Opposite Day


                                            >The day was opposite day.

                                            >At least that’s what Fluttershy told you.

                                            >That’s why you were outside knocking on your own door, and why Fluttershy was the one answering instead of you.

                                            >But that wasn’t why she was also wearing your pajamas. You didn’t give her permission to do that at all.

                                            >But at least she had the sleeves and legs rolled up all the way so she wouldn’t drag them while she walked.

                                            >That was thoughtful of her.

                                            >She still didn’t have your permission at all to wear your pajamas, but at least she wasn’t getting them dirty on the floor.

                                            >“Good morning,” she said to you.

                                            Yeah, yeah . . . Shouldn’t we be doing this at night, since you usually come to guess my fetish in the morning?

                                            >“Oh. Um, I don’t know.”

                                            Whatever. It’d be better if we didn’t do anything at all I suppose.

                                            >“But that’s not in the spirit of opposite day.”

                                            I’m still not sure whether or not that’s a real holiday. It’s not even on the calendar.

                                            >“Well if they put it on the calendar then that wouldn’t be in the spirit of opposite day either, would it?”

                                            But they don’t make the fucking calendar on opposite day. That’s what I’m saying.

                                            >Fluttershy frowned. “You promised you would be nice.”

                                            >You frowned back. But it is true: You did promise to be nice.

                                            Okay, fine, I’ll try harder.

                                            >Fluttershy smiled. “What kind of fetish guess do you have for me today?”

                                            >You performed your role dutifully, but you did it wearing your best stone face and speaking in monotone.

                                            I was just walking by the meadows this morning when I saw this beautiful dandelion that reminded me of you. So I picked it for you.

                                            >You pulled the crushed, coming-apart and pathetic dandelion out of your pocket.

                                            >It was the best you could do on such short notice.

                                            >Not that her guesses are usually any better, but she just came to you that morning with this whole opposite day thing, so you had to improvise.

                                            >Fluttershy looked at the crumpled flower in your palm that you said reminded you of her with bright sparkling eyes which seemed to have been touched with the mysterious miracle of pure human happiness.

                                            >Unperturbed, you continued to act like Buster Keaton for a time.

                                            And I was wondering if this dandelion, in any way, shape or form, resembled your fetish, or possibly was your fetish, or—Fuck, this is stupid.

                                            >You looked at her suddenly stunned face incredulously before tossing the dandelion into her open mouth.

                                            >While she was spitting, you said:

                                            The hell is wrong with you that you really do this shit every day? Don’t I suffer enough, being the only one of my kind in this world—and I got to deal with you, too?

                                            >She wiped her mouth and mumbled something. When asked to repeat, she said lamely:

                                            >“That’s not in the spirit of opposite day.”

                                            Who cares? Opposite day is stupid.

                                            >“Does that mean that you actually think opposite day isn’t—”

                                            You shut up!

                                            >She silently scrunched her muzzle.

                                            If this wasn’t opposite day, which I’m still not sure if it is or not, then we would’ve already been done with your fetish crap by now. You would’ve come over and asked me if—fuck, I don’t know—grass was my fetish, I would’ve said no, you would’ve tried to sneak past me to go inside, and then I’d have slammed the door in your face. That’s it. Simple. And yet you continue to needlessly complicate this already ridiculous and devious practice of yours for reasons that seem clear only in that they cause me more suffering.

                                            >Fluttershy stared up at you sadly, her ears pinned behind her head.

                                            I mean it’s not like you’re ever going to win me over or anything, not after all the damage you’ve done. So why can’t you just stop? I’ve tried everything at one point or another, haven’t I? Even Twilight couldn’t help me, seeing as how the law is helpless in cases like mine. You don’t listen to me, or to your friends that ask you stop, or to the law or to anything at all but your own sickness—and even that isn’t getting you any closer to ending this farce of a romance between us.

                                            >Fluttershy started to tremble somewhat, but you still bent down enough to be at eyelevel with her and asked her bitterly:

                                            Does any of that sound right to you?

                                            >She couldn’t answer at first.

                                            >Then, pointing weakly at the soggy, nearly-destroyed flower, she said:

                                            >“All you had to do was offer me the dandelion and ask if it was my fetish . . .”

                                            >Your eyes went from her nervous face to the dead flower on the ground.

                                            >Sighing, you crouched down, picked the flower up between the ends of your thumb and forefinger, and held it pinched out to her.

                                            Is this dandelion your fetish?

                                            >She broke into a broad smile. “Oh, how did you know?”

                                            >Then she leaped forward quickly while you were still stunned and wrapped her arms around your neck.

                                            >She kissed and licked you all over your face and closed mouth for nearly a minute before you could lift her over your head.

                                            >Then you had to hold her down while you stripped her of your pajamas, or else she would have trotted away with them still on.

                                            >When you got the bottoms off, you noticed that they felt strangely cold.

                                            >A moment later you were holding them pinched between the ends of your thumb and forefinger, while Fluttershy looked up at you with a fierce blush on her face.

                                            You just had to soak them, didn’t you?

                                            >“I couldn’t help it. They smelled like you.”

                                            >Fucking Fluttershy.


                                            >Now it was the day after opposite day, but even though it was a new day you kept thinking about opposite day, and what you had done.

                                            >It wasn’t much; you simply reversed the roles you and Fluttershy normally played.

                                            >But you felt it do you a world of good to actually take an active role in the sick ritual that the two of you shared.

                                            >To for once be the instigator, it made you feel not so helpless and anxious about her daily visits.

                                            >Why the thought even occurred to you that you could have left that morning without knocking at all.

                                            >You wouldn’t have done that of course, as Fluttershy would have made a mess of your house, but what’s important is the feeling of knowing that you could have freely done so all the same.

                                            >And that’s why, on the day after opposite day, you were knocking on Fluttershy’s door and she was answering, while wearing her own pajamas.

                                            >It was a nice set. They were pink and had little white bunnies on them.

                                            >It suited her well, you thought.

                                            >At first she was surprised.

                                            >“What are you doing here?”

                                            >But then she started to smile.

                                            >“Are you here for a reason, like, you need somepony to take care of your morning needs?”

                                            >Even though she was now staring at your crotch, you smiled back.

                                            Hey, Fluttershy. Something smells good in there. Is it pancakes?

                                            >“Well, yes. But it’s also breakfast time for the critters.”

                                            >You looked past her and saw that her animals were all eating in their respective corners.

                                            >Suddenly you started yawning. It was pretty early, the kind where the sky is blue but the sun isn’t out yet.

                                            >“Are you tired still?”

                                            Sorry. Not used to being up at this time.

                                            >“Why are you here? Not that I mind, of course. Did you have a sexy dream about us like I did?”

                                            >Fluttershy locks her eyes onto yours while her hoof moves to the top button on her pajama top.

                                            >“Should I take this off now? I mean, if we’re going to, um, you know . . .”

                                            No. I have a surprise for you.

                                            >“Oh, um, okay. What is it?”

                                            That’s just the thing. I’m not sure what it is yet. We’ll have to find it.

                                            >Fluttershy looks on confusedly as you intently scan the area around you.

                                            >Once you saw the lawn you said:

                                            Ah! That’s perfect.

                                            >You bent down and picked up a handful of grass.

                                            >With delighted eyes you looked at the ripped up grass in your hand and said:

                                            Simply wonderful. Fluttershy, do you know what this is?

                                            >She looked in your hand. “Um . . . yes.”

                                            You’re right. It is grass. Great! We’re halfway done already. Now onto the next part.

                                            >Fluttershy looked around nervously like she was paranoid that she was being set up for something.

                                            >You held out your hand closer to her so that it was all her eyes could see.

                                            Look at the grass, dear, and answer me something. Is this grass my fetish?

                                            >She looked up at you suddenly.

                                            >“Excuse me?”

                                            I’ll repeat. Is this grass my fetish?

                                            >She stared at you for a while, unsure of what was going on.

                                            Please take as long as you like. Boy, something sure does smell good in there. Is it pancakes?

                                            >Fluttershy, slightly confused, tried to answer:

                                            >“No, it’s grass—I mean, your fetish—no, wait, I . . . What are you doing?”

                                            Just waiting for you, dear, and thinking of those pancakes. You know, I haven’t eaten yet—

                                            >“I mean why are you asking me if this grass is your fetish? That’s now how it works. I’m supposed to find your fetish. You can’t find it on your own.”

                                            Most do find it on their own, I believe.

                                            >“But you can’t find it on your own by asking me about it. Oh, no, no, no, this is all wrong. You can’t do this.”

                                            Look, do you think the grass is my fetish or not?

                                            >“Oh, I don’t know. How would I know that?”

                                            Come on. All that time you spent stalking me and you can’t even afford a guess. Have you learned nothing about me?

                                            >She started to look hopeful. “I do know something. I know how big your penis is.”

                                            Big deal. So does my ruler, but that doesn’t mean we’re in love.

                                            >Fluttershy frowned and then looked into your hand again.

                                            >You said some encouraging words to her:

                                            Come on, Fluttershy, the grass ain’t getting any sexier with you taking your time like you are.

                                            >“I guess I would say that, no, the grass is not your fetish.”

                                            >At first you didn’t confirm whether she was right or wrong.

                                            >You just smiled crookedly while she started to get anxious and bite her lip.

                                            >Then you brought your hand up to your mouth and blew the grass off.

                                            >You started wiping them on your pants.

                                            Well done, Fluttershy. I feel as though congratulations are in order, as it looks like you knew enough to correctly guess that grass isn’t my fetish.

                                            >“Oh, um, that’s nice,” she said, trying but failing to sound proud. “Can we, um, never do that—”

                                            What is closer to my fetish would actually be those pancakes of yours that I can smell in the kitchen.

                                            >You stepped past Fluttershy and entered her home just as she was saying, “Oh, well, I don’t think I have enough . . . Okay.”

                                            >Fluttershy only had a table for two in her kitchen.

                                            >Sitting in one seat was Angel, who was eating a small plate of carrot-covered silver dollar pancakes when you came in.

                                            >He was about to put another forkful in his mouth when he suddenly spotted you standing in the doorway, staring at him with a wide smile.

                                            >He put his food down and started waving at you to go away.

                                            >A moment later you were closing the kitchen window, after having had to open it briefly, and walking back to the table to sit in your new spot.

                                            >When Fluttershy came in you were helping yourself to a short stack.

                                            >She looked at you and asked, “Where’s Angel?”

                                            Don’t know. Doesn’t matter, rabbits aren’t my fetish anyway. Sit down and eat with me.

                                            >You pointed to the chair across from you with your fork and Fluttershy eventually sat there.

                                            >She served herself some pancakes and you both ate in silence for a while.

                                            >From the corner of your eye you could see that Angel was at the window, waving his arms and trying to get Fluttershy’s attention.

                                            >This sort of relieved you as it had been five minutes since you threw him out and you thought for sure that he would have tried something like this much earlier.

                                            >Honestly, until you saw him just then, you were starting to wonder if maybe a hawk hadn’t got him.

                                            >Before Fluttershy could see him you said:

                                            Can you get me some milk?

                                            >She shook her head. “No. You can get it yourself.”

                                            What if I told you that milkmaids were my fetish?

                                            >“Well are they?”

                                            You tell me.

                                            >Fluttershy looked at you, blew some air out her nose, then dropped her fork onto her plate so that it clattered noisily and got up to get you some milk.

                                            >Angel started hopping up and down, trying to get Fluttershy to see him before she turned around.

                                            >Then on one jump his foot slipped out from under him and he hit his bottom jaw on the windowsill before falling to the ground.

                                            >You smirked to yourself for having the bright idea to spread butter on the windowsill before closing it.

                                            >Fluttershy turned around briefly, but then turned back when she didn’t see anything.

                                            >When she came back with a full glass you thanked her, but she just looked impatiently at you.

                                            >You raised your glass.

                                            So are milkmaids my fetish?

                                            >Fluttershy made a serious face, as though she were thinking; then you said:

                                            No, they aren’t.

                                            >“This isn’t going to work,” Fluttershy said, frowning severely. “You can’t guess your own fetish.”

                                            I think I can.

                                            >“But you never will, not unless I guess it for you.”

                                            Do you even hear yourself right now? How do you think you’re going to guess my fetish for me? Oh, by coming over to my house every day I suppose. We all saw how well that worked.

                                            >“There’s nothing wrong with what I was doing.”

                                            Actually, there is. Fluttershy, you’re terrible at courting. Like, you are literally the worst.

                                            >“I am not.”

                                            You are. There are fat cringe-worthy anime fangirls in their tweens that have more game than you do.

                                            >“No. That’s not true.”

                                            How would you even know that’s not true? You don’t even understand half of what I just said, do you?

                                            >“I understood it.”

                                            No, you didn’t.

                                            >“Yes, I did—”

                                            No, you didn’t. You didn’t understand a word of that because I was referring to a type of person that only exists back on my world. So shut up and stop saying that you understood it.

                                            >Fluttershy scrunches her muzzle and timidly looks away from you.

                                            >“You’re right. I’m sorry. But, um, what you need to understand is that I’m never giving up, and that it’s only a matter of time before we’re together.”

                                            Not with you behind the wheel. The truth is that I could probably court myself for your benefit and do a better job wooing me than you could ever by trying to win me over on your own.

                                            >You looked over at her confused face and shrugged.

                                            So I might as well, right?

                                            >“Might as well what?” she asked slowly.

                                            Try to guess my own fetish.

                                            >“But that’s not how it works.”

                                            >Fluttershy snorts and stamps her hoof on the floor.

                                            >“I’m supposed to guess your fetish. Me! You don’t even know what your fetish is.”

                                            Even though that’s true, the odds are good that my choices, even if deliberately opaque, will all say something about the way my mind works simply because they are my choices this time and not yours. You should keep a list of my choices—start with grass—and see if you can detect any patterns in my mind that might lead you to what my true fetish could be. Even if I don’t intend to, I’m sure that I’ll leave all sorts of subconscious hints not only with what I choose, but also on what day of the week it happens to be, what the weather is like—there’s all sorts of factors.

                                            >Fluttershy’s face was blank.

                                            >She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but all you did was ask her whether or not she was writing everything you said down or not, as you did not want to repeat yourself.

                                            >Fluttershy groaned and held her head in her hooves, covering her ears as though she were having a massive migraine.


                                            >Fluttershy and Twilight were seated next to each other in the throne room of Twilight’s castle.

                                            >Fluttershy looked a nervous wreck.

                                            >Her eyes were grey and baggy, her mane seemed to be thinner, and she kept shaking and looking all around her, as though she were paranoid that someone was after her.

                                            >Twilight could only watch her friend sadly in this state.

                                            >“You’ve got to help me, Twilight. He comes over every morning and makes me guess his fetish. Then he tries to come in and eat whatever I’ve made for breakfast, and if I say no he gets really mad at me. It’s scary. It’s been a month now and I don’t think I can take any more.”

                                            >“I’m sorry but there’s nothing we can do,” Twilight said. “I already went over this with him a long time ago.”

                                            >“What about a restraining order? He stalks me all the time. I know it.”

                                            >Twilight raised an eyebrow. “Why would he stalk you? I thought you were the one that had the crush on him.”

                                            >Fluttershy shook her head.

                                            >When she spoke next, her eyes opened up wide so one could see the strained red vessels in them, which branched out along the whites of the eyes as though they were red cracks in a fragile egg.

                                            >“He follows me. I see him everywhere. He’s in my dreams. I think he made a deal with Princess Luna or something. He asks me whether or not things are his fetish in my own dreams.”

                                            >“Well where is he right now?”

                                            >“I don’t know. He comes over every day. I can’t take it anymore. I don’t know what I’m going to do if this keeps up.”

                                            >“Isn’t there any way that we can stop him?”

                                            >“Only if we guess his fetish, I suppose.”

                                            >“You mean do the thing he’s already doing to torture you back to him? I don’t think that’s such a great idea.”

                                            >“Well it’s what I’m supposed to be doing. He makes me keep these lists, and—”

                                            >“Lists,” Twilight said suddenly, “like, data, cataloguing stuff, detecting patterns, that sort of thing?”

                                            >“Yeah.”

                                            >Twilight’s eyes started to twinkle with determined excitement.

                                            >“Bring me those lists, Fluttershy. We’ve got a fetish to find.”


                                            >Then one day, weeks later, you, Fluttershy and Twilight (who now looked just as bad as Fluttershy did) were all standing outside your house.

                                            >It was early in the morning. Fluttershy went inside while you stood on your doorstep.

                                            >Twilight went behind a bush close by with a scroll of parchment levitating before her and a quill poised over it at the ready.

                                            >You could see her violet eyes peeking out at you from the leaves.

                                            >“Is every pony in position?” Twilight asked loudly.

                                            >Fluttershy waved from one of the windows. You rolled your eyes and said:

                                            Yeah, yeah.

                                            >“Okay, remember, it needs to be an accurate reenactment of what happened that morning on opposite day. If we do that, then I think this experiment will truly yield some results.”

                                            Opposite day totally isn’t a real day, by the way. I checked.

                                            >You could hear Twilight shushing you from the bushes.

                                            >Then, after a moment of silence, she said:

                                            >“Okay, begin.”

                                            >Irritated that you have to go through this again, you knock a bit too loudly on the door, shaking it in its hinges.

                                            >Fluttershy answers, and just when you got her smell out of your pajamas is when she ended up getting permission from the Princess of Friendship to wear them again.

                                            >“Good morning,” she says.

                                            Yeah, yeah . . .

                                            >You both run through the script, except this time you speak entirely in monotone and with Buster Keaton face on.

                                            >The whole exchange between you and her questioning the validity of opposite day seemed especially banal to run through again.

                                            >Much to your surprise, you found that you were growing angrier and angrier as you were forced to relive the entire opposite day experience.

                                            >So much that when you had pulled the dandelion out of your pocket and got to the fetish line, you said:

                                            And I was wondering if this dandelion was your fetish—Fuck this is stupid. Did I really do this shit to you every day for a month?

                                            >Fluttershy dropped her smile.

                                            >“Hey!” you heard from the bushes. “Stick exactly to the script, word for word.”

                                            No, I don’t think so.

                                            >You could see it already.

                                            >There was a whole new type of harassment coming from Fluttershy down this path, one that involved her friends all helping her.

                                            >They would experiment with you, toy with you, question you.

                                            >You would have six ponies bothering you instead of just one.

                                            >You had taken a misstep.

                                            >Everything felt wrong, being there on the porch with her, reliving the one moment you had with her that had made you feel good.

                                            >The experiment had to stop.

                                            >You turned towards the bushes and pulled out the folded script from your pocket.

                                            Here’s what I think of your script.

                                            >You then started to eat it.

                                            >Twilight pleaded with you to stop, saying that she only had a couple of copies made, but you kept chewing the paper until it turned to a tasteless pulp in your mouth.

                                            >Then, suddenly from the bushes, Twilight shouted:

                                            >“The plan’s been compromised. Fluttershy, initiate manual control and begin Plan B.”

                                            >Fluttershy got a determined look on her face that made you shiver.

                                            >She lunged forward and swiped the dandelion out of your hand with her mouth, making sure to lick your fingers, too.

                                            >Then, while still chewing, she said both your line and hers:

                                            >“Is this dandelion your fetish? Oh, how did you know?”

                                            >It sounded like gibberish of course, since her mouth was full, but so did your words when you said:

                                            Fluttershy, I swear to God if you jump on me—

                                            >She jumped on you, and, wrapping her arms around your neck, kissed and licked your open mouth.

                                            >The bits of dandelion that were in her mouth were mixing in with the spitballs of wet paper in yours.

                                            >Your throat started to itch.

                                            >You felt like throwing up and, ultimately, you lost your balance and fell backwards into the soft grass of your lawn.

                                            >Fluttershy screamed into your throat and finally separated her mouth from yours once on the ground.

                                            >One of your hands went to her bottom and you could feel she had gotten your pajamas wet again, but the dampness was warm and you did not move your hand.

                                            >She started to blush and look down at you.

                                            >You stared at her.

                                            >Her lips were covered in tiny clumps of wet paper and the shards of little yellow petals.

                                            >With tender movement you reached out to her lips with your thumb and cleaned her mouth.

                                            >She then let go of your neck. Now you realized was your time to escape, but you could not.

                                            >The world suddenly felt like it was gently wrapping itself around you as your soul swooned into a mysterious warm plane.

                                            >She took your hand in her hoof with intent to kiss it, rubbing her lips softly across the skin before pressing her mouth down.

                                            >In a brief vision you could see that her yellow sunshine lips were kissing your heart.

                                            >You cupped her cheek with your palm and then, smoothly moving your hand to the back of her head, smoothing over her mane until you settled in the nape of her neck, you gently guided her to you.

                                            >“It worked!”

                                            >Twilight jumped out of the bush, then said to herself in amazement, “My hypothesis was correct. I can’t believe it. I’m here seeing it with my own eyes and I can’t believe it.”

                                            >The two of you could hardly listen to her now as both your crotches were getting wet by rubbing against each other.

                                            >“So do you want to know how I figured out that this would all work? . . . Uh, hello? . . . Hey! Would you two stop kissing for a second so I can explain? . . .”

                                            >Twilight impatiently watched you both embracing in the grass for a while longer until, folding her ears and blushing, she said:

                                            >“Fine! I won’t tell you then.”

                                            >Twilight started trotting away, muttering about how the princess would definitely want her to report her findings today and that the two of you thankless jerks could suck the air out of each other for all she cared.

                                            >Whether or not she actually wrote to Princess Celestia about her wingmare duties, you aren’t sure.

                                            >The only thing you know for sure is that only on opposite day could it ever be possible that you would end up hooking up with Fucking Fluttershy.