Clitty on the Edge of Forever

You trembled throughout the entire flight to Steel Stables. It wasn't because of the cold winds. Besides, you've flown routes like this before while delivering camera film. The world was about to change, and you could feel it. In your bones, in your blood, and—for once—in your balls. Something about this night was going to take something from you. It may not have been your virginity—after all, Starlight only wanted to chat over dinner. But somehow you couldn't shake the feeling that this was the end of something. This was when the teetering would begin—your fragile position along the precipice of forever.

“Forever.” You've long been obsessed with that concept. It's been more than a matter of relinquishing the fragile illusion of immortality that most youths suffer. But you personally see it as a generalized “scare word” that marks the unseen boundaries of your existence. All of that was just about to expand—or shatter—upon meeting this voluptuous Starlight Glimmer. She could very well be heralding the end of your virginity. And—with that—the beginning of the end of so many things, paving a slope towards all the other elements in life that you once considered unfathomable—in both triumphs and tragedy. It was scary and exciting all at once, and the best takeaway from it all that you could conceive is that you would no longer be parenthetically imprisoned by something.

Something like the word “virgin,” so lame and so gross. And here you were about to make a bloody bicycle skid into newer roads, some of which were unpaid—but at least they led you somewhere... even into forever. And if being twenty and horny and full of macro obsession doesn't define what it means to “find yourself in life,” then what the fuck else even are you? Maybe “forever” would tell, or maybe it wouldn't. But—by death or by snu-snu—this Starlight was very likely going to help.

It still didn't soothe your shivers as you touched down in the gritty parking lot of the Steel Stables restaurant. Half the spaces were filled with lazy vehicles. The sun had long gone down behind the umbral edge of the gray city, and yellowish specks of light blurred by on the nearby freeway, filling the air with a hushed percussion that marked every nervous step you took towards the door.

Before entering, you cursed at yourself, pausing at the entrance to do one last—supremely lame thing. Reaching into your messenger bag (it's not a purse, kappa), you pulled loose the best friend any flight-born young man could afford—transparent binding. With textbook precision, you wrapped this around the lower joints of your wings, fastening the whole ensemble to your back. Now—it would take a veritable stampede of elephants to uncoil your wings. There was no way on Celestia's green earth that they could stretch for any unspecific reason whatsoever.

This was enough to give you an even breath. So—onwards you marched into the establishment, asking for a table for two.

“Are you Featherweight?” some blonde thing at the hosting podium asked between chewing gum smacks.

“Uhhhhh—”

“A Miss Glimmer is expecting you. Over at table twenty.”

“Uhhhh—”

Shit.

She beat you to it!

How is that even friggin' possible?! She doesn't know this town! She doesn't even have wings!”

Did she teleport? Is this gonna be some crazy obsessed stalker shit? Does Hoity Toity is gay?

A million thoughts enjoyed a diarrhea orgy all across your brain bone. Through such a numb cloud of dumb fartsposition, you limped—somewhat blindly—until a purple glint from an errant chakra stone directed your twitching vision to a table along the far end of the establishment. And then you heard a voice—a voice that shook you to the core—so delightfully mirthful and womany and angelic that it could only belong to her.

“Featherweight?” A smile. Kittens dancing. Valkyries moaning across thunderclouds. “Featherweight! Heehee—it is you! Hey—over here!”

You looked over. You looked up.

She was standing up, lifted by that smile—at a full height of six feet three inches. Somehow, on paper, you knew that she was tall. The photograph did the truth some justice, but it wasn't quite the same as this... as basking in the shadow of a goddess in a dark vest over a turquoise blouse with faded jeans. She looked so casual—but even if she wore a potato sack she would look like a majestic queen. It put every word that she had ever written to shame—even in their cutest accented handwriting—for nothing could possibly encapsulate the beautiful reality of what loomed before you, waiting to tip over and crush you with a wink or a kiss through your fragile skull.

So... no.

You are indeed not enough man for her. Not then, not now, not ever. You're a whispy whimper of a whiny punk, barely two years past teenagedom, with more perversions and complexes and insecurities than one could shake a stick at—and certainly not your stick.

Which is what shocked you all the more when—instead of flinching or diving out the nearest window in horror—she instead crossed the distance with one feminine swoosh of her limbs and placed a loving hand on your shoulder. Gentle. Kneading.

“Heheheh... you're just as adorable as in your photo!” There was the wink—but your life was somehow spared. “To be honest...” A whisper: “I like this hairstyle better. You look less like a monk.”

“Uhhhh—”

“Did you fly in all the way?! Pfft—you must be friggin' exhausted, sweetie!” She guided—more like tugged you to the table booth. “Come! Sit down! Rest those cute wings of yours!”

“Uhhhh—”

Like an idiot, you sat. Like an idiot, you trembled. Like an idiot, you nodded your head to all the rambling, joyous things she rolled off her tongue. Starlight Glimmer—as it turned out—is just as talkative in person as she is on paper. It simply... took you a few minutes of acclimating to the situation before you could even register the words coming out of her mouth. Then, as the blood in your body started flowing like normal again, you found the strength to sit still... to listen... and—yes—to even smile.

There is something quite... profoundly relaxing about Starlight Glimmer. You first experienced it that night, nestled behind the table like it was a bunker. It's as if she knew that you were a soft-spoken creature in reality. Rather than allow the moment to drown in undue awkwardness, she took control of the situation.

She took control... and in so doing she filled the moment with words, with warmth, with herself. She poured her heart and soul into the breadth of air between you, and soon it was toasty enough inside that you felt like the nearby patrons could roast marshmallows over your combined heads.

And once she had sliced more than a good few openings, you finally... finally took a moment to put a few words in yourself. But only once you felt confident. Only once you felt comfortable. And as your tongue joined in the dance, she slowed the pace of the conversation so you could match it, so that you wouldn't look quite so goofy on that invisible dance floor. And with every inane bit of whimsical conversation you entertained—from discussing the weather to virginsplaining the mechanics of proper photography—she took it all in stride, with eyes that stared at you... eyes full of patience and majesty, framed by the twinkle of pretty lashes and a purple chakra stone that occasionally sparkled whenever she giggled.

Magic is indeed a real thing. You only had to meet her in person.

Dinner was served. Some... fishy shit. Salmon and shrimp and... shit. Who the fuck cares. You were eating her in the whole time... drinking her girlish perfume in between pointless bites of nothingness. There was a second hunger lying beneath everything, even if you hovered safely above it on the currents of her innocent voice.

And then it came time for dessert, and things got scary.

You couldn't tell when it happened, but Starlight's voice had deepened slightly. Whimsy had slid over to make a warm seat for sultry, and before you knew it—she was breaching a brand new subject.

The subject. She tested the waters with the most subtle of inquisitions, too: “When did you first know that you were into 'giant' partners?”

You blinked. The hand you were using to hold the spoon of jello lifted from atop your ice cream sundae suddenly shook with gelatinous vulnerability. “Uhm... when was I first a macro-tard?” you burped, nearly going cross-eyed.

Somehow, she giggled at that. You didn't know whether to smile or jab the utensil into your dickhole. Death by sounding. Tonight at eleven. “Well, that's one way of putting it! But... yeah! When?” She leaned forward with a weighty wag to her painted eyelids. “Was it that one Saturday Morning Cartoon about Daring Do and the Cyclops Queen?”

“I... uh... n-never watched that show.”

“Oh! Right...” Starlight slapped her own forehead, causing the stone to flicker. “I keep forgetting I'm way older than you.”

She wasn't the only one. You were trembling once again. The jello told it to the universe—the scant few souls left in the establishment could look over and see a gamma ray burst about to happen. “I... uhm...” You cleared your throat. “I was super young at the time.”

“Pffft.” She winked. “Define 'young,' sweetie.”

“Mmmm...” You swallowed the jello as your barfed out your thoughts. “Mrrmmheerilee's gwaff.”

“Huh?”

You swallowed. “Cheerilee's class. Elementary school.”

“Whoah, that early?”

“Yeah. Some book we read about a dude who went to a world full of little people. It got me to thinking about... like... the opposite? Only I was a small person and everyone was... g-giant women.”

“Oh-oh really?” Starlight leaned her smiling chin on a wrist, looking too interested to be true. And yet it was oh-so-true. You shivered as her curiosity spilled further: “Tell me more.”

You've never told anyone “more.” In fact, you've never told anyone anything. Even in your letters to Starlight, this was all sacred information that was meant for the walls of your brain and nothing more. But after more than fifteen years of bouncing around with no relief, you finally found the courage—or the weakness—to share.

And share you did—telling her the silliest, doofiest fantasies you've ever had. Fantasies that continued epically on a nightly basis. Fantasies about being a lone little boi, lost in a strange land full of giant girls. About how they'd catch you and put you in a cage somewhere so they could smile at you and coo at you and giggle in your presence. You were such a silly, cute plaything to them, an absolute doll. The things they said echoed all of the teases hurled your way at the schoolyard, but none of them carried the malice. And even if these fantasy giantesses were malevolent, it was a cruelty that you could handle... that you could enjoy. Just as they enjoyed you—when they occasionally let you out of this fantasy cage to fantasy cavort all over their fantasy bodies. And they giggled at their silly little pet. And they smiled... as you smiled.

And somewhere a noodle-limbed, freckled-faced, bucktoothed you grew up humping the bed to this imaginary world, one awkward year after another, until you reached this point and place now, sitting proudly in public, opening up to a considerate grown woman who somehow wasn't laughing or vomiting at every soulful confession of your delicately metamorphosing libido.

And somewhere, in the midst of this, you became aware of a rock-hard erection burning a hole into the crotch of your pants. Only when you breathed out the last refrain of your long-winded recollection did you awaken to this horribly turgid reality, and how your wings were also threatening to burst through the flimsy binding you had made for them upon entering.

All things considered, you could have recovered from this...

...hadn't Starlight chosen that exact moment to reach her smooth, manicured hand across the table to rest atop your wrist. “I must say, I envy those girls. Having an adorable pet like that.” She winked. Something moved beneath her lips, all the while she stared down the most fragile piece of you through your eyes. “Something tells me I won't have to envy them for long.”

Shit...

The spoon fell from your spasming hand. It landed in the sundae, splattering cream across Starlight's forelimb and part of her blouse.

But that wasn't the only mess you made.

Shit...!

Your thighs clenched together, but it was too fucking late. And, to top that off, you felt a cascade of feathers across your neck and shoulders. Your goddamn binding had shattered like tinfoil! And now you felt your wings stabbing the back of the booth. People were looking over. A high-pitched whimper was filling the air—and it came from you.

“F-Featherweight...?” Some strange woman reacted to your overreaction.

“Shit...” You finally cursed out loud, but it sounded like a mewling kitten. Probably because you were already crying. Like a child. Such a Celestia-damned child. “Damn... d-damn...!” You tried to say something else—but you were hyperventilating at this point. You shifted your thighs again, and you felt the warm river of you dribbling lazily down one leg. Your eyes misted up to match the misery of the moment. “Mmmm—!”

Then—with a clatter—you scampered out from the table altogether. Heads turned. Plates clattered. You clamped two hands over your face in mid-sob and barreled out the exit. The door stung your pathetic bony limbs, but you limped on, into the urban misery and blight of Fillydelphian night. Your flight-born body instinctually leapt skyward, with the wind, but you couldn't get your wings to work. They were just too damned stiff—even after you had brought premature armageddon to your briefs. You stupid bastard. You stupid, pathetic, perverted little shitstain. Luna damn it all to Hell, why don't you just slide under a rock and hide there forever like the little worm that you are—

“Featherweight! Stop!”

You remember gasping.

She ran out after me?

Your heart leapt.

She ran out after me!

And then it sank.

No. Goddess dammit no—”

You tried to leap again. Stiff wings dragged in the air, and you came thundering back down towards the pavement of the parking lot.

A strong pair of arms caught you. “Sweetie, wait—!”

“Mmmf—” Like a stuck pigeon on the playground, you fussed and struggled. “Let me go—”

Starlight's arms encircled you. Tightly. Her soft bosom pressed into your back. Entrapped, you both fell together, deflating to the edge of the lot, so that you were sobbing and trembling within open glare of the cars swishing by. Her hands swept past your bangs, gentle, caressing, as if working to shield you from them too. Shield you from everything.

“Shhhh... it's okay... it's okay—”

“I'm so p-pathetic!” you whimpered.

“No you're not.”

“But I... I just couldn't—”

“Doesn't take a court magician to figure out what happened,” she said, both motherly and teasing all at once. Somewhere in between both tones, a warm melody ensued. “And I'm not mad, sweetie. Shhhh... you hear me? It's okay.” Her hands stroked your head and neck as she held you closer. “I'm not mad. Now please... please don't fly away.”

You couldn't. Even if you tried. Between your uselessly stiff wings and her strong, empowering arms, you weren't going anywhere. And—as her breaths lulled your sobs down a cold, calm slope—you found that it no longer mattered. You could scarcely feel the moistness in your crotch anymore, and your tongue still ached for the sweetness of the dessert you had so stupidly abandoned back there.

What was Starlight doing to you? Could this have come so easily before?

Then... you felt her lips kiss your forehead. But that wasn't the unexpected part. “Hmmmm... thank you,” she said.

Flabbergasted, you summoned the breath to murmur: “What f-for?” You sniffled, your face still awash with fresh tears. “What d-did I do?”

“It's just... well...” It was her turn to sound vulnerable, though she played it off with adorable nonchalance. “Real talk. But up until now... part of me was a littttle scared that maybe... just maybe... … … you were f-faking it about the whole 'virgin' thing. But... heheheheh...” She nuzzled your face and neck, sharing the smile up close. “Now I know the truth. And... and I couldn't be happier.” A deep gulp, followed by a painfully guilty expression. “Sorry for doubting, sweetie.” She bit her lip.

“Don't... don't be sorry...” You stammered. You wriggled an arm between the two of you to dry your face, the only “strong” thing you did all evening. “I... I just don't understand why—”

“It's this, okay?” She hugged you for emphasis, making sure her eyes reflected every delicate color of the moment. “This is what I want. Someone precious. Someone so sincere... so honest... so fragile... that...” She paused for breath—a warm one at that. You became acutely aware of two points along her bosom growing sharper against your back. “...that e-every little thing I say or do would move the very earth under your adorable feet.” A smile that could kill the Sun. “And I wouldn't even have to shrink you for it.”

And you remember staring at her, breathless, wondering if it was possible to fall in love with someone a hundred times in a single moment.

“Now... uhm... if we're both done feeding mosquitoes... what say we head back inside, sweetie?” She lifted you up with scarcely a finger. You clung to her like the feathers you are. “If nothing else... we'd better not let the waitress think we skipped out on her without paying a tip!”

You giggled. There was nothing else to do. “We c-can't let that happen.”

“Mmmmm. Nope!” And she hooked her arm with yours and led you back inside.

And it's safe to say—with all that's been lost and gained ever since—you've yet to limp back out.