The Manhandler: Ovaries Before Brovaries
Chapter I: The Home Run
By Pascal
A little griffon skipped happily toward Ponyville Elementary's baseball field, followed by an equally energetic red colt. She wore a baseball cap and carried a bat on her shoulder.
"This is gonna be so radical, Big Mac!" Gilda squealed. "Our multi-million bit baseball careers start right here! We're gonna be big stars!"
"Eeyup," the colt replied.
His own bat he was carrying slipped out of his teeth. Gilda giggled as he bent to pick it up, blushing furiously. He was so cute!
Nothing made Gilda more happy than playing with her friends, and little Big Macintosh was her best friend in the whole world.
Gilda found the coach sitting in the bleachers, and strode over proudly.
"Excuse me, sir, is this where we go for tryouts for the Ponyville little-league team?" she asked.
"Why, yes it is," the stallion replied. "Did you come to cheer your friend on? That's so sweet of you! Have a seat."
He patted a spot to his side with a hoof.
"Um, I think you're mistaken, sir. I'm here to play! I'm gonna tear this place up!"
She hefted her bat for emphasis.
"Well," the stallion said. "I'm not sure this is really the right place for you. Girls aren't allowed to play baseball."
"But… But…" the griffon stammered, her eyes watering as her beak began to tremble. "I wanna be a big baseball star when I grow up. My daddy takes sports really seriously, and I want to do something to make him proud."
"Hold on there, sweetie," the stallion said. "It's not so bad. You can still be a sports star. Just try out for the softball team."
"Softball? What's that?" she asked excitedly.
"It's just like baseball, except the ball is bigger and it's all soft and squishy."
Gilda frowned.
"Why do girls play softball, but boys play baseball?"
"It's better suited for girls."
"Why?"
"Well . . . because it's easier, of corse."
Gilda burst into tears and ran from the field. She ran away from the school as far as she could, not stopping until her lungs burned and her legs ached. She came to rest at the foot of a tree on the edge of the Everfree Forest. She lay on the grass, panting and sniffling.
"Gilda! Gilda, wait!"
She lifted her head up to see Big Mac.
"What are you doing here?" she growled. "Go play with the rest of the boys! Go be a baseball star! There's nothing stopping you!"
"Ah don't wanna try out anymore. Ah wanna play with you, Gilda. Let's just go home and play video games," he replied.
"I don't wanna play with you anymore, Mac!" Gilda shouted. "You boys are all the same! You're… You're just a bunch of dweebs!"
Her face twisted into a hateful scowl that Mac had never before seen. He didn't understand why she was being mean to him. He just wanted to make her feel better.
"Yer mah best friend, Gilda," he sobbed, tears beginning to pour down his cheeks.
"Shut up, dweeb!" Gilda screamed. "I'm too cool to hang out with a boy like you, so just shut up and leave me alone! In fact, I never want to hear you speak again, got it?!"
Ever since that day, Big Mac has rarely spoken more than a few words to anyone.
***
"And then what did you do?"
Gilda's father had sat on his porch, gazing out across the grassy lawn, waiting expectantly for his daughter to return.
She had come walking home with shoulders slumped, and confessed what had happened.
"I… Uh… I went to the softball team, daddy," Gilda mumbled.
"You went to the . . . softball team? The fucking softball team?! Would a boy have gone to the softball team?! Would a boy have just given up?!"
"I… I thought it'd be better than nothing. I just…" Gilda sniffed, her eyes brimming with tears. "I wanted you to be proud of me."
"You don't get it!" her father howled. "There is no 'better than nothing!' You either hit the ball, or you strike out! Get back there and tell that coach to put you on that fucking team!"
Gilda let her bat fall to the grass with a dull thud.
"I'm too tired, daddy. I've been playing all day. I need a break," she panted, wiping sweat from her brow.
Her father stared down at her in silence, then turned back toward the house to a bucked of water that glistened with condensation by the front door. She followed along weakly as he washed his hands in the bucket, but as she approached, he grabbed her roughly by the neck and forced her head beneath the cold water. She struggled and thrashed, her nose and lungs burning as she gulped down water in blind panic. Then, there was a rush of light and air as her father pulled her head back up.
"Imagine it's the bottom of the ninth inning with two outs," he growled. "Your team is down by a run, and you're batting. Your team needs a home run. Are you gonna say 'Sorry, everyone! My useless girl body is tired! Can we all take a break?'"
Gilda choked and retched, coughing up a spray of water, but her father forced her head down a second time.
"Stop the game! Let's take a fucking time out, everyone! Lazy-ass Gilda needs to change her fucking tampon!" he screamed.
After five full, merciless seconds her brought her head back up out of the water
"S-stop, daddy! Please!" Gilda whimpered.
"There are no breaks in baseball, girl! You'll never be an all-star with that kind of attitude! All my brothers had strapping young lads that bring home nice, shiny baseball trophies, but my penis threw me a curveball when I fucked your dumb crackhead mother, and all I got was a runty little girl. But did I give up? Did I walk? No I fucking well didn't! I swung the fucking bat, and so will you, and someday you'll thank me for pushing you so hard!"
"But.. But, daddy-"
"Butts are for shitting!" her father roared, white foam forming at his beak as his bloodshot eyes bulged with rage. "There are two kinds of people in this world, girl: those who swing the fucking bat, and those who walk and hope the pitcher's a fucking half-lobotomized retard who can't throw over the plate! The bat-swingers get to be all-stars, and the walkers end up sucking big, hairy zebra cocks and taking it up the ass for crack money!"
"But I did get a trophy!" Gilda whimpered. "Look!"
She reached into her backpack and withdrew her prize, handing it to her father. He stared at the label.
"A participation trophy? What the fuck does that even mean?! Ooh, isn't shitty-ass Gilda a real fucking star now! If you love your participation trophy so much, why don't you marry it, then shove it up your cunt and orgasm a few times, you fucking disappointment?!"
He threw the trophy on the ground in rage, where it shattered.
"You're not gonna be a failure, girl! I won't let you! Now, you're going to go back there, you're gonna get on that baseball team somehow, and you're not gonna come home until you do! Do I make myself clear?!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.
"I don't wanna play baseball!" Gilda howled.
There was a long silence. Gilda's father stared unblinkingly into her eyes.
"You don't want to play baseball?" he said in a flat, emotionless tone.
"It's stupid. I give up," Gilda sniffed. "I'm not good at anything."
Her father's jaw worked furiously, for several seconds, but no sound came out.
"You give up?" he finally managed.
He grabbed his daughter by the neck and dragged her back toward the bucket.
"Daddy, no!" Gilda begged.
"Baseball is life, girl! If you give up on baseball, you give up on fucking oxygen! If you don't want to be an all-star, then let me spare you a lingering death from every kind of sexual disease and cunt cancer known to mankind and just fucking finish you now!"
Gilda's father held her head beneath the water for one last time.
Her vision began to dim. All was cold and dark. She tugged weakly at her father's fingers, but what little strength she had quickly vanished.
Maybe this way was better, she thought. Daddy always wanted a boy. Gilda couldn't do anything right. She was just a worthless girl.
Just as she began to slip away, the little griffon heard a sudden, resonating female voice that seemed to come from inside her, and from all around her at once.
"NO! IT WILL NOT END HERE, YOUNG GILDA!"
Gilda felt a burst of blazing strength shoot through her whole being. She was a white-hot inferno of power.
"YOU ARE NOT A GIRL!"
She reached for her bat and brought it up in a vicious arc. It struck her father across the skull with a sickening crack, and he staggered, releasing Gilda from his grip and scrambling away on his back, clutching his head.
"Since the day I was born, you wanted me to be something I wasn't. You put this phallic symbol, this penis of oiled wood, in my hand and told me to swing it at balls. Penises and balls, that's the life you wanted for me, just penises and balls! You thought you could push me around, could oppress me, just because you're a man and I'm a girl, but you were wrong! I am not a girl!"
Gilda hefted her bat, her eyes blazing with the furious energy that surged through her body.
"I AM A WOMYN!"
Her father grabbed a rock-hard baseball and through it at Gilda's head with all his might. Gilda swung the bat in a flawless arc. There was a deafening crack, and the ball flew backwards into her father's anus. A fountain of blood and shit exploded all over everything as his asshole was torn asunder and the ball bored deep into his intestines. He screamed his lungs out in a paroxysm of unspeakable agony, and began shitting and vomiting his bloody, ruined organs out of every orifice of his body. Through the haze of pain and suffering, he glimpsed the blurry form of his daughter standing over him before his devastated circulatory system caused his eyes to burst like balloons full of watery ketchup.
"Cry and take that big fucking baseball in your butt like a gay little faggot," Gilda said. "That's all you men are. That's all men ever were. As for me, I will take this bat, this phallic penis of oppression you have given me, and hit a home run with the testicles of any man whose heart desires tyranny and evil, and then rape them up the ass with it like the gay little faggots that they truly are. It is the bottom of the ninth inning not for my baseball team, but for mankind! Womynkind's time is nigh, for I am the Manhandler!"
"I'm proud of you girl," her father choked. "That was one hell of a home run…"
If the physical trauma hadn't killed him in that instant, he was sure he would have died anyway from the sheer joy of seeing such strength in his daughter.
An Meaningless Interlude (Fiddlebottoms)
After fem-slaughtering her father, Gilda was filled with elation. The straight and rigid path dictated to her was gone, and the yawning openness of the sky beckoned. The femgasm of freedom swelled her body as she took in the setting sun. Red as a bloody tampon, yellow as beautiful, vaginal discharge, orange as … something else. Other colors. Yeah. Pretty fucking poetic.
Also, she had a dead body to get rid of. Dads are such buzz-kills.
"Alright, let's go," the independent gryffyn grunted as she gripped her father's shoulders. Flapping her wings and skipping backwards, she dragged the corpse across the ground, leaving a bloody snail trail through the dirt.
Unfortunately, the forest wasn’t so much a forest as a sickly copse, and a copse is a bad place to hide a corpse. After several moments, Gilda surrendered to the inevitability that she would never be able to stuff the stiff into her bush, but would instead need to bury his bones.
She headed back to the house in search of a shovel, only to find Rainbow Dash waiting on her porch. The pegasus had witnessed the patricide and, sensing that her hour of honor had finally come, rushed to don an outfit befitting the occasion. Now, she stood in upon the gryffyn’s porch in a pose suggesting either dynamism or progressive spinal damage.
When Dash opened her mouth, she spoke in a drawn-out accent, “Giyerrrda-”
Gilda desperately attempted to ignore both the accent and the appearance that the creature had adopted. “Rainbow, I-”
“Not Rainbow, I am Rrrrrainbow Dashu-sensei,” Dash replied, dragging out the R until it sputtered and died a hideous death upon the ragged edge of linguistic butchery.
“Rainbow,” Gilda repeated again, slightly louder than necessary to express her agitation, “I would ask why you're here wearing a mop on your chin, but I am afraid you would have an explanation. Please, just go.”
"I have come to train you in the ways of misandry, Giyerda-san.”
“I specifically didn't ask for an explanation.”
“Come on, please? Look, I got this beard-”
“That is a mop.”
“But, it’s rainbow colored.”
“You have glued a mop to your chin.”
“It is colored like my mane, see?” Indeed, Gilda did see that the mop had apparently been dipped in a colored dye, giving it an appearance not unlike a mop that has been dipped in colored dye.
“It is not a beard, because it is a mop. That you are wearing on your chin.”
“But I can flip it over my shoulder."
“No.”
"Yes, I can. Look," Dash dragged her hoof under the cords and flicked them over her shoulder. The still moist lengths spattered over her shoulders and back, leaving a rainbow smear.
"No."
“You didn’t see? Do you want me to do it again?”
“No, I want you to go. I have something-”
Dash interrupted her by repeating the gesture and sending more dye across her back. Liberated from their ropey bonds, the colors smeared together into a brown moistness that dripped down her ribcage. “See? I did it again there.”
“Yes, I-”
“So you agree to let me teach you!” Rainbow Dash squealed excitedly, “you'll never regret this.”
Gilda stumbled backward verbally and literally, sensing the claws of some foul beast latching around her. “I never agreed to anything.”
“Yes, yes you did.”
“No, I just agreed that I saw your toss-”
“You saw my toss and you agreed to let me teach you!"
“Go away, Rainbow."
“Rrrrrrainbow Dashu-sensei.”
“No. Leave." Gilda gestured with her claw, in case, perhaps, her friend had forgotten which direction leaving was.
Defeated, Rainbow Dash lowered her head with a sigh. Her ears drooped to the sides of her head as her lower lip quivered. The impact of her pout was intensified by the pathetic puddle forming under her from the sloshed dye. “Dashu-senpai?”
"Ok, Rainbow, now I want you to do two things for me."
"Really!?"
"I want you to quit talking like a moron, and then I want you to leave."
Rainbow turned from her almost pupil. Her big chance to be a sensei, and she blew it by coming on too strong. Baka. She paused in her retreat when she noticed the upper portion of Gilda's dead father jutting from the bushes. Maybe, she still had a chance.
"Do you know how to dispose of that body?"
"Of course, I do!" Gilda paused a second, "Fuck. I mean, um, what body? I don't know what body you're talking about. Has there been a murder or some other sort of non-murder crime, officer?"
"The body you tried to hide in that bush. That very small bush."
Gilda turned and looked at the foliage serving as her father's current, final resting place. His head and forelegs jutted out from the greenery. As if on cue, the body released a slow, mournful wheeze of gas.
"I hid the murdered parts of him.”
"Giyerda, if you accept me as your sensei, I will teach you the secrets of hiding your father's dead body slightly better."
“Slightly better?”
“Significantly, slightly better.”
"You know how to do that?"
"Of course!" The pegasus fluttered her wings as she bounced into the air, before remembering the dignity that the tye-dyed mop glued to her chin demanded. "But you must refer to me as Dashu-sensei, as is befitting of our sacred relationship."
"How about I just call you … Dash." The gryffyn’s primaries spasmed as she felt the foul beast of destiny returning. Somehow, she knew this one her concession would be the beginning of something the pegasus would never relent from.
Dash, meanwhile, considered the offer. It was probably as close as she would get, and maybe with time the honorifics would come.
"You've got yourself a deal."
It was month later, and Gilda's father was safely hidden under the carpet. Dash had reassured her apprentice that, in time, the body would become dust and seep from under the carpet to dissipate completely around the room. While technically true, the passage into dust would take several generations longer than the lives of either party involved in the disposal.
Still, the body was completely concealed for the moment. Aside from the visible lump in the floor, and the terrible smell, and the blood leaking through the fabric, it was as if the old man had never existed. There were also swarms of flies.
Dash’s misandry lessons were significantly more thorough than her body disposal methods, however. After three hours spent getting angry at magazine covers, Dash would bring in a stallion, his head covered in a leather mask and his limbs bound with rope, for combat training, most of which involved kicking them between the hindlegs.
"Don't strike the testicles, strike past them. Focus your chi into a point within him, delivering maximum impact," Dash cheered on her student with each blow.
Gilda pulled back her lion's paw and delivered another strike to the groin of the stallion in front of her. He grunted and thrashed wildly in his bonds. Another blow brought a groan from somewhere within him. He sweated and strained against both the ties binding his hooves and the metal ring over his penile sheath.
"And again! Destroy the naughty, naughty boy!"
Gilda withdrew her paw, suppressing the desire to protract her claws. She paused in mid kick, now was as good a time as any to bring up an issue that had been bothering her. "Dash.”
"Sensei-"
The gryffyn warrior womyn ignored the interjection and continued, "this training of yours only seems to only involve me kicking stallions in the crotch, and I am concerned that all this genital violence may be alienating to transgendered ponies."
"That is ridiculous. Transgendered ponies deserve to be murdered because of their parts the same as anyone else. Treating them as if they were delicate, little flowers unworthy of the same abuse as any other stallion, that would be insulting."
"Miss," interrupted the stallion, "I don't mean to complain, but I paid for 30 minutes and it has only been 20."
"Shush," whispered Dash as she jumped toward the stallion and tugged the zipper shut on his leather mask, "gimps don't speak, remember?"
"What was he talking about?"
"Uh, um, nothing. Lovey-bunch, honey-darling, honorable apprentice …old …sweet thing. Don't pay attention to the lies of men. They are liars, trying to pierce the virginal innocence of your mind with their lies."
"What was he lying about?" Gilda's voice was sweet and calm.
"Wait, you mean, you didn't know?" asked the pony, magically opening his zipper. Fucking unicorns. "That is very poor form for a pimp. How can a woman be expecting to enter voluntarily into a contract that she isn't aware of?"
"Pimp is such a maleocentric word, I prefer, Madam."
"The relationship between pimp and hoe is an ancient and honorable one, and not to be taken lightly. It requires clear and open lines of communication at all times, as well as trust and respect. If you’ve been deceiving her, then it is little more than rape."
"Shut up," Dash hissed.
"Have you been financially exploiting my anger in an effort to titillate males?"
"No, well, a little, um, just a bit. Hey, how about I start cutting you in."
"You weren't even giving her a cut?" The stallion was livid. Possibly. The gimp mask kept one from seeing his face.
"I'm gonna cut you.”
"I'm sorry, Ms. Dash, but I'm going to have to ask to be released. I shall be reporting you to the Better Business Bureau in Canterlot for this travesty. Using the unpaid labor of an unconsenting lady ... and the working conditions here, I didn't mean to complain before, but there appears to be a dead body under the carpet."
"You can't see that," snapped Dash.
"It is concealed," Gilda confirmed.
"Well, now you just told me about it."
"No, we didn't."
"I'm sorry, but this brothel is an absolute disgrace. And I didn’t even get my-”
Frustrated at the stallion’s determination to dominate the conversation, Gilda swung at him again. Her claws protracted this time, they tore through the skin of his testicles. The flesh opened up, hanging down from his groin. The loose, tattered scraps swayed and dripped as his gonads unspooled from their protective skin in a rush of blood and semen.
The freshly made gelding screamed. "I was explicitly promised that my testicles would not be torn open by a griffon-"
"Gryffyn"
"-during this engagement!"
"If you sue, you lose your right to a refund."
"I want alot more than 20 bits for this," howled the wounded whiner folding over his ruined weiner.
"20 bits? You think my dignity is that cheap?"
"This is really not the time to be having this conversation."
"I will sue every single one of you. Including the body under the carpet."
"Quit talking about the body that isn't under the carpet."
"I'm sorry, Gilda, you're all tsun and no dere, most ponies don't like that,” Dash tried to ameliorate her pupil/prostitute, “after the initial novelty wore off, it was hard finding clients. If you want more you'd have to cuddle them afterward."
"That's why you were trying to teach me combat kissing; I thought you were coming on to me."
"Ew, I'm a political lesbian. That doesn't mean I actually want to have sex with you. I just pretend to be interested in mares to get attention from stallions."
"I'd like to go to a hospital now," moaned the stallion as he bled out on the floor.
"Only if you sign a nondisclosure agreement.”
"I will do no such thing," Gilda snapped.
"Not you Gilda, I meant him."
"I will … what she said, I guess."
"Don't try to thrust your patriarchal words into my mouth!"
"Gilda, this is all getting out of hoof."
Having taken as much as she could bear from her trainer and pimp, Gilda hurled herself across the room, knocking Dash to the floor. The two of them scrambled and bit at one another, providing light amusement for the dying stallion. He attempted to make a celebratory cat call, but the pain was too great and he blacked out instead.
By the time his eyes reopened, Gilda was standing over Dash with a bat in her claws. She raised the killing instrument over the prone pone like a melodramatic domestic violence ad in which the beaten mare is wearing a rainbow colored mop on her chin. After a moment, the gryffyn relented.
"I cannot do it. I cannot raise this bat against one of my fellow wymyn."
"I think I'm dying," interrupted the Stallion.
Gilda flung the bat like a spear, the broad end smashing through the stallions jaw. His shattering teeth provided no barrier to the varnished wood as the club lodged itself within his throat. He choked and gagged, but couldn't muster the magic to dislodge the bat forcing his jaw wide. Gilda, having second thoughts about her beat stick being disfigured by vomit, rushed to retrieve it. With a wrenching pull that broke the beleaguered jawbone, she pulled the club aloft.
Now uncorked, the stallion began vomiting freely.
“Disgusting,” Gilda muttered, pulling the zipper across to contain the mess. The stallion thrashed for only a few moments before drowning on his own fluids.
"All according to keiku,” Dash proclaimed, rising to her hooves. “You have completed my training, and the time has come for you to go forth. Strike down the-”
“You really can see the dead body, can't you?” Gilda asked, staring at the lump in the carpet and paying no attention to Dash’s ravings.
“His outline, I guess,” the pegasus conceded.
“And the blood.”
“I think some of that is from the other stallion you just murdered.”
“Dash, these bodies are your responsibility. You owe me.”
“What do you expect me to do with two dead bodies, all alone on the edge of town with no one but God to judge my actions in silent ...” Dash paused and licked her lips, “Okay, I’ve got the bodies, but where are you going?”
“First, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear anything you just said,” before Dash could say anything Gilda continued, “so pretty much what I always do. Then, I’m going out there! For too long, have I remained in this house that stinks of death. It is time that I become the massacre I want to see in the world.”
