The Hayloft

by TheTobacconist

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy, Rarity, Other, Sex
Length: 1871

Rarity doesn't want to know how her parents met. She'll hear the story anyway.

Pipe Down has mastered many techniques with regards to the art of story telling. However, his senility prevents any understanding of tact. Will he be able to tell Rarity the truth about her parents without mortifying her? No, but only because he's too old for that.

Published 2014-01-27 12:40:04 UTC
Last updated 2014-01-27 12:40:04 UTC

Put It On!

Pipe Down considered the vast acres before him as he ran his wrinkled foreleg across the rich soil. Soon he would be planting his seeds across his farm, and his cash crop would yield as it always did. Tobacco was the one thing in this world that he really understood. He had once thought that he understood mares, but that had been in his younger days, when he was foolish. There wasn't much in the world that he really did understand, not that he would admit that fact to anyone but himself, and he had accepted long ago that he didn't need to understand everything in order to be happy.

He just needed to understand tobacco. It kept his hooves busy, kept his wallet full of bits, kept his roof over his head, and kept food in his icebox. It also kept tar in his lungs, but he was quick to gloss over that fact. He wasn't really sure why he kept doing this to himself. Perhaps it was simply a way of irritating the ponies who always told him to quit. It was true that he gloated every time he outlived a personal physician who spouted that hippy crap.

He retreated from the empty acres and settled into his old wooden rocking chair. With a slight flourish that was certainly impressive without thumbs or magic, he lit a long stemmed pipe, and inhaled deeply. He blew a smoke ring, and smiled to himself. Not quite feeling challenged with this particular task, he blew a mobius strip through the ring. The shapes his mouth had to assume for this task were greatly confusing, and upon full description would actually cause a brain aneurysm in most sentient species.

Fortunately, only Pipe Down was there. He was far too old to put up with physics' shit, and could therefore create as many single sided surfaces with his pipe smoke as he desired. There was only one other pony who could appreciate this talent, but she viewed his smoking as 'icky.'

He viewed the silhouette of a mare, trotting up the road, just above the ridge-line. The rising sun framed her body, and her hair seemed to bounce and radiate against the red and gold of the sky.

"Damn," Pipe Down muttered, "a morning pony." He blew another smoke ring. "Damn," he repeated for emphasis.

In his experience, morning ponies were the sort of ponies who ruined the day with their chipper attitude. Not their own day, of course, but the day of everypony around them. It was deplorable to see somepony rise so early with a bounce in their step. He could not trust anything that could run before full sunrise without a cup of coffee.

"Hello," Rarity called as she came closer, "Mr. Down?"

Pipe Down closed his eyes, and held his head at an angle. In his experience, very few ponies would disturb a resting elder. He hoped that this rule applied to morning ponies as well.

"Mr. Down!" Rarity yelled, "That would be much more convincing-" She almost hissed in irritation. "-if you weren't puffing away like that."

In his experience, problems like nosy morning ponies went away after you ignored them long enough.

"Mr. Down!" she yelled again. "I know you're awake!"

He looked through a single half raised eyelid, only to find her on his porch, not three feet away from him. He shut his eyes again.

"Mr. Down..." she pleaded.

Oh, the pleading. There were many things he could ignore. He could ignore whining, bitching, moaning, complaining, fussing, and any sort of crying. But pleading was a different story. To his ears, pleading was the only legitimate way to make a request. In his experience, that was his one weakness. Pleading forced him to comply with requests, and demanded that he be civil.

"The hell do you want?" he snapped at her. In his experience, older ponies got to define what being civil meant.

"Well, Mr. Down," she addressed him with that accent. "You see-" Oh, he hated that accent. It was the embodiment of everything wrong with the younger generation. A false accent. It had been unheard of in his day "-and Sweetie Be-" Such a pony clearly had no appreciation of her roots. Of her heritage. Of her very self. "-inappropriate teachings for a filly-" It was as if somepony had taken a knock-off Prench cheese grater and was scrapping it across his ears. "-n't talk about siege equipment-" Celestia, she was a talker. "Won't you, Mr. Down?"

"Sure," Pipe Down agreed, "I'll tell you a story."

"What?" Rarity looked at him in confusion. "Mr. Down, that's not what I nee-"

During my third enlistment in the Equestrian Guard I was fortunate enough to meet a young mare. No, not that kind of meeting. I was already married to the mare of my dreams at the time, and I was quite happy. But I was fortunate enough to have many good friends, and I included that young mare among them.

Her name was Pearl, and I trust that is a name you're familiar with. It's not like you call her 'Mommity' or anything, I'm sure. That was her first tour, and our division consisted entirely of ballista technicians. It was peace time, a rather common occurrence I should thankfully add, so it wasn't as close a friendship as I had during my first enlistment.

But I considered myself to be something of her mentor, and I'd like to think that she considered me that way as well. Otherwise, our dynamic would have been just very creepy. I've never been one for December-May relationships. So, my role was as a friend and as a mentor.

I remember one particular moment that I got to share with her- Well, truth be told, the entire company really shared it- but she turned salt age in October. I believe it was the seventh or the...

Am I boring you? Perhaps I should schedule a damn nap for story time? Coffee's on the counter inside, go get yourself some. Sugar's in the cabinet. Other cabinet. One above that. There you go. Milk? What kind of fool puts milk in coffee? Get back out here. Yes. Yes I did light up my pipe. No. No I don't want to put it out before I continue. Where's my coffee? So... you didn't get me any? Yes, yes I'd appreciate that. Two lumps. Thank you.

But there was this new club called "The Hayloft." Nice place, renovated fire station. Still had the original poles in it. But the company went in together and rented the place out for one night. Pearl's birthday was well planned. Not by myself of course, I never had a mind for that sort of thing, but my wife hired a stallion as the special entertainment. I never asked how my wife knew about him. Quite frankly, I don't think I ever really wanted to know.

We get there. Again, nice place. Good jazz band, nothing like that filth you hear now. But after a few cubes of salt, well, the singer announces the entertainment. Stallion. Again, hired by my wife. Name was Magnum. I was convinced it was something like a porn name. I do have to admit, it went well with that mustache of his though. Big guy.

He comes out in a codpiece first. Now, I'm not into stallions. But even I could appreciate that fine piece of flank back then. The guy's muscles rippled when he moved. He spun around that pole by his ba- I kid you not- by his back hooves. Nothin' else. So he slowly comes to a halt, and addresses the birthday girl. His words, not mine.

Made some sort of innuendo, I'm not sure what it was. It was probably stupid, but the kind of stupid young folks like to hear. Pearl, well she just blushes and blushes. Looks like a damn firework.

That's when Magnum really laid it on thick. Clothing, that is. He threw on some tight denim jeans, did a few more tricks on the pole. Put on a tight tank top, did some tricks on the pole. Plaid shirt, dances around for the whole company. Ponies are shoving bits into his pockets and his underwear. The mares go wild for it. I reckon you'd understand, what with sellin' that clothing.

By mares, I of course mean one mare in particular. Pearl loved that look. And Magnum clearly understood that. I don't know how much of it was just takin' care of his professional obligation to the birthday girl, and how much of it was infatuation on his part, but he was very attentive. Very. Attentive.

He ended up letting her do salt licks off his mustache, it was insane. One for every year she had. And he tried to get her to do one for every year she would have... She let him take those off her muzzle. Y'know. Very. Attentive.

I ended up takin' a head break, and when I got done- Well... I came out, and they were both gone.

Next I see Pearl, she's married to that stallion and has a baby on the way.

And that's how your parents met.

Pipe Down looked up from his cold coffee to see a silhouette of a mare running down the road. The setting sun framed her body, and the wind carried her sobs.

"Wonder what got into her?" Pipe Down shrugged.

The next day, he planted his tobacco seeds. It was arduous work, and his old frame barely felt capable of it. However, in his experience, barely capable still meant capable. He looked forward to the goods that his cash crop would buy him. Perhaps he could afford milk for coffee this harvest.

He heard a light trot echo from down the road. A young filly was approaching his home. Pipe Down wiped the sweat from his brow, and went to his porch. The porch was of course the best place for meeting ponies. However, he took great care to remind himself not to light his pipe. It would be unseemly to blow smoke on a guest.

And this guest was clearly a morning pony. There was nothing quite like a morning pony to brighten any pony's day. In his experience, morning ponies were a cheerful bunch, and that meant they spread their cheer around. He liked morning ponies.

"Hello, Mr. Down," Sweetie Belle addressed him.

"Hello, hello," Pipe Down called out. It was best to be prompt when answering. There was no need to be rude. "What can I do for you?"

"Y'see, Mr. Down," she walked up his steps, "My sister-" There was something about her accent. It was charming, but in a way that made it impossible to listen to her. "-home, crying-" It was not that he didn't want to listen. "-something about Dad-" On the contrary, he was listening intently. "-place called the hayloft-" But he was so focused on the tone that the words meant nothing. "-really upset-" It was adorable. "her, please?"

"Sure," Pipe Down agreed, "I'll tell you a story."

Author's Note

Pony stripping. Same, but different.
Preread by SirTruffles