Days Like This
Days Like This.
Gentle Strokes; earth pony, college student, generous tipper, well sought after dinner guest and as of the last month of his life, a presently out, open and bonafide Colt Cuddler. Tonight, our gallant hero stood in the ‘Condiments, Side Dishes and Frozen Foods’ aisle of the Walls-Mart off campus, his present dilemma; worrying about what the difference between ‘ketchup’ and ‘catsup’ was?
Gentle Strokes scratched his golden mane with a shaggy brown hoof and pondered this quietly to himself for a moment. There had to be a clear distinction between the two? The ingredients on the back of both bottles read the exact same, and they both looked more or less like a smooth tomato based glop for dipping hay-fries in, but, then why label them differently from one another? Why would a company produce two differently named products that were exactly the same?
Why was he worrying about this?
He grumbled a sigh, picked up the bottle of ‘catsup’ and figured living dangerously for one night wasn’t going to kill him.
He tossed the bottle into the shopping cart. It fell heavily onto the bag of apricots, beside the head of Iceberg Lettuce, the apples from Green Apple Acres, the purple grapes and the box of frozen bean burger patties.
He double checked the list. Two items left, and if trying to figure out the subtle differences between ‘catsup’ and ‘ketchup’ had almost given him a mild aneurism, then the next item was going to put him in the ground for sure.
K-Y Lubricant.
He felt his heart pick up pace just reading the list . As he made his way to the pharmacy, he prepared a half cocked speech to give in defense of his purchases. Something along the lines of “Well, uh...you see...I’m sorta having a night with this pony, and...”
Gentle Strokes had never been very good at this kind of stuff.
Tonight marked the one month anniversary of his first date with the most adorable, sexy, handsome and charming colt he’d ever met in his life: Stormy. It was the sentimental side of his mind that told him to do something romantic and thoughtful to mark the occasion, and Gentle Strokes couldn’t imagine anything that fit the bill more than cooking Stormy a meal that merged the tastes of his Southern upbringing with Stormy’s Manehattan elegance. Bean burgers grilled on a hot plate, pre cooked hay fries heated in the toaster (With a dollop of catsup on the side) filled the quota of his side of the meal, while a freshly prepared Waldorf Salad with a side of carrot bisque made up Stormy’s presumably desired appetite.
Naturally, the inclusion of personal lubricant to his grocery list fell more so under the ‘best case scenario’ side of how the evening might play out.
So, there he was, standing in the pharmacy aisle staring at a wall of lubricants, condoms to fit the shape and size of every colt in Equestria and marital aid pills with funny names like “Stallion Up” and “Colt Grower.”
A small purple box of lube with the tagline “Designed for her pleasure” caught his eye. While Stormy was certainly not a ‘her’, it was an intriguing offer nonetheless. Here was a product offering to add a little pizzazz to his bedroom antics. He would be a fool to pretend it didn’t seem like the kind of thing he was interested in.
Checking to make sure the coast was clear, Gentle Strokes grabbed the box from the shelf and hid it under a bag of walnuts.
So far, so good.
His grocery list complete, all Gentle Strokes had to do was navigate his way to the front of the store, pay for his fine products and make it back to his dorm room without incident.
This, of course, didn’t come as easy as planned.
As he made his way down the aisle he heard the distinguished laughter of a special breed of Camden students; Frat Boys. Three of them stood together, led by Brawny Brawler--Camden’s most acclaimed athlete--and piled out of the aisle in front of him. They pushed a shopping cart with a dozen cases of lite beer. As always, they were laughing and slapping each other’s shoulders and a few times even on the cheeks of their flanks.
Once their eyes fell on Gentle Strokes they stopped to stare, and Gentle Strokes stared back. A lengthy and uncomfortable silence followed before any pony spoke.
“How’s it going?” Brawny asked, raising an eyebrow; his eyes studying the contents of Gentle Strokes’s shopping cart.
“...good?” he replied, doing the same with Brawny’s cart.
“How’s your,” Pause for a barely contained snicker, loud enough that everypony present could hear, before he continued. “...boyfriend?”.
Behind him, the two other colts chuckled and slapped their hooves, like Brawny pointing out that Gentle Strokes found his romantic interests in a member of the same sex was a knee slapper of a joke.
Either way, he felt his face turn beet red.
“Stormy’s fine,” he stated, defensively. Brawny grinned, then his face fell flat.
“Well, see you around?” he shrugged. Gentle Strokes shrugged back. The two colts behind Brawny kept laughing. They mumbled something about ‘Stallion Stuffers’ under their breath then turned back to Gentle Strokes again and laughed a little louder.
Gentle Strokes sighed. For all intents and purposes, he realized that this was going to become something of an occurrence in his life if he was going to be an out and open colt cuddler; simple minded ponies expressing their tasteful opinions through sneers, snide comments and rude gestures.
Oh well, at least he had a dastardly handsome colt to keep him satisfied. What did Brawny Brawler have? A couple of frat buddies to play grab ass with? A steady supply of impressionable freshmen fillies? An undocumented case of V.D.?
He tried to shake the idea that ponies, even at Camden, were still uncomfortable with colt cuddlers and filly foolers--guys and girls who wanted to date guys and girls--while he made his way to the checkout lane.
For a Walls-Mart, on a weekday, during the mid semester at school, the fact that only a single register was opened was something of a bother to him. Especially considering the twelve empty checkout lanes that stood after it and the sudden influx of impatient ponies growing in line behind him.
The checkout mare was an older pony with a grey mane and tacky reading glasses attached to her neck with a silver chain. She looked like she’d been living off of a diet of black coffee and cigarettes for the last thirty years of her life. She smiled warmly as Gentle Strokes placed his items on the counter.
He slighted for a second while he placed the bottle of K.Y. For Her Pleasure, on the conveyor belt. In his mind, he tried to imagine a way around having the awkward unpleasantness of an older mare notice him buying a bottle of sexual liquid clearly with high hopes for the night ahead of him, but nothing came.
“Find everything okay, hun?” she asked, swiping the bag of apples across the bar reader.
“Oh, uh...yeah,” he replied.
Four more items until the lube.
“Hmm, making dinner for somepony special?” She asked. She examined the bag of walnuts for the barcode, then swiped it against the bar reader.
Three more items until the lube.
“Something like that...” Gentle Strokes mumbled.
She swiped the box of bean burgers, then the hay fries.
Just the catsup now....
“She must be a very special mare?” she pondered, swiping the catsup.
Oh, ‘she’ most definitely was.
“Oh, right...” he mumbled nervously. An older mare working the checkout lane of a Walls-Mart didn’t necessarily seem like the kind of pony to care one way or another that he was in fact dating a colt, but, he figured he’d keep it to himself anyways. “She’s very, very special...pretty too.”
He was sweating now.
“Well, she’s a lucky girl.” The older mare smiled. Her eyes were locked with his while her hoof gripped the box of lube.
Phew.
She swiped the offending box against the bar reader, though, unlike the several times before, this time something different happened; instead of a cheerful, mechanical BEEP, which was what he’d expected, a louder, angrier sound came from the machine along with the neon flash of a red ‘X’.
“Hmm, that doesn’t usually happen,” the checkout mare mused, still staring at Gentle Strokes. Again, her hoof dragged the box of lubricant along the machine, and, again, the machine gave angry protest.
Twice more the mare tried. Twice more the machine refused to follow through. Gentle Strokes could hear angry grumbling from behind him, an unhappy dissension in the ranks.
“Keep it moving, lover boy!” came the distinctly insulting tone of Brawny Brawler. “Some of us want to get shitfaced tonight!”
The checkout mare offered a sympathetic smile, then once again swept the box. Gentle Strokes was hardly surprised when it again faltered and failed.
“I’m sorry, I have to call a manager on this,” she grumbled.
“What?” Gentle Strokes, panic shooting through his body, shouted. “No! No! I can just go run and, uh, grab another box or...”
It was too late, now. The mare had pressed her hoof against the intercom button, bringing to life a soft crackle above the heads of everypony in line, and she leaned in towards the speaker.
“I need a price check on an an item...” She paused to bring the box underneath her glasses. Her eyes widened with dread and malice, while her mouth bent into a horrified grimace. Her left eye twitched, her hooves trembled, and with what little strength she had left, she finished her thought.
“...K-Y Personal Lubricant.”
The words came out loud and muffled with static through each and every speaker present in the Walls-Mart. Gentle Strokes felt a thousand pairs of eyes fall on him onto him and he shrunk in place, trying to become smaller somehow.
“No fucking way!” Brawny Brawler howled from behind him. “You are such a fag!”
This was followed by an explosion of laughter from not just Brawny, but also his gruesome twosome of equally anti-socially progressive friends. A few quiet murmurs of disgust at Brawny’s comment came from the crowd, mostly quiet whispers of “He can’t say that in public, can he?” and “What an asshole.” but these were drowned out by the louder gossiping voices that snickered things like “I knew it was true about him.”
Gentle Strokes bit his lower lip hard.
Tonight was off to a great start.
***
Things had gone more or less dreadful after his learning experience with price checking unmarked sexual items at retail stores. The store manager was called, a line of angry yet bemused colts was held up and after a half hour of awkward negotiating and cat-calling from Brawny Brawler, Gentle Strokes was finally able to pay for his groceries and left the Walls-Mart knowing he could never show his face there again.
That was fine with him; he’d got what he’d came for and now he was on his way to face another bump in the road; Au Revoir. His roommate.
On paper, Camden was an art school. In reality, it was a day care for all types of colourful eccentrics who fancied themselves scholars and Au Revoir wore his own eccentricities like a badge of honor.
He hailed from some far off city in Equestria with a language of its own. Gentle Strokes wasn’t sure what it was called. On paper words from his mysterious language were spelt normally, but out of Au Revoir’s mouth they sounded foreign and pompous.
“Vous êtes un putain de chatte.”
Gentle Strokes wasn’t sure what it meant, but it was the most common series of words strung together to form a sentence that his roommate shared with him.
Au Revoir was a pony with all the charm of a kick to the crotch, and just about as enjoyable.
...and this was the pony Gentle Strokes was about to deal with.
Trotting into his shared dorm room with bags of groceries clutched tightly in his teeth, Gentle Strokes was met with the sight of dimmed lights and the sounds of some sort of classical composition on the record player.
Today, Au Revoir lay in his bed, ignoring his roommate and jotting down chicken scratch that he called ‘poetry’ A pad of artisan parchment sat in his lap, a graphite pen was clutched in his teeth and a clove cigarette lay still burning in the crystal ashtray on his nightstand.
“Bonjour,” he greeted with well contained enthusiasm.
Gentle Strokes nodded towards him, then set the bags of groceries down by the makeshift kitchen--really just a hot plate and mini fridge situated in the corner of the room. While he piled apples into the fridge, Au Revoir continued to sketch something which brought a dark looking smile to his face.
“Tonight is date night, no?” He asked the colt trying desperately to figure out how to fit a full box of bean-burgers into a two by three fridge. So far lengthwise hadn’t worked, neither had flipping the box sideways, or upside down.
“Uh, yeah...” Gentle Strokes replied, opening the box and stacking the patties, one by one, into the ice box. “You remember our deal, right?”
“Oui,” Au Revoir replied. “You and your muse get to share a night of what I’m sure you imagine passes for ‘romance’ without me present, and in return you owe me a favor for the rest of the semester which I may cash in at any time, in any way I can imagine.”
Gentle Strokes nodded.
Au Revoir grinned something fierce then set his instruments down on the nightstand and got off the bed. He moved towards the mini fridge and reached for an apple, but Gentle Strokes slapped his hoof away.
“Hey, buy your own food!” he grunted.
Au Revoir looked shocked, but that dark and unsettling smile reformed on his face. He took a seat in one of the two foldout chairs that Gentle Strokes had borrowed (which was a kinder, gentler way of saying ‘taken without asking’) from the common room, (along with a circular dining table from the cafeteria after hours) which had been turned into a makeshift dining room set.
“No wine?” Au Revoir pondered, rifling through Gentle Strokes’ grocery bag. “Surely you’re not too inbred to know that wine is a compliment to a romantic meal?”
“Hey...” Gentle Strokes started, but paused when he realized he didn’t have a comeback. “shut up.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Au Revoir sighed. “I dare to wonder what passes for a ‘romantic meal’ back in Dodge Junction? A mound of mashed potatoes, topped with corn and smothered with gravy as an entree? Collared greens and a heaping spoonful of over cooked beans on the side? Perhaps with a jug of moonshine and a spittoon if you plan to seduce?”
“Hey, Dodge Junction might not be as elegant and fancy as where you come from, but that doesn’t mean it’s low-class!” Gentle Strokes defended. Au Revoir snorted a low pitched laugh, then grinned up at Gentle Strokes.
“Of course it does,” he said “I wouldn’t be caught dead eating this...peasant food.”
He paused for dramatic effect at the end of his sentence and covered a hoof over his eyes. Gentle Strokes rolled his own, then gave a sigh.
“Do you know any nice wines, then?” he asked. Au Revoir drew his hoof from his eyes and, again, grinned at his roommate.
“Yes, but, not on your budget,” he said with a smirk. “There’s a wine market in Barstow, no more than a twenty minute walk from commons. You could try your luck there?”
Compared to his usual mix of snark and self righteous arrogance, Au Revoir offering actual and honest advice was almost discomforting. If Gentle Strokes had known any better he’d have pondered the idea that there was a well placed and self beneficial agenda behind his roommate’s desire to have him head into town, but, he was too wrapped up in the idea that perhaps, for once in his entire life, Au Revoir was being a decent Equestrian being.
“Thanks?” Gentle Strokes mumbled at his roommate.
“If you hurry you might be able to make it before they close?” Au Revoir suggested. “I’d also suggest picking up a finer cheese to compliment the wine?”
Gentle Strokes smiled at his roommate, then nodded. Au Revoir just shrugged and fished a fresh clove cigarette out of his saddlebag. He lit it, inhaled slowly and methodically, then exhaled a sharp breath of smoke through his nostrils.
“I’d recommend a nice gouda,” He said as Gentle Strokes set off to town.
***
Au Revoir’s sense of time seemed to conflict with the well established laws on the subject written by smarter colts and mares than himself; his roommate’s version of a ‘twenty minutes walk from commons’ was now bordering on a forty five minute excursion around the darkened streets of Barstow--the town just outside of Camden--while he searched, madly, to find a wine store which might or might not have existed.
And suddenly there it was; fifty minutes of unexciting searching and now the flashing neon lights that read ‘Planet of the grapes’ stood like a shining testament to his struggles; a rewarding sight for a colt who’d spent the better part of an hour in a desperate scramble through a town whose night life seemed to be limited to a single bar--Saltee’s--and nothing else.
But, he’d found what he’d come for and now all he had to do was find some kind of fancy wine to fit within his budget which, given the ten bits he had to his name until his latest financial aid cheque cleared, was leaning more towards something from the ‘great value’ bin.
Making his way inside he was delighted to find the place had a quiet, humbled charm to it; hardwood floors, warm lighting and brick and mortar walls. Dozens of wooden shelves held hundreds of bottles of red and white wine and even the aroma of cork and oak was pleasing.
“Evening,” was how Gentle Strokes was greeted by an older colt wearing an apron and a nametag that read “Seaworth”.
Gentle Strokes smiled.
“Hi, I’m wondering if you could help me?” he pondered.
Seaworth smiled back then nodded.
“Great,” Gentle Strokes said. “I’m looking for a nice bottle of wine. Something a little fancier, but, you know, also reasonably priced?”
“Of course,” Seaworth boasted. “Follow me.”
Gentle Strokes’s face flushed a bit.
Seaworth’s smile grew and he begged the younger colt to follow him with the stroke of his tail. The two trotted past shelves of red and white wines, and, curiously, Gentle Strokes peeked a glance at the prices; as they walked closer to the back the prices seemed to dip lower, and lower, and lower, until finally, at the farthest corner from the entrance, Seaworth stopped and the prices reached their assumed lowest.
“These are our most modestly priced wines.” he explained. His hoof gripped a bottle and he plucked it from the shelf and held it before Gentle Strokes to investigate. “Keep in mind price doesn’t always reflect quality. This one is quite nice for a colt on a budget.”
The bottle was marked as Mad Cow Merlot and underneath the comic sans lettering was a picture of a cow with enflared nostrils, reddened eyes and a serial killer’s smile on her face. A sticker on the bottle read ‘Five Bits.’
Even at the price, quality was still a factor in his decision and something with the handle of ‘Mad Cow Merlot.’ didn’t exactly scream ‘Romantic.’
….It screamed ‘Desperate.’
“Do you have anything a bit more...cultured?”
Seaworth gave a huff and a shrug of his shoulders.
“Well, you did say you were on a budget?” he reminded.
“Yeah, I’m just...” he paused to scratch at his itchy mane. “Not really sure he’d like this.”
Seaworth’s eyes came to life; they popped out of his head for a brief second, his face contorted, then his lips turned upright in a strange smile--almost a smirk if Gentle Strokes wasn’t too mistaken.
“Oh, why didn’t you say it was for a colt?” Seaworth asked. “I think I have just the thing. Give me a minute?”
Gentle Strokes nodded politely and Seaworth snuck away and into a door marked ‘Private’. Gentle Strokes hummed a tune to himself while he waited for the older colt to return, he checked the clock--Eight Fifteen--and realized he really needed to hustle his bustle if he wanted to have enough time to properly prepare for tonight.
The private door swung open and out trotted Seaworth levitating a square shaped bottle of something crimson. It was a lighter shade than most of the other red wines in the store, and unlike every other wine, there was a copper twist off cap instead of a cork.
It seemed odd, and something about Seaworth’s smile was a little off putting to Gentle Strokes, but, the kitten shaped clock hanging overhead read ten to six and time was starting to become a factor.
“Perhaps the gentlecolt would prefer something like this?” Seaworth asked as he levitated the wine in front of Gentle Strokes.
“Uh...I reckon it’d be fine?” Gentle Strokes shrugged. Not quite the wine connoisseur his roommate fancied himself to be, he was going to have to take Seaworth’s word for it, especially considering time and his finite budget were both heavy factors tonight. “You’d recommend this as a date wine?”
Seaworth smirked, then nodded.
“Sounds good.” Gentle Strokes said.
They trotted towards the counter. Seaworth rang the bottle through the register. Gentle Strokes withdrew a small rawhide pouch from his saddlebag and passed it to Seaworth. With the transaction complete, Seaworth again smirked something that seemed almost sinister, but Gentle Strokes paid it too little interest to care.
“Enjoy your evening, sir,” he offered with a somewhat questionable wink that made Gentle Strokes just the slightest bit uncomfortable. The clock read five to six now, and Gentle Strokes shook any uncouth presumptions out of his mind as he headed back to Camden.
***
Gentle Strokes arrived back at his dorm room to find his roommate laying in his bed and taking bites out of an apple that looked vaguely similar to one that he’d hoof-picked while shopping.
“Welcome back,” Au Revoir greeted.
Gentle Strokes grunted.
“Is that...” He paused to raise a hoof to his chin, “...are you eating one of the apples I bought?”
Au Revoir, without a single inch of compassion or empathy creasing the lines of his face, nodded curtly, then smiled.
“Sorry,” he said “We didn’t have anything else to eat.”
Gentle Strokes glared daggers at his roommate, who stared back stunned and offended; as if somehow, being off put by the idea of the minor theft of his personal property was the strangest thing in Equestria.
“What?” Au Revoir gawked at his roommate. A twitch, subtle and almost invisible to the Equestrian eye, overtook Gentle Strokes’s right eye and he fought the urge to pounce, violently, on his roommate and leave him hospital bound for the rest of the semester.
“Nothing,” he mumbled in response. Au Revoir gave a casual shrug and continued to eat one of his apples. Gentle Strokes continued his latest study in zen and anti-violence.
“Is that the wine?” Au Revoir asked firing an accusing hoof at the bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag that Gentle Strokes had placed on the counter.
Gentle Strokes nodded.
“Well, let’s see?” Au Revoir inquired. Gentle Strokes tossed the bag on his bed and Au Revoir desperately tore the bag open like he were unwrapping a Hearth’s Warming Eve present. When he’d torn the bag asunder and the bottle was fully visible to both roommates, he broke into a fit of malicious laughter.
“Honestly?” Au Revoir managed to ask between laughs, “You picked Wild Irish Rose?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing,” Au Revoir croaked. “I’m sure Stormy will be delighted to wash his peasant's grool down with this fine bottle of piss water that you’ve selected.”
Unresponsive, Gentle Strokes just stared blank faced at his roommate, who sighed and ran a hoof through his mane.
“This wine is fortified,” Au Revoir stated. “You know, ‘Hobo mouthwash’, ‘Tramp water’...bum wine?”
A sigh escaped from Gentle Strokes’s mouth.
“Weren’t you the least bit curious why it was so cheap? Or, why it had an alcohol content of...” He paused to study the bottle. “Twenty percent? Wow. This is some serious swill. ”
Embarrassed, Gentle Strokes dropped his head and ran a hoof along the floor. He found the strength to rear his head towards the clock. It was now six ten, Stromy would be showing up in an hour, not a single dish stood ready, the wine he’d been recommended had turned out to be most popular with tramps and hobos and, Au Revoir had most certainly overstayed his welcome by this point.
“Shouldn’t you be...not here?” he forced through gritted teeth towards his roommate. Au Revoir slunk out of the bed like a snake in the grass. He tossed the apple core in the trash bin by his bed, brushed past Gentle Strokes then stopped at the doorway. He turned his head to face Gentle Strokes and smiled.
“Good luck tonight.”
Gentle Strokes just sighed and Au Revoir took his leave.
***
Six thirty on the clock, and things had picked up--albeit it slightly--over the past twenty minutes for Gentle Strokes. Despite being one apple short, the Waldorf Salad had been made and tossed. It turned out that carrot bisque, which he’d wrongly assumed was some fancier way of pronouncing ‘carrot soup’, was in actuality a heavy cream based broth that took time he didn’t have to properly prepare.
Along with a bad taste in his mouth, this really only left the bean burgers and hay fries.
So there he was, grilling a duo of the thickest, most adequately prepared bean paste patties with his family’s secret blend of herbs and spices, on a hot plate, starring impatiently as the little hand on the clock ticked away and ate up what little time he had remaining.
Nothing had gone according to plan, but, Gentle Strokes was wise enough to take into account that at Camden, things often had a way of going amiss in the blink of an eye. As long as he had food on the table and there was the faintest hint of a pleasing smile on the handsome colt he was dating’s face, he was content.
Six thirty-three, the patties were half cooked. The whole wheat buns might have cost him a few bits more than he would normally pay for buns, but, they were a nice touch he thought. Same with the dijon mustard slathered gracefully on the bottom bun and, the onions he’d spent an embarrassingly long time learning how to properly saute and, of course, the thin layer of catsup that graced the roof of each burger bun.
All that remained was making sure he didn’t burn/scorch/incinerate the bean patties and everything was good and groovy.
That was when the knock came.
At first, he feared it was Stormy and that he’d mistakenly told him ‘Six Thirty’ instead of ‘Seven’, and that he was going to have to humor him for a half hour while he prepared the rest of their meals, which, truthfully, wouldn’t have been the end of the world.
Opening the door, instead, he found a different cause for concern.
A bathrobe clad earth pony, his mane long, curly and flowing behind him with a pair of cheap sunglasses and a beard like he’d given up on proper mane and coat care ages ago stood in the open doorway.
He seemed familiar, like, maybe, Gentle Strokes had run into him in the halls once or twice this semester. The face--or what little of it wasn’t hidden behind his poorly groomed beard and pompously worn sunglasses--looked familiar, but his name escaped him.
“Hi,” he greeted, extending his hoof violently towards Gentle Strokes. “Doug Haymane, but most ponies just call me ‘The Dougler'.”
“Right...” Gentle Strokes scoffed. “What can I do for you, Doug?”
Doug frowned.
“I’m your R.A.” he began. “And, a little birdie told me he thought he smelled something burning coming from your room...”
Doug peeked his head inside the dorm room and his eyes lit up when they fell on the two almost perfect bean burger patties grilling on the hotplate.
“Hotplates are a fire hazard according to...” He paused to fish a handbook out of the front pocket of his bathrobe, then flipped through the pages, all the while grinning as if the stick up his ass was giving him immeasurable comfort. “Paragraph three, subsection twelve of the student handbook.”
“Oh?” Gentle Strokes nervously scratched his hoof. “I’m sorry, I’m kinda...cooking dinner for somepony. I didn’t mean to break any rules or anything.”
Doug kept grinning and Gentle Strokes realized a little too late that he didn’t exactly like the look of that grin.
“Well, it’s a minor infraction, really,” Doug stated. “But, I am going to have to confiscate your grill. It’s a fire hazard after all.”
That grin. That stupid, sneering, shit eating grin, continued to grow along with Gentle Strokes’s fleeting sense of comfort and authority in how the situation was turning out.
“...Seriously?” He gawked.
Doug nodded.
“Afraid, so. I’ll let you keep the bean burgers, though.” He said as if he were doing Gentle Strokes some redeemable personal favor. He pushed his way into the dorm room, then sniffed the air and turned back towards Gentle Strokes. “I hope you like them crispy? Because, they are burned.”
“Oh, great!” Fed up, Gentle Strokes vented his frustrations with the situation at hoof. “No, that’s great. That’s just fucking great! You know what this is?”
“...Great?” Doug pondered. His grin widened. He unplugged the hotplate with malicious intent, tearing the cord from the wall, winding it around his hoof then scrapped the charcoal blobs that had once been almost perfect bean burger patties off onto a plate.
“Yeah...” Gentle Strokes huffed. “That’s just-fucking-great!”
When the hotplate was cool, Doug slung it casually over his shoulder.
“I can let you off with a warning. This time,” again, he said this with the subtlest hint of taking pride in his work. The idea that the small ounce of authority he had at Camden had gone to his head seemed clear and present to Gentle Strokes, who wondered if the sunglasses he wore at night were to cover bruises thrown by colts with less anger control than himself, or to cover the fact that his eyes were swollen and reddened by his constantly crying over how pathetic and useless of a pony he was.
“Thanks,” was all he managed.
At the door, about to exit he paused, sniffed the air again and his head shot towards the beds, his brows raised, his eyes bulged and the grin that Gentle Strokes had come to resent returned to his face.
“You do know,” he began, then raised a hoof and aimed it towards Au Revoir’s side of the dorm. “That there’s a mandatory fifty bit fine for breaking the no smoking policy in Camden residency, right?”
“But...” Gentle Strokes grunted.
Au Revoir! Everything about tonight had gone wrong and at the centre of all of his frustrations was his roommate. Even as far away as he was, he'd still managed to get one last laugh at his roommate.
“I don’t even smoke.”
But, by then it was already too late. A ticket, quite official looking which meant he couldn’t simply tear it up the second Doug was out of ear and eye range, was forced into his hoof and the door was being slammed shut.
A quick recounting of his day’s events read something like this: He’d been humiliated by jocks, who he knew would share his humiliation with half of Camden, while buying lubricants along with the groceries; which were also confiscated by the over enthusiastic resident advisor. The wine he’d pictured being a romantic compliment to his now non-existent meal had turned out to be fortified pisswater that held high regards with the vagrant community in Equestria. His roommate had just cost him fifty bits of money he didn’t have, and now, the clock struck seven and Stormy, the colt he fancied as more than friends, was going to show up with high expectations that Gentle Strokes had assured him personally he could meet, to be completely and utterly underwhelmed.
Days like this...
*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*
And, there it was; the final nail in the coffin. A whole night of unfortunate events, humiliation and disappointment at every turn had really just been leading up to this exact moment; the moment when he opened the door to find a pony eager to be swooned and who would leave entirely underwhelmed.
Better not to avoid it, he thought.
He swung the door opened to come face to face with the smoke coloured pony he’d spent all night jumping through hoops for. Stormy, and his grey pupils, stared up excitedly at him while he ran a semi-nervous hoof through his wild black mane.
“Hey,” he chimed, smiling. “I’m not early am I?”
It was astonishing how quickly the stress that had poisoned his mind up until that point suddenly washed away and was replaced with instant, pure and honest, relief. Seeing Stormy, his little, adorable, smile; eyes wide as saucers and the most imploring sparkle in his eye melted Gentle Strokes’s racing heartbeat.
“No, of course not,” he smiled. “Come in.”
Like the proper gentlecolt he’d been raised to be, he stood aside and held the door for Stormy, whose tail flicked, lightly, against his chest as he trotted past him. Gentle Strokes felt heat rise to his cheeks.
So far, so good.
Gentle Strokes followed behind Stormy, watching in a stoned daze the cheeks of his flank move with each step. Stormy had a proper colt’s flank. It wasn’t overtly feminine like too many other colt cuddlers at Camden seemed to strive for. It wasn’t hard and muscular either. It was cute, soft and sweet.
And it was all Gentle Strokes could find himself staring at.
“It smells good,” Stormy said, sniffing the air in the room. Gentle Strokes shook himself from the hold that Stormy’s perfect little ass had over him and smiled.
“Thanks,” he grinned with well earned pride from the complement.
Stormy took a seat at the table, delicately folded a napkin over his lap then stared over at Gentle Strokes.
“What’s cooking?”
Gentle Strokes stared down at the two hockey puck shaped discs with an equally unappealing complexion, which had at one point been well cooked bean burgers. They were still edible, they might not necessarily taste it, but they would have to do.
He swallowed a lump in his throat, along with his pride.
“Um,” He paused, “well cooked bean burgers?”
Stormy’s soft little smile grew.
“Do you want to eat now? I haven’t had anything since lunch and I’m starving.”
Gentle Strokes stared uncomfortably at what he was about to pass off as a romantic dinner of sorts to his colt friend; if he had been an employee at McDolands, he would surely have been fired for this. But, this wasn’t a fast food restaurant chain, this was Camden arts school.
“...Sure,” he said uncertainly.
Delicately, he placed each burger on the bottom half of the bun and decided to add colour--to draw the eye, and hopefully the taste buds, away from the unpresentable state they now stood in--with just a pinch of alfalfa sprouts to complement the ensemble.
There. That looked pretty, right?
He nodded in response to his own inquiry.
Just the salad now.
One apple short of a proper Waldorf Salad, Gentle Strokes had chosen to add a second cup worth of cranberries as a substitute to make up for it, which had seemed like a reasonable choice at the time. Only, now, ‘salad’ was starting to look like a strong term for what sat in the bowl. If he were a more cynical pony, he’d call it a piss poor arrangement of dried fruits, chopped clusters of walnuts and diced lettuce.
He bit his lower lip and sucked his teeth.
It wasn’t like postponing the inevitable was going to soften the blow of handing Stormy--the colt he’d built hype around what he’d self described as ‘the most romantic meal of his life’--a plate of burnt disappointment.
With too few options at his disposal, Gentle Strokes hoped and prayed that Stormy wouldn’t be too offended to pretend to enjoy his meal.
“This looks...interesting,” Stormy said, staring with a scientific, observative, eye at the food presented before him. He poked at the burger, waited a second--perhaps for it to grow legs and crawl off the table--then, faked a smile. “It’s nice and um...crispy.”
Gentle Strokes flopped into his seat, then gave a heavy sigh.
Stormy bit into his burger and made a face like he had just licked the underside of a park bench as he chewed. His eyes squeezed shut, cheeks sucked into his face and after he swallowed--which looked like a painful experience--he coughed.
“Do you have anything, to, um...wash it down with?”
The bottle of Wild Irish Rose sat unopened on the countertop. Gentle Strokes reached for it, and a duo of glasses only to realize his selection tonight was limited to a plastic single Wonderbolts Collectors Cup with Spitfire’s cartoon face staring back at him, and Au Revoir’s “I support single moms” coffee mug with the words separated by cartoon silhouettes of mares sliding up and down stripper poles.
He groaned so loud at this, that it actually drew Stormy’s attention.
“Everything okay, Strokes?” he asked.
There was no point holding back now. No. Everything was not okay. This was a nightmare.
“...No.” he mumbled, then turned to face Stormy and bowed his head to the floor.
“What’s wrong?”
“I wanted to do something special for you, Stormy,” he insisted. “Really special. But...look at this!” He paused to wave a hoof at the food on the table. “Burnt bean burgers! Bum wine out of coffee mugs! This isn’t special! This is a travesty!”
The sound of Stormy’s seat scraping against the floor came next, followed by the soft *Clip* *Clop* his hooves made against the porcelain floor, until he Gentle Strokes realized he was staring down at the black stones attached to grey legs. A single hoof and the cold touch of his heel, rubbed past the fur of his chin, then a second one, and, suddenly, his face was being cupped in Stormy’s hooves and lifted upwards.
“Stormy?”
“You’re such a goof,” Stomy laughed. “I don’t care if the food...um, tastes a little...”
“Not so great?”
“Yeah,” Stormy chuckled. “Let’s just go with that.”
Strokes smiled. Stormy smiled back.
“I didn’t come here because I thought you were going to cook the finest food in Equestria for me. I came here to be with you, stupid.”
Gentle Strokes’s heart did flips in his chest and he purred, like a housecat, when Stormy’s hoof rubbed the fur and flesh of his chin.
“What do you say we just skip dinner, ” he grinned. “And get right to desert?”
There was that look in Stormy’s eyes again. A playful, challenging, little gleam that Gentle Strokes had grown ever so fond of in the time he’d spent being a romantic partner to him. It was just another of the many wonderful little quirks that came with dating a colt like Stormy.
Almost as if he were powerless to stop it, an impulse overtook his body and drove Gentle Strokes' movements. He leaned his face forward and pressed his lips up against Stormy’s. The kiss was tender. It wasn’t filled with lust or a messy, tongue battling affair. That came later. This was something else. This moment was something sweet and wonderful. The kind of moment that age old poets captured in their works and Hallmark card companies made their business trying to pimp to a general population.
This was his perfect reward for the day he’d just had.
The kiss lasted a lifetime, or so it felt like to Gentle Strokes, and when it ended, and Stormy slowly pulled his face away from him; Gentle Strokes realized he had more than earned the right to reward himself a little more, and so he dove back in for another one. This time it was a more energetic, open mouthed kiss than a simple romantic peck on the lips.
His hooves found themselves groping the very squeezable flesh of Stormy’s flank, while his moved himself forwards and Stormy backwards until their chests were pressed firm and tight against each other. When Stormy broke off to give a low and sultry moan, Gentle Strokes found his teeth nipping, hard, at the fur and flesh of Stormy’s throat, revelling in the feeling the vibrations his neck gave while he grunted and groaned.
His right hoof lifted from Stormy’s supple butt cheek and traced around his waist until it fell into his lap. An adorable little squeak of surprise joy escaped from Stormy’s mouth when he felt the warming touch of Gentle Strokes wrapping his hoof around his rapidly member.
Gentle Strokes grinned hungrily, then began to teasingly rise up the length of Stormy’s member, then, again, just as slowly, descend it.
Something that sounded like a pirate’s cheer (‘Argh’ if he had to articulate it) erupted from Stormy’s mouth and Gentle Strokes took that as a sign he was doing something the right way.
He quickened the pace of his amateur hoof job. He climbed Stormy’s length faster and this time, when he reached the head, he gave a soft squeeze, and fired his hoof down. This became a steady rhythm for him after a few minutes.
“F-fuck.” Stormy grunted and Gentle Strokes bit Stormy’s neck a little harder.
Stormy began bucking his hips and thrusting himself into Gentle Strokes’s hoof, panting like a lesser animal in heat while he did. Gentle Strokes moved his bites higher, past his throat, up to his chin, then his right ear, his cheek, then their mouths were meeting again.
They pulled back, mutually, breathing heavily and moaning their joy. Gentle Strokes continued to work his magic on Stormy’s cock, and Stormy continued to enjoy it.
“Ah-ah, fuck.” came another lovely moan from his lover.
“That good?” Gentle Strokes purred into his ear, Stormy bit his lower lip and nodded.
Gentle Strokes himself was fully engorged himself, and, as much fun as it was teasing Stormy like this, unless he was mistaken, if he didn’t quit while he was ahead Stormy was likely to finish, and that was a moment he hoped to savour for later.
He drew his hoof back, Stormy pouted a bit but Gentle Strokes silenced it by leaning forward and giving him a soft peck to his already pursed lips. When he drew back this time, Stormy looked absolutely--adorably--dazed.
Gentle Strokes thought he liked this look on Stormy quite a bit.
“I think it’s time for you to get on the bed, stud,” Stormy demanded. “I want to do something exciting.”
Oh boy.
Gentle Strokes happily complied. He trotted towards his bed and when he reached it, took a seat on the edge, waiting eagerly for whatever came next.
Stormy followed soon after. His movements came slow and methodical. Hips--and that magnificent ass of his--swayed sensually as he took each step. Finally, when he reached the bed, he found his place between Gentle Strokes’s opened legs. He knelt down, so that his face was level with Gentle Strokes’s proudly puffed out chest, then craned his head up to meet his eyes and smiled a low, hungry--almost predatory--grin.
His hooves touched both of Gentle Strokes’s cutie marks, then pressed firmly into his cheeks. He massaged his rump in counterclockwise circles, then, moved his actions down to his thighs.
Gentle Strokes was finding it hard to contain his enthusiasm. He was growing, slowly but surely, and the tip of his still hardening prick gently brushed the fur of Stormy’s chest.
“It must have been really hard to put in all this work tonight?” Stormy stated with purposefully coy emphasis. “And, I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate all the long hours it must have taken to throw this all together for me.”
This was Stormy’s way when it came to intimate moments; he liked to blend sensual comfort with goofy, playful sexual innuendo.
Not that Gentle Strokes found any fault with that.
“Well,” Gentle Strokes started, intending to play along with Stormy’s little sex games. “I did a lot of running around, I could really use some stress relief.”
Stormy nuzzled his head against his chest.
“I’m sure you could.” he grinned.
Delicate lips pressed against Gentle Strokes’s chest, and he gave something of a girlish little grunt in response. Stormy bit hard at the fur until his teeth clamped at his skin. He stayed like that for a minute, then pulled back and moved a little lower; past his chest and down to his navel.
This was how it went with Stormy, he liked to tease the older farm pony just as much as Gentle Strokes was sure he liked the actual act of sex itself. Sometimes, today in particular, it seemed he took a greater joy in joyfully testing the limits of his patience.
Unfortunately for Stormy, Gentle Strokes wasn’t exactly as happy to postpone this as much as Stormy seemed to be. With a little more force than he normally liked to bring to the table during foreplay, he wrapped a hoof around the back of Stormy’s head and grabbed a hoof full of his mane.
Stormy gave an excited and surprised yelp, but Gentle Strokes didn’t let it slow him down. He pulled Stormy’s head towards his face and licked the other colt’s lips, inviting himself inside as he did. They kissed open mouthed and with their tongues battling for dominance, until Stormy let up and Gentle Strokes grinned against his mouth.
He urged Stormy to make his next move by humping his cock against the delightfully fluffy fur of his chest. Stormy gave something akin to a sigh, but it was lost on Gentle Strokes who continued to ravage the younger colt’s mouth with his invasive, exploring tongue. Again, he thrust his cock against Stormy’s chest and this time Stormy pulled away from Gentle Strokes.
“You’re so romantic,” Stormy gawked.
“Oh, hush,” Gentle Strokes smirked. “I thought you wanted to relieve my stress?”
Stormy chuckled.
“Alright, alright,” he mumbled. “But be a bit more gentle, hey?”
“Of course,” Gentle Strokes purred.
Still with his hoof on Stormy’s head, he guided him and his open mouth towards his stallionhood. Stormy shut his eyes and propped his tongue out of his mouth, tasting the hot warmth with a quick lick to his shaft.
Not quite content, Gentle Strokes placed his free hoof on his cock and held it like a weapon. Stormy’s velvety tongue continued to tease his length but Gentle Strokes wanted more and wasn’t afraid to have it be known. He guided his dick to Stormy’s lips and his mind melted when Stormy swallowed his engorged head in a kiss.
Slowly, and content that Stormy was comfortable, he slid himself past Stormy’s lips. He withdrew his hooves from both his own cock and the back of Stormy’s head and crossed them casually behind his head, watching with peaked curiosity as inches of himself disappeared into Stormy’s mouth and down his throat.
“Fuck, Stormy.” He grunted. “You’re...gah!...you’re...”
The words were in his head but they didn’t quite make it out, instead a high pitched moan came in their place.
Stormy reached the hilt and Gentle Strokes remained amazed at his oral abilities. Here was a colt, who, without much effort, had just taken all eleven inches of himself down his throat and showed no signs of discomfort. Stormy lifted his eyelids open and stared up at Gentle Strokes with a sultry look about him.
If Gentle Strokes had ever wanted to capture a moment in time, this was it. Stormy with his mouth on his cock, a trail of saliva leaking from his mouth and dripping onto his lap was the kind of image he would keep in his mind for as long as he lived.
Slowly, Stormy bobbed his mouth up and down Gentle Strokes’ cock. His tongue licking the warm flesh in his mouth and spurred a fire in Gentle Strokes.
The older colt bucked his hips forward and Stormy coughed around his length, but didn’t stop. He continued to slide the cock out of his mouth and when he reached the head, he ran his tongue over the slit, then dove back down once again.
“Urgh, fuck, Stormy!” Gentle Strokes grunted and fucked himself into Stormy’s mouth again. “Fucking, fuckity, fuuuck.”
It wasn’t exactly the kind of language he usually used to be romantic, but then again, it wasn’t everyday that he got the best head in his life as a prize for, quite honestly, messing up nearly every aspect of his well laid plans.
Stormy again reached the head of his dick, but this time, he let it slide out of his mouth. He gripped it firmly and stared up at Gentle Strokes.
“How would you like to do something really special for me?” He asked.
“What kind of...special?” Gentle Strokes questioned nervously. Stormy smiled something predatory, then spoke.
“Lay on the bed.”
Gentle Strokes complied and fell backwards on the bed.
“Nuh, uh.” Stormy chastised. “On your stomach, Strokes.”
“Whoa, whoa...whoa.” Gentle Strokes rambled, waving his hooves in protest. “Timeout, Stormy. Are you asking me to...you know?”
Stormy crawled onto the bed until he was overtop of Gentle Strokes’s body. He ground his hips against Gentle Strokes’s. Warm flesh rubbed against warm flesh as their cocks met and Gentle Strokes gave a desperate pant while Stormy just smiled.
“Uh-huh” Stormy said then leaned his head down to Gentle Strokes’s ear and traced his tongue against the fur on his cheek. “I want you to be my little filly tonight.”
“Oh, come on....F-f-fuck.” Gentle Strokes tried to present a counter proposal of instead being the top, but it fell flat against the feel of Stormy’s prick rubbing into his stomach. “...You...Fuck...You know I...Fuck...”
Nothing else came in the form of protest from Gentle Strokes.
“Please.” Stormy begged into his ear in a low whisper. “For me?
It wasn’t like Stormy to beg for something, especially in the bedroom. Gentle Strokes had his reservations about being...well...fucked. He’d always been the top; that was his role he played in their relationship. The stronger, more masculine male who ravaged with his powerful organ his younger lover like he were some dreadful barbarian from the days of old.
He’d never even considered playing Stormy’s role, though, from the way Stormy writhed and lashed his body wildly underneath him time and time again, he could certainly see it as a viable option.
“I know you’ll like it, Strokes.” Stormy continued to try and sell his argument. “Hells, I fucking love it! I just really want to try something new with you.”
“So you think screwing me in my bum is a way to spice up our sex life?”
“Isn’t it...?”
Gentle Strokes said nothing.
“Come on,” Stormy urged, again. “If you do this for me, I’ll do that thing you wanted to do after the party at Sunny Side’s place.”
Gentle Strokes’s eyes lit up and his brows raised.
“With the whipped cream and the cherries?”
Stormy grinned.
“Mmhmm.”
Gentle Strokes flipped himself onto his stomach and bit his lower lip when he heard Stormy chuckle.
“Okay, uh...it’s going to feel a little...weird at first.” Stormy stated. “You have like...lube, right?”
Gentle Strokes thought back to his time spent navigating through the hardships of what should have been a simple transaction and how it was about to pay off in the strangest way he couldn’t have imagined.
“Yeah...” He sighed.
Stormy rolled off of Gentle Strokes then the bed and wandered the room until he found the lube. He chuckled to himself.
“What?” Gentle Strokes begged.
“‘Designed for her pleasure.’, Strokes?” Stormy teased.
“Hey, I got enough shit from Brawny already about that...”
“Wait, Brawny Brawler? The jock?”
Gentle Strokes nodded. Stormy chuckled.
“He made fun of you for being gay? Dude, Brawny’s the biggest closet case in Equestria.”
“Since when?”
“Since he got me drunk at a frat party and tried to get me to blow him when I was a freshman.”
“Fuck off.”
“It’s true!” Stormy defended. “He got me into his room, right? And he started playing all this really cheesy R&B music, the kind that I guess he thought gay colts liked, then the next thing I knew he was asking me if I’d ever gone down on anyone and if I wanted to compare dick sizes. He’s a total queen.”
For the first time in a long time, Gentle Strokes felt good hearing a story about Brawny Brawler.
Stormy, meanwhile, had crawled back on the bed and knelt behind Gentle Strokes, who gave a shudder when he felt the cold touch of liquid on his virgin hole. Stormy spread the lube around Gentle Strokes’s behind with a delicate and caring sensuality; pausing when Gentle Strokes would give an uneasy whimper or moan.
He couldn’t help but shudder. The cold liquid being spread like some kind of sexual jelly in and around his soon to be loosened butthole was a feeling he didn’t expect to grow comfortable with. He gave a contented sigh when he felt Stormy draw his hoof from his flanks, then a different feeling took the place of the cold liquid.
Hot and warm flesh was being pressed firmly against his cheeks and hole.
“I’ve got to warn you,” Stormy said, “It kind of...hurts at first, but that’ll pass and then it’s just some kind of sexual bliss you’d wish you knew before.”
Gentle Strokes would have argued against it, but the first word got lost in his throat when he found himself clamping his teeth in response to the intrusive feel of his hole being spread and a hot, thick and fleshy intruder entering him.
Stormy was certainly right, it was a very uncomfortable experience. He bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood and tried not to clench so tightly. Above him, he could feel Stormy lean forwards and press his hooves firmly against his back.
“Oh, fuck Strokes,” he moaned. “You’re sooo tight.”
It was something that should have been a compliment, had Gentle Strokes not been biting his lip in sexual anguish with Stormy’s dick tantalizingly spreading his hole and entering into him, but it almost seemed condescending now.
Stormy pumped a few more inches of hardened meat inside him and by now Gentle Strokes could perfectly map out each and every line and vein of his cock. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it actually added a bit more intimacy to the moment.
“S-Stormy,” Gentle Strokes grunted. “You’ve gotta...ugh...be a little more gentle back there.”
Stormy’s body pressed against his back and his lips nibbled on his ear. The change in position was comforting and Stormy’s cock somehow felt more comfortable now; it still hurt, but the pain had subsided tremendously.
“Sorry, babe,” Stormy whispered into his ear. “Are you...good?”
Gentle Strokes nodded. Stormy kissed the back of his neck, nuzzled his face into his mane and moved his hooves from the small of his back to his hips.
“Yeah,” he grunted back. “Just give me a second to adjust. You’re...um...pretty big.”
Stormy coughed a laugh.
“I’m actually...not even half in, Strokes.”
Not a single sound came from Gentle Strokes.
Stormy, on the other hoof, had taken this as a hint to continue and he drew a few inches of himself out from his boyfriend’s rear end, until just the tip sat inside him, then at a quicker, more aggressive pace, he thrust deep into Gentle Strokes ass.
A very effeminate squeal from a side of Gentle Strokes that he didn’t know had existed was his reward.
Gentle Strokes wasn’t sure what had just happened, but, somehow when Stormy’s cock had entered him this time a pulse of the absolutely most joy he’d ever felt in his life overtook him. This was, what he believed, to be the start of the side of anal sex that Stormy literally screamed about.
“That felt good, huh?” Stormy breathed next to his ear. “That was me rubbing my cock over your prostate...and if you want, I can do it again?”
Gentle Strokes shut his eyes and nodded his head.
“Good.”
Stormy pushed inside of Gentle Strokes again. He moved faster this time, less methodically and rougher, much rougher, but the sensation that came when the head of his cock would brush against that nub in his butthole that set his mind on fire was certainly making it all worthwhile.
Now the night really started for both colts; for Gentle Strokes the sensations that came with Stormy thrusting into his tight ass was utterly fantastic, it made him grunt, pant and moan, and when he didn’t, he’d bite hard into the sheets of the bed. He tried, for Stormy’s benefit, to throw his ass to meet Stormy’s thrusts, and after a short experimental phase he managed to find a perfect harmony where his posterior would happily meet Stormy’s prick in an erotic little exercise.
Stormy, on the other hoof, seemed like he was in heaven. He cursed, loudly, and fucked himself into his lover with an unmatched bravado and aggression. Fast and heavy, that was Stormy’s rhythm now. Fast, heavy and, when he must have felt comfortable enough with the sex because he made a move that changed the course of the night.
His hoof rose in the air and came down, hard, on Gentle Strokes’ right flank cheek.
Gentle Strokes howled in delight.
“You like that?” he grunted.
Gentle Strokes craned his head to stare at Stormy, who leaned his face down to meet his mouth in a hungry, frantic kiss; his tongue once again sliding between Gentle Strokes’s lips and his hoof squeezing hard his ass cheek.
“Oh, my goddess! You love this, don’t you?”
Gentle Strokes moaned his answer. Stormy chuckled.
“You’re such a sexy little filly, Strokes.”
It made him feel dirty hearing Stormy insist on calling him a filly. His masculinity had taken a proper beating over the course of the night and any sense of pride he’d had in asserting himself as the more dominant male had gone out the window the second he realize he did, in fact, love the harsh words coming from Stormy’s mouth.
“Mmph. Yeah...I’m your filly, Stormy!” He blushed. “And, I want you to fuck me like a filly!”
Stormy complied. He slid himself out so that only a few warm inches of his dick sat nestled in Gentle Strokes’s asshole, then, when Gentle Strokes caught his breath, he pressed his hooves hard into his back and thrust forward; burying the entirety of himself inside his newly minted boyfriend’s butthole.
Gentle Strokes howled with pleasure.
“Fuck me, Stormy,” he hummed. “Fuck my tight little ass!”
He’d never done this before. He’d never said such painfully perverted and cliche things in his life, but, in the moment it felt right. It felt right and Stormy must have felt so too. He spanked, once again, a hoof to Gentle Strokes’s rear, then another, and another.
“You’re such a good little filly, Strokes.” Stormy chuckled. “We should have done this ages ago.”
Gentle Strokes couldn’t disagree. There were lots of things he’d never expected to happen to him doing with his life. Becoming a secondary education student (Check) Finding out he liked colts (Check) Romancing a colt (Check), Finding out he liked being ploughed was a new one.
A sensation, new and exciting, overtook him. A numbing, warm feeling that crawled up his spine and coursed through his body.
“I...I’m getting close,” he grunted and his face contorted; pushed over the line by Stormy, he reared himself onto his knees--still with Stormy very much inside him--then pressed his raised back against Stormy’s stomach. Stormy’s hooves gripped around his waist and his teeth clenched tightly the back of his mane.
The pulses of pleasure that ran through his body had hit some kind of threshold. The numbing sensation grew until the most comfortable feeling reached the head of his painfully erect cock. With a grunt and a sigh, he let loose. He threw his head backwards while ropes of snow white erupted out of his prick.
He hardly had a second to recover before Stormy gave another heavy thrust inside him along with a low, guttural grunt and seconds later he felt jets of warm liquid fill him while Stormy’s cock slid out of his hole for the last time of the night.
Spent and exhausted, Gentle Strokes fell onto the bed and Stormy fell beside him. The mess was something they could deal with later, right now, in the afterglow of the most powerful orgasm he’d had in his entire life, all he wanted to do was relax, which was what he did.
Stormy tossed a hoof over his shoulder and pulled the older colt to his side, nuzzling his face into his mane. Stormy’s dick, limp as a wet noodle now, brushed between his legs while his breath rustled the fur of his neck and blew strands of his mane.
“...Wow...Strokes,” Stormy sighed. “That was...”
He seemed like he had something else to say, but for whatever reason he stopped. His hooves brushed against Gentle Strokes’s stomach, petting him as if he were a dog, and he rubbed his face into the back of his mane.
“Adequate? Joyful? The best sex you’ve had in a long time?” Gentle Strokes chuckled.
Stormy kissed the back of his neck.
“Oh, much, much better than that.”
Stormy stopped for a second, his hoof moved up Gentle Strokes’s stomach, past his chest, until it sat on his chin. He turned the older colt to face him, and when they locked eyes he brushed his muzzle against Gentle Strokes’s, then smiled.
“I’m sorry if I got a bit rough back there,” he brushed a hoof through Gentle Strokes’s mane. “It’s just...you really don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that with you.”
Gentle Strokes pecked Stormy’s chin then pressed himself closer to Stormy.
“I could tell, and honestly, I didn’t really mind too much,” he said. “The..uh...’filly’ stuff was kinda strange. That some kind of fetish of yours?”
Embarrassed, Stormy huffed an exhausted breath of air while his face changed hues to a darker crimson.
“I uh...I kinda got swept up in the moment, you know?”
“You think?”
“Hey, you didn’t seem to mind being my sexy little filly.”
It was Gentle Strokes’s turn to blush now.
“Yeah, yeah. ‘Heat of the moment’ and all that...” he defended. Stormy grinned then leaned forward and pressed his lips to Gentle Strokes’s cheek.
“But...you liked it, right?”
Gentle Strokes nodded.
“Okay, good. I didn’t wanna turn out to be the boyfriend who ‘liked to call me a filly in bed’ that you’ll be talking about in therapy years from now.”
“You have a vivid imagination, Stormy.”
Stormy leaned back into the bed and rested his head on a pillow.
“I guess...”
The urge to do, or more accurately, say something thoughtful and dramatic hit Gentle Strokes, who followed along with a speech he continued to build in his head.
“Hey, Stormy...”
Stormy grunted.
“I know you’re the first colt I’ve ever dated, and I feel kinda silly saying this, but I wanted to tell you that tonight was really special for me. I know I kind of messed up dinner, and I may not always be the most romantic pony around...but I like you. A lot. And I hope you feel the same wa-”
A snore: loud and obnoxious, cut him off and he geared his head towards Stormy, who had his eyes shut, mouth agape with his tongue hanging blissfully over his lower lip. Fast asleep.
Sigh.
Gentle Strokes wrapped a hoof over Stormy’s chest and dropped his fast into the space between his crossed hooves and his face. Quite content, he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to claim him just like it had with Stormy.
On days like this, Gentle Strokes was glad that he got to share intimate pieces of himself, his pride, mind body and soul with someone truly special. The future and what it held for the two of them was a bother he could worry himself with at a later date. Holding Stormy in his hooves, however, was a treat he wanted to cherish for as long as he could.
He fell asleep not long after.