all Sweetie Belle says are nice things. Generic nice things. Like, “you look really pretty today” or “that looks so cute on you.” She’s so plastic.
I’m not sure if it’s because we’ve gotten older and we’re more sensitive about each other’s feelings, but if that’s the case that means I haven’t gotten any older. Neither has Rainbow Dash. Like, one day I showed up to school looking absolutely hideous. As a test, you know. And Sweetie Belle just said, “you look nice today.” Like I’m some ticking time bomb that’s gonna blow at the smallest sign of offensive or discriminatory language. Trust me, I hate having a dick. I self-deprecate all the time. I call myself “half and half.” Like, the dairy product. If you get my drift. I mean, you don’t see me flexing in front of everyone because that I have a dick and a pussy, do you? This isn’t a futa story.
The only pony who wasn’t fake like that was Diamond Tiara. The first time I told her about it, we were walking around the town fair. I explained everything to her. And even though we didn’t talk about it after that, it wasn’t like she was avoiding the topic or anything. She just didn’t think it was that important. I remember later that evening we were lining up at the cinnamon nut stand. Without her tiara, she honestly looked like any other pony. That’s a good thing.
“These nuts are my favorite,” she said to me. “But I can’t let Mother catch me eating what she calls ‘common people food.’”
“They’re cinnamon nuts, right? Can you taste the cinnamon?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, these nuts are very fragrant,” she replied. “You can almost hear the crackling cinnamon as you bite into them.”
“They’re that fragrant, huh?”
“Well, they’re more fragrant than your nuts.” Okay, that was a good joke. At least I thought it was funny. After Diamond and I had stopped laughing, I told her, “Your jokes are pretty damn refreshing, Diamond.”
“I don’t have to worry about being nice all the time. It’s not like I have a reputation for it or anything.” We bought 4 bags of cinnamon nuts (2 to eat now and 2 to take home).
After that day, we started sitting next to each other in class. As we got closer over time, Diamond Tiara started inviting me to her house. She has this big screen movie projector in her basement, with really comfy beanbag cushions at the front. The first time she invited me over, we went into the projector room, and she just very casually asked me, “So Scootaloo, do you want watersports, gay stallions, or is mare-on-mare your thing?”
Apparently Diamond Tiara has a secret thing for watersports. Not that she asked me to use my dick to pee on her or anything. This isn’t a futa story. Or a watersports story, for that matter.
Diamond has her own diamond-encrusted vibrator (of course) that she uses, but she lent me one of her spares that’s neon yellow in color. “It’s clean, I promise.” She didn’t have anything for my dick, though. And she was really blunt about it. She said, “You’ll just have to use your hoof, I guess.”
I chose the gay stallion video. So we just glued our eyes to the giant screen as we masturbated. I know it sounds weird, but I couldn’t think of a better way to spend an afternoon with a friend. We both came at the same time. And after the orgasmic pulses of pleasure faded, we lay down on the beanbags, panting with exhaustion, our sweat rolling on the waterproof beanbag fabric. I was dripping with thick cum, which Diamond cleaned up right away. No matter how secretive the butler Randolph was supposed to be, she didn’t want me to feel embarrassed. I was still pretty embarrassed.
“Now…you see why I wanted to sit on the beanbags,” Diamond Tiara said casually as she wiped the semen from the beanbag.
Now, I know what you’re thinking. And you know, if this was a futa story, at this point, we’d look into each other’s eyes, kiss passionately, and fuck each other on the beanbag.
But this isn’t a futa story. This is real life. And stuff like that doesn’t happen in real life. What did happen was I took a shower in the guest room, Diamond took a shower in her bathroom, Diamond asked me for some help on math homework, I gave it to her (but I gave nothing else), we ate some leftover chocolates lying in the pantry, and then we said goodbye.
And for the record, I really enjoyed that afternoon.
Eventually, of course, my hoof wasn’t enough pleasure so after I became an adult and I left school, I started dating. I’m actually attracted to stallions, but I’ve dated more mares than I have stallions. As in, I’ve dated zero stallions. And 10 mares. I even went out with Diamond Tiara once, and thankfully it took just one round of cider and 13 minutes in bed together to figure out “yeah, nope, good friends, that’s it.” And we’re still good friends.
It’s not like I’ve tried. I’ve pretty much asked every unmarried stallion in Ponyville under 30, and they’ve all said, “No.” They all know about it. My…affliction. And I guess stallions get freaked out when their filly-friend has a bigger cock than they do. Diamond thinks I should go to Canterlot or Manehattan to try my luck, but I’m not too keen on the long distance relationship thing. I hate it, actually. I hate it with a living passion. Long distance relationships are doomed to fail.
My family has been basically one long distance relationship. Still is.
Mares, on the other hand. When I was a teenager, my female classmates were begging me to go out with them. A lot of fillies want to go out with me for “the training.” Like, I think they want to test out their “skills” before they progress to a “real stallion.” And that includes “testing the parts.” It’s absolutely disgusting.
Looking back, I guess I’d say was an “escort.” That’s just a nicer word for a hooker. Still a bad word though. I’d take the mares out for dinner. Which I hated. They always take me to the nicest restaurants, I tell you. And they let me order the more expensive thing on the menu. After dinner they always pay for the bill, and then they’d take me to their bedroom for “the training.” I guess the expensive dinner was their payment or something.
Now, I don’t mind the expensive restaurants. I like the food there. I may like heavy rock music, Sapphire Shores, and hate frou-frou dresses, but I’m not Apple Bloom. I have refined tastes you know. Diamond Tiara taught me a lot about haute cuisine (or “toffee-nose grub,” as Diamond likes to call it). One of my favorite dishes is braised baby carrots, with a little balsamic and red wine reduction. And it goes well with a nice VSOP Sweet Apple Acres apple brandy.
I guess my point is, I’m really not that different from any ordinary pony. Or any ordinary filly, for that matter. I have hobbies, interests, even kinks. But I’m not a 24/7 sex maniac. This isn’t a futa story.
The part I hated about those dates was that the conversation was always so damn awkward. You can only imagine that during conversation there was always this elephant in the room. An enormous, elephant-sized-cock elephant.
And they always managed to work it into the conversation. Like, I’ll say, “I love to take a spin on my scooter in the morning when the air’s nice and fresh,” and then they’ll say, “Oh, well you have a cock so you like guy stuff.” Or if I say, “I actually do like makeup and styling my mane,” and then they’ll say, “Oh, well you also have a pussy so you like girl stuff.” Ugh.
You know, I lied to you.
I lied to you about Rainbow Dash. The truth is, Rainbow Dash did fuck me that day. Twice. She wanted to make sure it was actually “working” and that this wasn’t a prank. And she wasn’t truly convinced that it was real until she realized a few days later that she was pregnant. I got her pregnant.
I was 13 years old.
My son is 4 now. Just a little foal. That’s all I know about it. I don’t even know its name. Rainbow Dash doesn’t let me see it. Not because she hates me, on the contrary. It’s more like she’s ashamed of herself or something. She tells everypony that it came from a “sperm donor.” I mean, despite that, we’re still cool. Rainbow Dash and I still hang out. She doesn’t talk about my son. And I also don’t really want to talk about it—I mean, him.
I also might have lied about one or two other things in this story. Like about Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom. Or Princess Twilight. Or more than that. I’ll keep this short. I’m sorry. I lied because, well…I just wanted to pretend for a while that none of those…things actually happened. It’s kind of painful to recall them anyway. Traumatic, really. But I’m not gonna waste my time telling you that.
I just didn’t want to let this become another futa story. I mean, if you look at my story, I’ve got the “discovery” phase, the “fucking” phase, the “pregnancy” phase, and then the…
Actually this could never be a futa story. Because futa stories always have happy endings.
Author's Note
Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it. Your feedback is appreciated.
Confused? Sorry, in that case I didn't make it clear enough, but the title was supposed to have a hidden meaning because it is not a futa story, it is a story about sexual abuse. I tried to hint that in the story, like when she said her past was "traumatic."
