Mama's Love Hurts - by Anonymous

>Aw, shit. >You are Anonymous, coming back to school after two days of being out with the stomach flu. >Shit sucks hard. Diarrhea, cramps, and vomiting into the bedside barf bowl occupied the majority of your time. >But it wasn’t all bad. >Vidya and the Internet helped pass the hours, as they always seemed capable of doing. >Perhaps the nicest thing was when Sunset Shimmer came over unannounced, bringing some homemade herbal tea that was supposed to help strengthen the immune system and assist in flushing out any bad bugs that slipped between the cracks of your cell walls. >Considering your cell phone’s damaged state (slipping out of your pocket into a school toilet bowl, which might have been why you got sick in the first place), it wasn’t like she could give you a heads up anyway. >She got your address from Pinkie Pie, who sent her along with balloons and a get-well-soon card signed by her, Rainbow Dash, Applejack, Rarity, and Fluttershy. >Good ol’ Ponk and the girls. >You were concerned about Sunset possibly contracting the ailment, and admittedly more concerned about the smell of barf floating around your room. >But she was totally chill, visiting for a few hours to chat and even staying for a couple rounds of gaming. >Unfortunately, the downside of being out of commission meant missing the history lectures of Mr. Cranky Doodle, who rather disliked absentees, and any other homework that piled up – yes, piled up – within the span of two days. >Oh well, time to play catch-up. >The halls were empty around you; Cranky really rode you on missing his lessons, so you didn’t mind taking some extra time during free period to recover. >Besides, next class was Psychology. >Pfft. Psychology. >As you finished exchanging textbooks in your green locker, Locker #404, and closed the thin metal door, one more thought occurred to you. >You should probably find her, and let her know why you were- >You turned around and found your vision jolted by impact. >A sharp, violent pain exploded in your cheek. >A resounding slap. >Before you could turn your head, a second burst of pain exploded on the opposite cheek, twisting your vision to the left. >A knuckle-cracking backhand. >Holy fucking moly, stars everywhere. >The textbooks dropped out of your hand, flopping open with a papery thud. >Your body was shoved back against the lockers, the whole wall of them shaking against the collision. >You tried to regain sight of what was happening. >Suddenly in your face was the visage of a lion, teeth bared, mane bristling. >“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE?!” >While your vision shed its blurriness, the ringing in your ears did not let up. >Your startled brain had made a misfire between synapses. >This was no lion cornering you on a safari gone wrong. >This was Adagio Dazzle, your girlfriend for the last three weeks. >The same one you had yet to inform of your absence. >With the expression she was currently wearing, you felt none the safer than if it were the king of the jungle himself. “A-Adagio?” >You hadn’t even heard her approach. >You just turned around and WHAM. >Your hands crept up to your face, gingerly touching the stinging, swelling meat of your cheeks. “Christ Almighty, what the fuck did you just…” >“You scumbag. You babbling, brainless fucking scumbag. Where have you been?” >She gripped your forehead and slammed your head back. >Your scalp scraped against the cold metal hinges of your locker. >Any personal space still in reserve between the two of you was cut off. >Adagio’s entire form seemed to be pressing against you, pinning you to the spot; her shoulders were tense, and every curl and strand of her supple, prizewinning hair flared up, filling your vision with outraged orange. “Adagio… That hurt...” >“Did it?” she wondered, turning your head this way and that as if inspecting you. >The ringing in your head was dying down, but the sudden onset of adrenaline sure wasn’t. >What in the living fuck was going on? >You grabbed her pink-gloved hand and yanked it off your forehead, pushing her a step back. “What the- What the hell was that for?!” >She fixated her countenance on you. >There, in her eyes, lay something that made your thoughts trip. >It was like… >It was almost like…menace. True menace. >Like you murdered someone near and dear to her before her very eyes. >You must have seriously fucked up somewhere for her to look like this. >That would explain it. You considered yourself to be a Grade A screw-up, and have missed many a social cue. >But you couldn’t think of a single reason why you were just assaulted by your inexplicably enraged girlfriend. >Adagio’s face was twisted up tightly, as on edge as a waterfall. >“Where have you been, Anonymous?” she breathed. “You weren’t here Tuesday. You weren’t here yesterday. You weren’t at Sugarcube Malt Shop, you weren’t at the park, you weren’t at the library, and you weren’t at the video arcade.” >Fucking seriously? >That’s what earned you a double-sided bitchslap? “I was at home, Adagio. Home. Where people usually spend most of their time. I was sick with a stomach flu. That’s why I was gone.” >“Home,” she echoed. “Okay. Yes. Home. Stomach flu.” >Yes, that’s the fucking story. >“So tell me, do stomach flus make people lose their fingers now? Do they make them blind, deaf, and dumb?” “What?” >She whipped out her sleek purple cell phone, embroidered with her signature yellow diamond and clef, holding it up to show you. >“Why didn’t you answer your phone, Anon? I called you. I texted you. I left you voicemail. But my boyfriend seemed to have vanished without a trace. My dearest, darling BOYFRIEND-” >She hissed the word through her teeth, punctuating it by slamming the phone against your chest. >”Vanished without a TRACE. No TEXT. No CALL. No RESPONSE. No TRACE.” >The pounding got harder and harder, until you grabbed her wrists and pushed away from the locker wall. >The phone was flung from her hand, clattering on the linoleum tile. “STOP! What’s wrong with you?! You’re acting batshit insane! That hurts! Stop, Adagio!” >You knew from the get-go who Adagio Dazzle was and what she was about. >She and her goons, Aria Blaze and Sonata Dusk, comprised a singing trio known as the Dazzlings, who many of the students here at Canterlot High School were enamored with. >The attractiveness was undeniable; the girls were damn sexy when they sang, imposing upon any room in which they performed a seductiveness that got everyone’s attention. >Especially Adagio. Her hips and hair could mesmerize you into a coma. >It completely took you by surprise when, about a week after they showed up, Adagio approached you after school one day near the west wall of the gymnasium. >She started going on about how you looked lonely, were probably a virgin, how you compared to a guy like Flash Sentry. >Being a complete and total bitch for the sake of being a complete and total bitch, basically. >But then she offered to change all that. >Record scratch double take. >Something about you being different from the others, for not falling so easily. >Falling for what? In line to suck Dazzling dick? >But there the offer stood: You, Anonymous the screw-up, Anonymous the no-life permavirgin, could get with the new top dog (top bitch?) on campus, possibly get laid, and enter the realm of the normals, leading an at least moderately successful life as a halfway-decent human being. >Adagio may have been shallower than a puddle, but you honestly had not a fucking thing to lose. >Including your dignity, if this was some sort of cruel joke (wouldn’t be the first). >So, Howie, I’m gonna have to say… Deal. >For the experience, you told yourself. For the experience. >The offer turned out not to be a joke at all. >In fact, you discovered that Aria and Sonata had no idea what Adagio was doing, and grew quite upset with her when they found out that she had made the two of you an item. >You never came to know them too well; Adagio didn’t really keep them around after that, and while you never particularly wanted to get to know them, she seemed intent on keeping both parties separate. >The spontaneous performances stopped; you had no idea whether they were still the Dazzlings, or whether either of the two backups remained in contact with their leader. >Kind of odd, but, eh, girls in high school. It’s all a fucking mess. >Meanwhile, you were introduced to life at boyfriend-of-the-queen bee status. >All the meatheads and Brads started brofisting you; all the nerds and, well, former yous cast envious glares in your direction. >It didn’t really mean anything to you (okay, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel at least a little gratifying). >However, your friends became worried. >The girls disliked, or rather mistrusted, the Dazzlings since day one. They said the group was causing internal rifts in the student body, creating conflict wherever they sang. >You tried to explain to them your previous school experience, how CHS seemed to be a sort of harmonious anomaly, and how it was basic nature for kids in high school to be in competition. >Besides, you had reasoned, you could handle it if it turned out to be a sham. >You felt a little euphoric saying so, but this relationship was one of the few things you had in your life which you could call an accomplishment. The talks your parents had in the kitchen no longer wafted through the crack of your bedroom door. >The girls were willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, though they continually reminded you that they were there if things went wrong and cautioned about not “forgetting who you are.” >They really did want the best for you, and you loved them for it. They would always be your friends. After all, they were the ones who originally took a chance on such a sadsack chump. >You largely had Sunset Shimmer to thank for that. >It was also Sunset who pointed out the inherent dangers in dating the queen bee, considering she herself had been the previous reigning terror. >There was an even greater amount of danger in dating Adagio Dazzle. Sunset, the first student to meet the Dazzlings, would tell you how they all felt kind of off, but Adagio seemed to be the most cunning and manipulative of the trio. >If manipulation was her plan, she sure did a good job of feigning interest. >Already the two of you had gone to the movie theater, on a dinner date, to some play Adagio had been interested in about two couples getting pissed off over a fight their kids had, and each Friday she asked that you bring her a double-shot espresso from Starcaps. >She also insisted on public displays of affection – handholding, waist grabbing, kisses hello, kisses goodbye, making out, all of which you felt you were doing at least an adequate job on. Yeah, at least adequate. >She pretty much dictated everything that happened (as per her nature), and while you felt a little cheated out of your hard-earned cash, it was better than sitting at home on the computer every Friday night. >You left it up to her as to which direction the relationship took; she initiated it, after all. >True, it lacked a certain kind of spark, a distinct connection, a level of warmth that only comes with…what’s the word…genuineness? >So maybe you didn’t have a lot in common. Adagio seemed more than willing to accept and learn about your interests, even if she was faking it; and in kind, you tried getting into some of the things she liked. Mostly artsy crap about the human psyche, and shopping, and operatic music. >At least you were trying. >Adagio wasn’t easy to like as a person, so it was no wonder you couldn’t connect emotionally. >Although, if honesty was on call here, you liked it when she asserted her presence upon mealy-mouthed meeklings. Her bitchiness had a bemusing charm to it. >You tried to keep this amusement hidden, though. The girls would see you as a monster for such schadenfreude, especially Fluttershy. >Ultimately, though you had no experience to compare it to, the romance hadn’t been all that bad. >Hadn’t been, that is, until now. >Adagio may have been queen, but this shit? >This shit didn’t fly. “You don’t just slap people like that. That really fucking hurt.” >Adagio’s eyes widened. The hatred had been swapped out for a wet sheen. >”I…I’m sorry, Anon,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.” “Yeah, so am I.” >Your hands went up to your face again, dabbing at the wet corner of your mouth. “Look at this. It’s bleeding.” >”You didn’t call me.” “My cell phone was broken. Sue me.” >”House phone?” >Shit. “No.” >”Then?” >Time to admit it. “Well…I don’t have your number memorized.” >Contacts List – a double-edged sword. >The wet sheen disappeared before your very eyes. Her face lost any kind of expression at all, actually. >”890-3432,” she recited bluntly. “That’s my cell.” >”October 1st.” “And my birthday. Okay. You’ve made your point.” >She continued staring at you. The light was gone from her eyes. >An indeterminate feeling was rising inside you now, nagging at you to acknowledge it. >There was something wrong here. There was something fundamentally wrong here. >”Do you love me, Anon?” >Oh Jesus Christ. “I’m not gonna play head games with you, Adagio. Look. You’re hot as hell. You rule the school. You know how to get what you want. All of these things I can admire. I’m grateful you offered me this chance. But this, uh, this isn’t really what I signed up for. I think-“ >A cupped hand swung upward into your groin, slamming the one particular organ neither man nor beast nor weapon should roughhouse. >The accomplice hand covered your mouth, cutting off your yelp. >You doubled over, then found yourself shoved back against the lockers once more. >”Easy, baby. Eeeeaaasy,” Adagio cooed, her chest pressed against yours. >Inside your body screamed like a boiling tea kettle. >The pressure in your lower intestine was unbearable. >Why God? Why? >”Now, I’ll tell you what. I’m feeling particularly loving today, so I’ll forgive you for your slip-up. But, we need to talk about some things that have been brought to my attention.” >Her grip on your testicles tightened ever so slightly. >It was more than enough to get the point across. >”You need to know how and when to contact me. 568-9696. Memorize that number. If you’re going to be late to school, you tell me. If you’re going to be absent, you tell me. If you’re going on vacation, you tell me.” >Her pupils were dilated, her mouth a thin line. >”I need your home phone. I know, I know, I should have gotten it sooner. I’m sorry. You will present it handwritten at lunch.” >You shuddered. Your arms, which had instinctively flown up to the hand that covered your mouth, were trembling. >She pulled the silencing palm away. Your limbs fell limply to your sides. >”What is your home address, Anon?” “P-please let go.” >Squeeze. >Fire. >Red alert. >Eyes beginning to tear up. >”Your address, baby.” ”6245 Green Hills Court.” >Bullshit. Every word. Every number. >”We’ll be walking home after school today.” >Oh, God. Please. Please have mercy. >Adagio’s tight-lipped face took on a more somber, sorrowful façade. >”Mama’s sorry she has to hurt you like this,” she spoke softly. “She’s also sorry for those bad words she said to baby. But baby said mean things too. It upsets Mama.” >Mama. >In the past three weeks, you had come to know Adagio for occasionally referring to herself as Mama. >You had always thought she was being facetious, like a crowing old gambler saying ‘Mama needs a new pair of shoes’ on a dice roll. >But now you were ‘baby.’ >And now things didn’t seem so lighthearted. >The sorrow slipped into affection. >”You look worried, Anon. You shouldn’t be. We’ve had a good talk now; we’ve cleared up a lot of your issues!” >Who was telling who about issues. >”But there’s always room for improvement. Lots and lots of improvement. We’ll work on it.” >She released her grip on your sack, which now throbbed with every heartbeat. >You let out a gasp, but remained standing rigid. >Her hand migrated upward to your member, which she began massaging through your pants. >”Mama loves baby. She takes good care of him. She knows what he likes. Isn’t that right?” >You closed your eyes against her hot breath. >Sweat beaded your forehead. >The unwanted attention on your junk, which had quite pulled into itself, ceased. >You now felt your shirt being tugged on, and a wet, supple softness covered your lips. >You opened your eyes to find Adagio had pulled you in for a deep kiss. >She sucked hard, as if extracting life essence from you, and ran her tongue along your lips. >The mango taste of her chapstick transferred over to them, mixing with the scarlet liquid metal welling from inside your cheek. >The ticklish, velveteen touch of her curls, thoroughly coated in some luxuriant imported shampoo, hung a wreath of aroma around your neck. >She pulled away, her half-lidded eyes staring into yours. >”There we are,” she murmured. “There we are.” >She smiled at you, your blood smeared on her lips. >She smacked, tasted it, and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe away the evidence. >”You really are different from the rest, Anon. I know a good boyfriend when I see one.” >You tried to say something, but the words were all sucked out. >”So Anon. Who took care of you while you were sick?” >Wait. >No. >She didn’t. >Your lips could barely part. “Mm…” >”Hmm?” “M-my mom.” >”How sweet! And who visited?” >She couldn’t have. “…” >”No one came over to see you?” >You quickly stuffed the thought of Sunset away, fearing ocular betrayal. “R-right. No one.” >She pursed her lips, finding something not quite to her liking. >Please. No. >”Well, it might do you well to inform No-One and her friends that their services are appreciated, but no longer required. And your dear, sweet mother! Bless her heart, she no longer needs to be your nurse either. I’m not just a singer, Anon; I happen to be skilled in caretaking as well.” >The passing thought of some long German name starting with an ‘M’ that you couldn’t recall briefly flashed in your mind. >”That reminds me. Your parents. We need to have dinner at your house sometime soon, for proper introduction. I can’t wait to meet them!” >She…wanted to meet your parents. >Dinner at your house. >Your parents would be tickled pink at the notion. >She would dress for the occasion. >She would sing for them. >And like everyone who met Adagio Dazzle, they would adore her. >Some remnant of the virus must have still dwelt in your system, as you felt your stomach turn over. >Adagio licked her thumb and wiped the bleeding corner of your mouth. >”Oh, baby. We need to get you something cold for those nasty little marks on your face. Ah, the bathroom-“ >”Anonymous? Miss Dazzle? What are you still doing out here?” >You both turned to see Cranky Doodle standing at the hallway intersection, papers in hand, on his way to the office. >”Mr. Doodle, sir,” Adagio greeted him with a sunny smile. “Good morning! How are you?” >”Quite well,” he responded, “although I’d be much happier to not see out-of-class students having make-out sessions in the hall.” >Adagio laughed – an empty, calculated giggle. “Yes sir, Mr. Doodle.” >She turned around, ever so gently slipping you a look which essentially stated that, in the mind of a wise man, all of the previous ten minutes never happened. >”See you at lunch, baby,” she whispered, pinching your cheek as she passed by. >You flinched, and watched as she picked up her phone and sauntered off down the hall, singing a melody to herself. >”Aaa-aa-ah, aaa-aa~…” >Her body swished to and fro, her hips, tangerine-and-lemon hair, and prissy pink shoulder puffs working in seductive unison. >You slowly turned to look at Cranky. >His eyes moved from your girlfriend to you, and his smile turned into a contemptuous frown. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Get going. >Then his eyebrows furrowed. >Quickly turning downward, you scooped up your textbooks and shuffled past him, heading in the complete opposite direction of your next class. >Your cheeks tingling, your swollen manhood making your gait awkward and deliberate, you limped out the school’s back exit and continued trekking across the soccer field to… >You weren’t paying attention to where you were going. >You weren’t concerned about cutting class. >You were seeing her face, lifeless, happy, devouring, drilled into your brain. >That wasn’t hysteria back there. >That wasn’t domination. >That was… >That was… >You are Anonymous – handpicked boyfriend of the sexy siren goddess Adagio Dazzle, the ruler, the wet dream mistress, the crème de la crème, the envy of all – going away from school after ten minutes of Mama’s most sincere affections. >And maybe it was just you. >But Mama’s love hurt. >It was thirty minutes too late when you remembered lunch had started. The end?