Big Dick Energy
Admiral Biscuit
You trudge down the stairs at Sweet Apple Acres, rubbing sleep from your eyes. You’re not awake yet, although the smell of fresh-brewed coffee is helping get you there. Too bad there isn’t any sizzling bacon.
Of course you’re the last one to get downstairs for breakfast. You don’t have to look in the mirror to know that you look like death warmed over, either. You’re still in your pajamas and your hair is an unholy mess.
The Apple family is all sitting at the breakfast table, awake and alert.
You didn’t go to bed any later than them, and you didn’t work as hard as any of them. Well, maybe you outworked Granny Smith, but she’s old. You’re not. You’re in the prime of your life, even if you don’t look it.
What’s even worse is you know that before sitting down to breakfast, they were all doing chores. You know that Apple Bloom fed the chickens and gathered the eggs. You know that Applejack fed and milked the cows. You don’t know what Big Mac did; he didn’t have a specific morning routine. He just took care of things that needed taking care of.
You’d tried the morning thing once, thinking that you could realign your circadian rhythm by getting up early and doing something. You thought you’d be perky or at least awake by breakfast, but nope. You fell asleep in your pancakes; embarrassingly, they left you there until lunchtime. Now the smell of maple syrup gives you flashbacks.
“Good morning, Alex!”
“Morning, Apple Bloom.” You drop into your seat and pick up your coffee, taking a deep sniff to shake some of the cobwebs loose before you sip it. “And everypony else.”
They have the decency to wait until your cup’s half-empty before giving you the morning chore: stacking haybales with Big Mac.
At least you’re not working alone.
🍎🍎🍎
After you’ve waved Apple Bloom off, the rest of the family splits up. Granny goes back in the house to clean up breakfast and then take a nap; Applejack heads out to the orchards, and Big Mac and you mosy on over to the barn. You’re wearing yesterday’s grubby clothes, and have decided to forgo bathing until before lunch--you’re going to be all hot and sweaty by the time the bales are stacked, so why wash first?
Big Mac shows you the area of the hayloft he wants cleared for the new bales, and then lets you help him put on his harness, a task you’ve always enjoyed. You’ve lost some of your pudge working with the Apples, but you’ve still got a long way to go before you’re as bulky as Big Mac. Or Applejack, for that matter.
And then he’s off to get the wagon and you climb up into the loft and start stacking bales to make room. It’s only a small taste of what’s to come, sadly.
🍎🍎🍎
By the time he comes back, you’ve got the front part of the hayloft clean and swept.
He backs the wagon in as neatly as you’d please, and then before you can even get in front to help him, unhitched his harness.
He starts off on the wagon, grabbing bales with his teeth and tossing them across the gap, while you pull them back out of the way and start to pile them.
It feels like it takes forever, but it’s not all that long before the wagon’s empty, and there’s a ragged pile of bales across the floor. The next task will be to stack them, but not before a break. You’re soaked with sweat, and he’s even got a faint sheen on his coat.
Ponies can’t sit like humans, so you’re always left to presume that the position he’s assumed is comfortable and relaxing. You’re splayed out on a bale, leaning up against another one, and both of you are holding a cold ginger beer.
“I just don’t know how you’re so full of energy all the time,” you mutter.
“Ah.” Big Mac takes a sip of his ginger beer. “Well, it’s not really a secret.”
You roll your eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re going to give some homespun homily about early birds catching the worm or early to bed and early to rise.”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” he says. “It’s big dick energy.”
You almost choke on your ginger beer. “What?”
“Big dick energy.” He motions his hoof over his crotch. It’s all tucked away right now, but you’ve seen it in its full glory before. “You either got it, or you don’t.”
“I very much don’t, as you’re well aware.”
He shrugs. “Well, ain’t nothing anypony can do about that.”
You nod, and finish your drinks in silence.
Big Dick Energy
Admiral Biscuit
Morning comes, as it does every day whether you like it or not. You push back the covers and shuffle zombie-like into the bathroom, avoiding looking into the mirror. What’s the point? You know you look like death warmed over; you do at the beginning of every day.
From downstairs, idle breakfast chatter and the smell of fresh-brewed coffee. They don’t have bacon, which is a shame. That would help motivate you.
Everypony is bright and chipper, except for you. You look like something the cat would drag out.
There’s already a cup of coffee at your place, and you take a sniff to let it knock loose some of the cobwebs before taking a sip.
“Good morning, Alex!” Apple Bloom says.
“Morning, Apple Bloom,” you reply. “Morning, everypony else.” They’re all bright and chipper, despite already having done chores this morning. It’s not fair.
It doesn’t help that Big Mac’s explanation of how he’s got so much energy is still on your mind, and like it or not, you’re viewing the breakfast table in a new light. One that you wish you weren’t even considering, and you try your best to focus on the breakfast waffles and nothing else.
By the time Applejack assigns the chores, you’ve mostly got Big Mac’s big dick energy off your mind. It comes back in the shower, naturally, and you concentrate on getting yourself clean, both in body and in mind.
You manage to accomplish one of those.
🍎🍎🍎
Lunch is in the fields, which is not uncommon. It’s also largely apple-based, which is also not uncommon.
She does provide you with a few slices of bread, in lieu of the pasture grasses she’s snacking on.
You don’t want to ask but you can’t help yourself. “How come you’ve got so much energy when I don’t?”
“Oh, well.” A faint tinge of color comes to her cheeks. “It’s big dick energy.”
You nearly choke on your ginger beer. In the back of your mind, you were somewhat anticipating that answer, but to hear her say it out loud. . . .
“But you . . . you’re a mare.”
“Alex, the thing you’ve got to understand about big dick energy is that it isn’t just about a dick.” She leans forwards on her seat, moving into lecture mode. “It’s about confidence. It’s about knowing who you are.” She taps your chest with a hoof. “It’s about knowing what you can do. It’s not cocky or braggy--Rainbow Dash thinks she’s got big dick energy but most of the time she doesn’t. Only when she stops thinking about impressing everypony else and just gets on with flying.”
“Oh, I see.” You drain the rest of your bottle and set it down. “So it’s not about the dick, then.”
“Well.” Applejack shifts her hind legs, revealing the full monty. “Not entirely, no, but if you ain’t packing. . . .”
Author's Note
Would you like to know more about big dick energy? Click HERE! (link is SFW)
Just a silly idea I had, and a way to warm up for the one-hour speedwriting thingy that’ll probably have started by the time this percolates through the approval process.
