Formulaic hyperactivity akin to charged mania. Not exactly the type of thing that’s easy to try and explain to other ponies, especially when using fictional flannel graphs concocted within one’s own mind. Pinkie Pie had tried and re-tried to explain her tried and tested theories on such subjects as baking, pie making, and fortune telling, but she was forced to content herself with mere acceptance. Not to discount her enjoyment of other ponies, she truly did love each and everypony she encountered and savored every smile, but...
“Isn’t there somepony someplace that can actually understand me? I mean, I’m not that strange, am I?” she ranted, devouring a sugar-coma inducing amount of cotton candy, a particular favorite among her comfort foods.
“Pinkie, I wouldn’t say you’re strange, you’re just... um, well...” Twilight started, hoping to ease her concerns but failing to find anything comforting to say. Strange wasn’t nearly a strong enough word to describe a mare that regularly, and effortlessly, broke the laws of physics like Bon Bon ate hard candy: easily, hastily, and joyously. “Isn’t it more important to be loved and accepted than be understood?”
“Yeah, I guess, but I just... want something more.”
“Do you think maybe you’re lovesick?”
“What? Love doesn’t make ponies sick, it makes them happy. And I don’t have a special somepony!”
“That’s what I’m saying! Maybe you just need somepony who is there for you on a more involved, more... intimate scale. Perhaps that’s what you’re feeling?” Twilight grew nervous as Pinkie again disproved modern magic, science, and perhaps evolution as flannel graphs appeared in full view while she worked out the problem in her head.
Let’s see, make tons of pony friends? Check. Have fun with friends every single day and make everypony smile? Check. Feel happy and content? Uncheck? But why? Wait, let’s go back to the have fun part. Fun, fun... eating is fun! Eating with other ponies is better. But I’ve done that a million times before! What’s better than eating food with other ponies? Oh yeah, Twilight said something about love.“Twilight, what’s love?”
“That’s kind of a big question, but I’ll do my best to explain. You see...” she started, talking for a full half hour on the subject, mostly in theories as she still had no special somepony of her own. Pinkie, for once, sat still and focused, absorbing every word and truly seeming to understand. “...and that’s love, in brief. Did that help at all?”
“Yeah, that helped a ton! I need to find somepony who I can eat!”
“Wait, what? No, Pinkie, that’s not even... gah, did you not hear anything I just said?!?” she shouted, cupping both hooves to her head and rearing in frustration. Her shouts, however, remained unheard as Pinkie eagerly began her search for the perfect, most tasty companion.
Parmesan had tried wearing a bag on her head. She had tried coating herself in mud. She had even tried, and she shuddered at the thought, dressing like one of those loose mares from the gentlecolt clubs that seemed to dot every other block back in Manehatten. Or worse, one of the darkest and most recent memories, she had tried dressing as... ice cream. But nothing from the myriad of diversions she had tried seemed to be able to keep everypony from drooling as she walked by. Were food ponies really that uncommon? Just because her mane looked like a flowing mass of warm cheese dotted with pizza toppings didn’t mean that she wanted to be gazed at like one, not just by anypony. A rumble in her stomach spurred her to greater efforts in finding sustenance, and with reluctance she approached one of the many dumbstruck ponies, selecting a yellow mare with a bunch of carrots for a Cutie Mark.
“Excuse me, might you be able to tell me where...”
“Um, are you made of cheese?” Carrot Top interrupted, her eyes darting from Parmesan’s mane, then tail, then back to her mane, completely bypassing her face altogether.
“My mane is, yes, now...”
“What kind of cheese?”
“Parmesan, like my name, but...”
“Is it...”
“Yes, I am entirely and completely edible, thank you for asking! Now, will you please just tell me where I can get something to eat?!?” There was a short silence in the wake of her outburst before Carrot Top continued her unintentional prodding of the new mare’s biggest peeves.
“But, isn’t that like... cannibalism, or something?” Carrot Top was forced to take a few steps back as Parmesan stomped her hooves in frustration, her mane starting to steam and drip down onto the ground.
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard that joke? Take a guess, and I’ll bet you it isn’t high enough!”
“I didn’t mean...”
“Six hundred and three! No, wait, four now, six hundred and four times, thank you! I’m only nineteen, so you do the math! How many times a year do I hear that, huh?” Carrot Top was used to counting carrots, and maybe bits, but the five seconds she took to think about the inquiry was clearly too long, and the strange, cheesy mare stomped off without giving her the answer, dripping a trail of tasty looking white goo as she went. Parmesan didn’t get far before seeing a building in the distance that, unless the steam she was giving off was creating a mirage, looked very much like it were made of gingerbread. Breaking into a trot, she saw the sign that read “Sugarcube Corner” from afar, and picked up the pace, galloping straight for the door. Unfortunately for her, the door opened outwardly, not inwardly as she was expecting, and thus when she turn the knob, her face continued at full speed until the stubborn portal met her muzzle with no small amount of resistance, rendering her hunger moot in the face of her sudden loss of consciousness.
Pinkie Pie had just grabbed the door handle when a sudden, thunderous thump shook not only the door, but the foundations of the building.
“Huh, no Pinkie sense on that? Could have sworn I had a ‘Watch for not-opening doors’ one. Oh wait, that only works for me!” Nothing could have prepared the flannel graph for the level of pure, visceral excitement that assailed Pinkie’s brain upon opening the door and finding the most beautiful pony she had ever seen in her life. Sure, she was unconscious, covered in dust, and her mane was getting everywhere, but so what? “Wow, I’ve never seen a pizza pony! You’re amazing, will you be my special somepony?” Pinkie waited very eagerly for several seconds before realizing that the mare would likely need to be awake to answer, and promptly did what anypony would do; she hoisted unconscious, delicious mess onto her back and returned to her room where Twilight was still mulling over how to properly convey something as complicated as love to somepony as airheaded as Pinkie Pie. “Twilight, look I found myself a special somepony!”
“Pinkie, all you did was slam the dowaaaah! What is that!” she cried, pointing a shaking hoof at the mare shaped mass of dirty cheese that Pinkie had found Celestia only knows where. “Were you jumping dimensions again?”
“No, I already told you, I do that every other wednesday when the yarn aligns. I found her outside my door, isn’t that amazing? I mean, someponies search their whole lives for the perfect mate, but I found mine right after realizing I needed one!” she exclaimed, setting the mare in her bed and proceeding to hop excited circles around the skeptical lavender unicorn.
“She agreed? Just like that?” Pinkie Pie ceased her hopping, adopting the closest she got to a serious expression.
“Well, no not exactly, but I bet she will. I can’t ask while she’s sleeping, silly.”
“Pinkie, that bruise on her head is pretty bad. Maybe you should take her to the clinic?”
“No, it’s a wife’s job to nurse their lover back to health, right?”
“Pinkie, you’re not...” Ugh, why bother? There’s really no arguing with her when she’s like this. “Just make sure she wakes up within a couple of hours. She may have a concussion, and that can be very serious.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Twilight took a moment to examine the mare, stooping to take a deeper whiff of the enticingly cheesy aroma that seemed to be coming from her mane when Pinkie inserted herself between the two and growled, half serious. “Not so close, Twilight, she’s mine! Find your own pizza pony!”
“I’ll get right on it, Pinkie,” she replied, the heavy sarcasm lost on the bubbly mare that giddily returned to tending the mare’s forehead with a wash cloth. Having absorbed her weekly allotment of insanity, Twilight descended the steps and made her way back towards the library, getting a few steps away before turning and gasping sharply at the deep cracks in the door of the shop. That mare’s head is either made of diamond, or she’s going to have a massive headache when she wakes up.
Pinkie applied her thorough knowledge of first aid to her nursing of the mystery mare, slathering a layer of frosting over the now quite clean bruise and topping it with a generous amount of sprinkles; nothing does the body good like sugar, after all!
“Hmmm, what else can I do now? Let’s see...” Find a special somepony? Check. Drag unconscious special somepony to my bed? Check! Make intimate connection to cure lovesickness? Uncheck? Well, there’s only one way to fix that! But... what? Never having been lovesick, Pinkie Pie had never learned much about how romantic relationships worked, or even what went on. But she had seen couples hugging and kissing, so she sidled in beside the slumbering mare and drew her close. An intense, alluringly savory aroma filled her nostrils, increasing her salivation tenfold. Oh no, what do I do? It’s happening just like Twilight said, I want to gobble her up. Grrr, how do ponies stand being in love? Maybe they regrow their heads every night? I wish Twilight were here, she’d know what to do.
The mare shifted and Pinkie felt a small drop of cheese drip onto the tip of her nose. Never one to waste food, she instantly scooped it off and stuck it in her mouth, whereupon her smile involuntarily rose several levels, gaining bonuses to size, strength, and maximum threshold for joy. “Maybe... maybe just a little taste. Yeah, just a little one would be fine,” she whispered, inexplicably nervous about indulging her natural desires. And why was her heart hopping too? She was terribly and wonderfully perplexed, but she using her master sleuthing skills, she released the mare and stood over her, poised to begin her work.
Not wanting to move too fast, Pinkie nervously gave the mare a tentative lick on the nose, pulling back and staring wide eyed at the most wonderful mystery she’d ever been presented with solving; how and why does this mare taste like parmesan breadsticks? Almost forgetting it was a pony she was dealing with, and not a gourmet snack of monumental proportions she stopped herself just in time from taking a fair chunk from the mare’s muzzle. “Ok, calm down, me. You too, heart, you’re bouncing all over the place.” Leaning down again, she gently connected her lips to the mystical mare of cheesy goodness, mimicking the motion she had seen so many other ponies do. She wasn’t conscious that her tongue had snaked its way in until she tasted the olive oil, at which point she decided to prolong her assessment to ascertain the flavor more fully. At length she pulled away, face dripping with the slick, savory condiment. It tickled as it ran down her chest, and she suddenly understood why her heart was set to maximum party mode; she was in love.
“This would be a lot more fun if she was awake... hey, most amazing pizza pony I’ve ever met! Well, only pizza pony, but still! Wakey wakey, I wanna play!” Pinkie pressed, shaking her lightly and eliciting a pained groan. Parmesan did not have a skull made of diamond, or any other precious gem for that matter. She was just your average pizza pony, with average bones and an average breadstick crust coat and marinara pumping through her veins to keep her alive and well. So, while her somewhat soft flesh may have cushioned the impact, it was painful all the same. Pinkie clapped her hooves together as the mare opened her eyes and looked around in a daze, wincing as the headache kicked in.
“Where... am I?” And why do I taste syrup? I mean, I’ve had worse tastes in my mouth, to be sure. Pickle Pete comes readily to mind.
“Silly, you’re in my room! You must be new in town. I know that because I know everypony in Ponyville, and I would definitely never forget you. You’re too amazing!”
“You mean delicious looking?”
“Oh, you more than look delicious. Based on everything I’ve tasted, you’re the most fantabulous pony ever!” It was then that she noticed the evidence smeared over the pink mares face and chest, prompting her to blush violently and confuse Pinkie with a look of abject horror.
“Wait, you tasted me without permission? How could you violate me like that? Haven’t you ever heard of ‘touch, don’t taste?’” she cried, sitting up and bringing a hoof to her head as the sudden rush of marinara to her brain nearly caused her to pass out.
“It was just a few licks and kisses, I didn’t bite or anything!”
“That doesn’t matter that you still took me to phase one without my permission!”
“Wait, what? Phase one?”
“The four phases of food pony intimacy, with phase one being the tasting of another pony’s saliva.”
“But... but why not taste and touch?” Pinkie instantly realized she had said something wrong from the sharp intake of breath and horrified look she was given in response to her inquiry. Had she been raised around food ponies, she would have known that she had basically just offered an overused, incredibly lewd and offensive pick up line of the vilest persuasion.
“How would you like it if I took a bite out of your mane? Or your flank, for that matter?” Pinkie Pie was not one easily embarrassed, but the mere mention of these things caused a notable flush to her cheeks. Parmesan allowed a grim smile of satisfaction as the realization kicked in, before her hopes were dashed to pieces.
“I... wouldn’t mind if, ya know, you wanted to. It’s only fair, if I made you mad.”
“I... I wasn’t meaning to...”
“Bite me!” Pinkie barked, leaning her face close and closing her eyes, her lips slightly puckered.
I must have hit my head way harder than I thought. There’s no way this can be real. It’s like, she’s excited that I’m made of food, but not bothered by it in the slightest! That doesn’t even make any sense! But still, I can’t just... taste her, I’ve never gone past taste phase one. It’s still so new to me... “I’m sorry, but I can’t...”
“DO IT!” Pinkie screamed, looking at her with furious eyes a moment before becoming completely calm again and resuming her puckered lips. Resigning herself to her fate, Parmesan swallowed hard as the beating of her heart drowned out the pounding in her head, leaning in and gently pressing her lips to the intriguing, albeit slightly overbearing, mare before her. A sudden wave of desire swept over her as she realized where exactly she had received her sweet aftertaste; this mare was a food pony too, and she tasted heavily of maple syrup. The sudden realization jarred Parmesan, and Pinkie looked over at her with a look of unfulfilled expectations as the mare yanked back.
“You, you’re... you’re a...”
“Oh wow, silly me, I never introduced myself. I’m Pinkie Pie, what’s your name?”
“P-parmesan.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
“Pinkie, what do you know about food ponies?”
“Nothing, really. You’re the first one I’ve ever met, but if they are anything like you, they must be amazing!” Parmesan was torn. On one hoof, this mare seemed like she could be a lot of fun, and while yes, she did seem a little over eager in the tasting department, she didn’t stare all googly eyed at her. On the other hoof, she... was pink? Parmesan’s thoughts suddenly sputtered and died in the face of the glaringly obvious, though worrisome and slightly vexing, truth of her position; she had no reservations with the mare. She wanted to be treated normal, and Pinkie Pie, the seeming antonym of normal, was just excited to be with her. There was only one question left to answer.
“Pinkie, I think you may be a food pony too. Would... would it be alright if... if I, well... taste test your mane?” I can’t believe I’m asking this! Moving to phase two, right after experiencing one for the first time in years? I never imagined I’d be so loose... wait, what the hay? Parmesan watched with fascination as a Pinkie accepted her invitation, tackled her, made love to her, then promptly devoured her mane, all in flannelgraph that hovered above her head and disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. “Was that... were those felt diagrams?”
“Um... y-yeah. I do that when I’m deep in thought, sorry. I didn’t mean that part about gobbling up your mane, honest!”
Well, she definitely has the mentality of a food pony, apologizing for eating my mane and not for bedding me in the five minutes I’ve been awake. “Pinkie Pie, it’s fine. You don’t have to be so nervous.”
“But most ponies get scared when they see me think, saying I’m strange and abnormal. I don’t want you to leave.” It was uncanny, really, the similarities between their positions, and this was not lost on Parmesan. Whether Pinkie Pie had given her permission or not, a warm fuzzy feeling in the center of her chest began to flood her body, accompanied by a ravenous hunger. Pinkie Pie offered no resistance as Parmesan eased her onto her back and kissed her deeply, the sudden rush of sugar enhancing the thrill of the experience and causing the hunger to grow. Pinkie Pie was in the same position, the savory taste of flaky crust and fresh squeezed oil setting her sweet tooth aside. Parmesan pulled away, licking the syrup from her lips and blushing as she felt her mane begin to steam, oozing down and dripping onto Pinkie Pie’s chest.
Oh no, this is where she freaks out and runs off... I can never control my stupid mane, getting everywhere whenever I get excited...The first drop had caused a rush of excitement for Pinkie, and as more drizzled down she couldn’t help but moan softly, scooping it up with a hoof and bringing slowly to her mouth; it was the best cheese she had ever tasted. The sight was too much for Parmesan to handle, and lowered herself down, wrapping her hooves around Pinkie Pie and tracing a path back and forth across her neck.
“You’re so sweet, Pinkie. I just can’t... get enough,” Parmesan whispered, nibbling gently on Pinkie Pie’s ear which tasted all the world like the best cherry taffy in existence. Pinkie Pie squeezed her tighter, caressing her flank with one hoof and grabbing a generous helping of the mare’s beauteous, melted mane. Pinkie gave a sharp gasp as Parmesan swallowed her fear and made the leap to phase two; the direct tasting of the mane.
Pure... visceral... all consuming stimulation the likes of which Pinkie Pie had never known or imagined temporarily robbed her of breath as her mind raced to comprehend the glory that was being eaten alive. It was thrilling, fulfilling, and made her really, really hungry, but she couldn’t even consider such a basic operation like eating, as she was too busy releasing out short, sharp squeals with each small bite. Parmesan took a short breather, mainly because her own senses were being lit ablaze as her mane and tale became meltier as a clear indicator of her own arousal. She was completely unprepared as Pinkie leapt up, reversing their positions and going down hard... on her mane.
“What in Equestria are those strange noises upstairs? Pinkie Pie is going to wake the twins,” Mrs. Cake muttered, looking towards the stairs that led to the housing area of the shop.
“Perhaps she’s making some twins of her own?” Mr. Cake chuckled, ignoring the horrified look on his wife’s face and sauntering into the kitchen.
“You know that’s not possible; we’ve done a very good job of keeping her away from that sort of thing.”
“If that’s the case why don’t you go check on her?”
“Ok then, I will!” Tossing down her apron in a huff, she quietly ascended the stairs and made her way over to Pinkie’s room, raising a hoof to the door and stopping as she heard a creak, a moan, and another squeal. “Pinkie, what’s going on in...” she started, stopping as she beheld the scene. Pinkie Pie was apparently trying to drown some poor mare in a pool of bubbling cheese that she probably pulled from some other dimension that was here to plunge the land into chaos by turning everyone into their favorite pizza topping! It was all so clear to the poor, simple-minded mare, and without a word she passed out in the doorway.
“Oh, that’s embarrassing,” Pinkie Pie muttered, staring over but not removing herself from atop Parmesan’s chest.
“Yeah, it was bad enough being caught during phase one when I was fourteen, but I was about to move to phase three,” she murmured, her already flushed face incapable of turning any deeper of a crimson.
“What? No, I meant when she fell asleep all of a sudden, that means she’s getting old!” That decided it. There was nopony else Parmesan wanted to share the ultimate food pony experience with. She was nervous, but her primal desires to eat and be eaten overcame everything else at that moment; all she wanted was some Pie.
“Pinkie, could you... turn around?”
“Oh, oh, like the Pony Pokey?”
“Just like that, but stop halfway.”
“Okey dokey lokey!” she quipped, turning around so when she looked down, she had a clear view of a rather nice plot. “Now what?” Now, while many consider the enjoyment of pain during intercourse masochistic and somewhat of a fetish, it was part of the territory for food ponies. So, when Pinkie Pie felt Parmesan lift her head and take a delicate bite of Pinkie’s flank for phase three, she spoke the only word that could adequately describe her feeling at that moment. “YES! Yesyesyesyesyes!”
While the noises earlier were somewhat muffled, the cries now coming from upstairs were plain as day, and made him blush just listening. His suspicions were only compounded by the addition of a second, unfamiliar voice, and he immediately made his way upstairs to find his wife, who was no doubt mortified by whatever was causing such cries of elation. True to his hypothesis, she lay just outside Pinkie’s door, and as he stooped to collect her, he chanced a glance inside, whereupon rationality bid him a swift farewell and fled the scene, along with its good friend consciousness. There was just no way to process seeing Pinkie gasping for air as another white pony paused with her teeth clenched on Pinkie Pie’s luscious flank. The sudden realization of how far they had gone in such a short amount of time caused Parmesan to release her mouthful of taffy goodness and push her gently to the side, sitting up and looking away from the pink mare’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, this is just so sudden. I never imagined I’d meet anypony like you, but... I don’t think I’m ready for phase four.”
“Parmesan, I really like you. Even without all these phases and stuff, I like just being with you. I mean, you’re the first pony ever not to freak out about my fuzzy thought bubbles!”
“And you’re the first pony who has ever treated me like I’m normal.”
“That’s why I’m not going to pressure you on anything! I mean, sure, now I’m absolutely famished, but... the only one I want to taste is you. It’ll be worth the wait.” Overcome with gratitude, Parmesan flung herself at Pinkie, landing on top and holding her close.
“Pinkie, thank you. You’re the only one I want to taste, too.” Pinkie, you can’t possibly know how much I’ve wanted to hear those words from somepony. Please, let me show you my thanks...“So... are you ready for phase four?”
