It had been late in the previous school year: that magical time when all the exams were finished, when the hot early-summer afternoons beckoned, when teachers had little teaching left in them, and were more about excited gossiping and planning for the upcoming holiday months.

Like the other colts at Ponyville High, Caisson had managed to endure the beginning of estrus only through sheer willpower, stoic resolve, and a reliance on his good upbringing. Thankfully, most of the fillies tended to go into their cycle around the same time, whether by some magical influence from the Princess of Love (as some devotees of the princess of the Crystal Empire claimed) or the more likely reason that females of any species tended to synch up when grouped together over time.

In any case, there were always two or three weeks a year where fillies would suddenly start smelling a whole lot more interesting. And that wasn’t all: they were more fun too! Fillies would become less shy about coming up and talking to him, laughing at his jokes and pawing at him, giving little hugs in the hallway, and getting a lot more touchy-feely. They looked amazing too — it seemed like they positively glowed.

But, filly by filly, they would get taken aside by Cheerilee and told to go home for the day — and that they weren’t expected back at school for at least a week. At times Caisson felt like the pink-maned teacher followed him through the halls, sweeping up any filly that came too close to him.

He was sure that she did it for the other colts too.

Not that it was a fun holiday for the fillies: they still had to do all of their homework, often being homeschooled by one of their parents or teachers that would make the rounds. And all that was in addition to enduring the powerful physical symptoms of estrus: sweats, hormones, emotions, cramps, desires.

Sure, some fillies would take that ‘moon-tea’ stuff, that was supposed to make things more bearable for them. They covered the potion in health class, a natural suppressant that prevented the worst effects of estrus, including pregnancy. When they did, half the fillies in class would roll their eyes at the mention of the ancient solution, listening to their complaints it seemed about as effective as throwing a teaspoon of water on a barn-fire. Ponyville was also an old-school farming town. Most of the grown-ups and elders still saw moon-tea as more useless than a chocolate horseshoe — in their minds the whole point of buckin’ was to get plenty of healthy young ponies who could help out with the farmwork. The act without foals was just — wasteful.

So aside from the odd filly that was blessed with a less serious cycle, for a couple of weeks each year Ponyville High would become an all-boys school.

This, too, was for the best. As aggressive as fillies during heat-month could be, it was nothing compared to a stallion going into rut.

Every son had been warned by their father about the signs. Snorting, stamping, feeling restless, dropping every other minute… generally feeling like you were able to get any mare you set your eyes on. Every colt was taught from a young age to quickly remove themselves from whatever situation they were in at the earliest signs — getting to a cold shower and fresh air as soon as possible.

It was not an acceptable excuse to chalk up bad behavior as ‘just going into rut’ or ‘colts being colts’. Those days were left in Equestria’s history. Colts had to be responsible for their bodily functions just as much as fillies did — and that meant watching for the signs.0

And they were watched closely too, by all the adults in town.

A wild stallion or colt going into rut was not a fun time.

But with the precautions of removing fillies from school, and the grown-ups mostly shacking up with one another, it had been many seasons since the last instance of a wild, public rutting… though ponies still joked about how Uncle Carrot Cake’s all natural frosting had coated half the town fountain… as well as Aunt Cup Cake.

So it was that every colt that aspired to be a gentlestallion knew that you didn’t go after a filly during those estrus weeks. There was the danger of going into rut, and it was somewhat unsporting: ‘If a filly doesn’t like you when she’s off her hormones, she really won’t like you if you take advantage of her when she’s on ‘em’.

And Caisson had been raised right.

So he’d waited until peak heat had died down, trapped in a school filled with other colts, all of them spending every free moment egging each other on to take a shot at asking out their dream-filly once heat week was over — though it wasn’t quite sporting to go after a filly when she was on her heat, that gray zone just when she got back from the mandatory homeschooling and was still somewhat receptive was considered fair game.

And Caisson had set his target high.

A cute earth-pony by the name of Cutie Hoop — a popular filly in the class who was known to be a studious reader academically, often to be found buried in some giant book behind thick-rimmed glasses… until she went to the buckball field, that was.

There she would transform into the star cheerleader of Ponyville, with moves and grace that made pegasi swear she was part pegasus, and a magnetic glow that made unicorn onlookers think she must have magic-pony blood in her veins.

To Caisson, she might have well as been an alicorn princess.

So it was that, on her first day back, with nary a few weeks left in the school year, Caisson had felt his oats and made the decision to walk up to her in the cafeteria during lunch hour and ask her if he could come watch her at her practices after school.

Never mind that he couldn’t spend more than five minutes after the final bell rang before needing to sprint back to the family farm. Or that he had no idea how asking to ogle her from the sidelines would get him any closer to a date with her. Or that he was a complete, bumbling buffoon of a colt when it came to talking to girls.

It really must have been the lingering effects of estrus in the air that got him to stand up and take those nervous steps toward her table that lunch hour. Maybe he really was in the early stages of a rut to think he had any business making such an attempt — the fact that his stallionhood was stiffly bobbing against his underbelly certainly gave some credence to that possibility.

But he’d shuffled carefully, keeping his heavy organ out of sight as he trotted up to Cutie Hoop’s table.

Instantly, all the fillies had stopped their conversation and looked over at him, eager grins on their faces and welcoming smiles — which nonetheless made Caisson feel like he was under a spotlight of pure female focus.

His words began to stumble and stammer out of his mouth; what was he even saying? He wasn’t sure, not in the moment nor thinking back on it now. All he remembered was that Cutie’s face had started to beam with joy; he was saying something right.

And that’s when it happened.

He’d never found out just who it was, and whether it was on accident or intentional, but a pony passing behind him had bumped against his back leg.

In his heightened state of awareness and agitation, his body already flooded with adrenaline and wired to a hair-trigger for reaction his nerves fired long before his brain had any chance to decipher the innocuous sensation and interrupt his startle reflex.

Millions of years of evolution made him rear up in fright, with a tremendous whinny that cut off whatever bumbling question he had been asking to the lunch-table fully seated with cheerleaders.

Normally, this wouldn’t have been so bad — everypony might have an unexpected rear or buck if something surprised them, and quickly shooting your forehooves up onto a table like this startle was about to make him do would be cause for little more than a giggle… but Caisson had a very long, thick, heavy, organic lever attached to his body.

And the laws of physics are cruel, unforgiving mistresses.

He could only imagine what it must have looked like to half the cheerleading squad as he reared up — the swinging arc of his huge, pink stallionhood along with his swinging sack must have been quite the sight. He still remembered the heavy slap of his rigidness against his belly as he reached the top of his standing rear. His forehooves came back down hard onto the cafeteria table, making two solid *clunks* that filled the air of the cafeteria.

But an object in motion will tend to stay in motion, until another force or object opposes it.

And the hanging log of flesh under his barrel continued swinging downward even after he arrested the fall of his chest… until it was opposed by the table.

*KA-SWAP*

The sound still echoed in his ears, even today — the fall of his goliath stallionhood landing with an equal-parts heavy and wet slap on the fillies table.

The impact sent every tray on the tabletop to clattering, launching the wet mash of peas most of the girls had selected as their sides into their well-coiffed cheerleader manes and faces… and splattering back over his shaft.

For a moment, there was no movement, no noise. Every eye in the cafeteria was drawn to the table and the sound — where it looked bizarrely like the centerpiece to the cheer-squad’s table was Caisson’s heretofore unseen, nineteen-inch, bright-pink, thick-as-your-hoof, horsecock.

Then the moment passed.

Shrieks and shouts came from everywhere.

“Holy buck!”

“Lookitthesizeofthatthing!”

“I knew it!”

“...ould kill a mare with tha-”

“...never fit into-”

“Freakishly huge!”

“Damn BC!”

Somehow, the din had dipped just enough for every pony to hear Cutie Hoop as she carefully worked her hanging-jaw closed, wiped the mashed-peas off her glasses and stated with awe:

“That is one BIG… PINK… COCK!”

Caisson was in complete fight or flight mode by that point — he’d started screaming apologies, righting himself and dismounting the table, ears folding back and tail tucking under himself as he continued to bark apologies in every direction. He wasn’t sure if the echoes in his ears were all the ponies picking up Cutie’s apt description… or just his mind letting the reverberations of the most popular filly in school bounce around in his skull like the ripples from a boulder thrown into a still pond.

“BIG… PINK… COCK!” “BIG… PINK… COCK!” “BIG… PINK… COCK!”

He galloped.

Out of the cafeteria. Out of the school. Out through the field. All the way back to the farm.

Where he hid in the barn until it was time for chores — he’d never skipped class before, but it had seemed like a pretty darn good time to start.

Of course, he couldn’t skip school for the rest of his life, as much as he wanted to. Golden Harvest had nipped at his flank the next morning when he’d tried to pretend like he’d caught a summer-flu: she didn’t raise malingerers, and had a keen eye for when her kids were actually sick, like any good mother.

That next morning, slinking in through the back-forest paths to school, and trying to slip into the back of the gymnasium for morning assembly,Caisson had nevertheless received a standing ovation from the entire student body.

Of course it had been organized by the colts — Hay Stack had jumped out in front of the students seated in the bleachers as soon as they’d spotted him walk in the door then announced loudly to everypony present:

“Here he is folks! The prodigiously penis-endowed pride of Ponyville High… our part-elephant, part-blue whale stud… our five-legged farmstallion… BC - no…” He stopped himself, then turned dramatically to the crowd.

“... BPC!!!”

All the students (and even some of the faculty) began stomping their hooves, a stampede accompanied by a cacophony of cheers and whooping (mostly from the colts), and giggles and whispers (from the fillies).

“AHEM.” The purposefully loud feedback of the screeching microphone from Principal Cheerilee ceased the crowd. “I’m glad everypony is so proud of Caisson, but that’s quite enough… Hay Stack, I think you’ll benefit from a week of detention for this little stunt.”

“Worth it!” Hay Stack yelped, pumping his hoof and receiving a number of back-slaps from the colts.

“Two weeks.” Cheerilee quickly added, silencing him. “As for the rest of you, I know this is all good-natured cheering, but I had better not hear of any of this going too far or teasing one of your fellow students. Everypony’s bodies are different: size, shape, color, race or species are not the basis of our judgments. In Ponyville, we judge only the content of one’s character... and their baking skills!”

That got most of the students quiet and pensive.

“However,” Cheerilee’s eyes focused in on Caisson at the back of the gymnasium, “I don’t believe that I’ve ever heard of a pony’s… blessing being used as an excuse to cut class. Regardless of how large it was. Big Mac certainly never skipped any classes.”

“Big Mac has got nothing on BPC!” Hay Stack chirped, causing another round of raucous cheering.

“Three weeks,” Cheerilee growled, leaning into the microphone then sighing. “Well, Caisson, your friend has just taken the week of detention I was going to give to you, so I guess you can thank him… and if we can get back to our announcements…”

Author's Note

WHAM.

Don't worry folks, all Ponyville-high cafeteria tables are rated for heavy stallionhood-impacts.

Poor Caisson!

...

Or is it 'lucky bastard' Caisson?