My First Maregasm Pt.2 Discovery


                                            >your eyes begin to drift open, starting with the right, the left begrudgingly following.

                                            >still face up in the tub, water still splashing, cold by your feet

                                            >you slightly smile, your body feels warm, and fuzzy

                                            >your head feels dizzy, you're a little light headed

                                            >you can just imagine, and feel, the canaries flying around your head

                                            >all of your prior problems feel like nothing but distant, fuzzy memories

                                            >this mystery is the only current pressing issue on your mind now.

                                            >perhaps that weed-psychosis finally gave you the satisfaction you'd needed!

                                            >then you pry your head up and are once again greeted with the sight of a green-furred mare's body

                                            >ohCOMEON.ogg

                                            >ugh. you're going to have to climb out of the tub like this, you roll your eyes and sigh.

                                            >you're still convinced this has to be a delusion, no matter how long it lasts

                                            >all it costs is a deepening distrust in your own perception of reality, that's fine.

                                            >you are SURE you're delusional, this cannot really be happening.

                                            >it must be you that is broken, couldn't possibly be your knowledge of technology and what's possible in life.

                                            >all that work-related stress and social isolation finally broke you, you've heard the horror stories.

                                            >some people really do just break like that!

                                            >..and yet, despite knowing that, the cold water on your fur still feels just as biting, and you're still staring up from the bottom of the tub.

                                            >you lift your limbs upward and swing them to the side, awkwardly rolling and sliding around until you're upright, and lift your body shakily on the hooves

                                            >it feels rather similar to an all-fours stance, but your hind legs aren't too long, your back is level with the ground and it feels bizarrely natural to keep your head pointed forward

                                            >the hard keratin of your hooves feels quite slippery against the tub, and you shuffle slightly, afraid of another blow to the head

                                            >you reach a foreleg forward and manage to turn the water handle without too much difficulty

                                            >thank fuck it was a handle and not a smooth knob.

                                            >looking back and forth between the walls of the tub and your own body, you formulate a plan of escape

                                            >hooking one foreleg over the outside edge, and bracing a hind hoof on the opposite wall, you're able to roll over the edge and flop in a damp, fuzzy heap onto the bathmat.

                                            >the flop was surprisingly quiet, as if something far lighter than your near-300lb human body had landed there

                                            >a little winded, you again roll to your belly and lift up on these weird, hard appendages of yours

                                            >you briefly wonder if it'll be difficult to walk four-legged, but you've seen how a horse walks before, you've got this.

                                            >simply keeping your head up and aiming for the door, you find yourself navigating toward it without much complaint, so long as you don't look down.

                                            >looking up is a bizarre experience however, as you're still unaccustomed to such a low perspective

                                            >everything looks so big, and the walls near the floor are disgusting

                                            >...the door has a lock on it.

                                            >why did you even lock it? you're between roommates for the time being.

                                            >habits are powerful, man. in this case, as an antagonist.

                                            >hopping up onto your hind legs, forelegs up against the wall, you're able to just about reach it and slide the latch out with the edge of a hoof

                                            >but the door is opened with a knob

                                            >you're going to have to put that in your mouth, aren't you.

                                            >mare is going to lick the knob. fuck.

                                            >you sigh and take a moment to resign yourself to another layer of degeneracy, before pushing your head up and taking that stainless sphere into your maw.

                                            >taste of metal on your tounge (reminds you of that one time you took zopiclone)

                                            >it hurts your weird herbivore teeth a bit, but you manage to get the door open, and almost don't fall on your ass in the process

                                            >your tail hurts, but your ample flanks absorbed most of the impact, so you shake it off.

                                            >you trot through to your computer, and hop yourself up onto the chair.

                                            >desk is too high for you. how could you be imagining that, exactly?

                                            >you can even see a couple bits of gum and stickers lazily placed under the desk, that you had totally forgotten were there.

                                            >fuck this, you wouldn't even be able to use the keyboard anyway.

                                            >and you have your pc set to require ctrl+alt+del to log in, so a pen in the mouth wouldn't cut it.

                                            >you sigh and hop back to the floor, resolving to get up on your bed and sleep this off.

                                            >the bed smells familiar, but that familiar scent catches your attention a lot more than usual.

                                            >eau de slight fermented man sweat. home.

                                            >weirdFeelingsInside.exe

                                            >laying on your side, all hooves out in front of you, you close your eyes and try not to think of a green pony.

                                            >you're just a depressed, cannabis-dependent dude, not a magical colourful horse.

                                            >as your breathing slows, the thought comes to mind that you've really been neglecting your hygiene lately.

                                            >you don't remember the last time you changed these sheets, and you've had the same shampoo bottle since 2015.

                                            >shining a blacklight in this room would probably be terrifying.

                                            >eyes still closed, you grimace and bury your muzzle into the bed, mind awash with shame.

                                            >..only to fill your seemingly more-sensitive nose with more of that body odor.

                                            >curse this nose for not being broken any more

                                            >a pitiful groan escapes your nostrils and you slump back, finding a new position that doesn't force you to breathe through the sheets

                                            ...

                                            your dreams are similar to before, constantly flipping between a few scenes, flickering like a strobe light, and some barely-heard voices of varying age, sex and emotion.

                                            that vision of floating on still water again, a moon with an unfamiliar face

                                            is that...

                                            a flash of the dorm room where you first smoked weed, staring down the bong as guys egged you on

                                            a scene of a tree leaning over a road, that first appears idyllic, colourful, and beautiful

                                            ..but quickly the colour fades, the tree loses its leaves, textures become more heavily detailed as verything appears to age and erode>tall, dark figures towering over you, saying nothing but exuding an intense feeling of disappointment, impending punishment for some unknown mistake you've made

                                            your parents yelling up the stairs at you, calling you down for something

                                            the scenes start to change more quickly, sometimes repeating, hammering their messages into you until you wake up with a sharp, girly gasp

                                            ......

                                            >you're panting and soaked in sweat

                                            >you whimper and force your eyes tightly closed. You're beginning to feel truly helpless now.

                                            >the air beneath this blanket is thick with an unfamiliar scent, it's strong but somehow.. less harsh than your usual BO?

                                            >you take a couple of sniffs, racking your brain to place the scent.

                                            >it smells like.. a girl.

                                            >not that you've personally smelled many of those, but it's the best match you can find

                                            >...and the delusion keeps on getting deeper, it seems.

                                            >desperate and curious, you flip the blanket off you and, after a moment letting your eyes adjust, crawl over to an old hoodie crumpled at the corner of the bed

                                            >sniff sniff.. boy.

                                            >this still smells like your old boy-musk.

                                            >back to the spot where you slept.. smells like girl.

                                            >so it's not that your nostrils are acting weird, your sweat just has a different scent to it right now.

                                            >right now, you tell yourself, asserting that this must be temporary.

                                            >maybe it's some weird chemical that your weed was laced with, coming out in your sweat

                                            >you have heard enough stories of PCP soaked into bud, it's plausible. right?

                                            >..but hadn't you already smoked some from this batch?

                                            >you catch yourself hyperventilating.

                                            >reality, or the closest to it you can find, is really starting to hit

                                            >you're still stuck in this delusion, and you can't even find respite in your dreams

                                            >come to think of it your dreams haven't been nearly this vivid for quite some time

                                            >you know it's because of all the weed you smoke, but.. now you think maybe that was a good thing.

                                            >you've finally cracked

                                            >maybe just waiting won't fix this

                                            >maybe you actually need to go to a mental hospital

                                            >your eyes flick to your phone, perched on the edge of your computer desk

                                            >then they wander around the room and you feel your fluffy ears fall to the sides as it starts to dawn on you how depressed you really are

                                            >there's a laundry basket by the door, but it rarely gets used

                                            >faded clothes in various states of stink are scattered around the room

                                            >scents of stale sweat and axe body spray permeate the room, as does the subtle odor of cheap weed

                                            >an overflowing trash can is beside your computer desk, and it's overflowing with crumpled chip bags, fast food wrappers, receipts, bills...

                                            >your pc hasn't been cleaned since you got it, and the whine of its overloaded dusty fans at idle tell the tale.

                                            >tears at the corners of you eyes force you to blink, breaking your sadness-trance

                                            >..since when do you cry?

                                            >you've been emotionally numb for far too long to do that

                                            >a shiver runs through your strange body from head to toe and you swallow.

                                            >you need someone to hold you.

                                            >you feel ashamed for all the time you've wasted

                                            >ashamed of yourself for needing help

                                            >you're small. you're weak. you can't do this alone

                                            >you hop off the bed and scramble for the phone

                                            >nudge if off the desk, let it drop, flip it over and fumble the edge until you get the screen on

                                            >press the tip of your snout to the glass and swipe upward, then boop the large buttom marked 'Emergency call'

                                            >heavy breathing, eyes closed for a moment as you build your courage and plan your next steps

                                            >you open your eyes, staring down at the screen, panting

                                            >poking the tip of your weird, flat tongue out, you manage to punch in 911 and hit Call

                                            >ringing..

                                            >oh god oh fuck here we go

                                            >ringing...

                                            "911 What is your emergency?" a stern woman's voice asks

                                            >"..hhi um.."

                                            >fuck, your voice sounds like a 12 year old boy

                                            >a male's mannerisms but unable to find the resonance you're expecting

                                            >"I-I think I'm having some kind of a psychotic break? I hit my head and now I think I'm a cartoon pony"

                                            >you are acutely aware of how badly you described that, and how absurd it now seems.

                                            "..you think you're a pony?"

                                            >"yyes, I have green fur and hooves, I'm smaller, I've waited and it hasn't gone away! please, I need some help!"

                                            "Young lady, do you realise how much it costs to run this service? You and your parents could get in serious trouble for wasting dispatcher time."

                                            >they aren't buying it. they don't even think you're a nutcase, they think you're a kid playing a prank.

                                            >the woman's commanding tone stirred something in you. you feel small, even start to doubt yourself until you find your train of thought again.

                                            >"I'm serious! I really think I'm stuck like thi-

                                            ~CLICK~

                                            Dial tone..

                                            >your phone returns to its lock screen, before it turns off and you're left staring at the freakily detailed cartoon horse reflected in the black mirror.

                                            >your lower lip begins to tremble and you feel tears welling up in your eyes again.

                                            >nobody's coming to get you.

                                            >it was a stupid idea to even call.

                                            >stupid stupid stupid. that word hammers in your head as you squeeze your eyes shut, and tears flow, soaking the fur of your cheeks

                                            >you're not gonna be able to do anything for yourself with these hooves

                                            >or.. uh.. in reality they're probably tightly balled fists, in some sort of psychologically locked state

                                            >you can't will them to open no matter how badly you need them to.

                                            >seeing is believing, right? does that still apply when you don't logically believe what you're seeing?

                                            >you really are broken.

                                            >then a strange thought occurs to you.

                                            >what if you're going to end up as someone's pet.

                                            >too much of a freak to run away to authorities, too helpless to be on your own

                                            >you can't do your job without the ability to type, you won't be able to support yourself

                                            >you choke on a heavy sob, watching tears drip onto the phone screen

                                            >as if things couldn't get any worse, you're startled by a heavy knock at the door

                                            >who the fuck

                                            >.."I'm still naked" you realise.

                                            >you're kicked into gear now. dashing to the bed, you grab a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and begin hastily shuffling yourself into them

                                            >they seem comically large for you, and not shaped to fit you at all, but perhaps that's all in your head.

                                            >that's right, it's all in your head.

                                            ~KNOCK KNOCK~ (louder)

                                            >you repeat that line internally as you struggle your forelegs trough the arms, and bound toward the door

                                            >hop upright, brace one foreleg against the wall, and use the other to slide the latch into place before turning the handle

                                            >the door swings partially open to reveal a red-faced man in a cheap suit

                                            >it's the fucking creditor. he finally made a house call.

                                            "hello, I'm here from Goodrich Collections. I am um.."

                                            >..He just locked eyes with you and stumbled over his words.

                                            >you keep eye contact with him, silently waiting for his next move

                                            "who would dye their.." he mumbles, backing away slightly and swiping over his greasy hair.

                                            >he tries to look past you into the apartment, evidently quite startled, and you bite your tongue.

                                            >what, does he not see you as human? is it something about the way you're clothed?

                                            >BADBADNOTGOOD

                                            "is there anybody home?" he calls past you.

                                            >you're frozen solid. he thinks you're some weird pet.

                                            >does this confirm it?

                                            >nonononono that's not possible. this does not fit with your perception of possibility at all.

                                            >after waiting a few more moments, the guy projects "I'll be back tomorrow" into the apartment and starts to turn away, shaking his head.

                                            >you push the door closed and drop back to the floor, eyes still staring forward.

                                            >you roll to your back and stare at the ceiling, desperately trying to keep yourself composed until you can process what just happened.

                                            >this is not happening. this does not make sense.

                                            >did that even just happen? was he real, or a part of a delusion?

                                            >you're starting to doubt that your brain could really create all of this

                                            >it's too consistent, too lucid

                                            >you reach a hoof up into your field of vision and watch it shrink as you lift it higher into the air

                                            >you look to the side and watch the hoof-shaped shadow drift across the carpet

                                            >just taking a moment to thoughtlessly observe, hoping for some sign of inconsistency

                                            >you are not at all prepared to consider the thought that you might ACTUALLY PHYSICALLY have this body.

                                            >..and yet you're considering considering it.

                                            >you think it might be possible to think it's possible.

                                            >if it is true, your worst fear has been confirmed.

                                            >if it is true, this is literally the worst possible thing.

                                            >you're not prepared to believe that reality is broken until you have real, undeniable proof.

                                            >..that it's not just your brain that's broken, but the whole world.

                                            >you had heard about discord groups that talk of doing this to people, to make them into pets, but you'd never thought it could be real.

                                            >the creditor might have actually physically been there, and reacted to you.

                                            >he said "their". as in, belonging. humans don't belong to people, or shouldn't.

                                            >not that you wish to invalidate BDSM relationships, but this guy instantly assumed that you were someone's pet, and therefore not a human, on sight.

                                            >there's no collar around this neck.

                                            >he acted as if you didn't even understand him.

                                            >you slump to the side, just staring blankly forward as this mess of thoughts loops around in your head

                                            >your lips mouth a silent "no" between whimpering breaths, as that scene of shadowy figures from your dream flashes into your vision again

                                            >you squeeze your eyes closed again and try to imagine a brick wall.

                                            >shut it out, shut it out

                                            >but the thoughts are deafening, and the fear is burning through your wall.

                                            >it has to just be you. you can take that, you can accept that you're broken.

                                            >you've always been able to depend on the universe making indiscriminate, logical sense.

                                            >the universe has to make sense. if it doesn't, what if it's not even real?

                                            >if things like this can happen, are YOU even real?

                                            >well, now you really are worried about yourself. these are serious thoughts, and that scares some higher part of you that depends on the perceptions of others.