Hoofbeats gazed at the figure she had crafted. Yes, she knew it was a phallus, but she never knew how beautiful it could be. She had not even been focused on the assignment. When you don’t know what to draw on someone’s face or graffiti on a bathroom wall, you draw a dick. When you’re bored in pottery class, you sculpt a dick. The logic was simple, but she was still stunned by what she had created, which was sheer anatomical perfection she had shaped with her own hooves.

“That shit looks like a dildo,” she heard from a classmate. Hoofbeats turned to comment, but noticed he was not looking at her sculpture. There, on her flank, had materialized an icon of an erect penis, whose buttercream color matched her mane and tail, perfectly complementing her powder blue coat.

She squealed in delight. Her cutie mark had finally come! After years of being the only student with a blank flank, she finally found her calling! She was overwhelmed with the joy that she would spend the rest of her life creating majestic works of art like this one.

The teacher, Mayflower, walked over to examine the situation, before letting out a gasp. Being an experienced educator, she shuffled Hoofbeats out into the hallway before the rest of the class noticed.

“Hoofbeats,” she said, “explain what happened.”

The filly replied, “I just got my cutie mark. Isn’t it great?” The teacher was unsure of how to react to this. She could give her a detention or send her to the principal’s office, but it was already clear that this could not be fixed so easily.

“We don’t tolerate vulgarity at this school,” she said sternly. “I can lend you a skirt for the rest of the school day, but I am going to schedule a talk with your parents to find a more long-term solution to this issue.”

Hoofbeats stomped her hoof. “I don’t see an issue! Stallions walk around naked all the time.”

Mayflower ignored this justification and handed her the standard Parent-Teacher Conference form.

“I want you to give this to your parents so they can speak with me tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she begrudgingly obliged.

The walk home was miserable. Hoofbeats was an optimistic pony and had convinced herself that her teacher’s attitude would be an isolated incident, but the taunts and laughter of the schoolfoals proved otherwise. Ponies for the most part were rarely judged by their cutie marks. There was, however, the occasional discrimination. For instance, a pony with a skull cutie mark has a high likelihood of being arrested even if his talent is a completely non-skeletal form of badassery. Hoofbeats quickly understood that society would look down upon a pony whose mark was inherently sexual.

She was in tears by the time she got to the front door. She rushed past the kitchen and straight upstairs to her bedroom. She reached under her pillow for a sparkly pink sketchbook. This was always where she turned in times of grief, as she found solace in pouring her emotions onto the paper. She was intending to draw something, but as she flipped through the pages, she began to notice a pattern. Sketch after sketch of detailed genitalia flashed before her eyes. She had rationalized this before, calling it a “study of muscular structure”, but only now did she realize just how common of a theme it was for her. She threw the book across the room and collapsed on the bed sobbing.
There was a light knock on the door and her mother peeked her head in. “Is everything alright, honey?”

“My life is ruined!” Hoofbeats wailed.

“Now, why do you say that?”

She gestured to her flank. “Take a look yourself!”

“Oh, sweetheart! Your cutie mark! I’m so proud of you!”

She hugged Hoofbeats gently, who recoiled. “Are you blind? That’s a dick!”

Her family had always been supportive. “I realize that. You know your father and I love you no matter what you decide to do with your life.”

“My teacher called it ‘vulgarity’! She wants me to cover it up. And the students all laughed at me. I’m a joke.”

Her mother comforted her. “Your talent is nothing to be ashamed of. Sexuality is about the expression of love and bringing joy to other ponies. Don’t you want to spread joy doing what you love?”

Hoofbeats had kind of expected this reaction from her mom. Her family was not exactly what you would call conservative. Her parents were from the “free love” generation, so they were ok with this sort of thing. Still, the rest of equinity was not likely to be so accepting.

“Ms. Mayflower wants to speak to you tomorrow.” She handed her mother the paper.

“Then we’ll see if we can set her straight.”

There was a lot of confidence behind that statement, but Hoofbeats knew tomorrow would be brutal. No amount of logic would be able to convince the educational system to be open and honest about sex. Still, her apprehension was matched by her excitement, because she now knew that the rest of her life would be filled with the kind of passion and beauty she had come to love.

Author's Note

I'd like to thank Raccoon, Brad, Mark, and of course Chad Warden.