Anonpencil Writes Drunk: A Spot Of Trouble (oneshit)

~*~

>You try not to hear the sound of Twilight's hoofsteps coming up the stairs to your room, but they rink in your ears like funeral bells. It's not going away. It's unmistakable. She's coming.
>You look to the door as the panic rises in your chest.
>Nope, not enough time to get away.
>You look to the window.
>Nope, the fall would probably kill you.
>You look to the closet.
>Nope, she'd find you. Also, you're pretty sure she's installed cameras in there at this point.
>...
>You look to the window again. At least the fall would be quick.
>But no, it's too late, damn your precise indecision! You turn your attention to the door just in time to see it kicked open, and Twilight stands there before you, looking more than a little annoyed. That's rarely a good sign for you. Or anyone.
"Anon?" she more demands than asks. "There's something I want to ask you."
"Twilight, I swear to fucking christ, if you ask me to help you kidnap a foal again or put that bottle brush thing up Spike's anus..."
"It's nothing like that," she snaps. "I just want to ask you about something I figure you'd know more about as a human. That's all."
>This has to be some sort of trap. But at the same time, as long as she doesn't physically do anything to you, she can only hurt you with words. You've had that often enough you're just about immune to it by now. Well... almost. That crack she made about your dick looking like fossilized bird feces still hurt a little. What was she even doing hiding under the bathroom sink while you took a piss, anyway? At this point in your living together, you're not sure you want to know.
"Okay..." you say hesitantly, ever waiting for the other shoe to drop. "What do you want to know?"
"Are freckles cute?"
>You pause, and blink. It's such a simple question, so basic, so nice.You know there has to be more to it, but on the surface it's innocuous. You feel a little tension slide from your shoulders.
"Oh... well," you say haltingly. "I guess they're pretty cute on some girls. Like, a little on the nose and cheeks is fine. But once it gets to that splotchy all over so they look like they have some sort of perpetual rash, that's another matter. Why? Do horses get freckles too?"
>She nods, and smiles a little smugly. She's probably gloating at knowing something you don't, even though that's hardly anything new.
"Yes," she says. "Many foals have them, but they fade as you get older. A few older ponies have them as well, some of them you even know! I'm surprised you never noticed!"
"Do male ponies find them attractive?"
>She shrugs, and her smile withers.
"I don't actually know," she admits. "I don't really talk to any male ponies that often, or any males really besides my brother. I talk to you, and I talk to Spike, but he hardly counts considering he's only into white mares, the little racist. So I figured you were the one to ask."
"Why not your brother, he's an actual pony."
>She shifts side to side uncomfortably then, and looks away from your face with a blush. So there is something more to this that she hasn't mentioned.
"It's... kind of a personal matter. It would be weird asking him," she mumbles.
"Okay... why?"
"Well..." she says, hesitates, then a sudden surge of words tumble effortlessly from her mouth, as if she had stuffed them in there and couldn't suppress the urge to vomit any more. "You see, I never really had freckles growing up, and I always thought they looked kinda lame or ugly, and I've never really heard about ponies getting freckles suddenly once they're older, but it seems I have, and maybe I caught them from someone who has them, and I got them in a kinda weird spot, and I dunno if they're cute or ugly or anything like that or if other ponies get them when they're older, I just don't know, and I wanted a guy's opinion. Make sense?"
>The process it as best you can, but you find you have more questions for Twilight than answers. After a moment of consideration, you raise a very skeptical eyebrow at her.
"I think I follow, but... where exactly did you get these freckles?"
"Promise you won't laugh?"
"Promise."
"Well, okay," she says, then promptly turns around and lifts her tail.
>Welp... there it is. There goes that other shoe, dropping with a thud. And you certainly aren't going to laugh. You gaze down at Twilight's exposed privates and take in the whole scene in a single gaze, then suppress a short, mild gag of surprised disgust. There before you, you see the lips of her vagina, mildly puffy, and speckled all over in brownish red. A few of the spots already have white heads to them, as you can see pus welling up from beneath. By the areas that are irritated, it appears she's been scratching them. You may be mistaken, but you think you can smell a mildly sour odor wafting your way.
"Twilight," you say, voice shaking a little. "Those are not freckles."
>She looks up at you over the curve of her rear.
"WHAT? I mean, obviously they are, there are too many of them for it to be an irritated hair follicle or two, and I didn't try any weird chemicals from the lab as lubrication this time, so..."
"That," you say, cutting her off. "Is an STD."
"A what?" She sounds more distressed by the minute.
"A sexually transmitted disease. Someone had some gross disease on their dick, and they put it inside your vagina, and the disease moved from the dick into your vagina, and now it's in your blood, and it's making you break out in those little spots."
"And... it's not cute."
"No, Twilight, STDs are not cute."
>She pouts her lower lip out and turns sharply away.
"Damn it," she mutters.  "I knew it. He'll pay for this. How dare he make my vagina not cute anymore. He'll pay, you'll see. He'll... pay..."
>Before you can say anything else or ask any questions, she marches out of your room and slams the door behind her, leaving you alone and, for once, unharmed.
>It is not until you read in tomorrow's paper about Big Macintosh being found dead under suspicious circumstances that you put two and two together. Looking at his obituary photo in the paper you realize that... huh. Guess he did have freckles after all, and you just never noticed. As Twilight walks into the kitchen, you give her a sidelong glance.
"So," you say, "if you always thought freckles looked lame or ugly, why did you sleep with him?"
>Twilight pauses, glances over her shoulder at you, shrugs, and then smiles coyly.
"What can I say? I loved the way he laughed. It was infectious."

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