Getting Laid

Be warned that this chapter's monologue isn't meant to be consistent or make sense in any way, shape or form.

Dash knocked quietly on Carousel Boutique’s door.

“Oh well she’s not here time to go,” Dash said, and Twilight suspended her about a foot in the air. She groaned and crossed her forehooves in the magical field; the door clicked and opened barely a second later.

“Welcome to Ca—oh, Twilight Sparkle and Rainbow Dash!” she said, smiling brightly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“My fat dil—”

The field stuck itself into Dash’s mouth; she gagged on it for a few seconds before the sounds faded into a contented sort of slurping. “We’re doing a comparative study on—Dash, are you fellating my magic?” Twilight said, her face turning into a mask of horror; the glow around her horn faded, and Dash fell to the floor flank-first.

Rarity shuddered. “A comparative study undertaken in tandem with a wife-battered Rainbow Dash? I take it this isn’t going to the Princess, is it? Oh, I couldn’t bear the embarrassment.”

“Not exactly,” Twilight said, glancing down at the glowering Dash. “We need to know how you lost your virginity?”

Rarity raised an eyebrow. “What’s a ‘virginity’, dear?”

Dash groaned, dusting herself off as she stood up. “Oh, boy. Let me help,” she said, her expression turning a rare shade of thoughtful.

Rarity had a concerned look on her face. “I honestly have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

“Right,” Dash said, “How’d you, uh, blossom fully like a flower of marehood, your stigma sown with the fruit of the anther yet withou—yet lacking the ovules of—of hay?”

“Oh!” Rarity said, blushing immediately. “Well, that’s a bit vulgar, but I suppose I shan’t expect less from those inexperienced in the matters of Canterlotian practise. Please, come in. I shall brew some dandelion tea and we may discuss this further in the sanctity of my home.”

Dash leaned up to a dumbfounded Twilight’s ear and whispered. “This is why I don’t wanna talk with her about this. She thinks she’s as white on the inside as she is on the outside.”

“That’s not what you said earlier,” Twilight said, shaking her head as she trod slowly in. The place was almost Pacifican in its resolutely purple décor, and she had the particularly strange sensation that she was starting to become part of the floor.

“Hey, do you remember exactly why you dislike every single pony you like?”

“Yes,” Twilight said, and Rarity came bearing insta-heated tea, her horn still smoking, as they settled down upon Rarity’s tea-table together.

“Well,” Rarity said, coughing politely. “I see that you wish to know the tale of the day upon which my innocence hath perished, and my flower of marehood did bloom and spread for the inevitable coming of the day.”

Twilight tilted her head. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Rarity seemed not to hear her. “Thankfully, I have been ready always to speak of this flower, speak of this ecosystem that dare not construct its name.”

Dash groaned.

“By ‘flower’, do you mean your—”

—

For I had then in the bosom of my youth this most amicable bee, his raven stripes thick and luxuriant upon his golden fur, stinger enormous, who rendered unto me his sweet coaxings and gentle whispers and little buzzings, who spoke to me day by day.

He wished day and night that I should accept his gift of pollen, and to open my stigma for it; and yet I persisted in denying him, knowing that to allow him to fill my style with it would leave my form bloated, would cause my petals to fall, and I knew that I would then surely fall from the tree, to shatter upon the ground and rot away.

Now, I had known of this bee by the consistent hummings of a glorious hummingbird who I had occasionally allowed to graze my petals with, her gentle strokes causing them sometimes to contract inwards, almost as to protect my tightened stigma; yet her beak bore no fruit. I feared, however, that her long, bold strike of cartilage would harm me, and so I did not let her penetrate me, though her assurances fell upon my buds, and yet I closed them, and did not listen.

Together, one day, they came to me, and spoke, having then met one another, and realizing truly of their shared predicament. The bee came bearing a sleeve by which I might cover the insides of my style and keep the pollen from my ova and the hummingbird had come with the assurance that she had come across an exotic fruit that would surely render me safe.

And the flowers parted around us, and we were alone in the darkness where I could not photosynthesize, and we were one and truly the same, seeing ourselves only as bodies, driven by instinct, feeling only each other.

The hummingbird first untensed my stamen, her beak secreting some sort of fluid that pushed past it for the first time; the petals of my marehood blinked in delight, the funny little things around my stigma pulsating happily. She plunged her beak into it, until her chin reached the edge, and I fed slowly upon her beak, my style flooding with nectar as the bee rubbed his stinger upon my soft stem.

The hummingbird pulled out all the way, then, her beak slick with my sweet juices, and the bee flit up, allow thrusting its stinger into me, deftly avoiding the walls of my style, but yet I felt more the same, but with a far greater stretch; the hummingbird said that I must find my anthers, so that I may sow myself, and that I did not need those male plants or even them but had the power within me, and my leaves felt about for them, but I could not find it; and then the hummingbird pointed, and told me about those funny little things about my stigma, and said that they were the anthers, they were the pollen, and I begged her to bring them for me to my stigma; but she did not, and said that I must do it myself, that I must have the power and I shook them in a rush of utter frustration, and they pushed against my stigma, feebly at first, and the feeling began to come, as I batted my anthers against the enormous thing penetrating my stigma, and the bee pulled out, the sleeve wrapped about his stinger, and my anthers finally went deep into myself, and it came, glycoprotein S-layer by S-layer within the nuclei of my eukaryotic organism, and became unto itself a new organism all together, for I knew that my anthers were mine, and not those of another, and became an organism unto itself.

And my few petals bloomed into those of dandelions, brilliant and shining, and they broke into a myriad and fell unto the fertile ground, to grow and flourish in the glorious apocrypha of my endless soul.

—

Dash, who was daintily sipping at her dandelion tea, made a very accurate and impressively tranquil impression of a choking pig before putting it down gently.

Twilight allowed herself to cough slightly; the room had turned, with Rarity’s aid, devastatingly silent, and the quiet seemed almost to fill the air like a physical thing.

Dash, her accident-related expenditures being covered by Her Royal Highness’ Central Department for Collateral Liability, broke it happily.

“What was that?”

“It’s my very own Stigma Monologue. Did you like it?” Rarity said, smiling delightedly. “I’m doing a recital in Canterlot tomorrow afternoon, if you’d like to come along.”

The two shared a look; they spoke again at once.

“What was that?”