Getting Laid

This chapter contains various references to the fic Judgement (), and takes part in the same continuity. Reading it isn’t necessary—it’s over nine thousand words long, no meme intended—but may help shed light on affairs.

Twilight leafed through the diary.

“Her first time didn’t effect her later self at all, even despite her short-term difficulties.”

“Affect,” Dash said, smug.

Twilight harrumphed. “I’ll have you know that ‘effect’ means ‘create’ as a verb. You only know the difference because Daring Do makes a joke to that effect in Daring Do and the Grammatical Caper.”

Dash humphed. “She was in the middle of a bucking war, anyway.”

“I can’t believe we’re still having this argument. Just look at all the data we’re gathering. I don’t think prostitution’s even relevant now.”

Her returning look was deadpan. “So you get a few interesting stories and you’ve completely forgotten about getting laid, huh?”

Twilight sighed, refusing to concede the point. “Look, we’ll call this another draw. Happy?”

Dash seemed content, and so debate ceased.

Twilight put the journal into her saddlebag; she’d get a copy to the Princess later. “We’re going to Rarity’s place.”

Dash was no longer content, and so debate resumed.

“No bucking way.”

“What is it you have against Rarity, Dash?”

She shuddered. “Just look at her! She probably doesn’t remember her first time.”

“Dash,” Twilight said, shaking her head, “was it with you?”

“For once, no. Not my type.”

The customary eyebrow-raising ensued. “What is your type, then?”

“The type that doesn’t go full Follower the moment she gets wings.” She stuck her tongue out. “C’mon, I don’t have an agenda. I just really don’t like talking with her. We’ll spend five hours getting past ‘ladies don’t kiss and tell’ and all the other cliche horseapples she’ll throw at us, and it’ll end up in the spa and she’ll say I’ll hafta get a manicure or something before she’ll tell us and it’ll all fall apart.”

Twilight sighed, more at Dash’s mispronunciation of cliché than at her tenacity. “Alright. One more pony before her. Happy?”

—

Lyra answered the door, rubbing her eyes. “Huh,” she said, shaking her head, “What’re the Helmets of Armoury doing here? Don’t you have worlds to save?”

“We need to talk to Bon-Bon,” Twilight said, grinning uncomfortably.

Lyra rolled her eyes, yawning deeply. “Ugh. Nobody ever wants to get music lessons in this podunk heap of a railway town. What d’you need her for? The confectionary’s not in motion t’day.”

“We’re, uh,” Twilight said, glancing over at Dash, “We’re conducting a study on the qualitative effects of, uh—” she paused for a moment, “an individual apoparthenevomation, specifically whether an expert application will result in metionizonization in the long term.”

“I took Ancient Ipparionic as a minor, Twilight. I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

Dash snickered; Twilight bit her lower lip and looked to the unusually dusty ground.

She shrugged. “Hey, so—if it’s a scientific study, why am I not in it?”

Dash and Twilight looked at each other.

“You’re not a virgin?”

Lyra stood upon her hindlegs and raised her hooves up on both sides of her head, looking to the left and right with an utterly alien expression upon her face; her lower lip pouted in a thoroughly unnatural way. “Ouch.”

Dash stood back a bit. “What in Equestria are you doing?”

“Oh, it’s the ‘we’ve got a badass here’ face from My L—”

Lyra might have finished her sentence if a beige hoof hadn’t chosen that moment to shove her out of the way, allowing a somewhat more animated Bon-Bon to take precedence. “Keep your Cavelinan cuisine in your saddlebags, marefiddler!”

“You first, rodwaxer!” Lyra shouted back; the sounds of clattering hoofsteps resounded, terminating in a shutting door.

Bon-Bon shook her head. “She isn’t gonna wash that flank for weeks.”

Twilight coughed into her hoof. “Excuse me, but—rodwaxer?”

She leaned in a bit, whispering. “She said I could, like, keep saying ‘filly-fooler’ and ‘marefiddler’ if I felt the same way about her, uh—her words—” She cringed, as if blessing them with the title was an insult to the language. “—for straight ponies.”

“You don’t?”

“Funny thing is, y’know, I think I kinda do,” Bon-Bon said, stepping aside and gesturing to the inside, where a bunch of chairs and beanbags stood beyond some empty wooden shelves on the walls. “Make yourselves at home. Or, like, at shop.” She shook her head. “Whatever.”

Dash and Twilight trod in; they’d never been in the place closed before, and the confectionary’s oven had a peculiar stillness to it unlit.

“This place sure smells different,” Dash said, sniffing at the air. “Like wood ‘stead of cinnamon.”

“Don’t see the point paying for cinnamon gas if I’m not, y’know, using it.” Bon-Bon took a seat of her own, in a hard wooden chair. “So,” she said, “what in Celestia’s ever-loving name’s an ‘aypowparfuhbaimaishun’?”

“Well, see, since you seem really well-adjusted—”

Bon-Bon snickered.

“—we just wanna know how your cherry got popped, in full detail.”

Bon-Bon coughed politely. “Elements of Harmony usually go into ponies’ shophouses and ask them how they got their cherries popped?”

“Yes,” Dash said, nodding.

“Well, then,” Bon-Bon said, her expression turning thoughtful, “I guess it’s been a really long time since I told anypony but the indomitable Clops-To-My-Sweat up there, so what the hay.”

—

Kay, so, it’s the freshman year party, I get a bit carried away with the whole ‘do really stupid crap’ thing, and before I know it my butthole’s just got, like, a whole keg’s worth in it and a timed magic plug in it. Funny how these things just happen, right?

Nah, turns out I’ve got yay-cur ay-day-man-tee-num or something like that. It’s pretty nice. I think like three out of four earth ponies have it, or something.

So anyway, I’m basically walking around with a belly bigger than the rest of me—I know that, Twilight Sper—wait no that’d be mean—Sparkle, it’s called ‘exaggeration’, ugh—trying to keep it all in, and let me tell ya, I’m about to burst wide open.

Now, it’s a total tacofest. I can see one or two filly-foolers checking my flank out—y’know, like ‘hey, check out that crazy bitch with the ass full of hops, I bet she’s great in bed’, hay if I know how filly-foolers think—and I mosey right the buck outta there with my cherry intact.

Now, Twilight, you’re a smart pony, you’re probably thinking ‘oh, why didn’t you just disrupt the plug’s unstable kinetic disequilibrium with your geoenergetic stability field?’ or something like that, right?

Yeah, I know, I’m psychic.

Let me just, like, clarify something for you. It’s freshman year, I know just about jack about bucking nexus theory, I’m drunk enough to think that I’m a unicorn and there’s no way I’m gonna shove my hoof two feet up my ass, so that rains premarin all over that.

Yeah, nursing minor.

Now, the alcohol’s, like, totally hammering me hard-bucking-core by now, and I’m seeing at least quadruples. I’m so incredibly drunk I’d be lucky if I could feel my own assfur. Some nice zebra gentlestallion comes up to me, says something I don’t understand, helps me back to my own room and I hit the bed so hard I think I’m Sullen bucking Plummet versus the Quillington Bed Company.

Yeah, prelaw minor too.

So, naturally, I wake up at ten the next day—wait, ‘hangovers’ are real things?—get to Econ 101 ten minutes late—no, of course I didn’t get drunk-raped, what kind of traumatized-ass ponies’ve you been interviewing?—and burst into the marble-floor room, throwing the door open just in time to hear ‘greed is the magic that unites us all’.

Now, I do this all so quickly and I’m so high on ‘I’m late’ fever that I forget that I’ve still got like a few gallons of alcohol in my ass—yeah, earth pony thing with the regulator membrane or whatever you call it—and I’m so tense on the way that my butthole’s, like, tighter than forged steel.

So, once I’m in the room, guess how relieved I am.

Now, about four hundred ponies have just seen me piss several gallons of bear—sorry, beer, though I guess that’d be a lot more impressive—out my ass in half a second.

Now, instead of just bowing down and proclaiming me the Messiah like reasonable ponies, they start laughing their asses off. I’m a pussy back then, so I wail and turn around on the spot to try and run the hay away.

Let me just say that again. I swivel in a puddle of my own ass-beer on the marble floors of Canterlot University.

I totally slip and at that bucking moment somepony decides to walk through the door. I grab onto him or her, can’t really remember, swing around and bam, hit the just-opened door right in the cooter, the alcohol and the pain and everything just comes together and I black the buck out.

Woke up with, like, ten stitches in the campus hospital an hour later.

And that’s how I popped my cherry.

—

“So, uh,” Dash said, looking to Twilight. “How did you lose your virginity, though?”

She gave the two a slightly squinty look. “Wait. You didn’t come here to ask me because somepony told you to? You seriously thought I’d, like, give you a totally honest, off-the-cuff, full-detail story about the first time I had sex with somepony for no reason?”

“Well,” Twilight said, “that’s what everypony else in this town’s done so far.”

Bon-Bon groaned and leaned back in her chair, misery covering her features.

“Just get out.”