Ditzy the Drunk Seductress

by NightWolf289

Rating: teen
Tags: Comedy, Romance, Big Macintosh, Derpy Hooves, Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 5481

Ditzy is only lacking one thing in her life—aside from good balance, eternal wealth, princess-hood, etc. But since she can't do anything about the other items on the list, she is going to set her goals on something much more achievable.

Ditzy is only lacking one thing in her life—aside from good balance, eternal wealth, princess-hood, etc. But since she can't do anything about the other items on the list, she is going to set her goals on something much more achievable.

She is going to get a coltfriend.

Author's Note:
Hump day. Hooray!

Published 2015-03-25 23:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2015-03-25 23:40:01 UTC

How to Get a Coltfriend in Three Easy Steps

The bright yellow sunlight shone through the window onto Ditzy’s face. Slowly, the warm, piercing color penetrated her eyelids and buried itself deep in her crooked eyes.

She opened her mouth and yawned widely, showing pearly teeth, then smacked her lips together. Cracking her eyelids, she slowly reacquainted herself with Celestia’s infernal wake-up call. She rolled over, buried her face in her pillow, and let out a moan. But, as if to mock her, her alarm started jangling its old bell.

She groaned. Lethargically extending a foreleg, she smacked her nightstand until she found the clock. Unfortunately, the clock being of the old and decrepit variety, the all important snooze button broke, and her clock didn’t so much as reduce its volume by a decibel. Ditzy responded by pounding the clock again and again with her hoof—crushing it until calling it a clock would be a grave insult to anything and everything time-related.

The clock finally fell silent, causing Ditzy to sigh. Now she needed a new alarm clock.

She slowly pushed her forelegs into the bed and arched her back, flaring her wings. The covers slid off her, and she shivered as the slightly cooler air ran over her body. A few quiet pops came from her joints as she continued stretching various parts of her body. She reached for the small glass of water on her nightstand, but soon stopped after discovering it was empty. She licked her dry lips and decided to get some water.

Sufficiency loosened up, she nodded in satisfaction and jumped out of her bed. Or more accurately, got her hooves tangled in the covers and smashed her face into the floor.

“Unggg,” she groaned, slowly scrambling to her hooves. She carefully brought her hoof up to her muzzle and winced as more pain shot through her face. She lowered her head, closed her eyes, and took two limping steps forward. However, she misjudged the location of the doorway, and instead, ran into the doorframe, hard.

Tears pooling in the corners of her eyes and a lump forming on her forehead, she carefully walked out of her bedroom—eyes open—and made her way to the kitchen. She tripped over her work uniform in the hallway and flailed her legs wildly, scrambling for a purchase. She cracked her front knee on the wall and whimpered, tears forming in her eyes. Sitting down, she carefully rubbed the small lump on her knee and took a deep breath. After the sharp pain had faded to a dull ache, she rose to her hooves and limped into the kitchen and over to the sink.

Still desiring something to quench her thirst, she placed a glass under the faucet and turned the handle, but nothing came out. Evidently, something was up with the water. Groaning, she left it alone and went into her muffin pantry. She opened the door and found nothing. Every shelf was completely bare. She frantically padded around the darker corners with her hoof, but ended up with nothing but crumbs. “No-no-no-no,” she said, “how could this happen?”

She slowly turned around and walked over to her table. Letting out a large sigh, she collapsed heavily into one of the chairs. Then the chair collapsed, sending Ditzy rump-first into the ground with a bang.

She sat there for a few seconds, glancing around in confusion.

Ears falling flat against her head, she tilted her head towards the ceiling and cried. “My morning is ruined!” she wailed. She wrapped her forelegs around herself and began rocking back and forth. “Why-hy-hy-hyyyy?”

She stayed like that for a few minutes, tears matting the fur on her face, but eventually, she ran out of tears and wiped her face, sniveling slightly. After a few choking gasps, she eventually calmed down enough to stand up.

She giggled and shook her head, chastising herself. Her breathing finally normal, she walked into her bathroom and stepped into the shower. Unsurprisingly, the water wasn’t working there, either, so she jumped out her window and flew into the sky. There were a few clouds in the sky, so she selected the closest and dragged it down with her. After a few moments of careful squeezing, she managed to get it into her shower stall without losing too much water.

She hit the cloud a few times until a steady stream was flowing downward. She closed her eyes and smiled as the cool water eased her aching head and did its best to wash away the morning. She stayed until the cloud dried up, dissolved, and dribbled down the drain.

She reached for the towel, but it was harder than it normally was—her eyes were spinning more than usual today, probably due to her faceplant—and her hoof seemed slightly unresponsive; it didn’t quite go where she wanted it to. Next she toweled herself off with some difficulty; she found it hard to keep her balance while only standing on three legs. Closing her eyes, she willed herself, and her eyes, to calm down and relax.

She climbed out of the tub on firmer hooves, looked into the mirror, and combed her golden hair until it shone brilliantly. For the final touch, she then applied a thin coat of pink lipstick.

She leaned back and shook her head, but her vision still hadn’t stopped swimming. Though, it had calmed down. Then suddenly, she had an idea. It was a perfect idea. Something could make her feel better on mornings like these. Something could make any morning special. Something that could help her calm down if her condition acted up. Or rather, somepony.

“I want a coltfriend,” she muttered with steel in her voice. She couldn’t count the number of times she had failed before, but today was her day; she was going to get one. “No matter what those other mares say. But first, I need some water.” She looked out the window at the clouds, but shook her head upon seeing that the closest one was farther than she wanted to fly. She paused for a moment, thinking. She suddenly smiled as she realized that she did keep extra water in the house.

Her soaked mane hanging limply around her neck, she trotted into the kitchen. She reach under her sink and pulled out a medium-sized glass bottle. She bit down on the stopper and spat out the cork. She tilted her head back and poured the bottle of flavored water down her throat. As she drank the water, she realized the extent of her burning thirst and guzzled the entire bottle in between breaths through her nose. She finished her drink and sighed with relief. She set the bottle on top of the counter and smiled as she rolled the final mouthful of the sweet, sweet liquid in her mouth.

But sadly, the water did nothing for her newfound hunger, freshly awakened now that the addition of water had shown just how empty her stomach was.

Again, she peered into each of her cupboards in turn, but to no avail. She was even out of ingredients. And sure enough, once she closed the final door, she saw her grocery list on the counter—her extremely long list which had a small note stuck next to it that read, “Stop forgetting!”

“Oops,” she giggled, shrugging. “Where was I . . . ? Oh, right! Coltfriend!”

Executing a semi-but-not-really-at-all-perfect pirouette, she stumbled out of the house while humming merrily.

“Now all I have to do is . . . hmmmm.” Squinting in the sunlight, Ditzy was struck with a startling realization that might have lead to many of her aforementioned failures: she didn’t quite know how to properly initiate a serious relationship with a stallion. Or carry on a conversation with one. Or anything else about courtship, really. “It can’t be that hard,” said Ditzy, breathing in the fresh air.

She remembered her previous attempts at simply introducing herself. “I mean . . . hmmm . . .”

She sat down in her front yard and tapped her chin with her hoof and thought about all the different ways that she had heard about mares getting their stallions. One recurring theme from the prime epitome of “intelligent” and “wise” magazines that she delivered on a daily basis—and totally didn’t read—came to mind.

As luck would have it, the massive hunk of a stallion known as Big Macintosh just happened to be walking past her house.

She grinned; any mare would be happy to get with Big Mac, but she was going to be the first.

“Yoo-hoo! Big Mac!” called a mare, waving her foreleg erratically. “Come here, please!”

Big Mac stopped in his tracks and glanced over at her. Shrugging to himself, he walked towards her and paused in front of her. “Need somethin’, Miss?” he asked.

She nodded. “But please, call me Ditzy,” she cooed, dragging her foreleg over his chest.

“Right, what do you need, Miss Ditzy?” he asked, glancing to his left and right.

“Just Ditzy,” she purred. “I need . . .” She closed her eyes and braced herself.

For a few very long moments, Big Mac watched her face scrunch up in concentration. “Mind if Ah go?”

“Can you wait for just a second?” she asked. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Mess what up?” He raised an eyebrow, but she was already disappearing into her house.

“Don’t move! I’ll be right back!” Throwing a wave over her shoulder, she vanished, leaving Big Mac standing in the mare’s yard—alone. Tapping his hoof against the ground, Big Mac shifted his weight back and forth while he waited. After a few moments, he quietly began to back away.

“Help! Help me! Help!” screamed Ditzy from inside the house. “Help!”

Quickly surging forward, Big Mac blasted into the house and followed the cries. Entering the kitchen, he was met with a rather unusual sight. Ditzy appeared to be crammed under her sink, surrounded by empty bottles.

“Help,” she mumbled. “I’m stuck.” A thump echoed as she hit her head against the inside of the cabinet. “Help.”

Slowly shaking his head, Big Mac stepped closer, avoiding the glass bottles. Nose twitching, a wave of a particular scent hit him. It smelled like something familiar. “Alcohol? Have you been drinking?”

She giggled for too long. “Nooooo,” she called, smacking her head again. “Just some water.”

Big Mac leaned down and inspected a bottle. “This water?”

“Yup!” She wiggled around and managed to stick her hind legs and part of her rump out of the small doorway.

Big Mac uncorked the bottle and, after taking a sniff, stated, “This isn’t water.” He read the label. “This is wine. How much have you had?”

Attempting to peer around her shapely hips that almost completely blocked the hole, Ditzy scrunched up her face and hummed thoughtfully. “A bottle and a half, I think? Maybe two? Or was it three . . . ? I don’t really know. Kinda lost count after four.”

“Why would ya go and do that?” he sighed.

“Because it’s just water and I was thirsty and my water pipe broke or something and I want a kitten.” She giggled. She suddenly grew quiet. “Please don’t leave me here,” she asked quietly.

“Ah wouldn’t do that to ya. Let’s get ya outta here.” He walked over, grabbed her ankles, and tugged.

“Weeeeee!” cheered Ditzy, sliding out on her stomach. She wobbled to her hooves and spun around more than was necessary before her eyes found Big Mac’s. “Thank you for helping me; I don’t like small spaces.”

Big Mac tactfully decided to not inquire as to why she would ever dream of going in there in the first place; his sister had gotten into the cider on more than one occasion. “How many hooves am I holding up?” Big Mac lifted his forehoof and held it in front of him.

She suddenly blushed a deep red. “That’s not your hoof. . . . That’s your, um—” she motioned to the area in between her legs “—you know. . . .”

Big Mac brought his hoof to his forehead.

“You should really put that away. You haven’t even taken me to dinner yet.”

“Ah’m . . . gonna go now. Do ya have some family that could take care of ya?”

“Oh you do, do you? Don’t you think that’s taking it a bit fast?” she giggled, stumbling into him and wrapping her forelegs around his neck. “But I guess, if you really want to, we could go up to my room.” She gave him a half-lidded look through her bangs. “Actually . . . I kinda like that idea.”

“Ah didn’t say . . . Do. Ya. Have. Some. Family. That. Could. Take. Care. Of. Ya.”

“Ummmm . . . I have . . . I have . . . you!” She smiled happily, sliding downward..

“Anypony a’sides me?” He gently lifted his foreleg and supported her.

“Um. Well . . . I don’t have a sister or a brother or a puppy or a kitten—so no!” She smiled brightly.

Big Mac took another, closer look around the house. Blinking, he noted how empty it looked. Where his house was filled with pictures of family, lived-in messes, and welcome feelings, hers was empty, utilitarian: a single couch, a leftover dish from last night, nearly stain-free carpets and walls, a modest bookshelf with too many books—he could tell she lived alone.

He knew he was going to regret his next words.

“Do ya want to spend—”

“Some time in the shower with you?”

“—the night—”

“Sleeping with you?”

“—at mah house—”

“In your bed?”

“—on the couch—”

“Ooh, I like couches.”

“—so the—”

“Banging won’t wake up the neighbors?”

“—alcohol can work itself out o’ your system?”

“Sex?”

Big Mac facehooved the best he could with the mare hanging on him.

“Okay.” She nodded sagely.

“Let’s . . . let’s just go.” Big Mac sighed, turning around. Ditzy let go of his neck, only to press the entire length of her body up against his, also sighing—though, hers was a much happier sigh.

With each step that Big Mac took, Ditzy pushed against him; he had to walk at a slight angle just to make it to the door. He paused before the door and quickly saw that they weren't going to fit. “Ah need—” Without breaking contact or pressure in the slightest, Ditzy slid to a position atop Big Mac’s back and purred contentedly, nuzzling the back of his head. “Right.” Big Mac walked outside, closing the door behind them.

“I like snuggling with you,” Ditzy giggled. “You’re snuggly and warm. Why can’t I find a . . .” She mumbled the next few words. “I mean, it’s not like I’m asking for much. . . . It’s just some snuggling and some compani . . . companey . . . friendlyship, you know?”

“What?”

“You know—don’t you ever get lonely sometimes?”

“I’m usually pretty busy workin’ in the fields, so I don’t think about it too much.”

“So you’re never lonely?” she asked.

He paused for a few long moments. “No.”

“I know you're lying. What do you do when you get lonely?”

Big Mac shrugged, almost sending her tumbling off his shoulders.

“Maybe you just haven’t looked in the right places yet?” she asked. “I’m sure there’s a pony out there for you.”

“There must be one for you, then, right?” Big Mac looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

She nodded hesitantly as they silently continued down the road, so he shrugged and looked forward once more.

The pair got more than a few strange looks while walking through town, and Ditzy in particular received spite-filled glares of death and hatred because of her position atop Big Mac.

“I’m hungry. Can you get me lunch?” she asked suddenly, tapping his shoulder.

“Eenope. We’re heading back to my place.”

“I want flowers. Can you get me flowers?’

“Eenope.”

“I want chocolate. Can you get me chocolate?”

“Eenope.”

“I want clothes. Can you buy me clothes?”

“Eenope.”

“I want a cute kitten. Can you buy me a cute kitten?”

“Eenope.”

“I want jewelry. Can you buy me jewelry?”

“Eenope.”

“You can bang me on the park bench.”

“Wha—no!”

Covering her son’s ears, a nearby mother stared at them with eyes that would put Fluttershy to shame.

Big Mac mouthed “sorry” and hurried past them.

“I’m sorry,” Ditzy mumbled. “I think I’m drunk. I’m a terrible drunk. Like, really bad. I’m also a lewd drunk. Did I mention that?”

“I figured that out,” he sighed. “It’s all right. Ah’ll get you some lunch.”

“Yay!” cheered Ditzy, hugging Big Mac tighter. “I want a salad and no pasta and some muffins and some lettuce, but no pasta because I never liked pasta even though my mommy gave it to me everyday, and I want a juice box with a straw because the ones without a straw are just bad, and that doesn’t look like a pickle . . .”

“Can Ah have two bowls of oats, please?” Big Mac asked the cashier, completely ignoring Ditzy’s ramblings.

“Sure thing,” he answered, lifting his eyebrow at Ditzy, who was still babbling. “That’ll be four bits.” Trading the bits for the oats, Big Mac nodded his thanks and carried the tray to the outermost table.

He set the food on the table, reached behind his head, and grabbed onto Ditzy.

“That tickles!” she squealed as he placed her in the seat.

Heaving a large sigh, Big Mac settled into the seat opposite of her and rubbed his eyes. Upon opening them, he discovered that Ditzy was staring at him dreamily—well, one eye was anyway. “Aren’t ya hungry?” he asked, pushing her bowl closer to her.

“Yeeeeeees.”

“Aren’t ya gonna eat?” He pushed the bowel closer.

“Yeeeeeees.” Slowly lifting the spoon up to her lips, she gently caressed it with her tongue while not taking her eyes off Big Mac. “Mmmmmm. So good . . .” she moaned, slowly and rhythmically sliding the spoon in and out of her mouth.

“They’re just oats,” he said, eyes following the spoon.

“I know, but thank you.” Big Mac looked up at her eyes to find her staring at him with a not entirely alcohol-induced blush. “It’s just really nice of you to take me out to eat and that you’re taking care of me.”

“Eeyup.” Big Mac lowered his eyes to his own meal. They ate in utter silence, him not doubting for a second that Ditzy was still looking at him.

Which was why, after finishing his meal, he jumped when he no longer saw her sitting across from him. He slowly turned to the right—nothing. He slowly turned to the left—nothing. Leaning back against his chair, he sighed.

A small white-robed Big Mac with a golden halo above his head appeared over Big Mac’s shoulder. “You should go find her,” he implored, his angelic voice prompting no argument.

“You’re right. Ah should.” Big Mac started to get up.

An equally small Big Mac with horns on his head appeared over Big Mac’s other shoulder and pushed him against his seat. “No, you shouldn’t. Let somepony else find her. She’s somepony else’s problem now.”

“True.” Big Mac took a closer look at Little Red Mac. “Shouldn’t ya be wearin’ a red robe or somethin’?”

“I am, but you can’t see it against my coat, doofus.”

Big Mac took a much, much closer look, then nodded his agreement.

“Hey, that’s mean!” Little White Mac frowned. “Be nicer to Lord Macington! We wouldn’t exist without him.”

“Really. That’s all ya got. ‘Lord Macington’?” Big Mac asked.

“Sorry.” Little White Mac shuffled his hooves. “Ah couldn’t think of anything better; Ah don’t do well under pressure.”

“Come ta think of it, where’d ya get a little white dress like that?” asked Big Mac, giving the smaller version of him a closer look.

“Come, on. Are you really that dumb? We’re both figments of your imagination!” shouted Little Red Mac.

“. . . Ah’m stalling, aren’t Ah?” Big Mac asked.

“Most definitely,” they chimed.

Waving them away, he got to his hooves and looked around. “Ditzy?” he called quietly. “Ditzy?” She was nowhere in sight. Walking over to a nearby patron, he smiled. “Afternoon, Raindrops.”

She grinned and looked up from her meal. “Afternoon, Big Mac. How are you on this fine day? Fancy a meal with me?” She slowly winked at him because she wasn’t hitting on him—absolutely not hitting on him—same as most other mares in the town.

“Fine, an’ no thanks. But Ah’d be better if Ah could find Ditzy.” He looked around once again. “Ah was eating lunch with her, but she up and left. Ah’m worried because she’s not quite right in the head right now—don’t ask.”

“I think I saw her heading that way.” Raindrops pointed towards Sweet Apple Acres and shrugged. “But I wasn't really looking for her, so I can't say for sure.”

“Thanks.” Big Mac spun around and galloped off. “Ditzy?” he called; but he didn’t have to go far before he heard a loud voice. Seconds later, a golden mane came into view. Ditzy was stumbling around in circles in the middle of the road and shouting “Muffins” and “Big Mac” at the top of her lungs—to the intense amusement of the ponies who were watching; Big Mac would have facehooved had he not been running.

Skidding to a stop next to her, he wrapped his hoof around her mouth and held in the next shout. “Shhhhhh . . . Please, shhhh.” He slowly removed his hoof and winced, fully expecting a shout, but she just smiled. And jumped onto his back. And promptly fell asleep. And drooled everywhere. At least, he sincerely hoped it was drool. It felt like drool. Paling slightly, he quickly hurried along, deciding against wondering too hard.

On the way, he continued to receive strange looks. But he thought nothing of it until a mare started hissing at him. Big Mac paused and did a double take. Nope, still hissing. Surprisingly, it was Raindrops. She had seemed much calmer at lunch. She pawed at the ground and hissed, causing Ditzy to stir.

Ditzy leaped to her hooves, jumped to the ground, and returned the hiss, her wings flared. The two mares prowled around in a circle, hissing and crouched low. Ditzy made her move first, pouncing on Raindrops, as other mares circled around, stomping their hooves and chanting, “Fight, fight, fight!”

Raindrops wrapped her legs around Ditzy and took her to the ground. The crowd responded with a wave of sound, half cheering for Ditzy and the other half for Raindrop.

Raindrops managed to get on top of Ditzy and rained down blows on her, but before she could make full use of her position, Ditzy bucked her hips and threw her over her head. She quickly scrambled on top of Raindrops and sat on her face, grinding her head into the ground. She grabbed one of her flailing forelegs with all of her legs and began bending it over her body as she arched herself backward.

“Hot,” whispered Little Red Mac.

Raindrops tapped the ground twice with her free foreleg, and Ditzy responded immediately by getting off. Raindrops struggled to her hooves, breathing heavily. She then slowly bowed low. “You have proven yourself worthy of the most hunkiest of stallions,” she said, as all the other mares bowed in turn, until each mare was kneeling. “I questioned, but no longer. I judge thee favorably.”

The two mares closest to Ditzy stood up by her shoulders and said, “She has been judged favorably by the Lady Raindrops. Are there any who dispute?”

There was silence.

The mare on her left lit up her horn, and a glowing sliver of light appeared next to Ditzy’s ear. In one fluid motion, the magic pierced the soft flesh. A small earring floated into place and clicked, glowing white-hot. “Let it be known that this mare has proven herself on the fields of justice. She is fit, able, and willing to defend her stallion. Is there one who would vouch for her other skills?”

Another mare spoke up, “Let it be know that I have also watched from afar, judging her abilities for some time now, and she has proven that she possesses the skills to be a wife. I will vouch for her. I deem her worthy.”

“Welcome to the herd,” the mares chanted.

“With this ring,” said the unicorn, “we mark you as mare. With this ring, we mark you. Welcome to the herd, sister.”

“Welcome to the herd,” the mares chanted.

“May no pony challenge you or your right to posses a mate, or they will have us to answer to. Retribution will be swift.”

“Welcome to the herd,” the mares chanted.

“May you bear fruitfully for your future mate. And may your mate stay faithful.”

“Welcome to the herd,” the mares chanted.

“It is finished!” shouted all of the mares, stamping their hooves once. The bright light of the earring faded, revealing a simple gold band with a series of small diamonds in it.

Big Mac resolved immediately to ask Apple Bloom about a similar earring.

Ditzy nodded once and limped back to Big Mac, her mane a mess, feathers missing, and her foreleg with some nasty looking swelling around the knee. She smiled widely at him and, after planting a quick kiss on his cheek, jumped on his back once more.

Every mare looked at Big Mac and said, “You saw nothing, for there was nothing.”

He swallowed, got up, and continued towards home. When he looked over his shoulder seconds later, there was no sign that [nothing] had ever happened.

“Mare stuff. You wouldn’t understand,” said Ditzy.

He didn’t trust his voice for a few minutes.

“. . . So, how’s your knee?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine by tomorrow.” She laid her chin on him and sighed contentedly just as Sweet Apple Acres came into view.

Big Mac picked up speed slightly, now that his goal was in sight, and he didn’t stop until he made it to the front door. “Ah’m back,” he said, entering his house.

Granny Apple’s snores were his only welcome, which was probably for the best. He quietly sneaked past her and walked up to his bedroom. He then reached behind his head and attempted to pull Ditzy from his back. He discovered one problem. As he tugged, she tightened to grip. He tugged harder; she gripped harder.

“C’mon,” he grunted, “Ah’ve got work to do.”

“Nope,” she giggled. She bit on his ear and locked her forelegs around his neck, forming a death choke that rivaled any other that he had felt in his less-than-tame days as Mucho-Maco the mud wrestler. Softly sighing, she started grinding his ear in between her teeth.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be? Gonna do this the hard way?” Big Mac frowned and his awesome alter ego, yet slightly more tame than the aforementioned, The Macinator, appeared: eyes stared straight ahead, shoulders squared, muscles tensed; and he cracked his neck side to side. He opened a small box on his dresser and retrieved his favorite wheat stalk from its perfectly shaped holding container.

He had a job to do, and he was going to do it.

He awesomeness was interrupted by a snore from Ditzy.

“Hey . . . uhhhhh . . . Big Mac?” Applejack paused in mid-buck, her hind legs propped on the side of the tree. “You, uh, have a mare on your back.”

“Eeyup.” Big Mac walked past his sister, eyes focused solely on his task.

“Okay . . . Ah’ll see ya later then.”

“Eeyup.” Nodding, he continued past her and headed into the section of the orchard that he was scheduled to harvest.

He trotted down the path to where he left off and got to work. He bucked trees, harvested bushels of apples, and filled wagons that were towed away by Applejack, seeing as Ditzy prevented him from hitching up to said wagons.

And throughout the entire day, she slept. She slept through the pounding of hooves on wood, the apples falling into buckets, and the cart bouncing along the uneven ground.

But even worse, she snored.

The entire day.

Directly in his ear.

And the sweat from his back combined with her drool, forming a sticky paste that kept her glued in place.

The entire day.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he looked up at the setting sun. Sweat poured down his face and body because Ditzy was like wearing a heavy, warm blanket who happened to be, admittedly, adorable.

She mumbled and cooed in his ear, she nuzzled the back of his head, and she even kissed him every once in a while; only a heartless shell of a stallion would attempt to remove her from her place of slumber.

He wearily stumbled back to the house, carefully let himself in—making sure to duck low enough that Ditzy’s head passed under the doorframe—and plodded over to the table. He sat down, cracking the chair slightly.

Applejack, Granny Smith, and Apple Bloom all looked at him with varying degrees of curiosity. “Are mah old eyes seein’ things again?” asked Granny slowly.

“Eenope.”

“Ah see. Eat your supper.”

“Eeyup.”

The table was completely silent, save for the sounds of eating.

Chewing his last bite, Big Mac gathered his hooves underneath him and groaned into a standing position.

“So, Big Mac,” started Apple Bloom, prompting Big Mac to pause. “Is that what Mrs. Cake was talking ‘bout when she said that she was going to ride Mr. Cake?”

“. . . Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee—ask your sister.” With newfound energy, he quickly walked up the stairs. He entered his room and collapsed into his bed. “That’s the last time I make a delivery for ma sister. . . .” He groaned once and fell into a deep sleep.

The alarm was going off. It yelled and screamed at her, driving a nail through her head. She moaned and flailed her foreleg around, but was unable to reach it for some reason. Strange, she remembered breaking it. And even stranger, it was now silent. She internally shrugged and snuggled deeper into the soft, warm bed. Her bed felt so nice this morning. For some reason, it seemed to be snugly wrapping her in a cocoon of security; she felt so calm and peaceful, like anything could happen and she would still be safe.

Moments later, she was once again interrupted by Celestia’s wake-up call; the sun shone on her face. Groaning, Ditzy opened her eyes and winced as the light burned her retinas. Her head throbbed, her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth, her stomach was nauseous, and the stench of stallion sweat was everywhere. Not to mention the pain she felt all over her body. It almost felt like—

Wait.

Stallion sweat? Last she remembered, she was completely embarrassing herself in front of Big Mac after having drunk some of the water from under her sink.

Ignoring the headache, her eyes flew open and took in the surroundings. She wasn’t in her room; she wasn’t in her house; she had never even seen this place before. Breathing heavily, she slowly looked down to see a red foreleg wrapped around her middle. She followed the leg back to see Ponyville’s most eligible bachelor—the perfect stallion—in bed with her. Spooning her.

They weren’t dreams.

“Mornin’,” Big Mac grunted. “Ya know, you’re kinda cute when you’re drunk. Not to mention Ah never knew a mare could ride a stallion so well before. You were on me for hours, all over the Acres.”

Ditzy’s eyes dilated. “The sex part wasn’t a dream?” she tried to ask, but nothing came out but a rush of air.

“So after that, Ah guess we’re officially a couple. Pick you up at seven?”

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” She leapt out of the bed and flew out his open window.

He jumped off the bed and stuck his head out of the window, “We got a date then?”

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

“Nice one,” said Little Red Mac, offering his tiny insubstantial hoof to Big Mac, who accepted.

“Strangely, I agree,” said Little White Mac. “Are ya gonna go through with it?”

Big Mac grinned. “Eeyup. Certainly the most interesting first date I’ve ever had.”

Author's Note

You know, I just realized that this has nearly the exact same base idea as An Average Day. I'm serious. Just now. :/

I'm disappointed I didn't notice it sooner. :facehoof: I would have written a different story in place of the first. Ah well. Too late to change anything. Hope you still enjoyed it.