GREEN
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3828 20.93 KB 281
3828 20.93 KB 281
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>You are Floor Bored, and you fear you've made a terrible mistake.
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>You'd been living with Anon for a few months now and you wanted to do something special to show him your appreciation
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>Maybe cooking him something delicious, or drawing him a nice picture
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>But after trashing a few sketches and spending some discouraging hours in the kitchen, you'd fallen into depression
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>You were afraid that nothing you made would really be good enough for him
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>You were still just a NEET, after all
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>It seemed the whole point of your existence was that you'd never ever be good at anything whatsoever
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>Sure, you'd been making a lot of progress lately - you tried to remind yourself of this
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>But it still weighed on you, all those years of masturbation and depravity, of being useless, you couldn't just erase those experiences from your mind
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>How could someone like that - like you - deserve to be in a relationship? Deserve to be happy?
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>There were so many ponies out there who had gone through so much worse
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>Your boring life was absolutely pathetic by comparison
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>You'd never met them, but you were sure they were out there somewhere
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>Any of those ponies deserved to be in a relationship much more than you did
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>They deserved to be happy, not you
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>You couldn't even cook a proper meal, or speak articulately, or do anything normal ponies do every day
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>Just bathing and not pissing into a bottle were accomplishments for you
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>What could you possibly do for Anon that wasn't completely laughable?
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>You tried not to show it to him, but every day the anxiety gnawed at you
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>The fear that eventually you were going to mess up, or that you would just become too much of a burden, and Anon would rightly leave you behind
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>He was so kind, and so loving, and you were trying so hard to be a better mare for him
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>But in the long hours when he was out working or buying food, you found yourself reverting to some of your old habits
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>Lying in your room in the dark, not moving, not eating
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>There were still times you felt sluggish, afraid, isolated
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>You had a feeling Anon could notice that something was wrong, but you weren't sure
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>You wanted so badly to tell him, to communicate to him your fears and anxieties, but you didn't know how
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>So you'd spend hours trying to brainstorm ideas for ways to show him how much you cared about him
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>You'd stare at yourself in a mirror, or at one of the pictures you took of Anon while he was sleeping, or roll around in a pile of his clothes, and remind yourself that you were worthwhile, that Anon loves you and that he isn't going to abandon you
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>And even while your confidence in your own abilities remained nonexistent, for perhaps the first time in your life you didn't want to just give up
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>You wanted to keep trying until you succeeded, and you kept telling yourself you would find a way for your goal to be possible
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>Which is how it eventually occurred to you that you could rely on somepony else to accomplish it for you instead
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>You had been staring at yourself in the mirror, when you'd fixated on your long, tangled mane
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>Surely this was something you could fix, with just a little courage
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>With your heart pounding, you'd gone on the Ponynet to find a hairdresser just a few blocks away
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>You'd then spent hours looking at manestyles, almost giving up multiple times as the sheer variety overwhelmed you
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>It also hurt to look at all these stylish, put-together mares
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>These were fashion models, ponies so different from you they might as well have been a different species
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>You tried not to think about it like that, but it was hard not to compare yourself to them
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>What would Anon even like?
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>You could've asked him, but that would've ruined the surprise
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>You knew he liked your hair, he buries his face in it all the time, but you wanted it to be better for him
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>It was so messy, so rough, so unstylish
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>You'd brushed it maybe a handful of times in your entire life
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>Eventually you settled on some simple styles, and printed these onto a few blank pages
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>One day, while Anon was out working, you steeled yourself to make the journey
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>You'd already taken a few small trips outside, but never on your own
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>Anon had encouraged you to take a few steps out onto the sidewalk, and then down the street, but you'd never gotten much farther than a block away from home
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>Every time, your heart had started pounding, your vision had begun to swim, dizziness had swept over you, and you felt only an unrelenting sense of impending doom
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>It was only once you were back home on the couch clinging to Anon that you were able to relax and return to any sense of normalcy
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>Could you even go through with this? Was this even the right thing to do?
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>So paralyzed by fear and self-doubt were you that you almost didn't even leave the building
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>Three times you walked down the outside hallway before retreating back to your apartment to hide
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>But you shrouded yourself in protective layers, preparing yourself like a sort of NEET-stronaut for the journey into the outside world
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>Baggy hoodie, check
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>Picture of Anon, check
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>Hoof-full of bits and printout of manestyles, check
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>You'd washed your face but not your hair; you weren't sure what proper hair etiquette was expected by hairdressers
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>You just assumed that she'd want to see it in its natural state, not all wet
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>With your hood drawn up tight around your face, fully enclosing your head, you finally forced yourself to step outside onto the sidewalk
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>The noise and activity was immediately oppressive, weighing on you from all sides
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>Celestia's sunlight shone down hot upon you, mocking you from the heavens, illuminating you for all to see
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>You were convinced that ponies were staring at you, that their passing conversations revolved around making fun of you, that any snatch of laughter was directed toward you
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>But you just kept your head down and kept moving, trying to block it all out
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>Your heart was pounding, you felt sick, the fear only kept building
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>You were terrified that you would somehow miss the salon, even though it was just a straight shot east from your apartment
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>In your mind you'd rehearsed what you'd say dozens of times
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>It was going to be quick and efficient; no one would ever know that you're a barely-functional NEET who's spent most of her life huddled in a ball on the floor
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>You're so focused on running through your script that you almost walk past your destination
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>Luckily you see the spiral of the barber's pole out of the corner of your eye
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>You take a deep breath, and push your way inside
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>The bell rings, announcing your presence, the sound like a lance stabbing you in the chest
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>A unicorn mare sits behind a cashier's desk, reading a magazine
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>When she looks up at you, you feel like you're gonna puke
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>"Mornin' honey," she says. "How can I help you?"
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>Your throat closes when you try to speak
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>Everything you were going to say falls immediately out of your head
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>You wander over to the desk as if in a dream, your tongue trying but failing to form words
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>"Please… hair… cut," you finally say.
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>"What was that?"
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>"H-Hair… please."
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>You motion toward your head.
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>The unicorn regards you coolly, chewing a wad of gum
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>"Girl I can't see no hair."
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>"O-Oh…"
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>Your hooves are shaking wildly as you fumble with the hoodie's drawstrings, before remembering that you just need to pull the hood back to loosen it
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>The unicorn lifts an eyebrow when your mane flops out, covering your face in a dark curtain
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>She lets out a low whistle
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>"Dang," is all she says.
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>A casual admonishment, but to you it is a powerful condemnation
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>Feeling your eyes water, you fight back tears
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>You tepidly back toward the door, but already the mare is motioning for you to come back
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>"C'mon now, let's get you shampooed honey. I'll sort you out."
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>Her tail swishes as she walks back deeper into the salon
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>You pause for a moment, pulling Anon's picture from the pocket of your hoodie
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>It's one you snapped of him while he was dozing on the couch
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>He was only wearing boxers, and from the right angle you could see his balls
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>It was too perfect to pass up
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>Staring at his crotch and his peacefully sleeping face relaxes you, just a little bit
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>You eventually manage to stumble into the salon proper
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>A few other mares are getting their manes and tails cut, lounging on raised beds while hairdressers snip away
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>You ignore them, ignore the shadow of yourself following along the mirrored wall, and find the unicorn waiting for you in the back
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>She directs you to lie on a bed adjoining a deep sink
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>It's uncomfortable, and you feel a wave of panic as the sink's hard enamel grips the back of your neck
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>The panic worsens when the unicorn invades your personal space, digging her hooves into your mane as she draws it into the sink
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>"You good?" she asks, turning the water on to full blast
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>"U-Um…."
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>She seems to mistake your mumbling for assent, and proceeds to vigorously wash your oily mane
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>You close your eyes tight, fighting back the rising panic
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>Anon, blessedly, enters your mind
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>The memory of him washing your hair in the shower, as he does once a week now
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>His arms around you
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>Kissing your neck
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>You think of that time when he'd sat back in the tub, and let you come up between his legs
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>How he'd let you take his cock in your mouth, how it had pulsed against your tongue
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>How blissful and relaxing it had been, hearing nothing but his moans and the soft patter of water, feeling his thighs press gently against your ears, his hand on your head while he dumped his cum down your throat
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>"Ay, you hear me? You good."
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>You realize that the unicorn has finished washing your mane
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>When you open your eyes you see her staring down at you, still chewing her gum
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>Gingerly you roll off the bed, shakily getting up on all four hooves
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>"Sorry, I get you with the hose?"
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>You look back to see what she's asking about, and it feels like the bottom of your stomach drops out
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>The cushion is utterly soaked in marejuice
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>Even from here you can smell it
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>You consider bolting right then and there, but you force yourself to look in the unicorn's general direction
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>"It's f-f-fine," you say
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>Good save.
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>She just nods and carries on over to her station
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>You discreetly try to wipe yourself off before she beckons you over
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>"So whatchu want?" she asks, after she's settled you on the elevated bed and thrown a big cloth around your neck
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>Your brain struggles with the question, but then you remember the printout of manestyles you brought
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>You reach into your pocket and pass over what you believe is the sheet
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>"One… one of these, please…"
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>The hairdresser looks at the printout for a long minute, her lips pursed, eyebrow arched
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>"Girl I know we all lookin' for a man, but I just cut hair."
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>When she returns the photo of Anon, you want to scream
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>"S-S-Sorrrryyy…" you try to say, but it comes out as an unintelligible mumble
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>Fortunately the unicorn is already sizing you up in the mirror
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>"I ain't a miracle worker either, but ya know, anythin's possible," she says. She bunches up your mane on both sides of your head, evaluating some aspect of your coiffure that you can't discern.
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>"Once I'm done with ya, you'll be a regular heartbreaker," she continues. "You'll see."
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>You try to muster some kind of protest, try to affect the fate of your hair in some measurable fashion before it's too late
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>Instead you just sit there helplessly while the unicorn begins snipping away at your mane
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>You sit there, trembling, watching yourself wide-eyed in the mirror as bits of you are removed, falling onto the cloth and the floor
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>Vaguely you are aware of your hairdresser trying to engage you in conversation, something about a big wedding in Canterlot, but you can't focus on what she's saying
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>Eventually she just starts yelling things at another hairdresser across the salon, and their conversation becomes the background noise to your fast descent into despair
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>Why did you do this? Anon loved your hair the way it was
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>Now it's getting hacked all to pieces
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>He's not even going to recognize you anymore
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>Stupid, you're so stupid
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>This whole thing was a mistake, an awful mistake
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>You should never have left the apartment
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>You didn't need to do this at all
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>Should've just secretly pissed into the ice cube tray and left it at that
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>Now Anon was going to see what an idiot you really are
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>He would realize what a terrible mistake he was making, see that you're completely irredeemable
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>Fat tears roll down your cheeks, and you close your eyes to block them out
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>You don't even want to look at yourself anymore
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>You don't want to see what you're becoming
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>When the unicorn nudges your shoulder, you take it as a sign that she's finished
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>Gracelessly you roll off the bed, your hooves clopping on the hair-covered floor
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>It's everywhere, all your beautiful oily smelly hair, it's all gone, strewn all over the ground
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>"Whaddya think?" your hairdresser asks. "Pretty great, right?"
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>"It's… it's… bundertiful!" you gurgle, unable even to form words properly
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>You have no idea what your mane looks like, and you keep your head down as you follow the unicorn back to the front
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>Your head feels light and cold
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>If you didn't feel hair occasionally brushing against your forehead, you'd think you were shaved bald
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>It's horrible, it's terrible
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>This is the worst you've felt in months
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>A wave of dizziness washes over you as you start to hyperventilate, breathing quick and shallow
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>"That'll be five bits honey," the unicorn says, after she's rung you up. "You want some product or anything?"
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>Tip, tip, how much do you tip?
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>She didn't do a good job, why would you tip?
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>You have to tip, don't you? It's required, isn't it?
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>It's too hard to think, you have to get out of there, your heart is racing, you feel like you're gonna die -
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>"T-Thanks, you too!" you say, a strangled cry as you throw a bunch of bits at her
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>The bell jingles as you rush outside
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>Out on the sidewalk you take some deep gulping breaths
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>A mistake
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>You feel faint, and nauseated, and you almost pass out, slumping against the barber's pole
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>Your mind wanders, insensate
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>Anon's dick…
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>You hug it tightly, clinging to Anon's giant spiral penis, gnawing on the shaft
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>Everything's fine
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>Anon is here
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>His cock shall comfort you in your time of need
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>Mindlessly you hump the pole, feeling the panic attack temporarily subside
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>Your breathing becomes shallower, your heartrate slows slightly, and gradually you feel your senses return
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>Anon...
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>The sounds of the city flood in around you
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>Some ponies are giving you odd glances as they walk by
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>Quickly you throw your hood back over your head and stagger off westward, back toward your apartment
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>You have to get home, you just have to get home
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>Everything will be fine once you get home
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>It won't be, your mane is absolutely ruined -
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>That doesn't matter, you tell yourself, you can cry about that later
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>For now you just need to get home, get away from all these other ponies
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>Then you'll be safe again
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>Hurriedly you rush down the sidewalk, trying not to bump anypony, trying, impossibly, not to be seen
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>You don't want anyone to look at you
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>You don't want Anon to see you
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>You just want to hide in your room and never come out
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>Breathing hard, choking back sobs, you stumble into your apartment building and down the hall
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>Your hooves fumble with the keys, some bits clatter to the floor, but you're too out of it to care, you leave them where they fall
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>Once you manage to open the door, you slam it shut behind you and gallop into the room you now share with Anon
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>Not even bothering to turn on the lights, you throw yourself onto the bed, under the blanket, curling up around the pillow that smells like him.
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>And you cry.
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>You are Anon, and it's been a long day
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>The odd jobs you get vary between boring and exceptionally trying
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>Last week had involved the tedious effort of digging up and replacing signposts throughout the city, something to do with a new royal name-change
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>Today you'd been tasked with helping the city event planners put up decorations for some kind of upcoming wedding parade
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>For hours you'd had to endure the shrieking of three pompous, bickering stuffed-shirts who apparently could not agree on the "aesthetic" they wanted to convey
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>You were glad to have it behind you now, and just happy to be going home
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>Coming home to Floor Bored is what it made it all worthwhile
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>You couldn't wait to hug her, maybe play some games, who knows
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>If she just wanted to cuddle, you would be all too pleased to oblige
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>There was something very soothing about holding her and petting her mane
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>And lately she'd been even more clingy than usual, though you're not sure why
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>You're worried about her, even though she insists that she's fine
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>As you approach your apartment, you feel a flash of concern when you see a few errant bits lying by your door
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>Your unlocked door
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>"Floor?" you call, as you push your way into your apartment
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>No response comes, but you can see the door to your room is closed
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>The glow of a computer is visible, coming out from beneath
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>You knock on the door, but she doesn't answer
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>"Hey, I'm coming in," you say
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>When you step through, the room is dark
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>Bathed in the dim light of her screen is Floor Bored, huddled on your bed
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>She lies with her back to you, facing the wall, her hood drawn up around her head
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>"Hey…" you say. "What's wrong?"
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>When she says nothing, you come around to where she's facing
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>Immediately she pulls her hood down over her face, trying to hide
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>You kneel down beside her, gently reaching out to touch her side
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>"It's okay, Floor. You can show me."
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>Gingerly you reach to pull off her hood.
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>She resists at first, pulling away with a groan
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>But eventually, trembling, she lets you take the hood off
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>You can see immediately why she's hiding
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>Her mane has been chopped short - layered nicely, clearly done by a professional - but far, far shorter than the mess that once adorned Floor Bored's head
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>She looks away, at the ground, eyes tearing up, her body shaking under your hands
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>Without her hair to hide behind she must feel completely exposed
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>"Hey…" you say, giving her a smile
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>You put your hand on her cheek, brushing her shortened forelocks to the side, before leaning down to kiss her on the mouth
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>"I like your haircut," you say, after you've broken away.
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>Even in the dim light you can see her blush
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>"R-Really?" she stammers
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>"I love it. I can see more of your cute face now."
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>Her head dips down, and she smiles a little, before letting out a choked little sob
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>"I… I wish I had my hair back..."
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>"Don't worry," you say. "It'll come back."
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>"I'm sorry, I just... I just wanted to look good for you. I'm sorry..."
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>"You don't have to apologize," you reply. "I'm impressed you went out and got your hair cut. You did that just for me?"
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>She nods, smiling tearfully
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>Her hooves are resting nervously in her lap; she lets you take one in your hand
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>You kiss her again, and pull her into a close hug, resting your chin on top of her head, her newly-shortened mane
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>"I'm proud of you," you say. "And I love you, Floor. Whether your hair is short or long, that's not gonna change."
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>She presses her head against your chest, ear searching for your heartbeat
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>She's tense in your arms, but you can feel her relaxing a little while you pet her
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>"It's really brave of you that you went outside," you say. "Do you wanna talk about it?"
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>"No..."
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>"How about I make you some noodles?"
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>"…Okay."
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>You lead her by the hoof into the kitchen, and have her sit by the counter while you boil some water
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>Spicy hay noodles are still her favorite comfort food, and you always have some on hand for when she's having a bad day
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>While you're waiting for the water to heat up, you rummage around in your bag
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>It's been a few months since Floor Bored moved in with you, and you wanted to do something special for her
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>The difficulty has been in figuring out what exactly to give her
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>You know how important her privacy is to her, and how she still keeps parts of herself partitioned away from you
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>You didn't want her to feel like you were encroaching on her personal space
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>But at the same time, you wanted to encourage her
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>"So ah, I got you something today," you say, as you pull out your gift. "It's secondhand, but the guy said it should still work fine."
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>Floor Bored's eyes widen as you hand it over: a "gently-used" tablet, stylus, and nibs
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>"I just… I saw some of the art you were working on in the trash, and I thought it was really good. So I figured I'd give you something you could play around with."
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>She stares at it, running her hoof over its plastic exterior
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>At first you worry you made a mistake - but then she's hugging you, squeezing you tight, pressing her face against your stomach
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>"I love you," she says in a rush. "I love you."
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>"I love you too, Floor!"
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>The water boils; you pour it into the styrofoam cup
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>For the first time in weeks Floor is smiling, a real smile, even more visible now that her mane is short
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>Happily she slurps down her noodles, getting broth absolutely everywhere
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>Once she's finished she jumps up to give you a kiss with her spicy hay breath
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>You don't mind - you're just glad she's happy.
by pogoman122
by pogoman122
by pogoman122
by pogoman122
by pogoman122