Author's Note
It's getting harder to write, but at least one joke in here demanded my attention.
Dampness
The changing facilities provided in most swimming pools were not spacious to start with, and sharing a booth with a large magical horse princess was an experience I would describe as, well, an experience.
Still, I only nearly lost an eye to her horn once, which isn’t the worst, and we did both end up dressed for a swim, so it was a success.
We were on holiday, you see - on earth this time, just for a change of pace - and one of the things you did on this particular holiday was go swimming. There were other things, including simply lounging around the cosy little lodge not doing anything in particular and also staying in bed until a truly luxurious time in the morning. But since Celestia and me had already done those, alongside a couple other activities, it seemed like a good time to go for a swim.
And so I’m in trunks, which is nothing especially interesting (even if I’m a fan of the pattern), and she was in, uh…
I’m not well-versed in couture, haute or otherwise - to the extent I don’t even know if that applies in this instance. Does it? I don’t know. I just know that the thing Celestia is wearing is complicated. A bewildering contraption of straps and catches that required her holding a few odd poses in that cramped changing booth and me trying to help, and which eventually concluded with her somehow just teleporting into the thing wholesale.
Very impressive, no doubt! My girl is nothing if not impressive. But what anyone else is meant to do without help or teleportation is anyone’s guess. Struggle? Fail?
Oh well, it’s a nice costume, as far as these things go. If you’re interested in your horse-significant other in swimwear. In seeing that. But who’d be interested in that?
She’d ditched the crown and other bits of regalia, obviously, so that wasn’t there, and what you had instead was kind of a one-piece-made-up-of-other-pieces deal, in pleasingly garish shades (some pony habits don’t break), cut and fitted to comfortably accommodate the wings, finished off with a gauzy, swishy sarong-thing with a sun on it. A nice touch, I felt.
Was it a sarong? If I called it a sarong in conversation would I get odd looks?
Probably best not to say anything at all.
I may not have known how to describe her getup - even inside my own head - but I knew that I liked it. And really, isn’t that what really matters?
She appears less sure.
“This is entirely for your benefit, you know,” she said, looking to me after having looked over herself. She catches me staring - entirely so I could describe in my head what it was she was wearing, you understand. No other reasons.
“Oh I know,” I said, remembering that I was actually supposed to be putting our stuff into some lockers and that I had only got halfway through that before getting distracted. Stopping being distracted, I finished.
Strictly speaking she didn’t have to wear a costume while swimming. None of our guests or visitors had to. Much as they didn’t have to wear clothes when going about their day-to-day business on this side. Many had simply decided to start putting something on when swimming owing to local custom, starting something of a habit.
Or maybe a fashion. A fad? Whatever. It was a thing.
And since it was a thing there were now multitudes of providers on-hand (hoof? Claw?) offering all manner and varieties of options catering to all manner and varieties of shapes and sizes. Hence the swimming gear I had helped struggle her into and struggled (and continued to struggle) to comprehensively describe or identify.
“We don’t really have these sorts of things in Equestria. Not like this, anyway. Seems a bit of a waste of time to me,” she said as we made our way together towards the showers, and thence to the water.
“Just always skinny dipping, is that it?” I asked.
“I don’t know what that means but I can guess what it means and yes, that. All the time.”
I clucked my tongue and shook my head sadly.
“Rampant immodesty, that’s your lot’s problem. No modesty at all. Insufficient modesty.”
A sarong-clad - definitely a sarong, I’m going to take a stand on that one even if I do turn out to be wrong - rear bumped into me and nearly knocked me into a wall. She got some heft when she puts her hips into it, let me tell you.
A wing goes about my shoulder and pulls me in against her.
“Don’t remember you complaining before…”
“Ahah, hah. Hah.”
Yeah, well. Got me there.
And then we were showering. We were not the only ones. Celestia wasn’t the only pony present, either. A trio of young-ish mares went laughing past, having finished doing the swimming and going off to go and get dry and do whatever else they had planned.
“Kind of odd seeing ponies decked to swim. Not something I ever pictured. Never really thought about them in the water, either,” I said.
“You didn’t think ponies could swim?” Celestia asks me.
Bah, I’m being misquoted.
“Horses, ponies, whichever. And I didn’t say that, I just said I hadn’t really thought about it. I’m not an expert. Doctor expert. Professor. Equestologist.”
One of those words had to be right, or at least close.
She was smirking at me.
“Try harder, dear,” she said, in tones of piercing condescension.
“Equestrian?”
“Not quite,” she said, giving me a pat on the arm, and then moving the same hoof to tap her chin in mock-thought. “That being said though, you are rather good at riding horses…”
“There are children here!” I hissed.
As if to underline this at that very moment a brace of kids went screaming and giggling underneath Celestia and through her legs as one chased the other, followed by their harried and apologetic father who was close on their heels, telling them both to not run with the tired resignation of a man who has spent several minutes repeating himself.
“Must watch my step.”
“When you’re not corrupting the innocence of the youth you’ve crushing them underhoof. Sad.”
“Oh shush.”
In we went.
The place was of a certain style. I had a fondness for the style. Lots of greenery, lots of warm stone and crazy paving. There’s a kids bit I can see done to look pirate-esque, as might be expected. The outflow of the waterslides is visible and even as we’re standing there at the top of the ramp to go down I see a teenager come firing out to careen into the splash pool. I know there’s a lazy river somewhere. The light tang of chlorine, the hiss of foam, the mulch of sound that comes from scores of people talking and laughing over each other.
You know what I mean.
“Behold, the subtropical swimming paradise,” I said, grandly.
“Ooh,” she said. I put my hand onto her back.
“I thank you for the ooh,” I said.
She looked up.
“The big pipe is especially subtropical.”
She was referring here to the whacking great duct just above our heads, painted white in an (failed) effort to get it to blend in with the equally white wall that towered behind us. I’ll admit it didn’t do much for the subtropical illusion.
“Sometimes you need a big pipe.”
I saw her mouth open and could tell what was coming next. A boop on the nose later and whatever filth she’d been cooking up was nipped in the bud.
“No, no, I know where you’re going and no. We’ve had enough of that already.”
Withdrawing my booping finger from where it had been resting on her nose I waited for the response as she blinked innocently at me. I waited and waited and was about to actually give her some credit for maturity when there came a quiet:
“I don’t think I’ve had enough pipe.”
There it is. I put my face in my hand.
“Jesus Christ…”
You really couldn’t take her anywhere. Not anywhere in polite society, anyway.
Probably my fault. Probably a bad influence. Swear she hadn’t been this bad back on her side. Maybe it wasn’t having as many ponies around? Little freedom to be as filth as humanly - er, ponily - possible? Who’s to say?
Still, despite my lovely lady’s unceasing obscenity we had a very pleasant time. We lazily drifted around the lazy river, her managing to make surprisingly quick work of climbing into one of the provided big floaty rings (certainly doing better than I did). We went into the main part of the pool when the Tarzan-esque sound went off and the waves started, and she had a very nice laugh at my expense when, when being jostled by the fierce waves, my trunks caught on one of the outflow covers and I nearly had a very un-family friendly accident.
She does have a very nice laugh, even if it sometimes it is at me and not entirely with me.
Can hardly get upset though, the way she looks at me, can I?
(I may also have splashed her a little bit when she wasn’t looking. (It had to be when she wasn’t looking or else she uses magic to cheat and splashes me back. (She splashed me back with magic anyway.)))
Once the waves die down she looks through the giant wall of glass and asks me:
“What’s outside?”
I look at the glass as well and make an educated guess:
“Probably a bit to sit with bubbles. Maybe a plunge pool? Uh, rapids too, probably.”
Her ears prick up.
“Rapids?”
“Never been on rapids?”
“Never had the opportunity.”
This surprised me, given the - ahem - headstart on life she had over me, but I suppose not all of us are demigods with suns to manage and countries to run.
“Want to have a go?” I ask, and she thinks for maybe a second.
“Yes,” she says.
So we go out. It’s much nippier outside than inside, which isn’t exactly a shock. Steam rises thick from the water and I do my best to stay as below the surface as possible as we bob our way over to the rapids, which are merrily surging away.
“What do you do?” Celestia asks me.
“Well, you pop over the lip there and you, uh, go down. Quickly,” I say.
“Rapidly, you could say.”
“You could, you could say that.”
She’s giving the lip a look over.
“Is there a specific way to do it?”
“Not really, but there’s a couple things you probably shouldn’t do, like on the sign here which, uh - ah.”
The signage had not been updated to reflect the fact that nowadays more than humans might be using our white water rapids. An oversight. All of its advice was human-based. Good for me, not so much for her.
“I’m not sure what the approach for a pony is meant to be,” I said, genuinely unsure. Casting my eyes up to the lifeguard standing sentry over the start of the rapids in their big puffy coat I found them already looking down at me and, by extension, Celestia too. They shrugged. Clearly they didn’t know either.
“It shall become apparent, I’m sure,” Celestia said, one hundred percent eagerness and zero percent concern. Chomping at the bit, you might say. Were you a wag. Which I am.
“Pretty quickly! Well, after you, if you’re set on it. I’ll bring up the rear.”
There was a sharp intake of breath as she made to say something, but then thought better of it. Or, more likely, put it in her pocket to crack out a little later when I was least expecting it or drinking something or something like that. Grinning at me instead, she vaulted the lip at the top of the rapids and started on her way down, electing to try and tackle them sitting-down.
At first, at least. As I brought up the rear and as the rapidity of the rapids rapidly made itself known, her technique suffered, shall we say. And I, bringing up the rear, got a fantastic view of the results.
An ungainly, flailing, squealing tangle of legs and hooves and wings and sodden, ethereal mane. I hadn’t even known the mane could get sodden, but apparently it could. It had been the very first curve that had done her in, throwing her off balance with the sudden swerve and acceleration, sending her tumbling over sideways.
This whole holiday was worth it for that sight alone. It shall remain with me forever, seared into my brain, something to cling to in darker times, should such times come.
After that it was all downhill, quite literally, and of course I had my own problems, principally making sure I didn’t crash into the back of her as she tumbled and rolled and tried (and failed) to right herself.
About halfway down was a sedate bit and after she’d tumbled into this I was thinking on catching up and seeing how she was doing, but before I could she’d already galumphed her way onward, folollopped over the next lip and continued on down. I could do nought but follow. More rapidity and swerves followed. Pretty sure I heard her going ‘Whee!’.
It all ended abruptly with a splash into the calmer waters that led back inside. Celestia was there, standing, mane hanging wetly over her face and damply trying to flap. I swept it out of the way for her.
“You alright there?” I asked.
“Those lived up to the name.”
“A little stiffer than I was expecting.”
“Did I look ridiculous?” She asked me.
“Oh, I don’t think anyone saw…”
“But if they had, would I have looked ridiculous?”
“Oh, without question,” I said without hesitation.
Her face splits into one of those big, irrepressible smiles of hers that I love so much and always try to coax out of her and, as cold as it is, all at once I feel like I’m standing in the sunshine and I’m smiling as well.
And while I’m there happily dumbstruck she nips in to give me a peck (followed swiftly by a bonus smooch when the peck proves insufficient for her) and then goes swishing off through the water and towards the plastic curtains there to keep the heat inside.
“I’m going again!” She said, the implication being that I was free to do likewise or just wait for her to come round once more. I decided to follow her, because I wanted to see her going down again, because it might turn out to be even better than the first time.
Yeah, good holiday, I think.
