My First Maregasm Pt. 3 Investigation


                                            'My First Maregasm' Pt. 3: Investigation

                                            ---

                                            >you drag yourself back into the bed, exhausted, and without even bothering to turn off the light you drop into a deep sleep.

                                            >You're awoken by a loud noise outside. Probably a dump-truck, or sirens, or something. The usual for inner-city living.

                                            >sliding out from beneath your cocoon of blankets, exposing unusually sensitive eyes to light, reminds you that yes, you are still in this pony predicament.

                                            >and confirms that sleep does not seem to change it.

                                            >it's been rough, but eventually you are going to have to come to terms with this being your body indefinitely.

                                            >unless you can find out just who or what caused this, and more importantly why, you can't expect this to just disappear.

                                            >maybe you can start with cleaning up this mess of a flat, maybe there are clues to be found..

                                            >hunger pangs gracefully interrupt these lines of higher level reasoning, and drag you back down to reality.

                                            >you've been a mare for.. what? over 12 hours now at least, and you realize you haven't eaten at all since before the incident.

                                            >you sigh. what time even is it?

                                            >of course you're not the kind of person to keep clocks around with active batteries in them.

                                            >your desktop's lock screen is set without a clock, and you know your mobile's time is wrong.

                                            >you've had it connected to a testnet, trying to troubleshoot issues with NTP server to client communication that had been causing serious denial of service issues.

                                            >you roll your eyes and decide that the time is 'morning'.

                                            >great, just one more way for you to feel lost, adrift, untethered.

                                            >you may have failed out of your degree, but that didn't stop you from learning a great deal about computer science and security, if only someone would have recognized your abilities, and given you responsibilities and pay in proportion to them.

                                            >you still dabble and keep yourself up to date with that area of technology, but it's lost most of its appeal and meaning to you by now, crushed under a mountain of mindless busywork and data-entry tasks.

                                            >most days lately, you hate typing.

                                            >anyways, we need to get this mare body some food already.

                                            >if it's going to keep interrupting your thoughts like this, you'll not be getting anywhere.

                                            >So... no hands. Can't cook.

                                            >Could you order a pizza?

                                            >Nope, fuck, you would have to open the door, and it's been established that you can't hide your ponydom.

                                            >It seems you're going to have to settle with eating some food from a can, though you have no clue how hard it will be to use an opener with just your hooves and muzzle.

                                            >Even getting into the kitchen will be difficult, unlike the front door it just had to have a shiny smooth knob with some kind of anti-microbial coating.

                                            >fucking HOAs, man.

                                            >..oh fuck, you didn't even lock the front door after yesterday.

                                            >now you're like 90% sure you're crazy, with the remaining 10% possibility that you really are a horse.

                                            >what if someone sees you? after the near miss with the creditor yesterday, you really have to figure this shit out.

                                            >you need some outside perspective, one that will react without bias, and won't be able to physically do anything to you in response.

                                            >yes, 4chan. that's the solution.

                                            >you awkwardly set up the phone against a pillow, very slowly get the camera app open and set to a timer, then back up and pose.

                                            >the screen flashes white as it snaps a photo of you, and you flinch a little.

                                            >tapping the preview, you are greeted with an image of a highly detailed green mare, with cartoon-like proportions, just as you've seen in the mirror.

                                            >you swallow as you inspect it.

                                            >but no! you're still not convinced. if your brain is able to override what you're seeing, why wouldn't it also be able to modify what you see on the phone's screen?

                                            >time to send it to the /b/.

                                            >you know that posting pony there is considered a great crime, but if the image turns out to be of a naked dude, you don't want /mlp/ to see that. It would just get scrubbed immediately anyway.

                                            >you're having to really push to psych yourself up for this, it's a big step.

                                            >worst case, you get called a faggot, and to gtfo to the containment board with your ray-traced art.

                                            >it takes probably 20 minutes, just to get the page open, upload the file, and maneuver that god-awful rolling captcha, but now you're staring proudly at your newly-created thread.

                                            >no text to explain, just the image.

                                            >and you wait, letting the auto-refresh do its thing..

                                            >"nice OC"

                                            >"What a cute mare"

                                            >"You are such a talented artist, it looks so real!!111"

                                            >"this is goin straight in my clop folder."

                                            >oh god.

                                            >a hint of your marehood and crotch teats are visible in the image.

                                            >people couldn't have came to this already, could they?

                                            >the thought fills you with intense embarassment, a little insecurity, all kinds of weird thoughts and emotions.

                                            >you're startled by your tail brushing against your flanks, and realise that you're instinctively curling it down to cover your marehood.

                                            >the tail brushed over the marehood, you just felt it. Your marehood..

                                            >your /b/ros are masturbating to you...

                                            >you nose yourself over to /mlp/ next, and see yourself already there

                                            >you hadn't thought about reposts.. you definitely didn't think about EXIFs and Metadata..

                                            >your crotchtits and marepussy are all over the internet now, you've never felt more intimidated or scared in your life.

                                            >and your cutie mark.. you hadn't paid much attention to it before.

                                            >but that's not important right now, you're hungry!

                                            ...

                                            >after you've had long enough to physically calm down a little, a twinge in your stomach brings to your attention that you haven't eaten since getting home.

                                            >running over the events of the day in your mind, it's clear that you would have handled this a lot better if you'd been on top of your chores and responsibilities before.

                                            >laundry, keeping the place clean, stocking the fridge with good food, paying your debts..

                                            >then again, it's plausible those ongoing issues were a part of what caused this event.

                                            >Now that the realization of being a small cartoon horse and that it might be permanent is slowly kicking in, you are already fed another ptsd inducing realization in addition to your hunger, the creditor and the general huge mess, there is one thing that sticks out above all else..... how are you going to do laundry?

                                            >waaaait wait wait wait

                                            >ponies don't wear clothes.

                                            >that simple realisation seems both freeing and traumatizing at the same time..

                                            >now that you are a cartoon horse, if you really are a cartoon horse, then the entire rules of life have completely been flipped on their head.

                                            >but that only sticks in your mind for a moment before hunger drags you back again.

                                            >you are hungry, you know you do have food, but this place is so messy it would be a death trap for a regular human who didn't know the layout.

                                            >let alone a new-blood transformee..

                                            >looking around at your living space, breathing its air.. you feel a little nauseous.

                                            >how, why did you ever let it get so bad?


                                            >you sniffle and suppress a sob, before you get lost in your own thoughts

                                            >memories hit you of your old roommate, the one you used to call your girlfriend..

                                            >how you gradually spent less time with her as your job consumed your energy, you left the room less often, she knocked on the door less too..

                                            >was it all misunderstandings? were you not good for each other? were you doing something wrong that she hadn't the guts to say?

                                            >you'll never really know, she just up and left without much of a word at all..

                                            >she had seemed as heartbroken as you were, but she just wasn't willing to talk about it.

                                            >maybe it was a forgone conclusion that she had just been hoping to justify.

                                            >maybe there was something you could have done, but her needing to instruct you would have made it worthless.

                                            >you think about that time you were at a party together, and you accepted a bong-rip that ended up more than you could handle

                                            >you remember looking up into her eyes, face half-buried in a cushion, as she kept an arm over you and tended to you

                                            >her expression was not of love or care, just concern. disappointment. she wasn't happy about having to look after you instead of enjoying the party.

                                            >you would have listened if she'd told you not to, but instead she had allowed you to over-indulge, and you were both suffering for it.

                                            >you needed someone who would keep you in track, but the any request for her to take a commanding role in the relationship was too much for her..

                                            >it's alright, you would tell yourself, as a male you're supposed to be the one on top of things, you're not a child.

                                            >you're sobbing quietly now, muscles in your jaw shuddering as you hold back a wail.

                                            >you're hyperventilating through your nostrils.


                                            >slowly but surely you make your way to the kitchen, allegedly where this whole event began

                                            >the scent of burned fries still permeates the space.

                                            >you trot awkwardly over takeout boxes, and piles of letters

                                            >you trip and nearly faceplant into a stack of magazines by the doorway, before you're faced with a whole new set of challenges in the kitchen.

                                            >looking up at the pantries gives you vertigo.

                                            >how are you going to get in there?

                                            >all of this was designed for humans, and kinda badly at that.

                                            >this place is so messy it would be a death trap even for a regular human who didn't know the layout, let alone a new blood transformee.

                                            >best try the fridge, maybe there's something edible waiting in there..

                                            >upon trying to nose and hoof your way into the fridge, balanced on your hind legs again, you're greeted with a foul surprise.

                                            >a fridge full of old takeout boxes, a half-eaten kraft dinner, half a turkey sandwich, stale pickles, a leaky milk carton..

                                            >the sight is revolting, not even to mention the smell.

                                            >A box labeled "Anon's Takeout: Do Not Touch"

                                            >you sigh especially at that one, another reminder of the girl you used to live with.

                                            >you manage to flick the edge of the fridge door and slam it shut

                                            >nope.exe

                                            >you couldn't stand exposure to those sights and scents any longer, not in your sensitive feminine frame.

                                            >you roll you eyes and turn towards the pantry... maybe there's something still good in there.

                                            >you awkwardly twist around on the floor, figuring out the hoof placements as you go

                                            >you think you're gaining confidence, until you trip on empty booze bottles, the sharp ringing as they clack together, forcing your sensitive ears to press against your head

                                            >wincing and shivering for a moment, you continue past the fridge to the pantry door, and repeat your new method for opening doors as a small equine.

                                            >hop up against the wall, lean over onto the handle, swing open and drop back to your hooves.

                                            >with practice, you think you could get a rhythm going with it. It should become second nature before long.

                                            >you're greeted with a bonanza of cans, jars, and dried pasta containers from all kinds of time periods

                                            >some are expired, some have old-timey looking labels, some have no label at all

                                            >it's clear that you never do much home cooking, and neither did the previous tenants, as a lot of this was left here when you moved in..

                                            >there, a relatively new-looking can of chilli. that looks tasty enough, and all you'll have to do is open the can and eat it.

                                            >you fumble for the can with an outstretched hoof, and succeed in knocking it the floor, along with an entourage of several similar cans and a box of noodles.

                                            >great, now it's dented. now you HAVE to eat it.

                                            >after pausing for a moment to consider the practicality of carrying it hooked in one hoof, you resolve to leaving the pantry as it is and rolling it with your nose


                                            >disgusting_floors.png


                                            >you roll your can-friend into the kitchen, and turn your head up to your next target, the drawer that holds a can opener.

                                            >..you forgot the noodle-box.

                                            >you huff and trot sulkily back to the pantry, this time NOT tripping on the booze bottles.

                                            >you tug the box toward you with the edge of a hoof and begin sliding it along to the kitchen, grumbling a little.

                                            >being hungry, along with all this awkward quadrupedal walking, is getting you grouchy.

                                            >now, how are you going to... anything.

                                            >somehow you have to get up to the stove, open the drawer, get the can opener, then...

                                            >let alone get a pan of water on the hob.

                                            >you just know your clumsy-ass hooves are gonna spill boiling water on yourself, burn you, and make your fur fall off.

                                            >nobody wants a philomena.

                                            >such basic tasks have such monumental problems..

                                            >but you ARE going to do this.

                                            >something inside of you feels like it's going to snap if you can't make your own food.

                                            >the box of noodles is easy enough to get up there. you grab it by the corner in your teeth and throw it, the light box flying and landing somewhere up on the counter

                                            >next you need to get the can up...

                                            >before you succumb to crying about your uselessness, suddenly, innovation!

                                            >you can make a staircase out of these drawers! [, and the top one will contain the can opener!]

                                            >this is absolutely ridiculous and dangerous as heck, but just as much you know it is possible.

                                            >you tug drawer-handles in your teeth to pull a diagonal line of them open, then step back and admire your work

                                            >this is going to fucking kill you.

                                            >approach from the side, stare up at your goal, the counter.

                                            >you stretch your jaw wide and manage to grasp the can, wincing and bearing the pain of hard metal against teeth.

                                            >the first is the hardest, being one of those deep floor-drawers, but all it contains is plates, and you manage to walk across those easily enough.

                                            >the next drawer contains pans.. you set down the can, grab the smallest one's handle in your teeth and, with a smooth motion of your long horse-neck, manage to flick it up to the counter with a painfully loud clatter.

                                            >..you were about to be proud of yourself, but that noise really hurt.


                                            >pickupthatcan.mkv


                                            >precariously straddling the two side walls of the drawer, you lean your neck up to see.. the knife drawer.

                                            >fuck. at least the can opener is in there too.

                                            >very slowly and carefully, you manage to hook a forehoof over the side and pull yourself up, praying that you don't slip forward and marr your new pretty pony face with cold steel.

                                            >lifting your head further over that array of haphazardly placed, sharp tools does not help, and you feel your hind legs starting to shake

                                            >fuck fuck no no no

                                            >just stay calm, you tell yourself. panicking is literally directly making it worse.

                                            >just pretend you're calm. just pretend you're fine. your eye twitches as you stare forward blankly, and feel your body calm down to stability.

                                            >now, you just need to get a hind hoof up on that edge, push.. and roll onto your side, now safely on top of the counter.


                                            >fuckmylife.rtf


                                            >you gingerly lift back onto your hooves, now acutely aware of the drop to the hard tiles of the kitchen floor just over that edge.

                                            >so, you have pan, can, can opener, noodles.. need water.

                                            >and no clue how you're going to actually use said can opener.

                                            >As you begin to realize what a momentus task making food has become in your new body the idea of using a can opener and moving a pot of water scare you, but you surely are not going to let yourself starve.

                                            >you came up with the drawer staircase maybe you could come up with an answer for the can opener too.

                                            >you got the can up on the kitchen counter without too much effort maybe this is doable

                                            >taking the handles in your muzzle grasping the other handle between your two forhoves and planting your ass on the counter, brushing up against your marehood which sends shivers down your spine.

                                            >you got the idea on how to do this from the crane game at the pizza hut where one of your friends used to work, they would always give you extra spices and napkins.

                                            >you reminisce on the memory.


                                            ...

                                            >you craned your head and saw the machine, a my little pony plush caught your eye, Rainbow Dash, so you had to have her.

                                            >plugging in quarter after quarter you kept trying but she was just too damn slippery, but after about 40 dollars worth of tries you had your prize.

                                            >you could have bought a bigger one for that price at the bookstore


                                            >your stomach growls. You may be hungry but at least your brain still works.


                                            >Moving your head and hooves in tandem like the crane machine, you get the teethwheels of the opener to line up with the rim.

                                            huston we have lift off


                                            >thisisengineering.cad


                                            >it clatters.... boooo

                                            >secondversesameasthefirst ?

                                            >Second try it was easier to position and you then pivot your muzzle and hooves to close the opener.

                                            hisssssss

                                            >so satisfying... but how are you going to work the crank

                                            >it takes awhile but you get it to turn with a push pull motion on the side of your hoof while bending it.

                                            >you discovered THAT just now.

                                            >can open you pour it into the pot and tear the topper off the noodlebox to pour it in.

                                            >yes, you're one of those wEirdo people who cook the sauce in with the noodles.

                                            >it's getting easier to manouver but you are not out of the woods yet.


                                            >water_jimmy.pdf


                                            >settling on a bowl you make quick work of the water with the tap, which was a lever instead of the knobs of the shower which you can still hear running.

                                            >you're quite sure you turned the shower off, but maybe all the time you spent with it running, some of it asleep, it's just burned into your ears now.

                                            >water bowl into soup pot

                                            >at least physics work the same here

                                            >not like its mars or something but might as well be.