Blog Entry 1: June 2025

Before I can tell you my name and age, I first have to explain that I started this blog when I was old enough to be allowed access to a computer. You see my current parents only allow us kids unsupervised access to computers when we turn thirteen.

Porn doesn’t exist here because sex and nudity are not things that are hidden, restricted, or denied in the same manner as they are on my original version of Earth. You see, I have been reincarnated on a parallel Earth with the memories of my previous life intact, my name was Megan Parker.

In my previous life, everything related to sex and nudity was repressed by the Catholic Church and was shamed in the pulpit for centuries and eventually became social conditioning. Ponyplay is just one of the many fetishes on my old Earth that was relegated to erotic fiction for most of us. It wasn’t until I was an adult in college that I learned that ponyplay was real. There were real ranches that trained girls and guys to live as ponies to pull sulkies and compete in races.

Even as a young girl, I was a huge fan of Isekai stories. Japanese light novels and the animated version of the novels called animé. I am an American (in both worlds) but I was such an otaku that I spent years on my own teaching myself Japanese so I could enjoy LNs and animé in the original languages. When I turned twelve a Japanese family moved in a couple of houses down. I walked over and offered to help them move in. Even though it was an American-built house they had a way of bringing as much of their traditional Japanese home décor to the structure as they could.

When I carried the first load of stuff inside, I was surprised to learn that they had the interior renovated in Japanese fashion. For example, all interior walls had been replaced with Shoji. I touched one and realized it was plastic rather than the layers of waxed rice paper in traditional Japanese construction. The panels were still sliding panels and removable. All load-bearing walls had been replaced by 4” x 6” posts and cross-beams made from a hardwood I was told came from Japan.

Each bedroom first had measured and numbered tatami mats laid in a predetermined pattern before boxes and furniture were moved in. There were five people in the Nagamura family. First, there was Ao, the eldest, who was the paternal mother, she told me to call her Jiji short for Ojiisan. Her son, Haruto, the husband and father at 35, told me to call him Haruto-san. I knew that family names came first in Japan but since everyone in the house had the same family name that would be confusing. Third, there was Haruto’s wife and the mother of the twins; her name was Mei, 32. She asked me to call her Mei-san. She, then, introduced me to her twin daughters, Omura and Isobe, 10. Omura is the oldest by two minutes. As I bowed to the girls I noticed they had chokers on with a small medallion with their names in Japanese kanji and English. I noticed they had a small padlock locking them on. I asked Ao-san about that and she explained that they were to keep the girls from taking them off and switching places. I told her I understood. American twins do that, too.

After everything was moved into the house and the truck left it was mid-afternoon. Ao-san asked if I wanted to learn how to cook Japanese food. I smiled and bowed saying, “Hai, zehi sōshita idesu.” (Yes, I would love to.) I knelt with the older women and watched at first then was given the ingredients to make a dough. I enjoyed the lessons which included the Japanese words. Thus began my first official lessons in Japanese.

Omura and Isobe were born in America. Haruto and Ao are Japanese nationals but due to Haruto’s work, he was transferred to the US about a year before the twins were born. Haruto’s mother lived with her sister in Tokyo after Haruto moved to America. His employer assisted him with getting US citizenship for him and his wife. A year later they were approved by immigration to bring his mother to America to live with them.

After all of that and a butt load of time, Haruto was promoted to Senior Manager of our local branch of his employer. Business had grown so much that a second distribution facility was built in the city where I live on the East Coast and Haruto is the highest-ranked person in the building. My dad is the CEO of a business of his own which explains why we live in the same neighborhood. We are all in pretty much the same tax bracket.

I learned that the girls were also fans of Light Novels and animé. I became so used to removing my shoes in their house I began to do it automatically in mine. Even Mom and Dad adopted it in time. As the summer progressed and I grew closer to the family, learning their customs and language, I was allowed to learn something not shown to outsiders. The Nagamura family was a family of nudists. I was reluctant at first and was allowed to stay clothed while the rest went nude. However, I was not allowed to use their pool unless I swam nude. Summer was almost over and parents were beginning to shop for back-to-school clothes when I took the plunge and left my clothes in the twins’ bedroom and joined them nude outside by the pool. Ao and the girls bowed in respect for my courage and Haruto nodded. After a while, I forgot I was naked and after a week I began stripping as soon as I arrived at their home.

Besides cooking, I was being taught Japanese along with the girls. I was even learning to read and write kanji. By the time I started high school, I was proficient enough for it to count as my foreign language class. Since Ao was not a licensed teacher it didn’t count as credit until I passed a standardized language test. It allowed me to take an extra elective instead.

This continued until I graduated college at the age of 21 with a BS degree in Business Management. Between Dad and Haruto-san I was surrounded by business talk. It’s no wonder I chose that as my career path. I had two fathers to please. As a graduation gift, I was sent to Japan for the summer with Omura and Isobe. They had just finished their Sophomore year in the same university so they could only go until just before school started back.

It was during this vacation/graduation gift that everything changed. You see, while I was planning to work on my Master’s degree I was going to be working for my dad’s company as the liaison with their Japanese suppliers so I was to meet with each of the suppliers face-to-face so they would know who they would be dealing with going forward. The current one was nearing retirement and I was to be trained to take their place. He, John Westerfeld, would be meeting us at the airport and would be our guide during our stay and at each meeting. The twins would also be talking about their father’s employer and the products they distribute around the globe, making contacts of their own. A bit early as far as I thought but who’s to say whether that is an advantage or not.

We had decided to take a few days off to enjoy a street festival. The three of us girls were dressed in traditional silk kimonos but more modern sandals. We had only been visiting stalls for about an hour when there was an explosion, I saw a huge wall of fire heading toward us and I stepped in front of the twins trying to protect them as much as I could. I felt a blast of hot air hit me and we went flying before I felt us engulfed in the wall of flame then in more pain that I have ever felt before it all went black.

Blog Entry 2: June 2025 (Parallel Earth)

I am writing these entries separately to distinguish between past and present. It is the history that sets the context of my story. My name is Anika Pembrose. I am the middle daughter of Erik and Jessica Pembrose. I have an older brother, Jason, 16, who is being groomed to inherit the family business, and an older sister, Annalise, 15, who is being groomed for an arranged marriage. Then there is me, Anika, 14, and my twin sisters, Olivia and Isabelle, 12. Olivia is older by two minutes. Sound familiar? They have no memory of their previous life I am certain they are the Nagamura twins, Omura and Isobe.

We are to be groomed to be ponygirls. I was shocked when I first learned of this because I still thought like someone from my old Earth. You see, it all started as far back as recorded history when slavery was legal or at least it wasn’t illegal. There were so many slaves, mostly the poor and criminals, that people started using them to pull carts instead of horses. Owning a horse and caring for it was something so expensive that only the wealthy could afford yet people still needed to pull plows and carts. Harnesses were created to fit humans and they were used to pull the plows and carts. This created a whole new class of slaves. They were worked hard but were treated better and fed better than the typical slave.

Even their training was specialized. Over time people began to train them for parades and called them show ponies. As is human nature, they needed something to bet on and began training racing ponies. Small two-wheeled carts were invented for single and double ponies to pull in racing competitions.

Because of the limits of the human body ponies are only used for short distance travel of less than twenty miles. I noticed that oil was not produced and marketed to the same extent as it was in my old world. There are still some products that are petroleum based but vehicles with internal combustion engines do not exist here. All long-distance travel greater than five hundred miles is all commercial or state-owned electric vehicles, such as: trains and planes. Between twenty and one hundred miles cargo vans or passenger busses are used. A family can take their team of ponygirls or boys as well as their carts and sulkies but they must be shipped separately. This is usually done for both national and international competitions.

While we are aware of the existence of the ponies, we think no more of them as children than we did cars in my old world. We only become ‘aware’ of them in school once we turn 12-years-old and we are required to take a course ’The History of human ponies’ as a core requirement. Since the abolishment of slavery several hundred years ago, ponies are free people who consider being a pony as a job. For those who cannot afford to go to college being a pony is highly encouraged. It pays a living wage, is tax-exempt (a major incentive), and provides free full-coverage medical (this includes vision, dental, hearing, and mental).

In my courses I learned that a pony can live on their own and work for themselves but must employ a groom to take care of their pony needs such as bathing, caring for the hoof boots and tack, etc. If a pony chooses to live and work independently, they must be licensed by the state to operate independently, must pay business taxes, be bonded and insured if working with paying customers, as well as deal with payroll and making sure to stay in compliance with pony laws. For most it isn’t worth it. There are some who work for others starting out before starting their own company and stop being a pony.

For a pony work starts part-time at the age of fourteen. Anyone not going to college formal education ends at sixteen. For those females that can afford to attend college (in this world there are no scholarships or student loans) formal education continues for another two years before they have to choose a career track and what university they choose, or their father chooses for them, to attend.

I learned there is no unemployment among adults. Children start working part-time and the child can decide to pay their own way except for room, board, and medical. Parents are still legally responsible for their children until they turn eighteen then are expected to move out or pay rent that includes meals and utilities. Once an adult reaches retirement they have a few options. One, they can, if they have amassed enough wealth, continue to live on their own and care for their own needs. Two, they can move in with their oldest child and be cared for. Or three, opt for euthanasia to escape the ravages of a failing body and illness.

In my old Earth minimum wage was always less than the poverty limit, which meant that minimum wage never qualified as a ‘living wage.’ Here the law required minimum wage for an adult to be enough to provide for basic needs: food, clothing, and shelter. Shelter had to meet minimum safe standards, as well. Despite its unusual differences from my old Earth, I think I like it better.

For me and my younger sisters, we are going to be ponygirls. We live in a middle-class family so only my brother and older sister get to go to college. My brother will learn to take over the family business, we employ several ponygirls and run an Uber™ company on the upper eastside of the city. We employ twenty-seven girls at this time.

My older sister will go to college to learn to support her husband in whatever work he does. Her husband has already been chosen, although, I have never met him. More of a glorified Personal Assistant/housekeeper/cook/baby factory. I’ll pass. I’d rather be a ponygirl. I did mention my memories were intact? Well, that includes ten years of being immersed in Japanese. Once I became fairly fluent in speaking it that is all that was used in the Nagamura household. English was used with the twins when they came over to my house.

Blog Entry 3: July 2025

It is difficult to describe what was going through my mind when I woke up. It was like no time had passed for me. I remember screaming in pain, a level of pain I had never experienced before in my entire life ... ever! I was screaming when I died and screaming when I woke up. A woman I had never seen before came running into my room and rushed to my bed to hold me. She caressed the back of my head and spoke soothingly to me. I switched from screaming to crying. I felt hot and could feel sweat everywhere. When I finally calmed down the woman told another woman to draw me a cool bath, the other woman was told to put fresh linen on the bed. Then I was carried to the bathroom and lowered into the cool water.

The first woman disrobed and climbed into the tub with me. She washed my sweat-soaked hair and body. It was very relaxing and I dozed off before she was done. She washed what she could reach and the second woman washed my legs. When my bath was done, I was made to stand and my hair was put in a bun. I must have been in shock from my painful death because at this point, I still had not questioned anything.

While my hair was up both women spread a cream all over my body and waited several minutes before using the showerhead to rinse it off. I finally looked down at my body and the first thought I had was, ’Where are my breasts? I know I had 36C breasts before I died.’ That’s when I looked around and it occurred to me, I was much shorter than my 5’ 10” I remembered.

“Who are you?” I asked the first woman.

She looked at me incredulously, “I’m your mother. Your illness must have been worse than we thought. My name is Jessica Pembrose, your mother. This,” pointing to the second woman, “is your older sister, Annalise.”

I looked at Annalise then back to Jessica, “Then who was the woman you told to change my bedding?”

“That was Lisa Kingsly, the nurse we hired to live here to care for you while you were sick,” Jessica (I wasn’t yet ready to think of her as Mom) informed me.

If I was that sick, why wasn’t I in a hospital under a doctor’s care?” I asked.

“Long term hospital care is expensive. Your father and I decided it was cheaper to hire a nurse to care for you here. It also allowed the rest of our family to spend time with you and allow your nurse some time to herself. You have been in a coma for two months. The virus seems to mutate every year so there is no way to vaccinate against it. Lisa has been injecting you through your IV daily since you were brought home,” the woman explained.

“Thank you for looking after me when I couldn’t, M-mother,” I told her, stuttering out the title.

“You’re very welcome, sweetheart,” she responded, hugging me to her ample breasts.

I was dried off and allowed to walk back to the bed after I relieved myself. The first time I was able to use a real toilet instead of the diaper I had on when I first woke up. No one seems to understand why I was in a coma for so long. This type of virus usually took a few days to a week to get over. Fortunately, the treatment worked. Now that I think back on it and recall the Isekai animé I’ve watched, I believe the whole situation was created by the universe or whoever to create a situation necessary to transfer me here.

Despite being in a coma for two months I still slept for fourteen hours after eating a bowl of chicken soup and keeping it down. The nurse told ‘Mom’ I could walk around the room and sit in a chair but I wasn’t allowed to leave the room until I could eat solid food and keep it down and had at least one solid bowel movement. I didn’t like it but understood why. This wasn’t the first time I’ve been in the hospital.

Fortunately, my imprisonment only lasted a week more. My nurse had me walking around my room until I was exhausted, then after an hour’s rest made me do it again. After two days of that I was told to add push-ups and sit-ups to my exercises, always to exhaustion. After my evening meal I was bathed by the nurse, each time that yucky white cream was spread all over my body below my neck and left on for five minutes, before I was allowed to sleep.

“What is that white cream? It smells awful,” I inquired.

“It is a hair growth inhibitor. It is required by law that all women use it when they are close to puberty. It gets into the pores and kills the blood vessels and nerve endings that feed a hair follicle. A few months of this and we stop using it to observe over the next couple of years,” she explained. “Seeing hair growing on a female anywhere other than her head is punishable by thirty days in the pillory and fifty lashes. The punishment is meant to scare women into using the cream and not allowing hair to grow on their bodies. I think not having to look like a man or removing it by any other means makes it worth it, to me.”

’Yes,’ I thought, ’I can see the benefits of tolerating the smell. I hated shaving every day in my old life and couldn’t afford laser or electrolysis without explaining the charges to my dad.’ I scooted down in bed and was asleep before the covers were pulled up around my neck.

I awoke on my own before the nurse woke me so I could pee. “Anika!” I heard Lisa call out.

“I’m in here,” I answered. ‘Good thing there wasn’t a door to muffle the sound. I wouldn’t want her to panic about me being missing.’ I giggled silently at the thought.

She came in just as I was using the bidet feature. I stood up and she ushered me into the shower. She put my hair into a shower cap and watched as I washed myself. The first time I was allowed since I woke up.

Blog Entry 4: First week of August

I was regaining my strength. It has been a week since I woke up. School starts September 4^th and I have to pass a physical before I will be allowed to start since I was sick and in a coma. I am required to prove I have regained the strength I lost during my convalescence.

There is a pony track at the training grounds for our employees. I will be moving to the stables so I can eliminate the travel time. A stall has been cleaned out and two cots installed for Lisa and me to sleep on. I will be required to remain naked while there and will go through a modified training program. Since I was only 14, I could not go through the full training. Not that it mattered, I will end up a pony anyway. Lisa was required to stay with me and that meant she had to be naked as well. She could only wear sandals and that thing nurse’s wear on their head. It was white with a red cross and indicated her status.

We showered together in the pony shower stall. I ate the ’hay’ while Lisa ate real food. Not fair! The ’hay’ was extruded vegetable matter and was a mix of colors between green and tan. Natural veggie colors or dyed for realism?

After my shower my hair was brushed and braided. A bridle was placed over my head and locked on. I was surprised they had tack in my size. I was only 4’ 10” and skinny as a toothpick. I hadn’t even started developing curves, yet. Puberty! Where are you? I was equally surprised they had the hoof boots in my size. Once I was tacked up a lungeline was attached to the left ring of my bridle. I was thankful they didn’t put a bit in my mouth.

For the first day, I walked at different speeds in a circle. First counter-clockwise then clockwise. The lunge whip was used to spur me on but never touched me. I was taught the commands a ponygirl must know as I was pushed to my limits. I was allowed to rest for fifteen minutes every two hours and taken back to my stall for lunch. The lunge line was replaced by a chain with half-inch links that lead from the D-ring on the front of my collar to an eye-bolt in a heavy wood beam above my stall. Since this was going to be my life anyway, I chose not to fight it.

After lunch, I was lead back outside and I was led to a horse carousel. Two leads were attached to either side of my bridle and blinders were attached to my head on either side. Now I could only see in front of me. My wrists were locked into straps on the belt around my waist. The carousel started slowly. I began to walk with it. The trainer walked with me and used a bamboo cane to tap the backs of my legs as he instructed me how to high-step. The tap was a bit harder, and stung, if my step wasn’t high enough to touch the crossbar directly in front of me. If I looked down, I received a stinging swat on my butt.

“If you keep looking down, I’ll put a posture collar on you, missy, then you won’t be able to move your head at all,” my trainer told me sternly.

I fought the urge to look at him. After what seemed like forever, I was tapping the bar with each step, the carousel sped up just a bit so that I had to high step faster. Soon, I was doing it without think about the stepping part. I was breathing hard and my heart was beating even faster. I was getting tired to the point I was messing up again. After several reminders from the trainer, using the cane, I was allowed to stop and rest.

I was led back to the stall to drink some water and grab a bite of hay (no hands). My hands were restrained to a belt with rings on the side. I was actually enjoying the training. When breaktime was over I returned to the carousel and was hooked up to it to walk clockwise. Again, it was the same routine just in the opposite direction.

I did this routine every day for a week; shower, breakfast, tack up, carousel (left), break, carousel (right), lunch, lunge line (left and right) to learn commands while being able to speed up and slow down (something you can’t do on the carousel).

After seven days of this (no days off so close to school starting) I was finally attached to an empty sled. I was told there was a lot of friction between the sled and the ground. For the first day I was to walk around the track while pulling the sled. I had to walk until I couldn’t lift my feet, then I could sit on the sled and rest. I was followed by the trainer and as long as he could trust me to push myself, he wouldn’t interfere.

I didn’t want to be struck by the cane again. It stung and I know he was holding back a lot, so I pushed myself to exhaustion. I was on that track all day. My meals and water were brought to me so I didn’t have to be unhitched from the sled. By the time I was returned to the stables, I was filthy. I collapsed so many times I may as well have just rolled around in the dirt the way I have seen real horses do.

After that, I started getting my showers after evening meal. Lisa was right there with me the whole time watching to make sure nothing went wrong with my training. Once a week I was measured and the data sent to my doctor. I was progressing better than expected but was told to continue until August 31^st. Mom was told that my progress indicated I would be ready and to pre-enroll me for my last year of junior high.

Starting the third week I was pulling the sled with the trainer sitting on it. Damn, this guy is heavy. It set me back on time and breaks. I rolled in the dirt a lot more than last week, too. Halfway through the week I threw a shoe. I got to rest half a day while my acrylic hoof was repaired and reshod. The farrier put my boot in a mold upside down, poured liquid acrylic in the mold to fill in the cracks and the missing chunks and let it sit for an hour. Then he put it in a device that bathed it in UV light for several minutes. When he took it out it was like new. He had me put the boot back on and then attached the new shoe. Just to be safe my trainer had the other hoof reshod, as well. By this time, I have been wearing the hoof boots for almost three weeks straight. I hope this isn’t damaging my skin. It didn’t seem so; the sweating had caused the skin to soften but it didn’t appear to me to be damaged otherwise. Walking on my toes made my feet hurt at first. But now I don’t even notice. The inside of the boot is contoured to fit my foot perfectly and even has an arch support built in.

Since the hoof boots are thick latex somehow welded to acrylic hooves, they are waterproof. The upper tube is smaller than my calf so it is skin tight making it airtight and waterproof. By the end of the fourth week, I was able to run around the track four laps with both Lisa and the trainer sitting on the sled. My measurements exceeded what they were before I fell sick so I was allowed to return to school and end my training. The boots had stuck to my skin and had to be destroyed to remove them. The trainer told me that if I wasn’t still growing the boot would have been left on me for the rest of my life. Normally, the ponies take the boot off when not on duty. This society has even created sandals with a hoof so the ponies don’t have to switch back and forth between walking on their toes and walking flat footed.

’Thank God for small favors,’ I thought. Once the boots were removed without causing additional damage to my skin, I was allowed to shower one last time in the pony stall ... allowed? Really? The trainer lifted me to a sulky pulled by a two-pony team that worked for us and took Lisa and me back to the main house just outside of town. I was carried to my room and slept through dinner until breakfast the next morning. I was so used to waking up shortly after sunrise I was awake before Lisa arrived and was sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for her.

I didn’t mention it earlier but after my boots were removed, I was put in the sulky still naked but Lisa was dressed. Really? Where are the clothes I wore to the stables? Why didn’t Mom or Lisa bring me something to wear? I was used to being naked in my old life in a society that rejected public nudity, I suppose I could embrace it here in a society that had embraced public nudity.

She put a different cream (didn’t use the other while in training) on the skin from the knee down then wrapped them both in sterile gauze then put a knew-high sock on each leg. I was then carried downstairs to eat breakfast with the family ... still naked. This carried on for the next four days. By the first day of school I was walking, albeit slowly, on my own – fully dressed.

Blog Entry 5: Back to School Sept 2025

I was dropped off at school in a sulky and informed the pony to pick me up after school at 3 pm. She entered the appointment into her phone and left after reattaching it to her arm holster.

Even though they are ponygirls, as paid employees they are officially called Uber™ drivers. This particular driver was #1426. She was a friend of my sister’s a couple of years ago until their lives went separate directions. We got along well and I liked her. I was told by Mom that she requested to be my regular driver for as long as I needed her. It’s not like I could walk that far now. I wasn’t able to wear shoes yet so I wore sandals. I had a medical release from my doctor allowing me be late for class and to sit out of PE until my feet and calves healed and I was released by my doctor.

Whatever that cream was, it worked miracles. In a week I was able to wear shoes loosely tied and could walk at almost a normal pace. I continued to exercise my upper body. I didn’t want to look unbalanced like some ponies. Some will only exercise their legs at work while letting their upper body and arms look thin and weak. I want to look athletic and strong throughout my entire body; even though we are not allowed to use our arms except to use our phones for scheduling pickups and drop-offs.