IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER! This story will touch on some sensitive subjects, mainly transgenderism. This story is in no way meant to demean, belittle, or insult anyone for being trans, it is more an exploration in gaslighting and psychological abuse. This was inspired somewhat by the highly unethical Nature vs Nurture experiment on the Reimer twins.
Yvette Monet was a funny girl. Not a haha kind of funny, the other kind. The kind where her smiles didn’t quite reach her eyes. The kind of funny where she waited for other people around to react before mimicking their reaction. She had friends, had relationships, but something about her was a bit off. Her smile made strangers uncomfortable, they could see a lack of kindness in it. But fluffies could not.
They would see her beam at them from across the parking lot and sprint over to seek her affection, to revel in her attention. Most of the time they only received a platform heel through the prefrontal cortex. But this stallion would have a different experience.
Appearance wise he was entirely unremarkable. A monochrome blue unicorn, unkempt and smeared with the dirt and grime that are a hallmark of urban ferals. He was thin with malnutrition brought on by the winter. His hooves were cracked, the thin keratin sheath split from a lifetime on the hard pavement and asphalt, his mane was a greasy, ratty mess that hung limply down his neck, matted into large clumps. His rear was caked in his own filth and his tail was similarly encrusted, hanging like a thickly woven rope behind him. He would be perfect.
Yvette watched him from across the street, nosing his way through piles of litter and bags of garbage, stopping occasionally to eat the spoils of his foraging. He was slowly relishing a stale strawberry danish when Yvette made her move, crossing the street and crouching down behind him quietly. “Aren’t you just the most handsome little guy!”
The unicorn jumped before he started sprinting down an alley as his tail painted a streak of brown scaredy poopies on the already stained pavement.
“HUU-HUU NU HUWT FWUFFY!” Trash cans clattered and papers rustled as he unsuccessfully tried to weave through the cluttered alley. Yvette easily matched his pace, face still fixed in the expression of a smile. “It’s okay little guy, I won’t hurt you!”
The snail trail ended behind a set of four garbage cans, inside a small cardboard box from which protruded the trembling rear of the fluffy, his blue fluff nearly completely masked by the grime, filth, and feces. Yvette took out a small makeup compact and checked her face to ensure she was making the right expression. She reached out, softly stroking the back of the fluffy, the one place she could reach that wasn’t covered in shit.
The fluffy relaxed almost instantly as her hand brushed him, his hardwired need for human affection instantly overwriting any fear of the young woman. He stayed huddled in the mildew covered newspapers that made up his bed, savoring the warmth of her hand. “Do you have a name little guy?”
He turned to face her, his muzzle snotty and wet from his garbage escapades. “N-N-nu, fwuffy nu hab name.” Yvette eyed her compact as she put on an exaggerated frown. “That’s so sad! Why not?” This was of course easy to guess. He was likely feral born, so there was no human who would name him, and many times mares will hold off on naming their children so they can get a special name from a human. Yvette knew this, but more importantly she wanted him to talk to her, to be comfortable around her. According to some books she read, empathy and sympathy were important parts of forming trust in relationships.
The blue unicorn softly huuhuued to himself, shaking gently underneath her hand as she slowly caressed his scalp. “Mummah nu gib fwuffy name.” Yvette faked a gasp. “Oh dear, that’s terrible! Fluffies need names, everyone knows that!” She made a show of scanning the alley. “Is your mommy not here to give you one?” Another easy to guess answer. “Mummah hab’ foweba sweepies…” the stallion mumbled, large tears welling in his eyes and falling down well worn channels carved through the filth on his face. “Oh no, does that mean you’re all alone?”
He nodded sadly once more, tears streaming down his face as he began to cry, remembering with vivid detail the death of his mother. “What if I became your new mommy?”
The fluffy looked up at her, eyes wide with shock. He hadn’t dared ask, he had watched his own brother have his spine snapped in two for daring to do so before. “Weawwy?” Yvette smiled back, her teeth bared in a hideous grin that resulted when she didn’t use her mirror to check her expression. To humans and animals, this smile would set their fight or flight reaction into overdrive, but fluffies hadn’t been designed to recognize that some smiles weren’t real. Residents of the uncanny valley themselves, the faux ponies would see the upturned corners of the mouth, the creases in the face, the bared teeth, and recognize it as positive, at least until the body attached to the face hurts them.
“Yes really, silly, but only if you promise to be a very good fluffy!” The unicorn nodded furiously, Yvette’s hand still caressing around his horn. “Fwuffy be gud! Fwuffy be da’ bestest fwuffy eba’, nu ask fow toysies ow tweats ow sketties! An’ awways make gud poopies, an’, an’!” Yvette shushed him gently by scratching under his chin. “I’m sure you will, but first things first, the bestest fluffy deserves the bestest name!”
The unicorn gasped, quickly sitting to attention as Yvette tapped a short, well manicured fingernail to her lips. “How about… Mare.”
The fluffy looked at her confused. “Buh fwuffy am stawwion, nu am mawe!” Yvette pulled out the compact, keeping the fluffies eyes on her as she fixed her expression into one of sad indignation. “You don’t like the name Mommy picked out for you?” The fluffy shook his head furiously, cowering slightly into the moldy newspapers. “NU! Mawe wike nu’ namesies bu’… bu’ nu am mawe…” the second half of his statement was barely a whisper. But he had accepted the name.
“Oh, but it’s such a pretty name, I’m sure you’ll get used to it!” Yvette smiled, eyes on the compact. “Now let’s get you out of that dirty old box and we can go to my house, your new home!” Mare smiled, name troubles forgotten as he assumed the upsies pose, arms outstretched to his new mummah. Yvette kept the smile affixed to her face as she reached into her tote bag, pulling out a clean beach towel she had bought yesterday for this very purpose. She lifted the stallion enough to wrap the towel around his bottom half before cradling him, the fluffies head resting against her shoulder as he began to coo. “Mawe wub’ new bwankie mummah.”
“I’m glad.”
No longer needing to put up her farcical expressions, Yvette’s face had returned to her neutral deadpan as she walked towards her car in the parking lot, Mare cooing and nuzzling against her sweater.
——————————————————
Mare could not believe his turn of fortune. He had barely survived the winter, subsisting mostly off of rock hard, half frozen crusts from the pizzeria across from the alley, shivering for warmth in the cold newspaper that made his bed. The trashcan that surrounded his box had saved him from windchill that claimed the lives of many other ferals in the city, but it didn’t stop the pervasive cold from biting at him. But that was before his mummah came.
Mummah. With her beautiful gold not fluff, shiny white teeth, and gorgeous green eyes, the color of the springtime trees that had been his first sight upon opening his eyes as a little baby colt. She had saved him, brought him home to the safe room, a palatial room with everything he could ever want or need, a soft warm bed, tasty kibble that easily crushed beneath his tired, worn teeth, and toys! So many toys! Round, square, soft, softer, so many different things to play, nuzzle, hug, throw, anything he could imagine! His life in the alley had been a struggle between life and death, a constant struggle to find something to eat, to stay warm enough to not go to forever sleepies. He had forgotten what it was like to play.
Even the bath had been pleasant. It had taken four full changes of water before the water ran clear off his back, his mummah carefully brushing out the tangles in his mane and tail. He hadn’t realized how much he stank until he no longer did, the reek of barnyards, feces, and the city streets had been washed away, replaced by the soft sweet scent of strawberries.
His only complaint was his name. He didn’t like it. He hated that he didn’t like it, he wanted so badly to like it, to make his mummah happy, to be the bestest fluffy he could, but deep down he just couldn’t. He wasn’t a mare. He had a no-no stick, he had special lumps, he didn’t even have milkie places! But for his mummah who gave him so much, liking his name was the least he could do.
The plastic sheet covered rug felt soft against his feet as he raced around the safe room, chasing a rubber ball as he ran. Catching up to the ball Mare jumped on top of it, tumbling over onto his back with the ball gripped firmly between his leggies. Giggling, he tossed the ball into the air, trying to keep it up for as long as possible. The one player game ended as the ball collided with his head with a loud BOING, the ball rocketing off to the far corner of the room.
Satisfied he had won, Mare trotted over to his bed, worming his way under the mound of brightly colored stuffy friends. “Wub…” he cooed, happy and content with life for the first time.
Mare dozed for quite a while, listening to the wind through the trees in mummah’s yard, warm sunlight peeking through the window and lighting onto him and his stuffy friends, a pleasant warmth that reminded him of his mummah, his fluffy one, whose face he could no longer remember. But he did remember her warmth, her scent, her songs. He hummed the Mummah Song to himself, just as discordant and off key as she had.
“Mare, it’s time for dinner!”
Mare stretched, his leggies protruding from the sides of his stuffy friend fluffpile as he stood, shaking off a blue and red monkey and a knock off Cinnamummah. His mummah walked in, carrying a bowl in one hand. It was slightly steaming, wisps of vapor rising up next to his mummah’s face, her smile showing off her teeth as she set the bowl down in front of him. The red sauce, the pale noodles, the dusting of white powder, a bowl of ambrosia he had heard about from his fluffy mummah. The holy grail of fluffy food. “Mummah, am dis… SKETTIES?”
His mummah smiled, reaching over to ruffle his now soft mane. “Yes it is, my little baby. You’ve been a very, VERY good fluffy so you deserve it.”
Mate couldn’t control himself, sniffling as tears streamed down his face. “Mummah am bestest mummah eba’, Mawe wub’ mummah, wub mummah so muchies!” He trotted over to her, wrapping his leggies tightly around her shin. She patted his head before scooting him off towards the bowl. “I love you too dear, now eat up before it gets colder.”
Burying his face in the bowl of noodles, Mare savored the flavors, sweet red sauce, buttery noodles, savory cheese, indistinguishable herbs melded together to create flavors unlike any other he had experienced in his life. His tail wagged like a helicopter about to take off as his ears wiggled similarly, his muzzle staining red as he quickly devoured the bowl of pasta, licking the bowl clean before laying back with a soft belch. Silently his mummah used a warm washcloth to wipe marinara from his snout, Mare cooing at the soft touches. “Wub mummah!” His mummah nodded, her usual smile replaced by that deadpan expression she sometimes had. “Mmhm.”
The two sat on the floor as his mummah softly stroked his mane, twirling lengths of it between her fingers. Mare’s eyelids began to grow heavy, struggling to stand and settling on curling into a ball in his mummahs lap. “Gud’ nite mummah…” he mumbled, fully drifting off to sleep.
————————————————————
Mare awoke slowly and groggily. His mouth was dry, drier than it had ever been, cottony, like he had a mouthful of sand. The safe room was dark except a small nightlight in the corner, the sun long since set.
He dragged himself to his hoofs, a strange pain in his special place. Shakily, Mare wobbled his way to his water bowl, gulping down as much as he could. The automatic refilling function burbled noisily, echoing off the bare walls of the safe room.
Thirst sated, he crawled his way back to his bed, wrapping his leggies around a pink teddy bear, again feeling a strange, pulling pain in his groin. What this sensation was, he had no clue. All he could focus on was how tired he was, how heavy his eyelids were, how soft and nice his bed was. Answers could come in the morning.
———————————————————
Mare awoke, this time with his mouth fully hydrated. More than hydrated, as attested to by the large patch of drool that soaked the head of the stuffy friend. Feeling a pressure in his lower colon, he stood to his hoofs, much more assuredly than the previous night, and trotted over to the litter box. His bowel movement complete, he kicked litter over it as his mummah told him to and sat back down. The strange pull in his groin was gone, but so was something else. Two something elses.
“MUMMAH HEWP!”
Mare raced around the room, looking. They couldn’t have gotten far, the door was closed so they had to be in here somewhere! He looked under the pile of stuffy friends, in the toy box, under his bed, he even dug through the litter box, unearthing his prior work. His heart rate was getting faster, his breathing labored.
“MUMMAH PWEASE HEWP MAWE, HEWP!”
At last his mummah entered, clad in a crisp white bathrobe. Her face once again lacked an expression as she looked at him, before the toothy smile returned as she crouched next to the panicked pony. “Mare, what’s wrong?”
“MUMMAH! NU CAN FIND WUMPS!”
His mummah looked at him, the deadpan returning. “Lumps? What lumps?” Mare began doing a nervous dance, his hooves tapping a rapid rhythm on as he began to whimper, a quiet whine that emanated from the back of his throat. “Mawes wumps, nu can find spechul wumps!” His mummah cocked her head to the side. “Mare, you never had special lumps.”
What? Of course he did! Right? “Buh, buh Mawe am boy fwuffy, am stawwion! Stawwion hab wumps! Nee’ wumps fo’ spechul huggies an’ babbehs!” His mummah shook her head, pale gold hair shaking loose from the messy bun on her head. “No sweetie, you never had any special lumps from the time I picked you up.” That couldn’t be true! He remembered having them! He… did he? Had he ever seen them before? No, he remembered feeling them! Didn’t he? But his mummah said that he didn’t have them! She wouldn’t lie!
The unicorn trembled slightly as his mummah stroked his mane. “It’s alright, without lumps you are still Mare, my darling little fluffy.” Mare cooed softly, a deep sense of loss still in his gut. He felt incomplete, but he couldn’t explain why, he never had lumps after all. His panic subsided, he played with his mummah, feeling a tightness in his groin each time he stretched a bit too far.
—————————————————————
Mare began to plump up as the weeks wore on. His once gaunt frame had grown plump with fat and muscle as he ate and played. His coat had grown glossier, his chipped and cracked hooves began to mend, and his mane now glittered in the light that filtered through his saferoom windows. His days consisted of laughing, playing, and snoozing, the life Hasbio had intended when they first began splicing DNA together all those years ago. He even got to go to the park every other weekend, a small playground that was in his mummah’s neighborhood, and she would play with him all day, pushing him on the swing, catching him when he went down the slide. Those were the days he looked forwards to the most.
Rearing up on his hind legs, mare strained, managing to put the last block on the stack. A tower 5 blocks tall, a new record for the pony. Sitting back on his haunches he admired his art. Naturally smarter than most fluffies, he had even made sure to line the colors up on all the sides. The tower soared into the sky, filling him with an immense sense of pride. He needed to show his mummah, she would be so very proud of him!
“Mummah! Come wook! Come wook!”
Excitedly Mare whirled around in circles, narrowly avoiding knocking the tower over. He stopped and crouched, butt in the air, as he listened. There it was, the delicate footsteps of his mummah as she approached the safe room, Mare’s sensitive hearing able to pick out the sounds of creaking floorboards as she climbed the steps. He crouched beside the door in preparation, tackling her leg with a hug as she opened the door, clad once again in a bath robe so white it practically glowed in the sunlight gleaming through the large bay windows.
“MUMMAH! Wub!” Mare nuzzled against her leg, cooing happily, her shaved leg prickly against his cheek. He felt her softly stroke his head, rubbing his horn with her thumb. “What did you need dear?”
Trotting over to his stack, Mare sat next to it proudly, puffing out his chest as his mummah gave a small round of applause. “Five? Wow Mare you are so good at stacking blocks!” The rush of endorphins Mare received would be equivalent to a hit of heroin in a human. His tail wagged even harder than before, the long glossy strands wrapping around the bottom of the stack and pulling the tower down, sending blocks in all directions.
Before the pony could react his mummah was next to him, soothing him with gentle strokes to his mane. “It’s okay Mare, blocks are meant to be stacked just as much as they are meant to fall down.” Mare still sniffled, his momentous achievement now undone. “I know what will make you feel better… what if we made tonight a sketti night!”
Mare bounded to his feet excitedly. “WEAWWY!?!” His mummah smiled, her toothy grin covering most of her face. “Really! Clean up your blockies and I’ll go make you some.” Mare nodded enthusiastically, beginning to nudge a block over towards the toy chest. It was hard work, but he managed to nose all the blocks to the chest, just managing to lift the last one into the box when his mummah returned, spaghetti bowl in hand.
————————————————————-
Mate didn’t remember much after that. He could still taste the tang of marinara on his breath, still feel a bit of basil caught in his teeth. But he had no memory of eating the sketties. Mate attempted to rise to his hooves, stumbling and landing on his belly, sending a shooting pain through his body. “OWWIES!”
His tummy felt wrong, taught, prickly. But the nightlight’s dull glow was not enough to make any discoveries. It was only barely bright enough for him to navigate his way to the water dish, his lapping echoing off the walls of the quiet room. Once more his eyelids grew heavy as Mare stumbled his way back to his bed, nestling into the stuffy pile.
—————————————————————
Mare woke once more, stretching his leggies straight in the air to shake the sleepiness from his body. He rose to his hooves, trotting over to his letterbox to make good peepees. Stepping into the clay litter, he lifted his leg to pee. It was gone.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
Mare raced around the room, urine dribbling from his backside onto the plastic sheeting of the saferoom. His mummah came into the room, deadpan face in full force. “What’s going on? Are you hurt?” Mare thrashed around, grasping at his crotch. “MUMMAH HEWP!”
In two strides his mummah had swooped him up, gently restraining the pony so he couldn’t hurt himself. “Shhhh shhhh, it’s okay, it’s okay. What’s wrong?”The gentle beat of his mummah’s heart quickly began to soothe the unicorn, but he remained short of breath. “Mummah… huff- nu can find- cough Fwuffy nu can- WHEEZE nu can find nu-nu stick!”
His mummah looked at him like he was crazy. “Dear, you’ve never had a no-no stick from the first time I met you. Are you okay? Do we need to go to the vet?”
What was his mummah talking about? He was a stallion! Stallions have no-no sticks! And special lumps! But… he didn’t have either now. Had he lost them somehow? No, his mummah said he never had them. But he remembered having them both! His mummah wouldn’t lie though, she was his mummah after all!
Seeing the confusion on her fluffies face, Mares mummah pulled out the black talkie box she always carried with her. “You know what pictures are right?” She showed him a photo, one that a kind neighbor had taken of them on their first trip to the park! Made remembered it especially well because she bought him some cold nummies called ice cream. In the photo, his mummah held him like a baby, showing his full belly and… no no-no stick.
This didn’t make sense. Mare was sure he was a stallion, his fluffy mummah had called him her “wastest babbeh cowt” just as she called his sissy her “wastest babbeh fiwwy”. He began to tremble. His head began to swim, and his tummy began to churn. “Mummah, Mawe nu fee’ gud, tummy jab’ sickies, head hab huwRGGGGGHHHH”
Mate vomited, his Mummah artfully angling his head so that his vomit only splattered against the ground and not her clothes. “Oh dear, you ARE sick!” Stepping over the puddle Mare’s mummah placed him in his beddie, tucking him under his blanket and placing his favorite stuffy friend in his arms. “Just stay here and rest dear, I’ll clean up the ‘sickie wawas’ and get you some medicine.” Mare nodded, gripping the pink bear stuffy tightly. His head hurt and he wasn’t sure what was real anymore. Something felt very wrong, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.
—————————————————————
Mare’s life had returned to normalcy. Somewhat. Every morning he checked himself in the small, fluffy safe mirror his mummah had put in his room at his request. He checked himself to see if anything else had disappeared. First his horn, then his mane, his see places, his leggies, his tail, even his poopie place. He was terrified of losing things, and not just body parts.
Finishing his mirror routine, Mare fastidiously checked his stuffy friends. Pinky Bear, Cinnamummah, Mr. Monkey, Froggy, Star, and Miss Llama, all accounted for. He ran to his toy box. He couldn’t exactly count all the blockies, balls, and other things, but seeing the piles as big as they should be filled him with a sense of relief. His checks done, Mare began to play again. He stacked his blockies in a triangle, three on the bottom, then two, then one. He didn’t know how many that was in total, but it was a lot. But just making the tower wasn’t the point of the game.
Trotting over to the other side of the room, he lined up his big red rubber ball. Then, taking his position, he reared up on his back legs and kicked with all his might. The wind was slightly knocked out of him as his belly hit the floor, but the ball went rocketing off into the tower, knocking it down entirely. Mare giddily clapped his hooves together, he’d knocked down more blocks than he could count! He loved this game.
A soft knock on the door announced his mummah’s presence, Mare turning excitedly to see her holding his walking harness. “Mare dear, do you want to go to the park?” Nodding enthusiastically the stallion ran towards his mummah, tail furiously wagging. “Wub pawkies! Wub mummah!”
Mare assumed the upsies pose, patiently waiting as his mummah buckled the harness around him, clipping a leash to the clip on the back. The two took off towards the park, Mare practically bouncing with each step.
—————————————————————
Mare ran up and down the textured incline of the playgrounds main structure, enjoying the clicking the plastic made agains his hooves. His mummah sat on a nearby bench, watching him from behind a set of large sunglasses.
“Nyu fwen?”
Mare turned around in surprise to see a feral fluffy, a pink and white valentines special. Her mane was greasy, her fluff dirty, but still she was beautiful, at least in Mare’s eyes. “Hewwo! Fwuffy name am Mawe!” The pegasus giggled, her wings fluttering. “Dat am siwwy namesies!” Mare felt shame for some reason, shame that turned to indignation. “NU-UH! Mummah gabe Mawe namesie, am bestest namesie!”
The pegasus flinched, cowering a bit. “Nu yeww!” She stopped, looking down at the ground for a few seconds in contemplation. “Peaches am sowwy fow cawwin’ namesie siwwy…” the mares apology brought on a bout of shame in Mare too. “Am sowwy fow yeww, nu am nice to yeww.” Peaches held out her leggies for a hug, which Mare returned. “Wan pway?”
The two fluffies played for a while, running up and down the playground finding new things to do. After tiring themselves out, the two curled up together in a fluffpile under a nearby willow, the drooping branches forming a perfect spot for a midday nap. Mare made sure his mummah could see him, her giving him a big smile once she saw his face. Mare turned to the dozing pegasus, nuzzling her face with his own.
“Wan be spechuw fwen?”
Peaches looked at Mare with surprise, then quizzically. “Fwuffy am mawe, nu am stawwion. How hab spechul huggies?”
Mare felt his face flush with embarrassment, then rage. “FWUFFY AM STAWWION!” He jumped to his feet angrily. Peaches leaned her head down and looked beneath Mare, a quick glance confirming what she had already noticed. “Fwuffy nu hab nu-nu stick.” She returned her gaze to his face. “Nu hab nu-nu stick, nu can hab spechul huggies. Nu can be Peaches spechul fwen.” She yawned. “Fwuffy am Mawe, nu am stawwion.”
Mare’s face burned with indignation and embarrassment. He knew she was right. The whole point of a special friend was to have babbehs. And he couldn’t. How could he be a special friend if he couldn’t give special huggies? The logic didn’t make it hurt any less.
Mare began to cry. Peaches, seeing tears in her new friend’s eyes quickly tried to offer huggies of comfort, but Mare raced away. “MUMMAH!”
His mummah was already waiting, a tissue in hand. “Mare what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
“MUMMAH! Mawe hab WOWSTEST heawt huwties!” The pony was not mentally equipped enough to explain why his heart hurt so bad, only able to sob and sniffle as his mummah wiped the tears and snot, careful to keep him from smearing fluids on her blouse. He did attempt to explain it, how he was a stallion but he had nothing a stallion had, how he could never be a special friend, never be a daddeh, all his worries and pains spilling out in a jumbled mess as his mummah wiped his tears, her face expressionless. “Poor baby, let me go and talk to her! The nerve… special friends are about more than just babies!”
After clipping his leash on his harness and tying it to the bench, Mares Mummah pulled something out of her purse and walked over to the stand of willow trees Peaches huddled under. Mare couldn’t hear the two talking, but watched as Mummah ruffled the pegasus’ mane, giving the mare a small red treat, which was hungrily gobbled down.
Mare was still huu-huuing as his Mummah returned. “She says she’s sorry, but she really wants to have babies.” She shook her head sadly as she lifted Mare into her arms, cradling him while she untied him from the bench. “Buh… buh mawe wan’ a spechul fwen… MAWE WAN A SPECHUL FWEN! WAN SPECHUL HUGGIES, AN BABBEHS, AN…”
Mare’s mummah placed him on the soft rubber gravel of the playground as the unicorn thrashed around, throwing a tantrum. She waited for him to run out of steam. Already tired from the day of playing, it didn’t take long. “Mawe… Mawe wan nu-nu stick, nee’ nu-nu stick.” His mummah shook her head sadly. “Mare… I wish I could help you, but that’s just not how things work.” Mare knew. He may be a fluffy but he knew that simple fact of life. He curled into a tight ball and began to sob again. “I can’t give you a no-no stick… but I can at least give you spaghetti tonight! Would you like that?”
Mare sniffled, giving her a short nod in the affirmative. Mummah carried him the whole way home, mare cheering up considerably as she kept tickling him every so often. By the time he got home he had nearly forgotten about the pegasus who lay dead beneath the willows.
—————————————————————
Mare awoke, his hind feeling sore and tender. His back leggies were brushing up against a strange mass which made it difficult for him to stand. Walking only exacerbated the pain, but given that he could still stand, he hadn’t lost any leggies. A quick swish confirmed his tail was still there, and he had nothing else back there to lose, so he wasn’t worried about that. His only concern was slaking his thirst, gulping down mouthfuls of the fresh mineral water his mummah had poured into his feeder.
Thirst successfully quenched, he began to walk back to his beddie, hooves dragging slightly against the plastic sheeting of the saferoom floor. He froze in place, staring at his reflection in the mirror in shock, horror, and confusion. He had milkie places.
“SCREEEEEEEE- MUMMAH!!”
Mare didn’t even hear his mummah coming up the stairs when she burst through the door, a look of concern on her face. “Dear what’s wrong? Why are you screaming?”
“MAWE HAB MIWKIE PWACES!”
The look of concern fell away, replaced by a smile that showed almost all her teeth. “Of course dear, all mares have milkie places!” Mare looked at his mummah with shock and confusion. “Buh Mawe am stawwion! Nu am mawe!” Even the limited intellect of the unicorn was able to realize the contradiction in his statement. “Mawe namesies am Mawe, nu am mawe- nu am Mawe? Namesies am Mawe bu’ nu am mawe…”
“Oh dear, is this about your name? I know I shouldn’t have just called you mare all this time.” His mummah crouched down next to him, softly running her fingers through his mane. “Mare was never your name, it’s just a general term for girl fluffies.” The unicorn felt his heart drop through his stomach as his mummah continued, looking in her compact before looking at him with a sad face. “I’m sorry honey I’ve been trying to think of one for you but you’re just such a special fluffy I wanted to find the perfect name!”
Mare had reached their breaking point. They didn’t know what was going on, they were a stallion! But… he didn’t have a no-no stick or special lumps, he had milkie places and a special place, but he was sure he was a stallion, but he couldn’t be could he? His name was Mare! But… his mummah said she hadn’t named him? Had she really just been calling him A mare? No of course she had named him, he was sure of it… right?
Mare… was that his name? His vision swam and he stumbled, his psyche beginning to fracture. Suddenly he felt his mummah’s presence. She was sitting next to him, pulling him in as she sat cross legged on the ground, settling him into her lap. She gently put her hands on his cheeks, forcing the fluffy to look into her eyes. “It’s okay dear, it’s okay, mommy is here.” The fluffy felt safe, even as he could feel his world crumbling. Her fingers twirled through the ponies mane as she stroked his head, the fluffy desperately leaning into it in an attempt to extract comfort.
“I finally picked out the perfect name for you. A beautiful name for a beautiful mare. What do you think about… Brenda?”
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Yvette watched Brenda sleep in his… her… their room from the camera mounted on the ceiling. She had yet to confirm if she had managed to gaslight the pony into believing they had always been female, but it was no matter. It had been a monumental undertaking, but she had been able to successfully perform an orchiectomy, penectomy, vaginoplasty, and breast augmentation on a fluffy. While most people would find this a triumph of abuse or a great option for dealing with fluffy gender dysphoria, Yvette had other motivations.
Namely, she was bored and had the skills to do so. Caring for the fluffy was simple enough, twenty minutes of interaction in the morning, forty five in the afternoon, an hour in the evening, and a visit to the park every weekend was plenty of human attention, as long as they had plenty of toys to play with when the owner was gone. As long as she made a marginally appropriate face, the fluffy trusted her implicitly. And drugging the fluffy was easy enough, the powdered sedatives blended in perfectly with the powdered Parmesan cheese. After that, a quick trip to her basement operating theater and she would perform that days scheduled operation. The drugs she would put in the water ensured the fluffy would stay asleep during the healing period, which luckily only lasted a day. The healing capabilities of a fluffy were not to be underestimated.
Yvette planned to keep Brenda around for a while. Perhaps she would see about trying to implant a womb into them, or maybe remove the horn and transplant a pair of wings. She would have to give the fluffy a long while before a new procedure, this was the furthest she’d gotten with body modification without triggering the ‘Wan Die’ loop. Most stallions couldn’t handle the loss of their manhood, let alone the labioplasty.
Leaning back in her office chair, she updated her website to offer the services, before turning and going into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of mineral water. By the time she returned she already had four emails requesting various operations. There was never a better time to be a fluffy based surgeon.
