Art provided by @ambitiousleather8309
Beth was a whore. She was aware of this fact, and no force on heaven or earth could change how she felt about that. No, pretty names for such ugly, low grade work would not wipe the taste of a stranger from her mouth, and she was aware. She was not an ‘escort’, ‘exotic masseuse’ or ‘lady of the night’. No such pageantry was necessary to explain her secondary (and unfortunately, largest) source of income. She got fucked, filled, and tossed away without a care, and it was simple as that. Treating it as such helped the ‘medicine’ go down, as it were.
Most of her precious daylight hours were spent on a mundane slog through the upper echelons of private education, and most nights were a lamentable haze, face down in a different stained mattress that had long forgotten its original shade.
There was, however, one time of the evening that she smiled for. Every other day she would show up to a seedy motel, graffiti stained apartment, or piss soaked alleyway for her ‘shift’ to cover her extortionate tuition with a grimace, but not on Sunday; Sundays belonged to him: Mr. Lemur.
Sunday came, as it always promised it would, and the 19 year old stepped off of the beaten down old evening bus. The cigarette puffing driver tightened his porcine squint at the girl in the rear view mirror as she got up and walked off.
A brown trench coat was all that covered the torn fishnets and second hand Victoria’s secret that clung to her weary and thin body.
“…ugh…” he always sighed as she stepped off with fluffy in tow.
She walked in the temperate summer eve and drank in the auralian glow against her back as her heels clacked upon cobble and stone, and all the while, a cyan mare with silver mane followed close behind with a bright yellow, high visibility vest on.
Upon one side of the vest read as such: “S.A.F.E. Fluffy”. And the other read: “Therapy fluffy on the job! Please don’t distract me.”.
Beth walked, with a steady pace until she came to her destination. Before her was a set of black iron bars, bathed in an awashment of vine and rust. She peered through the onyx grating and smiled at the one lit room in the otherwise decrepit manor. Mr. Lemur was home.
“Am yew feewin otay, Mummah?” Lollypop inquired as she pawed at her owner’s coat.
“I will be…” she smiled weakly, eyes ever transfixed on the silhouette in the window.
The old gate creeked and whined, but subsided to Beth’s touch, and soon, she found herself at the front door. With the press of an ivory button, the ringer let loose its tone. Beth reached into her pocket and produced an old, grubby, and well worn key of antiquity and inserted it with the confidence of one who had passed this threshold a hundred fold.
“Why mummah pwess wingies button ib hab key?” Lollypop asked.
“…He likes it when I do that…” she said with a sigh, her body visibly more lax than before.
The door opened with a groan and the stench of dust, cigar smoke, and polished shoes bombarded the young woman and mare.
They walked down the hallway and followed the single light that emanated from the study. Inside was a collection of dusty tomes within bookcases, a grandfather clock of immaculate design, and a matching settee and armchair, both awash in the glow of the crackling fire that they faced.
“I knew you’d be back, you couldn’t get enough of me, eh?” a sultry and dignified voice called out softly with a chuckle.
“You know me too well.” Beth replied. “May I use the restroom?” the young woman inquired, to which a sturdy but assuring, “Yes, as always.” confirmed.
Beth vanished into the unlit and gloom bathed halls, leaving her faux-equine to stare nervously at the armchair from which the deep and gravely voiced called out.
She gulped in deep and slowly circled the chair. A voice so deep and rough had yo belong to a creature of horror itself.
Before Lollipop was rehabilitated into a therapy fluffy, she was once upon the receiving end of incomprehensible agony. And her partnering with Bethany Pryce was not one of coincidence.
Lollipop had been therapist appointed, from the S.A.F.E. program. The intent of which was to partner those in need of a stabilizing and empathetic presence with a fluffy that had undergone trauma not unlike their own. Beth had only had Lollipop since Monday, but already she felt a kinship with the ex-enfie mare, and so too was the feeling mutual.
Lollypop was unsure of the man ahead of her. She circled him slowly, until he came into view, and as he did, she felt less threatened by him, although still weary.
He was an old man, 97 years old; adorned in a beige tweed jacket, brown shooting trousers, and riding boots that had most likely not felt the stirrups of a saddle in at least 40 years.
His complexion was dignified and withered, like a sandstone structure, slowly eroding to the winds of time.
His ethnic makeup was an oddity. In some lights he appeared just as Caucasian as Bethany herself, in other angles he appeared vaguely latin, possibly something different altogether. But his eyes were that of a young boy, bright and everlasting. Regardless of the frame, they were the silver irises of one who had still not tired of life.
His silvery and inquisitive gaze fell upon the mare, he smiled in such a way that felt like an invitation. One to which the mare stepped forth with a tentative gait.
“Welcome.” he spoke with confidence.
“N-n-nu am s-sposed tu tawkies… Am thew-ah-pee fwuffy.” Lollypop explained.
“Very well, then I will speak to you, and you will not speak back.” he nodded sagely.
“Come, come sit beside me.” he requested, to which the therapy mare did as asked.
“You are very privileged… and burdened… aren’t you?” he added, “But, that is what love is, isn’t it? The privilege to bear another’s weight without acknowledgement or reward”.
He reached into a ceramic bowl and unwrapped a small sherbert lemon.
“If nothing else, I acknowledge what you do for Bethany. Do not think I fail to.” he added as he gently placed the sweet treat betwixt her hooves
Lollypop had no inkling as to what the old man was talking about. Partially, she thought that his mind may simply be fading from old age. She had seen her fill of that in many of the elderly fluffies at S.A.F.E.
“Mr. Lemur, I’m back.” Beth said as she entered into the study with a sense of familiar comfort. Her coat was gone, and in place was a gentleman’s silk night gown, several sizes too large, and embroidered upon the breast were the guilded initials “A.L”.
“What should it be today?” Beth asked.
“The bookshelves, if you don’t mind, dear.” he requested.
“Of course, dear.” she replied as one would to a life long lover.
She opened a cupboard beside the grandfather clock and produced an antique duster, ostrich feather and all.
Lollypop watched as her owner moved from case to case, brushing away the entropic debris with the expertly calculated flick of her wrist and an expression tucked into the corners of her lips that she had nary seen before.
“Mummah, wy yew cweanies owd hoomin housie?” she inquired.
“Because it makes him happy.” she replied as a matter of fact.
“Can Wow-eh-pop hewp?” she asked.
Suddenly, Beth turned to her sitting companion, to which he chuckled lightly, lurching forward and resting his head on the intricately ornate handle of his cane.
“I don’t see why not… Tell you what, my back hurts and I can’t bend to the very bottom. I’d appreciate it if you covered that lot.” she requested.
“OTAY!” Lollypop beamed as she ran up, spun herself around and began using her tail as something of a natural duster, humming to herself all the while.
“What a shame. That was my favourite part.” Mr. Lemur noted playfully with a shrug.
“That’s enough out of you, dear.” Beth replied playfully, to which he simply smiled, got up, and put the record player on. There was a light pop, a soft crackling, and then… music, sweet and pure music. It was an anthem to yesteryear, to a world that Beth had only seen in black and white pictures, captured and preserved now only in the memory of celluloid.
For a man of his advanced age, Mr. Lemur was surprisingly spry. He sauntered up to Beth and threw his cane over his elbow. The jazz played on as she looked him up and down, before taking his hand in a smile.
Lollypop watched as Bethany and the old man embraced in a slow and sincere set of steps across the bear skin rug.
Mr. Lemur and Beth began to talk of things that made no sense to the little mare. He told of how he never missed being a ‘Tommy’, but did miss the others.
Lollypop thought about S.A.F.E., and how many other Lollypop’s there were at the rehabilitation center. She assumed that Mr. Lemur had an equally common name, at least for a human.
He then asked Beth about her education, to which she replied that it was going well, and that she had taken a shine to her professor, or more possibly, he may be taking a shine to her.
“You should be careful around older men, dear.” he smiled with all the cheek and playfulness of a teenager. “Delicate flower that you are.”.
“I’m not that delicate, and I am thoroughly picked.” she replied softly as she rested her head upon his shoulder.
Lollypop didn’t know what they were talking about. Her mother wasn’t a flower, although she was very beautiful like one. She did understand one thing though, she did understand what it had felt like to be used, it’s why they were paired together after all.
Lollypop called Beth ‘mummah’ more out of obligation or habit than anything else, but in truth, that was her sister, dancing with the old man by the fire.
A sisterhood born from the tears that they had shed together. The worst of which were always in the the shower, after Beth would be finished with a ‘John’.
For a solid week, she had seen the aftermath of Beth’s secondary career, and it killed her inside. John, after John, after John. Every location: a horror story. Every time: the sounds of rhythmic thumping and strained grunts. And every time Lollypop was without recourse but to listen, wait, and eventually watch as a smelly, mean, gross human stallion walked out with a smile, and then she would trot upstairs to help put her sister back together again, every time.
She watched the dance, her mind returning to the warmth of the ‘now’, rather than the ‘then’. She had never seen Beth smile quite like this. She giggled as Mr. Lemur spun her lightly, her borrowed silken gown unfurling with the spin at her knees like a blooming bell flower.
“Would you be so kind to follow me to bed?” Mr. Lemur requested.
“My, so forward.” she smiled, before taking him by the hand and guiding him from the room.
Lollypop sat and braced herself. She curled into a ball upon the bear skin rug and covered her ears. She knew it, she always knew. No matter how happy she looked with him, he was just another John. She waited for the pained grunts and rhythmic thuds, but nothing came. In an odd sort of way, it at least confirmed her owner to be alive: a fear that was not unfounded, one that came about from the three times this week alone that Beth would walk down a John’s stairs with new bruises, ugly bruises, in places there ought never to be.
And so, in a morbid way, silence was terror itself for the little mare.
She paced and paced, dusted shelves, stared at the pretty old pictures of nice looking young men, and sang to herself to keep the images in her head at bay.
Eventually, even the music player turned against the mare as it repeated a singular phrase from Vera Lynn’s iconic track.
“Some sunny day-, some sunny day- some sunny day-, some sunny day-, some sunny day-.”.
Eventually, she could take no more of the crippling fear of the unknown.
She swallowed the thumping of her anxious heart and waddled up the steep steps until Lollypop came to a beam of dim yellow light that escaped from the bedroom. She peered her eye through and watched as her owner slept peacefully, hand and fingers locked with Mr. Lemur. No painful grunts, no bruises, no tears in the shower to follow; just peace, and safety.
Lollypop awoke as the natural beam of golden light from the hallway window struck her eyelids. It appeared that she had fallen into slumber from where she had watched all night, keeping guard.
Bethany had just stepped into the shower as the mare yawned. She followed the rain like pattering, expecting to hear the now all too familiar sob of another job done, but no, there was nothing but more sweet music.
“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when, but I’ll know we’ll meet again, some sunny dayyy~.”.
Bethany got out and swapped into her college appropriate attire. Her contacts were changed out for thick rimmed glasses, her scantily set attire for a ratty old sweater and jeans, and her heels for mismatched socks and a set of trainers that had long since forgotten their paleness.
She tied her beautiful locks back into a bun, grabbed her bag, and poured Lemur a coffee; Whole milk, dash of cocoa powder, two sugars, a quarter teaspoon of honey, just the way he liked it.
She awoke the old man with a gentle stroke of his bearded chin and left his drink by the nightstand.
Lollypop watched as he took her hand and gave it the softest of kisses, before reaching into his nightstand drawer and handing her a handsome sum of money.
Lollypop didn’t truly understand the importance of why her owner put herself through so much just to acquire this paper, but she hoped that such a large amount would make her happy.
When they got some distance from the manor, on their way to the bus stop, Lollypop walked beside her owner and nudged her lightly.
“Mummah, wy do aww dat?” she asked.
“All of what?” Beth said.
“Dancies, a-an singies, an sweepies. I’d am su… Nu wike udda timsies.” she said.
“Because it makes me feel clean.” Beth smiled as she sat at the unpopulated bus stop.
“Siwwy mummah, yew nu stimkies ow diwties… Yew hab showew.” Lollypop tried to innocently console.
“No I’m not. It’s all behind you now, Lollypop. And I’m happy for you. But I’m still a whore, an ‘enfie mare’.” she sighed.
“Nu am nut! Am bestest fwend Wow-eh-pop ebah hab! Nu saysie dat bout sewf, EBAH!” Lollypop begged as she jumped up onto her owner’s lap.
“I can live with it for a little while. Because I’ve got you, and him.” Beth smiled through watery eyes.
“Wy owd hoomin meansie su muchies?” Lollypop asked, half pouting and genuinely confused.
“Because he’s good to me. He’s like… A magic window into a different world, he’s kind, he’s gentle, he’s wise… I love him, he’s my soul mate.” she smiled so assuredly.
“Owd mistah nu am dat speshew.” Lollypop huffed with a twinge of protectiveness and jealousy.
“Oh yes he is. He flew and crashed plans over enemy lines, he’s explored jungles and got poisoned by snakes, he has loved and lost everyone he ever knew, he’s dragged himself through blood coated battlefields, covered in barbed wire and shrapnel. and look at him… he’s still so kind… despite it all, he’s still so kind.”.
“Weww, himb du soundies bwave, Wow-eh-pop guessie…” the mare was forced to admit with a defeated grumble.
“And I want to be like him. Because if he can do it, if the world can chew him up and spit him out as much as it wants and he’s still so kind at the end, then I can be too.” she said as she held the mare’s face to hers, nose to nose in comforting embrace. “But not on Sundays, because on Sundays he teaches me how to be brave. On Sundays, I’m all his… and myself.”.
“Wow-eh-pop wub yew, mummah.” the confused little mare replied, utterly unsure of what to say to words that made no sense to her, but felt so important nonetheless.
“I love you too, Lollypop.” Beth smiled as she wiped the tears from herself with the sleeve of her sweater. “Let’s get you a fluffuccino before class starts, yeah?”.
“Hehehe, Yeh!”.
-The End-
