I Wake Up Every Morning
Tyson Ritter awoke to the morning sunlight invading his eyeholes. Raising a hand to shield himself from the invading rays of every wavelength of the electromagnetic spectrum and photons, he slid out of bed slowly, gazing out the window next to his sleeping place. Standing upright, he watched as the glorious landscape of Equestria was illuminated by Celestia’s sun.
He was, of course, naked, and wore a tiny little piece of grey fabric on his dick that his pony waifu Maud Pie had made for him. It was his cock-frock.
He also wore a big smile on his face, like he did every morning. True to one of his most popular songs, it never felt out of place, and this morning was no different.
Last night he had rockin’ sex with Maud.
Tyson gazed over towards his bass guitar, which lay abandoned, collecting dust. Sighing wistfully, the sight of his beloved instrument drew upon memories of the days he lived before inhabiting Equestria, as the frontman of the somewhat popular power pop band The All American Rejects.
He could remember the day as though it were just yesterday...
Two days ago...
“Nick,” Tyson said to Nick Wheeler, the guitarist of the band, while absently passing his bass from hand to hand. “You’re probably wondering why I called you here to meet me in this public restroom.”
Nick looked around at the dingy, graffitied walls, and sighed as the sounds of a women giving birth in the female stalls across the hall echoed through the dingy building. “No, I’ve stopped questioning what you ask me to do after we spent thirty minutes behind that McDonald’s in Hoboken looking for your finger puppets last Thursday.”
Tyson sniffled, remembering their vein attempts to reacquisition the finger puppets from an especially nasty rat. Coughing and attempting to compose himself, Tyson looked back at Nick with puffy eyes. “I’m here to announce my resignation from the band.”
Nick looked back at him. The true power of the statement didn’t resonate for a few moments, but soon, it hit him.
“Dude, you ARE the band!” Nick said, his voice cracking as he tried to keep himself from tears. “Without you, we’ll have to break up!”
“I’m sorry, Nick,” Tyson said to the guitarist. “But I must go. I have a higher calling now.”
A few tears fell from Nick’s eyes. “W-what is it?”
“I am going to go to Equestria,” Tyson said. “And bang a cartoon pony.”
Nick stopped crying. What Tyson had just said confused him so greatly, he has been confused out of tears. In fact, what Tyson had just said was so confusing that he started to uncry, his tears sliding up his face and back into his tear ducts. This process of uncrying was highly painful, however, and it caused him to begin crying again, only to have those tears uncry themselves, trapping Nick in a horrible never-ending cycle of crying and uncrying.
“Why are you doing this?” Nick asked, between sobs.
Tyson took two steps towards Nick, his feet shuffling over the grimy tiles of the public restroom floor. Lifting his arm, he set a hand gently on Nick’s shoulder. “God works in mysterious ways, Nick. Us mortals may never understand fully why I have to go to Equestria and bone the first pony I see, but I can assure you: it’s for the greater good.”
Nick gave Tyson a long stare. “How the FUCK is this for the greater good?”
Tyson shook his head, placing his index finger against Nick’s mouth. “Shhhhhh...”
He slowly walked away from Nick, and opened one of the bathroom stalls. Nick watched in fascinated disgust as Tyson stepped into the toilet bowl, still holding his bass.
“I’m off to Equestria now, Nick,” Tyson said, giving his bandmate a serious look. “Tell them to remember as I was, not as I am.”
“You mean as a complete fucking idiot?” Nick deadpanned, watching as Tyson placed his hand on the flusher.
“Yes,” Tyson said, and pressed down on the handle. Mike heard the whooshing noise of the water being flushed down, and to his amazement, saw that Tyson was beginning to revolve in place, slowly descending. He was being flushed with the toilet!
“So long, Nick!” Tyson called with a wave as his spinning began to increase, only his upper torso visible now. “I’ll miss you! Tell the others I said farewell and good luck!”
“What the fuck is going on?” Nick cried out in bewilderment.
“Fairwelllgluglugluglguglugfffmmm...” Tyson’s voice descended into gurgling as he disappeared fully down the toilet.
Nick sank to his knees and began to cry.
Tyson had landed in Equestria the next day, in a rock field. This is where a pony named Maud had discovered the musician, bass in hand, and covered in dirty toilet water. The two bonded over a mutual interest in breathing, and then they fucked.
None of this is important to the story. What is important is what occurred the next morning, as where we left off at the beginning of the story.
Tyson basked in the sunlight, naked except for his cock frock, and sighed. Truly, this was amazing.
Except for the fact that his pony waifu was boring as fuck.
It was true—she had just laid there, staring disinterestedly at him as he fucked her thusly. Her voice droned in his ears, the monotone never relenting. Halfway through, she had given up entirely on paying attention to him, and instead had made him his cock frock.
Naturally, he came about eight times.
Still, she was a boring partner, no matter how sexy and fantastic her tight pussy, previously only having been graced with rocks, felt. He needed to leave and find a place with more talkative and emotive pony waifus.
Walking down the stairs, still naked save for the frock on his cock, Tyson’s stomach began to rumble with a mighty need for sustenance. Reaching the tiny kitchen in which Maud usually had a meal of rocks, Tyson rummaged around in the cabinets for something edible to humans. Behind a chunk of igneous rock, a box of oatmeal sat, looking as though it had come with the house, untouched since the dawn of time.
Tyson grinned, and pulled out a packet of the creamy oatness.
Boiling it up on the stove, Tyson recollected the events of last night. Sure, it had been amazing, but there was something in Maud’s dead, dead stare that detracted from the inherent sexiness that were her perfectly styled eyes.
Could he just be being picky? Did he really need all that emotion and screaming and not-stopping-in-the-middle-of-paying-attention-to-fucking-to-knit-a-cock-frock that he got with other people/ponies?
He looked up, and strode over to the oatmeal, which had just begun to bubble. Tyson liked his oatmeal like he liked his vaginas: lukewarm and scummy, with dry flakes of oats scattered here and there.
Scooping out a bowl of oatmeal, he sat down at the table again, spoon clutched in hand. Tyson smacked his lips in the anticipation of the creamy goodness. The human was just about to dig his spoon into the oatmeal, when...
“Hey Tyson.”
The drone.
The drone that stuck in his ears and refused to leave.
Tyson turned his head 180 degrees to see her standing behind him, staring blankly into his soul.
MAUD.
“You made breakfast.”
Tyson stared at her, unblinking.
“You’re not moving,” she observed. “Like a rock.”
Tyson kept still.
“I like rocks.”
Tyson began to hiss, like some sort of feral cat defending its young.
Maud ignored these obvious social cues to fuck off, further ingraining the idea that she had some sort of social disorder in Tyson’s mind. The earth pony trotted up to the table, and Tyson’s head turned back around to face Maud.
God, if she weren’t so waifulicious, I would have sold her for drug money already, Tyson thought to himself, glaring at her dead expression and her beautiful eyes.
Tyson clutched the spoon tightly, and gave Maud a face that is usually found on frogs. She stared back blankly, and blinked once. Tyson’s dick shot up so fast that the cock frock was knocked right off of it, catapulted over his shoulder, where it fluttered to the ground somewhere behind him.
Now’s not the time for this, Tyson reprimanded himself mentally. I’ve got oatmeal to eat!
Tyson stopped his train of thought as he heard a strange noise, somewhat akin to a landslide destroying a village of third world mountain people. Maud looked down, blinking uninterestedly.
“Oh. I need to use the bathroom.”
Her voice never changed. Since the yesterday Tyson had met her, it had been the same old monotone. Every time she spoke, his ears cried out in sweet, sweet agony.
Tyson ground his teeth as his stare intensified. Maud, not giving a single fuck, turned around, and presented her backside.
What is she... Tyson blanched.
“Oh no. Oh god, please, no...” Tyson whispered in horror.
“I’ve got to go, Tyson,” Maud droned.
Tyson paled further.
“Rocks don’t ever have to go.”
A tiny, high pitched noise escaped from Tyson’s throat.
“I’d like to be a rock.”
Tyson couldn’t help but to stare at her voluptuous ass as her tail rose. Her little pussy, which he no doubt rocked last night, was quivering, but that wasn’t where his eyes were transfixed. His eyesight was locked on her anus, which was puckering, and this was the source of his horrified disposition.
Tyson had a Maud-like stare going on, his eyes frozen in place as he gazed upon her chocolate starfish. He could see something emerging, like a horrible abomination from the depths of the ocean. His stare was intense enough to burn holes through steel, but nothing was going to stop what was to happen next.
Tyson watched in fascinated horror as her anus opened up like a budding flower, if the flower were a sphincter. Maud positioned her ass right above the bowl of oatmeal, and sighed ever so slightly.
Tyson stared, unblinking as the payload snaked from Maud’s bunghole, all gritty and odd-looking. The giant log slid from her anus almost effortlessly, and landed with a wet plorp in the oatmeal.
Tyson poked the anal fruit with his spoon, leaving a little depression in its tan surface. He was white as a sheet, his gaze now fixed on his bowl. Turning his head to face Maud, his face split into a smile suddenly.
“Guess one might say that this oatmeal is...” Tyson reached under the table, and slid on a pair of shades.
“Pretty shitty.”
Maud looked back at Tyson, the emotionless gaze eroding his will to live. “Yes, it is, because I shat into it.”
Tyson’s smile slid off of his face like butter off a black man’s balls. Sighing, the musician dug his spoon into Maud’s gritty, tan turd that sat in his lukewarm oatmeal. He managed to scoop up some oatmeal with his spoonful, and Tyson set it to eye level, examining it thusly.
Her turd was... sand.
“Oh course,” Tyson grumbled almost inaudibly. “She eats only rocks. Naturally, her stomach would grind it up and her digestive track would... of course.”
Tyson looked at the sand, and the oatmeal underneath, and he brought the bite to his mouth. Shedding a single tear, Tyson shoveled the spoonful into his mouth, feeling the gritty sand rub against his enamel, and the creamy, bland oatmeal wash over his tongue. He cringed, and his face screwed up.
Tyson looked back at Maud.
She looked back at him.
The two had an infinite staring match, two bottomless pits looking back at each other.
Tyson gazed into the abyss, and the abyss gazed back into him.
The former rock star shoveled the rest of Maud’s sand turd and the accompanying oatmeal into his mouth, eating the breakfast in silence and Maud observed him with just as much sound. Tyson looked back at her for a moment, and uttered a final complaint.
“Stupid sexy emotionless pony. “