The Continuing Adventures of Baudy, the Filly With a Dial-Up Modem for a Vagina

The other thing ponies didn't know all the time about Baudy was her special talent. Her cutie mark was a clue, but that was true for everypony, so it wasn't exactly helpful in this case. Not many other ponies had a plastic computer peripheral in place of their pussy, but that was only half the story. Baudy would tell the rest if she decided she liked you.

It was all about being plugged in.

Right now, Baudy was listening to music and surfing the internet on her laptop. She liked to sprawl out on her bed face down and place pillows under her stomach to lift herself up a little bit. Otherwise she got sore after a while of browsing. Her laptop was old, and covered in stickers and spray-paint, still running a barely stable version of Windows 98. Baudy loved her laptop, but she loved it like she suspected a parent loves a child who takes until age eight to potty train. It had been through a lot, though. And it was still here.

Sometimes Baudy liked to dance when she listened to music, but when she was really tired, which felt like a lot lately, she just enjoyed lying on her bed and letting the music sink into her head and fill her eyes and ears and thoughts up with all the different ways the music was moving and bouncing and intersecting with itself. Baudy liked music that had patterns in it, which was all music, technically, so maybe she just like music with patterns that were a bit more difficult to figure out at first.

Most of the time, Baudy felt like an alien from a different planet. She felt like every time she opened her eyes at the beginning of the day, she was a scientific specimen emerging from a cryogenic tube, pulling itself from the slippery nutrient-based slime and blinking stupidly in the face of a hundred blinding lights and prodding examiners. She dreamed about that a lot, and sometimes it was hard to tell when she was dreaming.

Baudy had found somepony online that she liked. That was easy enough, because she liked almost everypony, though whether or not she 'loved' them was a different matter. Even if you could justify a good ass-fucking as 'lovemaking', that didn't account for a whole lot of other history bundled up in that word. A very complex, very deceptive looking set of four letters. Baudy avoided it, most of the time. She really liked things, like noise rock and cinnamon toast and masturbating for strangers on the internet. But she didn't love them. That was too complex a series of quantum interactions to muddle with.

This pony wanted to meet her tonight, or technically this morning, as the time in the lower right corner of her laptop suggested it was indeed into the early hours of the next day, and Baudy had lost track of time looking for attention in chat rooms again.

It was a mildly difficult decision. Then the pony offered to pick her up, and the choice was obvious. If she barely had to move, just get up and drag herself to the pony's ride of choice, and then lurch her way to whatever flat surface in his apartment would be stable enough to hold her while she got rutted forcefully enough to keep her awake.

And there was an opportunity. For downloading.

So Baudy tidied herself up, to an extent, which mostly meant washing her face and hooves and brushing her teeth with the bubblegum toothpaste she kept on the bathroom sink. Even if her breath was going to smell like cum ten minutes later, it never hurt to make a nice first impression.

She put on her skirt—walking around the apartment naked was more fun than the alternative, so the skirt mostly just stayed around for trips outside—, and, on a whim, a cute little pair of thong underwear. She wondered why it was called a 'pair' when it was pretty clearly a single item of clothing. But it accented her butt nicely when she pulled it in, and the way it hung and clung over her white plastic and flashing lights was absurd and sexy all at once. To her, anyway.

She checked the modem too—made sure there was no dust or debris in any of the ports, that the dial was well-tuned and not squeaky. You needed to do much more upkeep when someone was back there fiddling all the time.

Everything checked out squeaky clean. Baudy packed a bottle of lube, an ethernet cable, and her laptop, into a small black bag she liked to carry with her on outings sometimes. Then she waited for the pony arrive, which only took about four minutes. He either lived close, or had driven very fast.

"Hey," he said when Baudy opened the door. He looked sweaty, but athletic. Maybe he'd run here. But, then, she could see his carriage just behind him.

Oh. And he'd brought...

"These are for you," he said. He handed her the bouquet of flowers (do ponies hand things, come to think of it, or do they hoof things?), which was a mix of red, purple, and pink, some roses mixed in with other things she couldn't name, but which looked beautiful and smelled a bit like a fruit punch on first inspection. She sniffed again, deeply, and caught a hint of the summer air buried in whatever mysterious machinations made the flowers fragrant in the first place.

"Thanks," she said. She smiled at him.

Two of her modem lights were already flickering.

A little romance never hurt, even when it came to online butt-fucking.