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The Prettiest Princess

Bruce scrolled through Nestflix, groaning at his inability to find anything to watch.

While he was considering dropping his hunt for a movie to watch to instead play video games, his wife, Emma, walked into the room with her bag flung over her shoulder and said, "Hey, babe, do you know where my phone is?"

Bruce couldn't help but roll his eyes as he leaned forward and plucked a familiar black rectangular item off of the coffee table.

"You mean this?" he said with a smirk.

"I swear I already checked there," the sheep said, a blush appearing on her cheeks that was bright enough to see through her soft, snowy coat.

Bruce chuckled as he stood and handed her the phone. "See? This is why you need a big strong stallion like me around."

"To find my phone? Yes, it would be forever lost without you."

Bruce gave a hum of agreement before his wife leaned up and gave him a small kiss on the nose. "Now, you sure you'll be find without me?"

"Hun, I think I can last a few hours while you go visit your sister."

Emma gave his large chest a playful pat and said, "I sure hope so. I don't want to come home to find you'd lost a leg in some sandwich making accident because you didn't have me to supervise."

"You accidentally cut yourself one time..." He was definitely never going live that one down.

She gave him a smile before giving him another kiss, this time on the lips and lasting a lot longer than a small peck. Bruce placed his hands on her hips, letting his fingers slide down and around to give her read end a light squeeze, causing her to giggle into the kiss.

Emma broke the kiss, much to Bruce's disappointment, and, with a cheeky smile, said, "Sorry, babe, as much as I'd love to stay and continue this," Bruce gave her another squeeze and she swatted his hand away with a laugh, "I really have to get going. You know how Molly gets when people leave her waiting."

"Don't I know it. I think it was our second date? I brought you home just twenty minutes after I said I would and she nearly ripped my damn head off."

"What can I say? Big sisters are weirdly protective like that."

"I think you mean weirdly psychotic. It's times like this I'm glad I only have brothers."

Emma pulled his hands away from her and stepped out of his embrace, earning her a frown from her mate.

"Okay, I really have to get going now. How about I pick up a pizza for dinner on the way back?" she said over her shoulder as she made her way to the door.

"Sounds good. Get the kind that has cheese in the crusts. That shit's awesome."

"Will do, hun. See you later," she said, giving him one last kiss on the cheek before heading out the door, leaving Bruce to stand in their livingroom, alone and conflicted.

Having only been married for two months, the two were very much still in their honeymoon phase. This meant that they were joined at the hip in everything they did and Emma visiting her sister would be the first time in weeks that they'd be apart for longer than an hour. The newlywed and lovestruck part of him wanted her to come back as soon as possible but there was another more shameful side to him that was glad she was gone. That side didn't want her gone for good, of course not, just a little longer than a few minutes so that he could indulge in a fantasy he'd had ever since he was a foal. A fantasy that, up until recently he himself had been too ashamed to admit he had.

Bruce bit his lip, thinking over what he should do next as his eyes wandered over to the stairs. He knew what he wanted to do but did he have the courage for it? Emma was out of the house and he'd be alone for hours. He had every opportunity to do it but...

But he was a coward. Bruce was a giant of a horse, a clydesdale, made entirely of muscle and raw, brute strength. He'd been in his fair share of fights in school, toppling the likes of bears and rhinos. Yet, this scared of his scared him. Terrified him more than any sharp claws or horns ever could. But, no matter what and above all else, this was something he knew he had to do.

So, hands shaking and breathing shallow, Bruce made his way up the stairs. With tentative steps he walked past the bedroom he'd shared with Emma long before they every got married, the bathroom they fought over every morning to see who'd get to use it first and a terrible picture of a field of sunflowers in a frame far too good for it. The picture was from Emma's artist phase but, despite being god awful and Emma begging him to, Bruce couldn't bring himself to get rid of it. It was terrible, yes, but she'd worked hard on it and had fun doing it. He couldn't help but smile every time he saw it, the bright yellow reminding him of the happiness his wife brought to him.

And that was why she could never find out about what he had hidden in their guest bedroom. She was his everything and he couldn't imagine living in a world without her. A world that would no doubt become a reality if his secret ever got out.

Stepping into the guest bedroom, Bruce had to traverse through mounts of junk and boxes full of even more junk. They never had guests over long enough to spend the night, so the unused room with the cheap bed in the corner and wardrobe built into the wall, had instead become a storage room for all the old crap they'd never use again but kept "just in case".

He made his way to the other side of the room towards a medium sized cardboard box. He knelt down in front of it, opening it up to reveal stacks of old magazines, dictionaries, and crime novels that hadn't been touched since they'd moved into the place three years ago. He hurriedly scooped out the box's contents out onto the floor, not caring if he ripped any pages or bent any spines.

Once empty of its contents, Bruce's gaze was drawn to the bottom of the box where folded powder blue fabric lay. He reached out towards it, previously shaking hands now steady as a rock, to touch the material, soft beneath his fingertips. He gulped down a sharp intake of breath at the action, his mind running a mile a minute. He'd done it, he'd actually done it. After all these years he'd finally bought his very own dress.

He'd bought the garment a week ago while out shopping for a new pair of jeans. He'd seen the dress on a mannequin, a big On Sale sign underneath, and he'd instantly fallen in love. It was a sleeveless number, tight around the top but flowed at the bottom. He wished he'd been able to try it on but there was no way he was getting away with that so, instead, he grabbed the largest size he could, paid for it and ran. He didn't get the jeans.

Bruce carefully took the dress out of the box and left the storage/guestroom to make his way to his bedroom wearing the biggest grin, unable to mask the excitement he felt for what he was about to do. He'd done it. He'd actually done it. After years of dreaming he had his very own dress and he'd be able to wear it, too, without fear of mocking or judgement. He liked to think Emma wouldn't care about what he wore but he couldn't take the chance. She was the love of his life and losing her was something he didn't even want to think about. In fact, what she thought was one of the main reasons he'd kept all of this a secret for so long.

When he stepped into his room his heart was racing a mile a minute. But looking down at the fabric clutched tightly in his shaking hands did help to calm him and he soon found his jittery body settling down as a new wave of emotion hit him. He ran a thumb over the blue material, a smile creeping onto his face at the old memory that bubbled up from the back of his mind. This wouldn't be the first time he'd worn women's clothes, just the first time he'd done it as an adult.

Growing up he'd had two cousins his age that lived just down the road, a pair of filly twins obsessed with everything pink and princess-y. He loved playing at their house, largely because they had a swing set AND a sandbox which were the height of cool when you're five years old. But as amazing as those were, they paled in comparison to what was simply known as The Trunk.

The Trunk was an old, well, trunk that the girls used to store all their dress-up props. At first he'd hated the idea when the two said they wanted to play princess but then they brought out the dress. It was a pale blue poofy number with rainbow sequins adorning the neckline and came with a tiara riddled with oversized plastic diamonds. Looking back now the thing was gaudy as hell but his five year old self had instantly fallen in love.

They would pretend they were warrior princesses, protecting their kingdoms with sticks that, in their minds, were powerful swords that could pierce the hides of even the fiercest dragons. Bruce was embarrassed to admit but that was some of the most fun he'd had growing up. Then a day came several years later where he went over, bouncy and full of energy, excited to play as an arse kicking princess.

But instead of being greeted by a tiara and a blue dress, he was met by his cousins saying he was 'too old' to play princess with them. Bruce had run home crying.

Turns out his father had grown concerned over his son constantly prancing around in a dress with his girl cousins and had spoken to his sister, their mother, and she'd had a talk with the girls. Bruce had trouble understanding why a boy couldn't play a princess and had hated his father when he found out what he'd done, refusing to talk to him for weeks. But like most little kids said hatre didn't last and life soon went back to normal sans poofy dress.

Bruce's brothers still liked to poke fun at family get-togethers over how he'd once lost it when he was told he couldn't dress up like a girl anymore. Being so young at the time, most just brushed it off as kids being dumb and had a good laugh. Bruce would laugh along with them but it was a hollow laugh. Most days he pushed the thought of the trunk and its contents out of his head but every now and again the image of the blue dress wafted back into his mind and he couldn't ignore how wearing it had made him feel.

Pretty. It had made him feel pretty.

That hideous garment had made him feel like he was the prettiest princess in the entire kingdom and like he was on top of the world. And the dress he now held, one that actually looked good? God, how would this make him feel? Bruce couldn't wait any longer and ripped off his clothes, leaving him in just his red boxers. He was nervous, definitely, about to do something he'd wanted to ever since the day he'd been told boys couldn't play princess.

He put the dress on over his head and, despite being a bit on the tight side, it seemed to fit relatively well. There was a full length mirror in the corner of the room and, with a deep breath, stepped forward to get a real look at himself.

The dress went up to the halfway point on this calf, a little shorter than he would have liked, but the pale blue went wonderfully with his dark brown coat, at least in his eyes. Eyes that were now welling up with tears. He was beautiful. He wiped at the tears with the back of his hand, saying to himself, "Princesses don't cry, you silly old colt."

Once he'd calmed down and his eyes were dry, he made his way over to the chest of drawers, opening the top drawer to find a stack of makeup. He'd never worn makeup when playing with his cousins, knowing very well how his aunt would have had a fit if they'd raided her makeup collection, but a part of him had always wanted to at least try it. Now, looking at Emma's collection, he found himself faced with a lot of items that were very much alien to him. He grabbed some cosmetics he did recognise: nail polish, eye shadow, and a tube of lipstick, all varying shades of blue.

He flopped down onto the carpet, cross-legged, and placed the items on the floor in front of them. He started with the nail polish. He'd never applied it before, obviously, and quickly found it was trickier than he thought. By the time he was done, there was about as much of the stuff on his fingers as there was on his actual nails. He cringed at the sight and wondered how Emma was able to to it on so flawlessly. After all, her coat didn't look like she'd been attacked by a tube of angry paint every time she did her nails. Was it an inherit skill all women possesed? No, that didn't sound right. Practice maybe? Yes, that sounded more like it and maybe with more practice he'd be able to master the art of the polish on his own. Bruce couldn't help but break out into a big grin at the thought. The idea of doing this again sent a warm tingle up his spine.

Next was the lipstick. For a moment he wondered if maybe looking in the mirror would help in applying it but, nah, it would be fine. How could you screw up lipstick? Next was the eye shadow. You just close your eyes and put it on your lids with the little brush thing, right? Simple!

Once done he stood up and made his way to the mirror, giddy as anything. His grin quickly faded when he saw himself decked out in makeup for the first time.

"Is that really me?" he said to himself. "I'm hideous."

The makeup didn't make him prettier, if anything its messy application only proved what his family had said to him many years ago. Colts aren't princesses and now, being a grown arse stallion, he looked even more ridiculous in the makeup, looking more like a clown than a pretty mare and the dress looked ridiculous not gorgeous. The material clung to his body, emphasizing his strong build, the short length and lack of sleeves showing off his muscular legs and arms.

Hot tears began to prickle at the corner of his eyes and Bruce crashed his heavy weight down on the corner of the bed with a loud WHUMPF. He was an idiot thinking he could recapture the days of his youth where nothing but a silly tiara could make him feel like he owned the world.

Bruce buried his face in his hands and that's when the dam broke. He wept and wept and wept. He wept for his lost childhood, for his crushed dreams and, most of all, he wept for the fact that he'd never be a princess.

"Babe? What's going on?"

Bruce's head shot up, his jaw dropping at the sight of his wife standing in the doorway. She spoke again, her voice dripping with concern, "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Bruce leaped off thebed and immediately tried to pull off the dress in a useless attempt to try and hide what he'd been doing. His panicked fumbling did nothing but make the dress more difficult to take off and, instead, found himself tripping over his hooves and falling face first onto the carpeted floor.

Emma yelled out his name before rushing over to grab one of his large arms and help him back up.

"Bruce, are you okay? Are you hurt?"

He pulled his arm away from her, just staring for a moment before saying, "Why?"

She tilted her head to the side with obvious confusion written on her face. "Why what?"

"I'm wearing a dress and makeup! And you're worried if I'm hurt?" he asked, practically yelling

"I mean, yeah, that is weird but I thought checking out that you hadn't broken any bones was more important. Seeing as you don't seem to think so, all right, I'll bite. What's with the outfit?"

He quickly regretted changing the subject back to the elephant in the room but sighed as sat back down on the bed. Might was well get it over with.

"I like dressing in women's clothing," he said, not able to look at her as he said it.

He felt the bed dip as she said beside him. "Yeah, I figured as much. Do you do this every time I go out?"

He shook his head. "No. Actually, this was the first time I've ever done this. I figured with you visiting your sister I'd have lots of time to...wait." He finally turned to look at her and, with a raised brow, asked, "Why are you here, anyway? Why aren't you at Molly's?"

Emma gave an annoyed groan and said, "All three of her kids caught the flu and she forgot to call me to cancel."

Bruce gave a pained laugh in response and muttered, "I can't believe I have to blame my marriage ending on the terrible immune system of a bunch of lambs."

"What? We're getting divorced now?" Emma said, brow raised.

"Well, yeah, who wants to stay married to a stallion that dresses like a mare?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Bruce, instead of jumping to conclusions, could you at least try talking to me?" She placed a hand on his shoulder. "You were bawling your eyes out when I got here. Clearly something's upset you and I'm guessing it has to do with what you're wearing. Now, please just talk to me."

The way she spoke to him she sounded genuine. She wasn't laughing or mocking him, she was worried. She wanted answers and the way she looked at him with those pleading big brown eyes of hers, he couldn't help the verbal floodgates from opening.

He told her about playing with his cousins, how the clothes made him feel, his buying of the dress and trying on her makeup. He went on for what felt like hours but what couldn't have been longer than a few minutes. Once done, it was as if an immense weight had been lifted from his shoulders, a weight he'd been carrying ever since foalhood.

Much to his surprise, Emma had remained quiet the entire time. He didn't know what he'd expected her to say. Laughter at the mention of the tiara, maybe? But, no, utter silence. At least, until he finished and she finally said, "So, you just like dressing up as a mare? You don't see yourself as one?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, I'm fine with the body I was born with. Sometimes I just like to pretty it up a little."

Emma nodded and went silent for another moment. When she finally moved, reaching out for his hand, he jumped. He awkwardly apologised and let her take his hand in her own and, yet another silence followed, before she finally said, "Your nails look like crap."

Bruce blinked at her, only able to stumble out a garbled, "Wha?"

"Seriously, your nails and makeup look terrible. Did you put it on in the dark or something?"

Bruce winced at the comment and, with a sad tone in his voice, said, "Yeah, I know, a guy in makeup looks gross..."

"Huh?" Emma looked at him with a furrowed brow. "You being a guy isn't why your makeup looks bad on you. It's because you don't know what you're doing, you moron. I can tell an amateur when I see one and, Bruce, you're one hell of an amateur."

"I...you...what?"

Emma expression softened and, smiling gently, she said, "Makeup takes a bit of practice to get right. Having a teacher would help and I am a pretty good teacher, if I do say so myself. Especially when it comes to beauty techniques. I can even help you pick out some more clothes. I mean, you can't have just the one dress, right?"

"A-are you saying you're actually okay with all of this?" he asked, mouth agape and full of hope.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be? You're my husband and I love you and as long as what you're doing isn't hurting anyone then why does it matter if you like wearing a dress? But why is everything you picked so blue? You do know other colours exist, right? Actually, with you coat colour I think-"

She was interrupted by a near back breaking hug and Bruce going, "Thank you thank you thank!"

"You're welcome," Emma wheezed, "now please let go of me before my spine turns to dust."

"I'm sorry. It's just I never thought you'd take it so well."

"Well, I'd be a pretty shitty wife if I wasn't supportive, wouldn't I?"

She placed a hand on his cheek and Bruce really had to fight not to have the tears well up again. He leaned in, their foreheads touching together, and, with the biggest smile he could muster, said, "You really are the best partner anyone could ask for."

Emma responded with a goofy grin. "I know. Now, back to that obsession with the colour blue..."