Author's Note

No sex. Talking about sex! But no sex.

8. Twilight Sparkle, Golden Oak Library, Hotgust 18th, 1054 GCE

“Spike. Coffee.”

“Already ready!” The little purple dragon bounced by and pressed a warm mug into her hoof.

Her first sip of the morning filled her with an almost indescribable level of comfort and wellbing. Twilight had become completely addicted to Quequeg’s coffee in her undergrad years, and Spike had labored long to get his home brewed stuff to match it; finally getting it exactly the right level of burnt-tasting, saving her hundreds of bits and hours in line every year. He also knew the correct coffee-to-cream ratio (about one to eight) and how to get exactly the right amount of precipitate sugar in the bottom of the cup.

She took another, longer sip.

Spike was a very good dragon. He deserved to be told so. “Spike, you’re a very good dragon.”

“Shucks, ma’am, only doing my job,” he said as he waddled off to finish breakfast.

Twilight, caffeinating happily, levitated her to-do list for today out from behind the library front desk. Top-level items included, but weren’t limited to: processing library returns, a meeting with the mayor about an overdue book amnesty program, lunch with Pinkie and Dash, and working on her mistress’s thesis

Which last she was a bit stuck on. Another friendship problem or two would be really helpful around now. Her friends had been awfully calm and stable lately. What was up with that? How was she supposed to study friendship if it was actually working properly?

As she reflected on this, the tiny furs on the back of her neck stirred. A response that she’d learned to associate with a pony’s innate danger sense. Most certainly not a manifestation of anything like a ‘Pinkie sense’ Just a response to sensory input so minor that it would not normally trigger the conscious mind.

She perked her ears and rotated them. Ah. Yes. There was that sensory input: a gentle tap-tap-tap from the library door. “Coming Fluttershy!”

“I’m sorry,” said Fluttershy, hunched over at the front door, a hooded sweatshirt covering her from the substantial flare of her hips to the tip of her tiny snout, wings mantled defensively. “I know you’re not open yet. I just… I mean, I just don’t feel very good.”

“My door is always open to you! However, I must also again remind you that I am not a doctor.”

Fluttershy glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then darted inside. “But, you’re really smart.”

“Thank you, but still not a doctor. Can I offer you some coffee?”

Fluttershy pulled back her hood. “So… I’m dizzy, and my throat is dry, and my heart is pounding, and I have a headache. Is it cancer?”

“Once again reminding you that I am completely unequipped to give either a positive or negative diagnosis of cancer. Those do, however, sound like the classic symptoms of dehydration. Offer of coffee rescinded. Would you care for a tall frosty glass of ice water?”

“I have a sore throat, too. Can you look inside? How does it look? Ahhhhhh?”

“It looks bruised. Also, it looks like Spike is done with breakfast. Would you care to join me?”

“Oh, this smells so good,” said Fluttershy, hopping onto a stool at the kitchen table. “Are you sure it’s alright if I have some?”

“I always make way too much,” said Spike, flapping his little wings to place a bowl of scrambled eggs on the table. “Do you want butter and syrup with your oatmeal?”

“Yes, please. If it isn’t too much trouble.”

“Coffee?”

“Water for Fluttershy,” said Twilight, climbing onto a stool and scooping some eggs onto her plate with her magic. “So how many glasses are you drinking? On an average day.”

“Oh, I’m getting plenty of fluids. Yum yum, I just love those fluids.”

Twilight narrowed her eyes. “What kind of fluids? Many drinks can make you more dehydrated than when you started. Speaking of which, more coffee, please.”

“Coming right up!”

Fluttershy munched a tiny spoonful of oatmeal, and swallowed gingerly. “Mmmm, this oatmeal is really good. I don’t get to eat a big breakfast often, since I’m so busy with my animals.”

“The fluids thing, though,” said Twilight, undeterred by Shy’s attempt at conversational deflection.

“I would love another glass of water, please. Mmmmm, water. Can’t get enough of it.”

“Fluttershy, how much pee have you been drinking?”

Shy’s glass fell out of her hoof and rolled off the table, ice cubes scattering. “Um, some?”

“I’ll get that!” said Spike.

“Like, an estimate. How many ounces?”

Fluttershy hunched so that her mane fell over her eyes, trying to sink into her hoodie. She mumbled something incomprehensible. Then, a little more clearly: “I thought you said it was okay.”

Twilight tapped her hooves together. “Well, I was thinking occasionally. As a fetish though, you know? I didn’t think you’d be willing to… Guzzle it? Constantly? Like I drink coffee? Is that rude to say? I also didn’t calculate how popular the sex box would be. If you’re drinking enough to cause you these symptoms, then I worry what it’s doing to your poor kidneys. Your body wants to eliminate that stuff for a reason, you know.”

“You’re not a doctor,” muttered Fluttershy.

Spike placed a fresh glass of water beside Fluttershy’s plate.

Twilight sipped her coffee. An idea was starting to form in her head. A little egg, the child of her mind. And like any good idea-mother, she immediately put it to the test, rolling it around and poking it for cracks. Fluttershy depended on that box, but it wasn’t exactly making her any friends, was it? If anything, it was keeping her from making friends! And making friends was the most important thing in life, right? So. She ought to steer Shy away from using the sex box so much. But she needed to do it gently. “I think maybe you need to take a break.”

Fluttershy reared up and slammed her hooves down on the table so that everything on it bounced three inches and came down with a rattle and crash. Splodges of oatmeal and egg plopped onto the table for half a second after, like the first drops of a gentle rain. Fluttershy’s new glass of water wobbled and fell over. “You will not take the sex box away from me!”

“Gosh darn it!” said Spike.

“Spike, language.” She levitated a napkin to mop up around her mug. “Also, more coffee please.” She tapped her hooves together in front of her snout. “So. Fluttershy. I want to be clear here. I had predicted several ways our conversation about the sex box could go, based primarily on how you responded when I suggested you take a break. If you’re interested: the way you reacted? That was about the worst way you could possibly have responded. If you’d been calm, or even hesitant, I might’ve allowed myself to be steered away from the topic. But this? Right here? This tantrum? This is shifting my opinion from ‘suggested break’ to ‘mandatory ban’.”

Fluttershy loomed over Twilight, chest heaving, eyes glowing pink with rage. Loomed not just because she was standing half-on the table, but because she seemed to have grown by at least fifty percent. Her slim, hummingbird-like wings spread out to either side, their graceful silhouette somehow managing to cast a menacing shadow. Light from the window refracted off the trailing edges in a prismatic gleam that evoked a cartoon drawing of a very sharp knife. Twilight reflected that pegasus magic was very real, if poorly understood.4 And that it could be quite impressive, at times.

Impressive, yet Twilight was not intimidated. “Do you have any lovers? Playmates? Friends with magical benefits? Anything?”

Shy’s wings trembled. Their shadow reduced to its regular size. “Uh… lots. When I’m in the sex box.”

“No, I mean real ones. Ones whose names you know. Ones who can actually provide you with intimacy and emotional support and not just physical pleasure.”

Shy’s wings wilted into a half-hearted mantle. She shrank to her normal—still very tall—height. “There’s… um, there’s you guys.”

Twilight shook her head. “Flattered, but I don’t think that’s enough for you. I’m borderline asexual. Applejack is straight—allegedly; I’m not sure I buy it. Rarity is obsessed with her career. Dash is your ex. And Pinkie is… Pinkie. None of us can give you the kind of support you need. Or fulfill your appetites, honestly. A few hours in that sex box would break most ponies, and you’re in there almost every night!”

Fluttershy folded in on herself. “I’m sorry.”

“No! It’s amazing! You’re amazing! I’m curious to research it, honestly, but I’m just not horny enough to put in the hours.”

A flash of the glowing pink flickered around the edge of her blue-green eyes. What did the Ponyville natives call it when she did this? The Stare? Twilight had never been on the receiving end before. She could see why it got results. “So,” said Fluttershy, her tone betraying an aggression less passive than she usually employed, “what, exactly, is your point? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Have you considered dating? I’m told dating is how ponies evaluate potential mates. I never really did it myself, but most ponies swear by it.”

Fluttershy pinned her ears. “Dating? Like going out in public with a stranger and doing fun things in front… in front of everybody?”

“Yes. Like going to dinner, maybe? Dinner and a show is a very popular itinerary.”

“Eating? In… public? Where people can see you eat? And judge how you chew?” Fluttershy sunk downward, stroking her mane. “I have… um… I need… I can’t do that. I don’t understand ponies. I can’t live without the sex box. Please.”

Twilight felt the stirrings of pity in her heart. Perhaps she should encourage Shy to go easy on the pee and just let this one drop. But what would a good friend do? That was the question. Would a good friend let her settle for who she was, or would she instead help her friend to become the best pony she could be, whether that friend wanted it or not?

She wasn’t sure, but she knew which would look better as a case study for her mistress’s thesis. She clapped her forehooves. “Spike. This is a friendship problem! Get me my writing things! You’re going to be sending some letters.”

Fluttershy pulled her hood back over her head and sank beneath the table until only her eyes peeked over the edge. “Oh no.”