Every Time (Part 3)

	Damn, did you really do that last night? The dried fur around your pussy certainly told you so. You remember it felt amazing, but looking back you don’t see why. It’s like how fast food looks really good when you’re hungry, but after eating it looks gross. Actually, that was the most accurate thing you could think of. You were a dude and you just spent last night dipping the digits, or lack of digits, in a vagina. Your vagina.

	You uncurl yourself and flick your tail and ears, throwing off any forest debris on them. You look back and see your wings. Maybe you could try flying today. You look closer and notice leaves, twigs, and a plethora of other items caught in the feathers. No way of flying like that. You tuck them in and try pulling bits out with your teeth. You rake each flat tooth trough the fibers of your feathers. As you continue, you notice something very odd.

	Your feathers are becoming smoother, and stiffer, like they are coated in an oily wax. Each brush with your mouth makes them sleeker, and more streamlined. Whatever this substance was, it was coming from your mouth. It was helping you clean your wings! Another thing you noticed was as you cleaned, you caught increasingly strong smells of what seemed to be roses or crayons something. The oil was secreting a nice scent too. You feel ticklish as your feathers twitch from your muscles as dirt falls from them.

	Wait...

	You pause for a moment and stare blankly in horror. First you were grazing, now were you... preening? It never occurred to you that this might happen. You may be a pony, but you still had wings. There was no reason for you not to preen you suppose. Still, last night you betrayed your masculinity, and today you are betraying your humanity. The very thought depresses you.

	You really wish you knew more about horses before being turned. That would make things so much easier. Maybe your eyes were some sickness or something. You certainly hope not. You fluttered your wings and continued preening. As much as you didn’t want to, you had to.

	Once you were finished, you looked around the forest floor. What to do? You could swallow your pride by swallowing some grass, but that didn’t really appeal to you. You craned your long neck, and saw something. Your wings. Flying.

	Smirking, you opened them. At first it felt like taking off a coat, understandably since you had them tucked against your body since you preened them. You could feel each slight breeze pass through any spaces between feathers, any resistance pulling your wings back a bit. You know you can fly.

	Instinctively, you use a foreleg to hoof at the ground, frowning at another loss of humanity, but quickly shrugging it off. You charge forward, kicking up moss and dead leaves as you gallop. Your wings are making you feel like you’re dragging a parachute behind yourself. You angle them, so the edges are headed straight forward. It was now or never.

	You lift your hooves, your body weight taking pressure off of them. Amazingly, you hadn’t fallen. You were flying!

	...And now you weren’t. You crashed after a second or two, like a poorly folded paper airplane that catches the air wrong and dives straight down. You pull your muzzle out of the ground, then shake off the dirt. Shaking messes off of yourself seemed much more efficient than using your hooves. You could understand why dogs do it.

	Again, you attempt to fly. This time one wing caught more air than the other, and you rolled into a tree. Damn, flying was hard. You tried a third to, and tried flapping instead of gliding. This time you shook up and down, the force of your wings pushing you down as much as they pushed you up.

	You were about to give up, when you found yourself using a balance. A balance of both gliding and flapping. You then realized what an idiot you were. Birds do that all the time. Still, you weren’t as good as a bird. Your eyes didn’t help either. You would be headed in a perfect X-axis, yet end up smashing your side into the ground. Your eyes kept tricking you, and seeing things at an angle does not help flying.

	It begins to get dark again, so you search for a more secure place to spend the night. You trot through the woods, your form seeming much less clumsy in dense forest than a human’s. Eventually, you come to an uprooted tree. The roots were arcing over the hole they left, leaving a covered patch of dirt. You grab clumps of moss in your teeth and arrange them inside the small cave, forming a makeshift bed. What you wouldn’t give for just one more night in an actual bed.

	You finish placing the moss and duck into the burrow. You curl up, tail flicking on it’s own. You take control and use it to wrap around yourself for just a little extra warmth with your grey fur.

	The next morning you awoke, glaring at your pony body. Ugh, this sucked, another day as a freak. You raise yourself up and stretch, hindquarters in the air. Bringing yourself back to a standing position, you look around the small burrow. Having to live here was terrible. You really wanted to just off yourself. Sighing, you try going outside, only to bump your muzzle into the dirt wall. Oh yeah, your eyes. Mumbling and frustrated, you adjust yourself and walk out, cursing under your breath. You inhale deeply, smelling the woods. It made you feel a little better, but you were still oddly moody. Suddenly, something hit your increased sense of smell. You look straight ahead, and scan the woods. It was an odd musky smell, and it was only getting stronger. Usually a musky smell would make you gag, but for some reason, your heart skipped a beat.

	Your ears flicked as you heard a twig snap. All of a sudden, you felt very, very turned on. You were creeped way the hell out, but your fluttering heart and a building in your loins was too distracting. Giving in, you fall to the grass and roll over. Nervously, you spread your hind legs. What you see shocks you. Your slit is already moist, as if an invisible force was messing with it.

	Disregarding your dignity, you throw a hoof on it and press, feeling the pressure on your crotch. It feels good. You put the edge of your hoof into the slit and sort of pry the lips apart. By now, you can see you aren’t only moist, you’re full on wet. Eagerly, you rub your hoof in circles, coaxing the natural lubricant out. For added measure, you place another hoof to your teats, teasing your nipples. You are about to cry out.

	“Hope I’m not interrupting anything?” an awkward sounding voice asks. Embarrassed, you roll over and shut your legs with a wet slap. You blush at this obvious scene, then look up at the figure. You comb “your” memories and soon recognize who it is. Another pony, Soarin’, of Wonderbolts fame.