Getting Laid

Twilight sat in the centre of her bedroom surrounded by several rather impressive book-towers, her quill removing itself from the paper as she began to read.

“Èch aveirde des lasterlaitcheurs,” Twilight began, swallowing her trepidation; she might have continued if Spike hadn’t burst into the room, causing her to let go of the implement as she toppled quite unceremoniously onto a pile of reference material.

“Twilight, I’ve got a—” Spike began, and then caught sight of a particularly sweaty Twilight sprawled over a knocked-over pile of enormous books.

In terror, she reached immediately for the nearest tome (bearing on its cover the rather impressive title Mittelnordhochlandseinhornssprache Studiengrammatik) and slammed it down on the paper, concealing it entirely from view.

His worried expression became something else entirely. “—what are you doing?”

“Nothing! Nothing,” she said, pressing the book down harder. “What’s, uh—what’s the matter, Spike?”

A few moments of somewhat uncomfortable silence came to pass.

“Well, uh,” he said, shaking his head quickly, “See, I’m going on a date with Apple Bloom, and—”

“Ooh!” Twilight shouted, tossing the grammar to the side and knocking over a pile of Old Lowlands dictionaries over. “Dating! I swear I’ve got a book on this somewhere.” She hopped over to the nearest shelf—her bedroom being a library of the most sordid sort—and began rifling rather hurriedly through the shelves.

“Twilight,” Spike said, his tone some mask of reassurance, “I don’t—”

“The Gynntyllemares Almanac to Engourdisry in the Fayce of the Ennemie Masculean?” she read, frowning. “No, too old-fashioned.”

“Twilight.”

“The Kama Sutra?” Twilight said, frowning. “You don’t speak Namadicus, right?”

Spike tapped a foot on the floorboards. “Twilight.”

“Adventures Carnal in the Land of the Porcines? I guess that might help with the whole interspecies thing, but—”

“Twilight,” Spike said, looking furtively over his shoulder, “If I say your name again the neighbors might get the wrong idea.”

“Aha! An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations! Perfe—”

“For Celestia’s sakes, Twilight!”

Her horn’s hold over the book slipped, and it fell quite loudly to the floor. “Yes?” she said, turning towards Spike; her voice had the slightest tinge of irritation.

“Rarity’s already given me advice,” he said, closing his eyes and putting his claw up to his face. “I just wanted you to know I’d be out for a few hours.”

Twilight’s ears dropped the lowest that they had since that time in the School when she had been led into thinking that it might be a very good idea to put weights on her ears; the intonation she put on the sound after was almost superfluous. “Oh.”

“I’ll be back at ten,” he said, coughing slightly. “Is there anything I need to do before I leave?”

“Uh,” Twilight said, looking around at the organised mess of her room, “It’ll wait until you get back.”

“Great!” Spike said, beginning to turn about, before stopping for a moment in concentration. “By the way,” he said, glancing at the covered bit of parchment lying squashed under the enormous reference text, “you’re seriously conlanging with historical reference texts?”

“Well, see,” she began, her face lighting up at the prospect of a kindred soul, “I’m constructing a theoretical creole of—”

“Got it,” he said, shaking his head as if in great sadness as he trod out of the room. “You really need to get laid, Twi.”

With that, he closed the door behind him.

Twilight shut her eyes and groaned.

Then, instead of keeping her position long enough to warrant a scene break, she shook her head gently.

“I’m not just some no-name virgin making up conlangs in her father’s basement,” she said, her quiet voice slowly rising. “I’m a national hero, a household name, Princess Celestia’s personal student. I’m beyond the law! Above it! I can get any plot I want, when I want!”

She stood, her voice bold and eyes filled with fury. Her resolve did not falter, and her cause was just. “Nopony can stand against me in good conscience, mare or stallion! I stand in defiance of all who seek to denigrate me!”

“I’m Twilight Sparkle, bearer of the Element of Magic, and I’m—going—to—get—laid!”

“Rea—lly?” Rainbow Dash said, and Twilight screamed in absolute terror, jumping into a pile of fourteenth-century immigration ledgers.

She quickly pushed Volume Seventy-Nine off her head, glaring at the pegasus perched upon her cloud a few centimetres from the open window. “Dash, you scared the living daylights out of me!”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Rainbow yawned, smirking. “I just didn’t know you were into oviparous unbirthing.”

“Celestia Dawnbringer that’s terrifying,” Twilight said, sticking her tongue out and shuddering in disgust. “How do you even know what ‘oviparous unbirthing’ means?”

“I’ve seen things,” Dash said, and for the slightest moment her eyes gained the quality of those of a mare who has seen too much; then she closed them, shook her head and grinned. “But that’s besides the point. You said you wanted to get laid?”

“Dash, I’m not going to discuss this with you.” Twilight walked over to the window and shut it in Dash’s face, trotting over to the nearest shelf as she commenced her plotting and scheming.

She might have, at least, if the squeaking of an opening window hadn’t interrupted her.

“There’s no lock on the window, is there?”

“Nope.”

—

Dash parried a tactical book strike with a risen wing; the paperback, a rather low-quality reproduction of a shilling shocker, disintegrated on impact against her ballistic cover.

“Get away from me!” Twilight shouted, her horn glowing; the door flung itself open. “I've got long-range weapons on standby and will not hesitate to use them in case of continued belligerence on your part!”

Dash walked carefully around her, keeping her back to the door. “For Celestia’s sakes, I’m not going t—”

“Launch authorized!”

A strategic tome travelled through the open door at a large fraction of the speed of sound, slamming into Dash's flank and sending her careening into a high shelf. The books within remained marevellously unrustled; she groaned, picking up the offending object and looking at the cover.

“A Worker's Guide to Ishpan? They don't let mares work there.” She stared at her. “Why do you even have this?”

“Oh, Fluttershy gave it to me,” Twilight said, her tone quite suddenly eager. “It belonged to her mother before the Revolution, and since she didn't need it any more—ah, she gave me this, too!” She glanced over to the shelves, reaching out for a paperback with her magic.

Rainbow, having observed Twilight's behavioural patterns closely, chose that instant to strike; she regained consciousness quickly enough to feel her wings smacking against the wall, followed quickly by her back.

“And as you can see,” Twilight said, the glow fading from her horn, “I'm smart enough to defend myself from you and I'm smart enough to get laid myself.” She tugged on the paperback and pulled it out so Dash could see the title—Ye Æcreponnyes Gwwedde to Unscaedwis Becaystræn bytwixt ye Cyorpfyolcyes in ye Courrynt Æra—and harrumphed. “With the help of old and established literature, of course.”

“Look,” Dash said, quickly fluttering her miraculously unbroken wings, “That book's probably older than both of us combined.”

Twilight smirked smugly. “I'll have you know that it's older than you, me and Luna combined. Written at a crucial time in a relatively isolated region around the dawn of the printing press, providing a vital insight into contemporary affairs and a comprehensive account of Earth pony tribal linguistics in the Early Celestian Ages. This thing's worth its weight in gold.”

“Even you've gotta admit you're scraping the bottom of the barrel here, Twi.”

“Horseapples. Just look at the names here!” She pulled it open to a random page and began to read eagerly. “Silver the Brighteared, Crusher Stronglegs, Candy Widthsmilings, Sunder Fillecunct, Candy Honeytongue, Candy the Strongbucked, Clover the Clever—”

The pegasus raised an eyebrow as she pushed herself to her hooves, walking slowly closer. “That would be a lot more impressive if those ponies weren't all dead.”

“Oh, Rainbow,” Twilight said, tut-tutting. “Poor, plebian Rainbow, obssessed as always with the flavor of the moment, stuck in search of ephemeral fame. Don't you know that a pony achieves immortality through her work? Today, we speak of the great Sunder Fillecunct, his name upon our tongues as surely they were on those of thousands in his time, such were his exploits—is that not immortality? Does he not ravage me as he did hundreds in his time by knowledge alone?”

“Give me that,” Dash said, and snatched the paperback away. The unicorn made no attempt to resist as she began to read aloud. “Thayn he sweng hes big filler wyde, and pleenged into ye tyte joak of ye sumbre fille, and shee did nyt beh eh bryeech but was insteed jollie thensfort and adaymore, and had the Mark apon hes seid?”

“I told you,” Twilight said, practically swooning. “He made Princess Celestia who she is today. Do you not feel him within you as you speak of his immortal deeds?”

Rainbow Dash stared at her, then back to the paperback, then back to her; she repeated the cycle a few times before speaking.

“You realize that you're just trying to lose your virginity by clopping to a story about somepony getting his cutie mark by rutting Celestia as a filly, right?”

She felt Twilight's hooves around her before she saw her move.

“It's true! It's so true! I don't know the first thing about getting laid and I'm putting up a fight because I'm too insecure to admit that my books can't tell me everything and I'm telling you my motivations because I might be autistic!” She buried her muzzle into her breast, and the tears began to flow.

“There, there,” Dash said, gently patting her head. “You're not a sperg.”

Twilight sniffled, looking up from her damp cyan—Twilight might have called it cerulean, but Dash put no great faith in words she couldn't spell—crying-spot. “Thanks. That means a lot, coming from you.”

“Just a psycho egghead.”

—

Rainbow Dash nursed a rather impressive shiner, slurping at a cup of Twilight-prepared tea.

“I'm so sorry,” Twilight said, clasping her hooves together in penitence. “I didn't mean to do it that hard.”

“It's no biggie,” Rainbow said, struggling to wink. “I'll just say Flutters likes it rough.”

“At least let me fix that hematoma—”

“Please keep your horn at least a foot away from me at all times.”

Twilight stepped back respectfully, and they sat and drank tea peacefully—if Dash could withhold her various poorly-concealed expressions of digust, the appropriate adverb might be quietly.

“So,” Dash began; she seemed to be anticipating a motion verb after her speech verb, but Twilight remained attentively in her seat. “Usually, we go to a bar.”

“In Ponyville.”

“Yeah. Normally we'd go down east, but with the Changelings running around they're tighter than Applejack in cider season.” She paused for a bit. “In a bad way.”

“Besides,” Twilight said, her expression rather far-off, “I want my first time to be special.”

Rainbow Dash raised an eyebrow. “Wait, it's your first time? Aren't you like twenty-seven?”

Twilight put on a story-telling accent. “Well, there was that time with my Starswirl the Bearded tulpa—”

—

“T'ame,” cooed I, embracing Starswirl's magnificent beard, “Ne sai que face sans tu, mun amant.”

“Oh, Twilight,” crooned Starswirl, the strands of her beautiful chin-mane draped across her awe-struck lover's face as her majestic prosthetic wings splayed out to her sides, “It is only with you that I can express my true identity as a tribequeer pansexual beardkin forced into cisgenetic heteronormative transsexuality by the orthodox establishment. I wish that all of my achievements could only be yours.”

“Oh, Starswirl,” moaned I, leaning in close to smell my idol's splendiferous neck-growth, “You learned Modern Equestrian just for me?”

She stroked the length of her progidious hair-wave, flowing as it did like photonic wavicles, before her hoof came to rest upon my own mane. “There were not enough words in that dusty native tongue of mine that you could dig out of an old dictionary to express the full depths of affection I have for you, my cis pet.”

I pushed myself up against his beard, revelling in its silky smoothness. “And surely it isn't because Old Lowlands Unicorn is devoid of proper documentation, and I'm tired of composing dialogs in it?”

“Twilight Sparkle,” enunciated Starswirl, grinning as her generous love-waterfall moving sensually downwards, scraping itself against her barrel and around her loins, teasingly tickling her hindquarters, “Your meta-ness is that most arousing thing of you.”

“Rut me, Starswirl, rut me now!” said I, pushing a length of her beautiful oak-moss up above my pudendal regions, but no closer, for I would have to wait for her full and informed consent before engaging in sexual activity, as her prior actions were in no way an indication of her willingness to engage in further instances of said activity.

“I, Starswirl the Bearded, give you my full and informed consent regarding our engagement in sexual activity, as my prior actions were in no way an indication of my willingness to engage in further instances of said activity.”

“Oh, Starswirl,” said I, as we began to engage in mutually consenting adult sexual activity. Her thick, amorous curls bent down and then up, penetrating my virginial region as what remained stroked themselves against my puffy, purple labia, a few stray, virile strands positioning themselves at the entrance to my warm, fertile rectal cavity.

I groaned in ecstasy as she unleashed a lollapalooza of multiple, simultaneous deep strikes into my waiting holes, the aiguilles of her beard gently treating my rectal flora to a hedonistic massage, stimulating my intestinal nerves as my vaginal canal winked fortuitously around the bulk of her fat, white hair-funnel. Seeking to reciprocate, I curled my hooves around her, licking at the base of her keratin-tunnels as she moaned in equal pleasure from the stimulation.

I reached down and began to nibble at her nipples, mumbling her name. “How is this even physically possible?” asked I, as my little tongue wrapped tightly around the lengths of her love-tubes and silky beard-hair began to sprout from them, growing into enormous curls, stretching past me and going to join the assault on my tender virgin anus.

“Magic,” groaned Starswirl as she reached her peak, her hair beginning to unload into me a thick, viscous substance. I climaxed as she did, my vaginal mucus spewing around her hairppendages, joined by a smooth flow of goopy hairsemen. “Magic, my dear Twilight, magic!”

With a long scream, she pulled her spewing, supercalifragilistic mineral-bearing strand-horns from my pudendal regions, shoving them into my mouth with an ejaculative thrust; my cheeks bulged with the weight of his candy pony hairjaculation, and I gulped it down with a gasp of pleasure, hugging her as my holes dripped with it. With a deep breath, she finally pulled her wondrous, hirsute prehensile organ from me, draping it on my face and wiping itself off on my forehead as I groaned in submissive pleasure like the pretty pony pussy I was.

“Please,” I said, my hooves drifting to my aching loins, “More.”

—

“—but I'm not sure if that counts.”

Dash sighed deeply, sinking her face into her hooves and swaying her head a bit.

She did this for a little while before looking up and taking a deep breath, opening her eyes and smiling a blessedly ignorant smile. “Forget I asked.”

They sat in a uniquely comfortable silence.

Twilight took a sip of tea.

“Right,” Dash said, having forgotten the concept of beards, “so you need to have your first time be special. I think I know just the solution.”

Twilight grinned giddily. “And what's the solution?”

Rainbow Dash grinned back.

“Whores.”