Author's Note
Content warning for this chapter. It's kind of graphic. Please be advised of this.
Push
“Get off of me,” I say weakly, unable to fight back much. I use a hoof to try and push her away, but she easily swats it aside, letting it rest limply on the bed. I’ve had a few too many drinks to be able to do much more than ask her to move from on top of me.
“I have a marefriend,” I insist. “I can’t do this.” I’m pleading, but my voice is too slurred to let much emotion get through.
“Come on,” she replies simply, smoothly, tilting her head as she wears a smirk on her face. One of her hooves reaches down to rub my crotch. I can feel the terror coursing through me, but my biology seems to disagree with how I feel.
“It’ll be fun,” she continues. “Your marefriend doesn’t have to know.”
She is somepony I don’t know the name to, somepony I’ve never seen before. I’m absolutely uninterested in her, and want no part in what she’s offering, even if my body disagrees. I’m sure I’ll be unable to convince her of that however, considering my current state, and once again try to push her off of me.
“Stop doing that,” she demands, this time smacking my hoof harder, probably hard enough to leave a bruise. “If you do that again, I’m gonna punch you, seriously. Just let me have this, okay?”
“I don't want this though,” I tell her. “I don't like you.” I try to push her off again, and she punches my hoof again, just like she said she would, near my shoulder. It's definitely hard enough to leave a bruise this time.
Then she pins my forelegs down against the bed, and uses her knees to sit on my hind ones. Maybe it's because I'm intoxicated, but she's a strong mare despite her small size. Then again, she's an earth pony, so it makes sense. If I was a unicorn, maybe I would be able to levitate her off with magic. Instead, my wings twitch uselessly between my back and the bed.
Because she's pinning me with her hooves, she has to use her crotch now to rub against my genitals. Even being intoxicated, there's only so much stimulation I can take before I begin to stiffen. As much as I try to will the reaction away, the blood remains, and only increases as she continues.
“See? That's more like it,” she says, wearing a stupidly smug grin. “What was that you said about a marefriend? I'll be your marefriend tonight. I bet I'm better than her.”
“I don't want this though…” My voice is a cracking, pathetic mix of fear and drunkenness. Why isn't there more I can say? More I can do? I begin to struggle against her again, but her grip is firm. The smug smile drops from her face, being replaced with a stern look.
“If you don't stop trying to do that, I'm gonna punch you in the head and kick you in the balls, seriously. Or better yet, I'll say you raped me. So just let me have this.”
What do I do in the face of such a threat? Instead of struggling, my breathing picks up now. I feel lightheaded, like I'm about to pass out. This isn't happening. Why did I drink so much tonight?
“I don't want to cheat on her though,” I say uselessly, pleading again. “I don't want this. I don't!” Why does my voice have to be so slurred?
“Then think of this as just a one time slip-up, guy,” she tells me without a care.
A moment later, she's fully over me and pushing me inside of her. I close my eyes and grit my teeth, feeling worse and worse by the second. Why does my body have to betray me like this? Have to tell me that this feels good when there's nothing in Equestria I want less right now? There's a tear that streaks down my cheek as she uses her hips to almost bounce against my waist. How did I allow myself to get into such a position?
A night of drinking proceeded this, more than usual. It was the party a friend of a friend put on, one with lots of music and alcohol and ponies who weren't exactly in their right mind. I normally have the presence of mind to stop before I have too many, but various ponies presented me with more and more, this mare being chief among them. Four drinks turned into five, and then six, seven, ten. I'm well beyond my normal limit.
There's a gap in memory between my being downstairs and here on the bed with his mare on top of me, the door locked behind us. She must have cajoled me upstairs, or dragged me. I'm not sure. But why me? There are plenty of other stallions who will gladly give her what she wants. Why me?
“Yeah, you like that?” she asks me. “I bet I can even make you cum, too, even while you're like that. I bet you love how I feel.”
I hate it. I absolutely hate it. But there is nothing I can do but lay there and take it when I'm so much weaker compared to her. Not to mention, her threats of violence and false accusations. But I know what's going to happen eventually with her working me like this, even if I try to mentally push it away. Another tear drips down.
“Aww, don't be like that,” she says, her hooves still firmly planted against my forelegs to keep me from moving around. “You should be grateful! I bet I'm way prettier than your marefriend. And I can prove it, too! Watch this!”
She starts moving faster, more vigorously, with loud moans that match her intensity. My eyes stay closed for a minute, and then I open them again, looking for something—anything—that will push away what's coming. Anything but her and this awful feeling. But there is nothing except these things.
A small, involuntary sound escapes me, and I feel myself ejaculating. She can feel it, too, because her bouncing slows down into something fuller and more deliberate. She has louder, more pleasurable sounding moans and deeper breathing while my own breaths quicken and my head spins. That didn't happen. It couldn't have happened. I love my marefriend. I would never do something like this, not in a million moons.
And yet here I am, lying beneath this mare, still fully inside her while semen mixed with her own fluid drips down and lands near my hips. I want to retch and vomit. I cheated on her. With this horrible mare.
She lifts herself off of me after an eternity, a smug look planted on her face as she glances between my crotch and her own. “See?” she declares. “I knew you'd like it, even if you weren't into it at first. Nopony can resist me. And I'm sure what your marefriend doesn't know won't hurt her.”
She uses the bedsheet to wipe herself off, and then looks back at me. “Don’t act like you didn’t love it,” she says, and I clench my jaw again. “Besides, it’s not like anypony will ever know. Unless I have a foal.” She winks, then turns away to head out, but looks over her shoulder and finishes, “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Then she slinks away, and I cry myself to sleep.
The sun is shining in my eyes when I awake, and my head pounds to the beat of my heart. I’m hungover and dehydrated, and fall out of bed onto stiff hooves. The night before is a blur to me, but I remember the worst parts of it. It feels unreal, but I know it is.
I sigh loudly, and shudder. I’m a terrible pony. How could I let her do that to me?
There’s a strong scent that makes me instinctively plug my nose. It's a mix of alcohol that's spilled on the floor and drippings from the previous night, mixed with the smell of old cigarettes. It makes me gag as I fully stand up, carefully stepping over others who still lie on the ground next to the bed. I don't remember these ponies coming in, but then they probably just wanted somewhere to sleep.
A shudder runs through me as I imagine what they could've done to me while I slept, like this mare did. Why didn't I call for help? Other than the gallons of alcohol clouding my judgment. And I came, too…
I need more sleep. I must have gotten only four hours of sleep with as exhausted as I feel. I need to head home and flop into my own bed with my marefriend.
How am I supposed to tell her? I wonder silently. She's going to hate me… why did that have to happen? There's a feeling inside me that makes me want to retch. There's a word for the emotion coursing through me, but I'm not sure what.
I trip over somepony as I enter the living room, a stallion I vaguely recognize. He's hung over too, or maybe still drunk, what with the open container next to him, and sends me a wide, stupid grin. “Nice lay,” he comments with a nod. “I won't tell anypony.” A moment later, he’s puking on the floor. I say nothing and continue carefully over him.
There’s several other ponies I must step over in the living room to get to the kitchen faucet. My throat is as dry as a desert, my tongue not dissimilar to sandpaper as I stick my head under the water and gulp down my fill. It helps my head to stop pounding so hard, but in turn, my thoughts are forced back to the previous night.
What was that? I have no idea. How could I just allow that mare to use me like that? All I could do was lay there and take it.
I feel my cheeks become red with shame and let out a breath. Is that my hooves shaking, too? My heart is definitely beating out of my chest. Telling my marefriend will be awful. I know she'll hate me.
With a few more gulps of water and several more ponies to be walked over, I am out of the house. The sun is bright in my eyes and warm on my coat, and the fresh air does me well after a night like last night. It helps settle my stomach, as well as my slowly rising nerves a little, but not very much. There's still a pit in my chest that I can't explain, one I choose to intentionally not think about.
I'm also tired. It's earlier than I thought, only ten in the morning, and I know I was definitely awake past four. Hopefully my marefriend won't be at home right now. That way, I can just flop into bed and go to sleep without having to think about anything.
Maybe if she was there, things would've been different. Why did I go to a party like that alone again? I'm not sure, but whatever the reason, it was impulsive. I'm too old to continue acting like this. There should be better things for me to do during a long weekend.
I quietly slip onto a train for the short journey back to Delamare, sitting between one pony who's snoring loudly and another arguing loudly with her husband about she knows he's being unfaithful. What a conversation it is to have in public like this, for me to hear after last night. I close my eyes and do my best to tune it out.
It was a fun evening, mostly, outside of the ending. Those ponies always know how to have a good time—what drinks to bring and games to plan and other ponies to invite. It was my own fault, really, for going overboard with the shots and ruining the experience for myself. That mare might have encouraged me, but I still should have known better. Now I have to explain to Billowing Beauty that—
No, I'm not thinking about this right now. I'm still too hungover to be able to properly control my emotions. Instead, I copy the stallion next to me and close my eyes to rest a little more.
It's a half hour later when I'm opening my eyes again and stepping back out, the sky a little darker now as the clouds move in. It's a light gray that gives the street a dreary sort of feel, like the weather team over Delamare is echoing how I feel. A few drops of rain land on my wings, but not more than that. The clouds are holding themselves back, shading me from the sun and keeping my fur cool. It helps a little with the headache I still have.
The sidewalk is littered with ponies heading out to lunch and visiting the nearby marketplace. In the air is the smell of roses and flowers mixing in with delicious food and the scent of rain threatening to pour down. The trees are leafless, but it gives the area a rare holiday look despite the coming spring in a few moons. It somehow complements the overcast gray well. It almost makes my spirits want to lift themselves and take a look around to see what there is to buy. I avoid the temptation though. I've fallen for too many temptations so far, and don't deserve more.
Finally, I'm at the home I share with my marefriend, one overlooking the ocean a few minutes away. It's my own, my childhood home that I've inherited from my parents a few years back. It looks no different than the other homes around Delamare, except perhaps the soft blue paint on the outside of the building to help it stand out more. Beyond that, it's pretty indistinguishable.
Beauty isn't here, so I flop face first onto the couch with a groan. Everything is wrong. There's a torrent of feelings that demand my attention, yet at the same time, I feel nothing. How could I ever let myself even get put in that position? Did I try hard enough to push that mare off of me? Probably not. I didn't even call for help. There was more beyond that I could've done, although I can't think of what.
And I got there, too, so I must have liked it. I have absolutely no excuses. This is going to be a mess when I tell Beauty, I know it.
Unlike the night, no tears come as I drift off. In fact, I don't even remember falling asleep when I'm waking up again to the door opening and my head still pounding. It's Billowing Beauty, of course, quickly tossing aside her work uniform and grunting out a tired ‘hello’ as she heads to the kitchen. And now here comes the hard part.
Of course, I can always just keep it secret. What was it that mare said? Nopony would know? I can't think of a reason why that would be wrong, why I could just say nothing. Except that things will be one thousand times worse if I remain silent and she finds out.
How would she ever find out though? Unless that horrible mare decides I wasn't good enough and tells the police I raped her anyway. That would make things a million times worse. What would I do then? I'm not sure how I'd be able to defend myself against such an accusation. Maybe I should check to see if I have bruises in the mirror and take pictures of them, for evidence. Or maybe that would make things worse. Maybe I should—
Beauty's talking to me, looking right at me standing a few feet away. How long was I staring off? I'm not sure, but it only seemed like a few seconds. She has a concerned look on her face, her eyebrow raised as she awaits an answer to a question I didn't hear.
"Uhh... what?" I ask uselessly. "I didn't hear you." Is that my voice cracking?
"I asked if you're okay, Pointer," she repeats. "You look like you're about to fall over." She pauses, and continues, "If you need to go to the doctor, we can go. I don't want you to hurt yourself on date night."
Is it date night? I'm not even sure what day of the week it is right now, besides a day off. I do need to go to the doctor though, that I'm sure. Just like with telling Beauty, it'll be better to know about any STDs I might have earlier rather than later.
How do I even say that though? How do I start a conversation like this? My brain is locking up as I open my mouth without one word being spoken. I've no idea what to say. Hopefully she'll at least forgive my bluntness.
"I think I cheated on you."
The words come out all wrong. They sound like they're coming from somepony else, somepony I don't recognize, that I've never heard in all my life. They're filled with things like disbelief, with hopefulness, an optimism that makes it seem like I want that to be the case. And I'm not sure why.
I'm almost standing beside myself, viewing my body from an outsider's perspective. My eyes are wide and frightened, and the look on my face is less sorrowful than I expect. It's more helpless, like this person knows some truth that I don't. I feel genuinely surprised and confused by the sight of me, the sight of this other pony I've never met.
"Pointer?" Billowing Beauty's voice is serious, but still questioning, disbelieving. She can see exactly what I see on my face. Of course she'll be confused.
She stands there, looking more concerned than she does angry as she waits for me to continue. I breathe deeply and explain.
"There was this mare yesterday--"
"What mare?" she's already cutting in. There's the anger I was expecting. Or perhaps suspicion is a better word for what it sounds like. Funny that she's suspicious in spite of me directly telling her that I cheated.
"I don't know," I continue. My voice is so shaky. I sound like a five year old telling his mother he stole cookies from the cabinet.
Except these weren't cookies, and I didn't steal them.
But I had to have stolen them. It's the only thing that makes sense.
"She has, like, blue hair and a green coat? I don't even know her name. I only saw her once, yesterday, at--"
"At the party you went to?"
I nod nervously, and continue, "I... she was handing me shot after shot basically, until I was way past my limit. I should've stopped earlier, but..."
There goes the suspicion from Beauty's face, her expression now changing to concern and confusion. Is she as confused as I am? I'm not sure. I know what I'm saying makes no sense. How could it be cheating if I tried to push that mare away? If I cried myself to sleep after it was over? But what else could it be?
I'm so emotionally raw, I know it's messing with my judgment.
"Pointer?" she asks again, much more slowly this time. "Are you okay?"
I can only shake my head. I don't want to continue, to say anything at all for the rest of my life. I think I'll just choose to believe I cheated. That's what it was, after all.
"What happened?" Beauty asks, her voice quieter now.
"I... I don't remember how I got up to the room," I say against my will. "I just know that I was up there and she was kissing me and laying on top of me. I tried to push her off, but I was... Too drunk to do anything." I use a hoof to brush up against the spot she bruised me. A glance down shows that it's dark purple against my normally blue coat.
I look away from Beauty. I don't want to continue. It was basically everything, anyway. And saying those other things out loud, about being threatened, being forced to be an object for her, will turn it from my fault to that mare's, and then what?
I know what.
Billowing Beauty moves up to me anyway, to hug me gently, and I feel something wet touch my coat. Am I crying? No, that's her. She's going to ask me how I could do this to her and how she won't be able to move past it and that we should break up because of this. I'm certain of it.
But she doesn't. She doesn't say anything at all. She just stands there and hugs me and says nothing for a long while, until eventually I really do feel my own tears falling again. Just one or two now; I've already cried myself out when I went to sleep last night, but it still hurts that they're there anyway. I silently hope they're tears for the lie, as awful as the lie would be.
Finally, I gather enough bravery to ask her a question.
"It's bad, isn't it?" The tears in my voice are plain as Celestia's sun, rising in the morning.
"I'm so sorry, Pointer," is all I get in response.
Another few seconds of silence pass, or maybe it's hours, before Beauty speaks up again. Her voice is much stronger than mine is now.
"Do you remember what she looked like?" Now I'm the one feeling confused in spite of my tears. I feel so raw, I can't take this. But before I can stop myself, I'm asking the question anyway.
"Why?"
She only looks at me sadly, telling me with her eyes that I know the answer. Then she lets me cry into her shoulder for a while. A lifetime at least.
