Dream On: Vinyl and Tavi's Private Weblog

by Koiyuki

Vinyl, on What It Takes to Chase a Dream

Yo Tavi, you remember that one chick with the pink hair at the Thunderlane/Flint Rock fight? The one that was in Applejack's corner, and was super quiet when you approached her at the gym! Turns out that what she lacks in ability to socialize, she more than makes up for with the magic in her fingertips. Found that out not too long after the fight when we bumped into each other at the hotel buffet, and she invited me to try her new Intimate Therapy dealy out. Know what that is? Because I certainly didn't! Didn't find out fully, either, until I got to her place in the woods, all the while trying to digest the pamphlet she gave before she went off to do some Yoga biz. From what I remember, it said that Intimate Therapy is "a personalized combination of traditional massage techniques, cuddling and the kind of therapy that gives you a safe, accepting place to talk about anything you want to get off your chest," which I totally interpreted as freaky deaky sex and a chat after they pop their top. Turns out, though, that her little mom and pop stand is totally legit, with her having a MA in physical therapy from Cloudsdale U, a therapy license from one of the most stringent programs in the country, and a setup I'm still not sure people would consider normal for a therapeutic joint like hers.

After we hashed out the deets, we headed upstairs to the bed she prepped, I laid on my side, and she started holding me close from behind-know you, that whole spooning thing, while she let talk about...well, whatever came to mind. I still can't put my finger on why, but being in her arms like I was let me know I didn't have to hide anything from her; before I knew it, I brought up that whole thing with Flint Rock, how I felt unsure on what it means to be a woman, if what I did really mattered or helped anybody, and other, kinda personal stuff(like the time I had a knife in my hand while I was cooking, and had some super dark thoughts about an early exit. Nothing happened, but I was working through a ton of personal junk at that point in my life that I might tell you about later). Afterwards, she treated me to a session on the message table, and melted the stress in my muscles like they were butter, and her hands were a hot knife. Felt kind of weird letting someone oil me up and rub me up with only a towel covering up the goods, but somehow I think she could sense that, chatting with me about the silly stuff the celebs get caught doing on Thirty Mile Zone, asking me about the day to day stuff, and generally making feel like I was hanging with someone I've known for years(which, considering how few folks can barely get more than a peep out of her otherwise, is still mystifying). Totally wanted to do her a solid for making me feel more loose than a goose, to which she proposed "Well, if it's alright with you, could you give my assistant an honest evaluation of your experience? You know, something that lets me serve future clients that much better." The next weekend, I met with said assistant at Donut Joe's joint, where a whole lot more was discovered than what I thought about her Intimate Therapy.

***

The first time I saw her at the therapy spot, she had her chestnut hair in a bun and was dressed in an all white T-shirt and slacks get up, same as the girl she was sitting next to, Fluttershy. Next time, though, that hair was flowing down to her big ol' apple bottom (which, to be perfectly honest, I was mad jelly of), her super tight white jeans showing it right off, and a lime green wrap around top snuggling her little girls. Over an order of Maple Bacon Donut Fries, I noticed that while she was asking my thoughts on the treatment, she took sips from her coffee, and had the quickest of scrunches on her sun-kissed face each time she did. When I asked why, her baby blue eyes stared straight into mine, as she said, "Well when you've been around coffee as long as I have, you tend to have stricter standards for your cup o' Joe. This brew right here, for me? No es bueno, and I know for a fact I can whip up a better cup in a matter of minutes, just like Donut Joe could whip up baked goods leagues above mine without even batting an eye"

"You sound mighty confident, there. Can your skills cash the checks your mouth is writing?"

"I know they can, but I'm guessing you ain't as convinced. Perhaps you'd like to see the proof in the pudding?" Before I could answer, her phone went off, likely signaling that she, like me, had things to get to. I'm guessing, though, that she dug something about me, because before she left, she handed me her personal business card, which was also the first time I learned her name. That name? Morning Glory, the woman who showed me just how awesome coffee can be.

When she invited me over to her place, her message was "you bring the Maple Bacon Bars, I'll make the best iced Joe you've ever had." True to her word, that Joe was kicking, with just the right balance of sweet, cinnamon bite, and robust flavor (decaf, at that!). I was curious at where she learned to make coffee like that, and she smiled and said, "Runs in the family, I suppose. Would've been my future, too, if things had worked out just a bit differently" While we munched on our donuts, she started talking about Los Equinos, a city way away from Manehattan where she, her dad and his business partner ran a diner everyone in their 'hood loved to eat at, a place the locals, according to her, called Cafe del Sol. I happened to drop by when she was getting her lunch ready, so she whipped me up a dish of what locals said that you had to have when you went. In no time flat, she made Chorizo mixed with eggs, beef and just the right amount of tomato sauce, sandwiching that mess between two freshly baked biscuit halves, and serving 'em up slider style with a beefy burrito stuffed with chicken bouillon-enriched rice, Carne Asada and Bacon fat infused refried beans, a meal the locals called "The Only Thing They'd Need to Eat All Day," and rightly so. After I finished my plate, I was so stuffed, I didn't feel like I could cram down another bite of anything else, and would totally buy if any restaurant had it on their menu. Given that, I was wondering how Cafe del Sol was doing, to which she replied, "'is doing'? Try 'Was doing'"

The more I got to know her, the more I realized how much Cafe del Sol meant to her. That place wasn't just the family biz, and not just where she laid her head at night, but also the legacy her father wanted to pass on after he passed on-and one he did when a heart attack took him away just after she turned 21. Of course, being fresh out of college to be a sociologist, the business side of running a business was about as familiar to her as Spotted Dick, leaving her to trust that stuff to her dad's business partner, who according to her, "Did just what you gotta do with a neighborhood institution: change everything to suit what's hot, make a series of big gambles with what little money it has, and bury it in a mountain of debt that forces it to close for good" I still remember when I had a video call with her and I asked what she did after she lost Cafe del Sol. She smiled, looked down, and said, "It still kind of stings to remember life back then, but since I dig your style, I'll just show you this," taking out a Sticky Note, and scribbling a few things. Soon, she showed that it said "10 bits: Handy; 20 bits: Full Time; 50 bits: Anything," and pointing me to her boss for the rest of the story.

***

When I met up with Fluttershy at her place, I caught her right when she was hopping on a bear's back, and giving it a neck snap-looking stretch-which, paired with the bear falling forward like a fresh cut tree, made me very weary of ever getting on her bad side. "Before you say anything," she said as I approached, "this is just part of the massage. I assure you this bear has a lot of tension in his neck and shoulders that needs very intensive deep tissue techniques, and is something he's greatly enjoying. At any rate, how are you doing, Vinyl?"

"Hopefully well enough not to need a deep tissue neck snap. You got my text, right?"

"I did. Just wait for me in the living room, and I'll be with you as soon as I'm finished with my client, ok?" As soon as I enter, waiting on the table was a fresh outta the oven pizza topped with apples, carmelized onions and walnuts, kinda like the one we had in Las Pegasus. The smell it gave off was practically filling the air with the words, "Go on, eat me, eat all 24 inches of me, Fluttershy probably isn't hungry, anyways," something I'm sure Fluttershy thought, too, when she walked in, grabbed a slice, and wolfed it down before she even sat down, a dainty burp coming from her as soon as she did.

"Pardon me, Vinyl. It's been a long day in the office, and I've been waiting for this all day"

"Don't even trip. I'm just happy you're taking time outta your day to chat with me about your assistant."

"Think nothing of it. Speaking of which, you've gotten to know her for awhile, haven't you?"

"I have. She told me about her family's business, and how she lost her home. Felt real sorry for her after I heard."

"It's a natural reaction when something happens to people we care about. As you know from our session, though, people in their most desperate hour feel less like a wounded wildebeest and more like a sick and starving soldier stuck behind enemy lines, with the only weapon they have to fight their way out with being a spork."

"No doubt. When I was in that deep funk, the only thing I wanted was to get out of it ASAP, no matter what it took it or what I had to go through do to it"

"And that's because to get through it, people can't be weak, but instead, must be at their strongest, driven to see what's waiting on the other side. If it means they have to cut through jungles with their spork, then they'll cut through jungle after jungle after jungle until they get there. In those times, I'm sure you know what the most valuable thing in the world is."

"Sometime willing to keep passing the sporks, and hack away alongside us?"

"Exactly that. That much is what I relearned the day I came across Morning Glory in her makeshift shelter." I knew it was about to be story time, so I grabbed my piece of the pie and got comfy as she told me about her assistant.

***

I'm sure you guessed as much from the sign she showed you, but the day I met her, she was a prostitute without a place to call home. I knew from my Social Studies classes that even today, there are millions upon millions out there like her being trafficked, abused and treated with less care than the paper she wrote on. If they go to the police, they think they'll arrest them on sight because their very job involves breaking the law; if they go to anyone else, they think they'll either spit on them for taking on such a vile, demeaning profession or see them as poor, pitiful souls who can't do anything to help themselves, and need to be rescued from both themselves and their choices. In either case, they're viewed as a thing to be acted upon, not as the thinking, feeling human being they've known themselves to be all their lives.

All that in mind, when I came across her all those months ago on a trail not too far from here, I had no doubt that what she wanted most was the very thing she offered her clients: companionship and a listening ear. In the process of acquiring her services, she became the very first recipient of the Intimate Therapy I had been working on, and was, in effect, a test subject for it. When we got to my bed, I cuddled her from behind, and simply talked with her about her day, ending it with a quick massage before she went off, and hoping that I gave her at least some of the tools she needed to work through her issues. That one week became two, and those became a month, each session revealing a little of the sharp, sensitive and well read soul I sensed in her the first time we met, and each one revealing how much she's had to fight through just to make it through the day. After that month, however, I couldn't afford the 50 bit fee anymore, so I came clean about what I was doing, and expected her to be angry enough to leave it at that; what happened instead, though, was that while she was a bit upset, she enjoyed the sessions so much, she offered to waive her fee, if I agreed to continue them every week, and provided both a meal and time to wash up. Because of the therapist/client agreement, I cannot and will not discuss what we brought up in those sessions, but I can say that what I learned in future meetings about her life as a prostitute revealed some rather appalling things about what's considered as acceptable towards women and sex workers, prompting me to ask if she'd ever do something different, if given the chance, and leading to me helping her get into what I used to do when animal care wasn't paying the bills: webcam modeling.

***

At that point, I was about to do a spit take, so I said, "Hold up, I know some folks in that biz, and I know it ain't far off from what she was doing. Wasn't the whole point of what you were doing to give her the self-belief to choose something else when you asked if she'd ever do something different?"

"Self-belief? Well it is common sense that doing things of a promiscuous nature implies someone is looking for a sense of self within others, just as it was once common sense that the world is flat. I can tell you're someone who takes pride in embracing a more uncommon sense about things, so I will call Morning Glory later, and ask if she'd like to talk more about it, alright? After all, everyone deserves the chance to be known by something other than some crudely informed stereotype, don't they?"

***

I came back to her place the next day at the time she said, but nobody answered when I knocked at the door(which actually got under my skin, since it was The-Freaking-Sun-Wasn't-Even-Out-Yet o’ clock, and I was giving up valuable snoozing time to come see Morning Glory.). I was standing there in the crisp night air playing Sugar Cube Saga on my phone, when suddenly, a voice from behind me says, "You know that beating that game takes about 5% skill, 5% luck, and 90% how much cash your willing to feed it for power-ups, right?" I turn around, and sure enough, there's Morning Glory decked in her powder blue PJs, her face as bright and perky as someone who doesn't think this is an insane time of day to kick it off. "Glad you made it, Vinyl. My boss told me about the stuff you two brought up, including that you think I'm someone looking for a sense of self within others 'cause of what I did and what I do." After shooting me her softest smile, I immediately felt the sting of five across the eyes; I smiled back, because I knew perfectly what it was for, asking, "Can I assume we're cool, then?” before I followed her into the forest.

"We'll be perfectly square after I tell you about what I did and what I do." At this point, I wanted to tell you about the chat we had, but to be perfectly honest, we took a long route with a lotta tangents, so transcribing it would pretty much be a wash. That in mind, I was working on making it into a story of sorts, hashing out the deets with Morning Glory, who thought it'd be better if I helped her tell her tale, for reasons she'll soon make clear. That said, here's Morning Glory on what her time in the streets taught her. Enjoy!

***

Hola, Señora Octavia! I've heard much about you from your friend, especially concerning your grace, your class, and how much you need to loosen up. Seriously. You had fun at that rave you went to, didn't you? Not everything's gotta be prim and proper to be enjoyable, and I hope that party showed you as much. Don't afraid to live up with the wild ones, chica! We don't bite hard if you treat us proper, I assure you.

At any rate, I asked Vinyl to help me do this because what I do and where I've been isn't easily understood unless you've either been there yourself or known people who have. I found this out first hand when I lost Cafe del Sol, lost my home, and felt, for the first time, like I had lost everything I ever considered precious; no parents, no roof over my head, no nada. It's something I would never wish upon my worst enemy, that crushing isolation and despair. A friend offered their garage for me to live in while I got on my feet, yeah, but as I got my things set up, my soul felt like its feet were bound to cement bricks, and thrown into the ocean.

Before that, I used to pity the people I saw wait in line at local food banks and dig through the trash for cans, food and other things people threw out; after that day, I struggled so much to make money, I ended up joining them! Risking everything day in and day out on those dangerous construction gigs the temp agency gave me, and for what? Barely enough to get by, and not even close enough to make dumpster diving an unnecessary event. I hated that all that became my life; I hated that no matter how well I presented myself at interviews, no place would hire me; I hated being so broke, I couldn't afford a car, insurance, or even a lousy bucking street taco. I mean, sure, I wasn't exactly living La Vida Dolce before, but this was just ridiculous! I despised myself for becoming no better than a bum on the street, and wanted to do anything to get out of that life, to get anywhere close to what I had. I heard some of the boys at my gigs talk about the girls they saw perform at the local 'gentleman's club,' as they called it, and they shared pics they snuck of them. I'm not one to toot my own horn that often, but from those pictures, I knew I had these chicas beat where it counted, so after a bit of research, I thought, "You know what? Buck it, let's try stipping. What more do I have to lose, anyways? Can't be any worse than this, can it?"

Like Vinyl, I held the notion that strippers, or exotic dancers, as they prefer to be called, were people who had no morals and no sense of self, so when I hit the pole, I didn't know what to think. Thankfully the dance and pole dancing classes I took for my PE college credits taught me well, and spurred many of the customers that night to make it rain as I hung on the pole, did a handstand splits, and shook my groove thang like my life depended on it. I know you ain't about that life, so I'll tell you that it's the term for when money is thrown about for others to collect, as I did after I was done, and found I raked in about 100 bits, much more than I ever got working those construction gigs-and to be perfectly honest, a whole lot more fun. When I was on stage, all eyes were on me, and the better I did, the more I was showered with both their attention and their hard earned money. Eventually, as certain customers came back to see me, a regular, if you will, I started learning the other side of the job: learning how to listen to a regular's needs, and give them what they really want: a shoulder to cry on, a friend who will hear out everything they have to say without judgment, and someone who will help them feel good about themselves (but never, ever, ever the goodies). Because of that, I was given more things than I could ever ask for, like a chain necklace, handbags, even a three wheeled bike! I was even able to eventually move out of the garage, and into a nice room in a neighborhood like the one I grew up in. Living there, however, surrounded me with the kind of life I was working towards when I was server at Cafe del Sol, with the man of the house being an associate professor of Sociology at a local community college and the woman being the boss of a food truck serving up the kind of grub Cafe del Sol dished out every day. They were such a nice couple, too, inviting me to join them for dinner, so we could all talk about our day. Every time I joined them, though, I realized that couldn't tell them what I did because it wasn't something society accepted as a normal way of life. The more I thought on why, the more I thought it was because they considered it shameful behavior, leading me to wonder if I thought bearing my body to complete strangers, leading people on in relationships that would ultimately never reach the conclusion they thought it would and doing what normal people would never do was shameful. The night I realized all this, I looked into the mirror and wept because I couldn't recognize who I saw in it. I didn't think I deserved any of what I earned by being an exotic dancer, and knew I had enough street smarts by that point to live without a roof over my head, so one night, I told the couple that took me in that I was going on a trip, and to make sure my things were safe while I was gone, taking the next Pony Express bus heading out of town, the clothes on my back and whatever money I had on me being the only things I took along.

Somehow, my travels took me to Ponyville, and into the Everfree Forests. Heard about the scary stuff there, but when you've been where I've been and seen what I've seen, not much scares you; lucky for me, I found the abandoned camping gear of folks who got shook, and was able to set up shop. As I attracted clients and kept an eye out for any 5-0, I couldn't help but think, "Someday, if I haven't already, I might catch a disease that will follow me the rest of my life because of what I do. Someday, I might get nabbed for trying to make a bit the way I am. Someday, I might meet someone who will send me to an early end because of who I am. Maybe what I do, the way I am and who I am makes that shoe fit perfectly" Those thoughts are what stuck in the back of my mind every time someone paid the 50 bits to piss on me, choke me during sex, dress me up in kids clothing, or anything else they wanted; shoot, as far as I was concerned, my life was barely worth those 50 bits. It wasn't until I met Fluttershy that my eyes started to open to another reality, another side of myself, another world I didn't think possible.

I remember falling asleep in the afternoon the day I met with Señora Fluttershy. When I woke up, I saw a white bunny nuzzle my face, and in front of me was a triangle looking ball of rice wrapped in seaweed-Onigiri, I believe they're called. A voice said, "I heard a terrible rumbling sound, and found you sleeping here." as I was getting my bearings. At that point, 'free,' 'food,' and 'no' were pretty far apart in my vocab, so I dug in as I looked up to see someone dressed in a yellow sundress and a broad-brimmed hat, cream pink hair flowing out from underneath it. When she asked if I wanted to go with her, though, I showed her my sign, and expected her to scared off by my offer; what happened, though, was that she placed 50 bits in my hand, took me by hers, and lead me to her place, where she asked me to lay on my side on her bed. Based on what past clients have asked of me when they paid for anything, I was ready to see her transform into some super sadistic monster plucked straight from some super sadistic planet where women slap on strapons and scream something like, "I BET THAT TIGHT LITTLE FLANK WAS JUST WAITING TO BE STRETCHED OUT BY ME” while they do whatever they do. Thankfully, instead of that, she got in bed with me, and held me close while we talked about...anything I wanted, really. I didn't get what was going on, but it felt different. More intimate, nurturing, and like she wanted to know more about who I was as a person. The massage and bath she gave were real nice, too, and to be perfectly honest, I was kinda sad to leave. Each time she came to see became the highlight of my week, knowing someone like her going to be my next client. I knew, though, that this wasn't without reason, that there was a catch to her being as nice and considerate as she was in the month she came to see me, talk with me, and let me hash out my issues like she was paying 50 bits to act like some sort of therapist.

As she said when she came clean, I wasn't very happy with being used like a psychological guinea pig, and briefly considered punching her in the mush before we made that deal. If you're wondering why I made that deal, here's a hint: it involved something no amount of money can ever buy. Don't get it twisted, now, I was and still am peeved that she turned my job into an experiment, but I can't deny that in that experiment, she gave me the kind of relationship I didn't have in ages. She didn't see me as the boss of Cafe del Sol, an exotic dancer or a ho to make into a housewife, but as me, Morning Glory, a girl who loves to cook, loves being sensual and sexual, and loves to bring a bit of joy into people's lives. She taught me that the sexual nature that exotic dancing awakened within me wasn't some taboo thing only to be enjoyed like a forbidden fruit, but a healthy part of everyday life, and the one night she and I together exploring that, she helped me remember what it means to make love and appreciate every part of it, from the journey towards reaching that ultimate climax to the hilarious faces and sound made when it's finally reached. Thanks to her, I realized that even if society considers it something to be ashamed to of, it doesn't mean I have to. As the Saddled Buddhists always say, nothing we do is ever inherently good nor bad, it simply is, and must be dealt with as it is so we may let it make us that much wiser and more complete, not what others expect us to be.

This much was something I didn't think Vinyl understood, based on how she reacted to Fluttershy helping me get into the Webcam biz, so with my boss's blessing, I took her on a stroll to where I used to do my self-pimping to give her an outdoor massage session and watch the sunrise. The more we got to understand each other, the more we came to see how much each of us understood that if you wanna go after what makes you happy, you can't play it safe. You can have a job that's guaranteed to you as the last gift from someone who spent their life raising you up proper, and still have that future taken from you in the blink of an eye. The minute you think anything is guaranteed is the minute life acts to make them go up in smoke, whether it's friends leaving you to rot because of something they learn about you, or watching the life you worked so carefully to craft fall to pieces. Sure, going after what makes you complete can mean making barely any money playing crappy party after crappy party, wondering how you're gonna pay the bills when not enough customers want you to care for their animals that month, or being called a pimple on the ass of society because of how you choose to make money, but you know what? I'd much rather be spat upon for being happy with my life than be accepted for living a miserable existence coated in the easily broken illusion of safety and security.

　 Since you grew up rich, you'd have a hard time understanding what it means to find joy in the things money can't buy, to make the most of life even when you have the least. That's what people who are poor tell themselves when they have to choose between buying groceries and paying the bills, when they have nothing to cover them if they get sick or hurt, when having a car is considered a luxury. As someone who was poor, let me tell you that anyone who says there's dignity in being poor is a complete and utter idiota. Money can't happiness, but it can buy experiences, like skydiving, trips around the world, and education people could only dream of, so if there's anything I'd want you to take away from all this, it's to use your wealth to experience things that will make you happy, that will make you feel complete, that will let you become the kind of you want to be, not who your family, friends or society wants you to be. Fluttershy was lucky enough to find that in caring for animals and people, Vinyl, in being a DJ, and myself, in being a webcam girl and working to revive Cafe del Sol in food truck form; hopefully you'll find that in the things you do, Señora Octavia, and hopefully I'll see you at Fluttershy's someday to give Intimate Therapy a spin. You have nothing to lose but your inhibitions, after all(just ask Vinyl)!

Author's Note:

From Miss Strings and Things:
"Thank you for, that, both of you. Sometimes I need to remember that self-confidence is crucial to pursuing what your heart desires through the wave of opposition telling you how foolish it is in even the attempt. Speaking of which, Lily Blossom and I spoke of someone who gained an absurd amount of money from crowdsourcing the money for a home made fried chicken dinner, which seen seems to have inspired strong voices on both sides of the issue. Perhaps I shall make that the subject of my next entry