You sit back in your chair as the small pill dissolves under your tongue, and think how fast last year has passed. Starting hormones and meeting so many cool people, people who somehow knew this was your first anniversary on hormones, friends that care that much about you, and keep track. They even said they were going to throw you a party tonight! You spin on your chair to face the closet, then rise and walk to the closet door, opening it before digging through the hangers. Several black band shirts from bands you never really listened to still occupy one end of the closet. Solid colored tops and jeans slide past your view as you pull each item to the middle before dismissing it to the far end, to join the old shirts you haven't tossed out yet, for some reason. A gray and green patterned top catches your eye; that one gets pulled out and tossed to the bed. A black mid-length skirt soon follows, before a blue dress catches your eye.
A bead of sweat drips down your forehead into your eye. Groaning, you wipe it away, like you have been all day. The deep forest was significantly thicker and deeper than you had expected. Even though the sun almost never reaches the ground, almost all of your journey has been a hot sweaty slog. You ran out of food two days ago, and now as you upend your waterskin, you find you are out of water too. That realization makes you slump forward in despair. You haven't seen anything even as substantial as a stream in days.
Your phone buzzes with a new text message. You know from the pattern that it's Adrienne messaging you from thirty feet away again. You read the message after logging into your phone: 'Hey love, I finally finished it! You should come soon!' She must have finished another of her devices she is always tinkering with. Leaning back in your chair, you think about a response for a moment then send 'You mean I should come down to the basement?'
“Coming!” You yell, to whoever is knocking at your door. Your phone says it's almost three, and you are expecting your friend Sarah to visit today. Sarah is, as a matter of fact standing in the hallway of your apartment building. She walks in and slips off her tennis shoes next to yours. The muscular woman hands you her purse “I just need to freshen up, I have a few jars of weed in there if you want to pack one.” You nod, taking the bag to the living room as Sarah walks through the kitchen.
You look at the hand written directions. Is that a 23 or a 25? Damn it, why did they say to leave your phone at home and write the directions by hand? That's a bit paranoid even for this. Shaking your head you turn left. “Twenty three it is.” You say to no one in particular. The rolling grassland melts along. Speckled with the occasional house far off in the distance. 'Only house on Barnstorm Road' Simple enough, though it's two boring more hours until you find the turn and you can't see a house in the distance at all. Pushing forward you speed on down the road, figuring if there is only one house you might as well take it at 100 miles an hour.
The rain is coming down unusually hard tonight. You tighten your cloak as wait at the door. The least they could have done is let you wait inside, while they see if the Boroughmaster will see you. It doesn't seem like many people have been interested in the Boroughmaster's offer. Even the tavern keep scoffed once he heard why you were here. You thought he was just a prick, but now you are starting to doubt the whole thing. The idea of going back to the tavern and waiting the rain out starts to sound appealing.
You lean back in your chair and finish the club soda you were nursing. The current show on stage is going well, the domme is painting up her pony sub in a coat of slick looking black liquid latex. The two seem to be having fun and soon the pony is led through the crowd. As the pony softly squeaks through the crowd, you admire the slick sheen on the pony's ass. She seems quite pleased as her hips give the tail plus a degree of sway back and forth.
The wind whips at your face, and you pull your cloak closer. It does little to warm you for the chill feels like it bites at your very soul. Even if the innkeep was only trying to get another customer with that silly story, waiting until daybreak may have been the better idea. It's far too late to worry about that now though, and if you press on and keep to the river you should reach Breyton before three bells. Don't travel at night here, stay on the road, he said. Take the coach or many friends to go to Breyton. You grumble and try to warm your arms, the growing clouds come with blasts of cold air.
The bus slows as it reaches your stop, and your legs ache as you rise from the seat. Last week was rough on them and you are still a little sore. The line of street lamps leads off toward the lone occupied warehouse, long converted into the club. The line to get in enters the edge of your vision as you approach the former warehouse. Stopping for a moment, you decide to skip the entrance and you catch the smirk of the bouncer as you pass by the entrance and continue to the far side of the building.
Waking up, you can't help but grin. The calendar has been marked with 'Pony Event' since the turn of the month. Last time was fun, and you are pretty sure that I got another can of that liquid latex. The day drags on agonizingly though, the minutes tick slower and slower. By the time that you finish your chores it's early after-noon and still far too early to go. That doesn't stop you from poking around in the closet, finding a box in my name. Shaking it gently, it rattles like a jar or bottle, with a gentle liquid shifting inside.