“Hey! They’re starting!”
Your friend shakes you awake. “They’re starting!”
“Wha?” you reply, blinking your eyes into focus.
“The Wonderbolts! They’re finally ready to start the show!” your friend informs you.
Being huge Wonderbolts nerds, you and your friend got to their new Canterlot flight show early. Unfortunately, you’d arrived way, WAY too early. The flight show wasn’t due to start for another 5 hours. After long hours of waiting, you must have eventually fallen asleep.
The Wonderbolts strut out onto a cloud platform. You try to identify Spitfire. She’s your favourite Wonderbolt. You see her at the back of the group, behind Soarin.
The Wonderbolts fly into the air…
“That was awesome!” your friend yells in your ear, adding to the already deafening noise of the crowd roaring and applauding.
“Uh, yeah. It was cool. It’s a shame my ears are starting to bleed,” you reply.
“Dude! Let’s get autographs!” your friend screams in your ear.
“Alright, anything to get away from this noise,” you reply. You follow your friend down out of the stands and go into a building.
“Where are we? The Wonderbolts aren’t even in here,” you ask.
“Pretty sure this is their dressing room,” your friend replies.
“Uhh… are we allowed to be in here?” you ask.
“Yeah, totally. Don’t worry about it,” your friend replies.
2 huge, over-burly security guards hurl you and your friend onto the street outside the Wonderbolt stadium.
“Wow, nice job, loser,” you sarcastically pout to your friend.
“Hey, come on! How was I supposed to know we weren’t allowed back there?” he indignantly replies.
“Now we’re never gonna get autographs,” you say.
“Oh yeah! You really wanted Spitfire to sign your geeky Wonderbolts poster didn’t you? Since you have such a MASSIVE CRUSH on her.” Your friend starts tittering like a moron. You feel your blood pressure rising.
“Shut the hell up! So what if I think Spitfire’s cool?” you ask him.
He starts laughing even harder, before suddenly stopping and staring at the street behind you. “Aw dude, she’s right there!” he says.
You turn around. You see Spitfire and Soarin walking out of the flight stadium. You rush over to them.
“Spitfire!” you yell.
She turns to you. “Um, hi? Have we met?” she asks.
“No, but uhhhhhhhhhhhh,” you reply. You have forgotten how to speak in the presence of your hero.
“Heh, I think he’s a fan of yours,” Soarin says.
You have not yet reached a level of mental awareness sufficient enough to allow you to form a coherent sentence, but you find yourself able to nod frantically while handing Spitfire your Wonderbolts poster.
“Cool,” she says. She takes the poster from you and quickly scribbles her name down on it. She hands it back to you.
“Thanks so much! You’re the best!” you say before turning to leave.
“HE HAS A CRUSH ON YOU!” your friend yells from behind you. You freeze. Spitfire stares at you with a ‘seriously?’ expression.
You are torn between trying to explain the situation to Spitfire and charging towards your friend to pummel him into a blood-coated, battered corpse.
“Well,” Spitfire says, “that’s cool. He seems cool.”
Your mind cannot comprehend what is happening. Spitfire, your hero, just said you were cool.
“Hey, actually,” she says, “wanna come back to my place? Since you seem to be such a huge fan, I can show you some cool Wonderbolts stuff.”
You follow Spitfire back to her house, giving your friend the most monumentally smug “fuck you” facial expression in the history of time.
“Ohmygoodnesslookatyourhousethere’satrophydidyouwinthatohwowit’syourhouse”
“Uh, heh, you can calm down there…”
You manage to suppress your stream of fanboy nonsense.
You continue moving in super slow-motion through her living room, taking note of every single item. You feel like you’re in some kind of holy temple.
Spitfire sits on her sofa. You sit next to her, shivering slightly in a fanboyish spasm.
You talk with Spitfire for a long time – at first the conversation is Spitfire saying something vaguely Wonderbolts related and you countering with one long incredibly unbroken sentence about how much of a Wonderbolts fan you are, moving from topic to topic so she never had a chance to interrupt.
Eventually, however, the conversation becomes more relaxed and you actually begin to form a friendship with Spitfire. You continue to ask her every question imaginable about the Wonderbolts, but she starts asking some questions about you and getting to know you better.
After a while, you look up at the clock.
“Oh, geez! It’s 2am!” you say. “I thought it was only like 9pm or something!”
“Woah. That went fast,” Spitfire says.
“I should probably go,” you say. “It’s kinda late.”
“Oh. No, you don’t wanna go out in Cloudsdale at night. There’s muggers and criminals everywhere,” she says.
“Everywhere?” you reply. “I’m sure that’s an exaggeration. I’ll be fine, don’t worry about it.”
“You can always stay here for tonight, if you want,” Spitfire says. “Besides, you never said goodbye properly.”
You go over to give her a goodbye hug, but she leaps on you and starts kissing you ferociously. You wonder if it’s good or bad that all you can think about at that moment is what an awesome story this is gonna make when you tell it to your Wonderbolts fanclub.
You begin to attempt to speak, although you’re still dazed and shocked from the kiss, but Spitfire shushes you and leads you into her bedroom. You begin kissing again while laying on the bed.
You trail your hoof down her stomach until you press against her already moist pussy.
“Mm!” she says, still kissing you. She breaks the kiss.
“One sec,” she says, then reaches over into her drawers. She pulls out a condom. “Here.”
You wrap the condom around your penis and then slide into her from behind. She moans loudly.
You begin thrusting harder and harder… and eventually feel a rip. The condom has broken.
“Uh, Spitfire, I think…”
“Uh…” she says, out of breath. “What?”
“I think…” you decide not to tell her about the broken condom. It feels better without a condom anyway.
You start thrusting into her again, but she doesn’t seem to be into it.
“What’s wrong?” you ask.
“The condom ripped, didn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.
“um… yeah,” you reply timidly.
Spitfire immediately gets out of bed.
“When the fuck were you gonna tell me?!” she yells.
“Uh… right after I’d jizzed?” Only after saying this do you realize it was probably the worst thing you could have said.
She looks at you with an expression of disgust and rage.
“Oh, come on!” you say. “It’s not like we needed a condom anyway! Abortions are free on the Equestria healthcare system!”
You decide to stop talking forever. You don’t seem to be able to say anything that doesn’t make the situation about 50 times worse than it already is.
“For your information, you goddamn idiot, I asked you to wear a condom not because I was scared of getting pregnant, but because I have herpes,” she growls.
“So wh-“ you begin, before it dawns on you. “Oh god! Aaagh!”
“Yeah, that’s right. Maybe you should have told me, you moron,” Spitfire says.
“AAAAGH! AAAAAAAAAAAAGH!” You appear to be incapable of doing anything other than scream.
“But since you’re apparently the type of person who thinks it’s funny to not tell people about broken condoms, why don’t you get the fuck out of my house before I lose my temper for real and kill you?” she asks.
She charges into you and pushes you out the door into the street.
“Goddamnit. This has got to be a dream. Nothing this bad could ever happen in real life,” you say. You look down miserably at your signed Wonderbolts poster. You guess it’s the only thing you’ll ever have to remember Spitfire by.
You hear footsteps behind you and turn around to see a group of muggers holding knives.
“We’ll be having that poster now…”
