Getting Laid

“How was I to know they meant societal stigmata?” Rarity said, wailing as she splayed herself miserably across the tavern’s bed; her soul, crushed a thousand times before, finally lost its elasticity as it only had fifty-seven hence and crumpled into a heap alongside her.

She went unheard, because Twilight and Dash were in separate rooms of their own and were then, in fact, walking about the political, ecclesiastical and cultural capital of Equestria together.

“You know, you’d think with a theme that bucked you’d have plenty of people who’d wanna tell us all about their messed-up lives.”

Twilight shrugged. “Canterlot’s a big city. They’re bound to be a bit less open about this kind of thing with strangers. Remember Bon-Bon?”

“Pfft. Goes to some big-name college in Canterlot for like four years and she thinks she’s some kinda—some kinda, uh—some kind of—”

Twilight had a polite cough.

“—oh, hey!” Dash said, poking her hoof at the nearest convenient building she could see. “Isn’t that the Puddingham College or something? Your mom’s a teacher there, right?”

“It’s the central administrative building of the Chancellor Puddinghead University of General and Applied Sciences. And yes, my mom is a biology professor. She’s probably doing a lecture in the Grand Hall right now.”

“Well,” Dash said, expertly executing a mental hemicorpectomy on her sentence, “why don’t we pay her a little visit?”

“No,” Twilight said, and kept walking.

—

“What, you don’t like your mom or something?” Dash said, doing an admirable job of talking through a mouthful of hair.

“People are staring, Dash!” Twilight said, looking fearfully about the deserted hallways as best as she could with her tail in another pony’s mouth and her back dragging against the thousand-year-old stone. “Some of these people raised me!”

Dash shrugged, stopping for a moment to check the directory. “You’re seeing things.”

“Let go of me before I blast you, Dash!” Twilight said, whispering violently.

Dash yanked Twilight past the vestibule to Hall Block D. “That’s a tribalist hate crime,” Dash said, managing to state both an unfact and her motive for not already having done so. Before Twilight could reply, Dash had gently pried the doors to the Hall open, and the light of the sun streaming through the resonant glass that illuminated the thousands of students and the enormous amphitheatre—Twilight’s mother at the centre of it, reading from a lectern through a pair of glasses—at the base of the hall reaching so low that it was almost certainly partially underground temporarily blinded both of them, an effect similar to that of the reader who has just forced his eyes past the preceeding paragraph.

..and thus it is so, according to early racialist theory, that the three pony tribes and four other equine races known at the time can be said to form a triplet, converging into a trivium...

“She’s lecturing,” Twilight whispered, as Dash gently pulled her down the carpeted steps down the front steps; a few students saw them and quickly turned to their sides, poking them on their backs so that they could revel in the spectacle.

...the former being the aspects of control, mysticism and force, whereas the other races can be said to be the ‘trivium’, or ‘crossroads’, as it may be...

“As if she’s not reading from a book,” Dash said, making her way downwards as a gentle murmur raised itself in the fully-packed hall. “Relax.”

...of these aspects; to this end, for example, the Zebra—who are immune to most poisons and capable of turning many of them into potions by will alone—represent the intersection of mysticism and control and the Flutter ponies—whose heroic feats were so renowned...

“Relax?” Twilight hissed, quickly sticking her head up for the fiftieth time to avoid banging it against the step. “You’re gonna ask my mother about how she lost her virginity!”

...that not only were they made metoikos under Pegasus law after their conquest rather than slaves, their aboriginal languages were incorporated into mainstream Laconic culture...

“I’ll ask,” Dash said, continuing to pull, “you’ll listen. What could possibly go wrong?”

A great part of the enormous hall had begun by then to lift themselves precariously and discreetly off their seats to take a look at the theatre unfolding before them; they were almost halfway down the enormous incline that lead down to the amphitheatre.

...and though now extinct exist to this day as part of Nominal Ipparionic, such as in the names flitting-sunder and flutter-smash—represent the intersection of control and force, whereas Twilight Sparkle—who is currently showcasing her new alternative lifestyle...

“Wait,” Twilight said, her pupils contracting. “Did she just—”

...to the entirety of this lecture hall—represents helplessness, weakness and banality, the preceding words presumably feeding her apparently newfound fetish for public humiliation.

The ponies that had before been angling themselves awkwardly from their seats as if to engage in covert flatulence suddenly lurched up in overwhelming mirth; pegasi began to raise themselves over the crowd to look and then shout various things, and the rest, possibly out of an ancient survival instinct instructing them to trust the reports of friendly pegasi and possibly out of a more modern sentiment along the lines of ‘holy shit, seriously?’ and possibly out of various other concerns too numerous to enumerate, began to laugh quite uprariously.

If Twilight could blush deeper, her mother might have sent her to the hospital immediately so as to check for signs of hyperprofound craniofacial erythema.

As it was, Twilight’s mother pulled her glasses gently off her face and looked at Twilight concernedly and compassionately in the eye, as if—from Twilight’s perspective—daring her to kill herself on the spot.

Thankfully, she did not.

—

“Well, dear,” Star Sparkle said, pouring a cup of hot chocolate out into a foal suckling bottle and sticking the nipple over, “how was I to know you weren’t into public humiliation?”

Dash had started laughing about ten minutes ago, and hadn’t stopped since; it had faded gently into a continuous snicker, and she remained a very minor distraction.

“Why can you never stop trying to guess my fetish every single time I meet you? What would possibly—” Twilight began, before taking a glance down at the foal bottle. “Mom, why is this in this?”

“Oh?” Star said, shrugging. “Infantilism isn’t your fetish either? Oh well.”

Dash’s snicker dropped the bass, turning into a particularly interesting series of silenced hiccuping hysterics that, if she’d recorded them and put them on the internet, she might have earnt millions for.

“This is serious!” Twilight said, blushing at the memory. “You just humiliated me in front of two thousand ponies!”

“Two thousand five hundred seventy-three, and not all of them were ponies.” Star Sparkle gave her daughter a very disapproving look. “I never raised you to be a racist, Twilight.”

“That violates the Fire Code!”

Her mother coughed to herself. “I sure hope Lucent contributed the trinucleotide repeat expansion in the fragile X receptor.”

“I know what that means, mother!” Twilight shouted, looking as though she might be on the verge of tears.

“What, mental retardation isn’t your fetish?” she said, grinning.

Twilight began to sob.

Star Sparkle sighed and wrapped her forelegs about her daugher. “There, there. I’m sorry. I took it too far.”

Dash tried her best not to say ‘crybaby’, and succeeded well enough that she didn’t even laugh.

Star’s hooves clasped upon her shoulders. “Look. In ten years, nopony’s going to remember this. Nobody remembers the time I screwed Honeysuckle on the rooftops in ‘68; you didn’t even make out.”

Twilight let out a very slight groan.

She looked over to Dash and extended a hoof, pulling back from her daughter. “Rainbow Dash, yes? Element of Loyalty?”

“Yessir,” Dash said, taking the hoof and shaking it quickly. “Good to meet ya.”

“It’s good to meet you as well,” Star said, shaking back and taking the foal bottle from the table and sucking on it herself, “you’ve got my blessings. You’re starting the herd in May, right? It’s absolutely wonderful that time of year.”

“Oh, no,” Twilight said, pulling back and wiping her eyes, “we’re not—uh—uh—um—”

“So,” Star said, coughing politely, “you’re just going to have sex on a regular basis without any legal commitment whatsoever? I can’t say I object to that. I’m just not sure why you need my permission.”

“What she means to say,” Dash said, fending her giggles back, “is that we’re not together and she’s Stove Carousel.”

“Is that so?” Star said, her eyes widening to sizes not even remotely comparable to those of saucer-plates but which maintained their status, nonetheless, as abnormally large. “When I was your age—”

Twilight plugged her ears with her hooves and groaned in horror.

“Actually,” Dash said, “we’re here to ask you about your first time.”

“Is that so? She needs inspiration, maybe?” she said, smiling. “I’d love to. I remember it like it was yesterday.”

Twilight promptly stood up and trotted out, slamming the door to the office behind her; Star Sparkle noted the closed door with some interest for half a second before she looked back to Dash.

“Don’t worry,” she said, and her horn began to glow. “The empath who worked the link was very reputable.”

She smacked her lips and began speaking in a moist, venerable tone.

—

It was my fourth year of high school.

—

A terrified, incomprehensible screech of horror came from the hallway, followed by hurried hoofsteps.

“Ah,” Star said, giggling. “He really was reputable. I wonder if she’ll get to the Proxima line before I finish. I wouldn’t put it past her.”

—

It was my fourth year of high school. I’d been dating a very nice young stallion for a year. Mother and father did love him so and he was a very nice colt, but we hadn’t consummated our relationship; it was meant to wait until we were ‘ready’.

The problem was, he was never ‘ready’. The poor thing thought he wouldn’t be able to satisfy me, though of course back then I thought he was just being a little bitch, if you’ll excuse the accuracy.

So one day, when he was visiting and we’d just finished eating our dinner—mother and father did make amazing casserole—I started talking to him about it for about the fifth time that month. He was playing guitar.

“Bertie,” I said, because his name was Bone Pounder (he ended up making bone meal for griffon expatriates), “I’m horny.”

“Of course you are,” he said, and patted me on the head, making sure to avoid my horn. “You’re a unicorn, remember?”

Now, Bertie always did have such an amazing wit, but by now I hope you understand I was getting a little—a little impatient. Remember, we’d been dating for a year by now, and I have needs. Very, very serious needs.

“Tell me,” I said, staring up at the ceiling, “is your wit supposed to make up for your ED?”

“My encyclopedia—encyclopedia dromundis?” he said.

“‘Dromundis’ isn’t even a real word,” I said to him, “I guess your wit can’t even cover that, huh? I guess you just can’t joke your way out of being a limp-dicked coltcuddler.” Not that there’s anything wrong with that, mind you.

“Hey,” he said, and he finally put down his pussy guitar, “that’s over the line.”

“You know what isn't over the line? Your two-inch piece of meat excuse for a coltcuddler, you limp-wristed pussyfooting pussy.” I was working on inspiration, you know.

The poor thing looked like he was about to choke on his own throat. I’d been super-sweet since before then, after all. I think he even had tears in his eyes. “I—”

I stared him right in the eye. “Or are you saving your dick for your little brother, you stupid foalphile bitch? Too small to fuck ponies your own age?”

Now, that got him angry. He went “don’t talk about my brother like that!” and his forehooves tensed up a bit.

“What? Don’t you pegasi just love fucking your little brothers over and over and over until they’re—” and then he just smacked me right in the muzzle, like a man; it shocked me so much that I fell onto the bed, at which point I just stared up at him for a bit.

“I—I’m sorry, but you just—you went over the line,” he said. His hooves were shuddering in such a delightfully angry way, and he stood up and picked up his guitar. “I don’t know what came over me. I’ll just—I’ll just forget about this. I’m sorry.”

Now, I’d recovered fully from the slap right about then. “Yeah, take your guitar and go home and stick it up your mom’s ass, you worthless, stupid cunt. Pussy out.”

“Please don’t talk about my mother like that,” he whined, so I spat at him and started shouting at him.

“Oh, ‘please’, oh, ‘excuse me’, oh, ‘I don’t know what came over me’? You little pegasus bitch, go back to bucking Cloudsdale, we don’t want your coltfucking little dick around Canterlot, you flying parasprite-fucking scum—”

Oh, you actually have fucked a parasprite?

Well, that’s one racial stereotype I can chalk up.

So he stopped at the door and put his guitar down and jumped on the bed and gave me an amazing backhoof. Hurt like a bitch gnawing at my teats, and mind you I’ve had that happen before so I know what I was talking about—oh, you too?—and then I saw his eyes.

There weren’t any tears in them, any more. There was anger. Not some kind of whiny, ‘I’ll-send-a-complaint’ anger, but actual rage. I just about came on the spot.

After I could speak again, which took about three seconds, I said “What kind of bucking worthless pegasus fairy slap was that? The way you smack your dad’s ass when you’re fuckin—”

So he smacked me again and again, and he kept shouting ‘stop’ over and over—mind you, I’m not even flinching because his slaps really were kind of weak, mostly shock power—and I just kept shouting and shouting, and it was wonderful.

Eventually, either he got the hint or he got so angry he wanted to just fuck me up as hard as he could—he was a bit too ashamed to tell me —so he grabbed me by the neck and started choking me, held on to his nine-incher with the other hand—sorry, hoof, my last coltfriend was a minotaur and I still mess them up.

“Come on,” I said, “can your little coltfucker even reach my cherry? You wanna fuck me to prove you got some balls?”

Then he just stuck it into me as hard as he could, staring at me and breathing like a raging bull; to virgin me, this was practically the whole entire world in an intromittent mass of spongy erectile tissue. It might as well have been a baculum, the way it stuck.

Now, I’d fucked myself before but I’d never managed to get past the hymen or anything, so when he plunged in without thinking he managed to rupture the little membrane and when he pulled out he saw the blood and promptly metaphorically shat himself. His eyes went wide and I think he realized what he just did, and the poor dear thought he was raping me.

So, of course, I had to teach him how to ride the bull at Gillie’s.

“Ooh, you took my cherry with your little faggot cock,” I said—I was eighteen, give me a break—and rolled my eyes. “I hope you don’t cum in me. I wouldn’t want your daddy to get disappointed in you when you can’t get it up with him.”

“Shut up, you stupid bucking bitch!” he shouted, and grabbed onto my hips and thrusted like he meant it.

Say what you want about pegasi being mo-bi-le, but they’ve got more than enough endurance when they’re ready to fuck you up. I think I must’ve cum at least three times that night. Still one of the best bucking lays I ever had.

Except for the part where my father came in and started throwing a fit.

We broke up about a year later, after both of us went to college. Until then, though, it was some of the best angry sex I ever had.

—

“Thanks for the story, grandma,” Dash said, nodding. “I can’t wait to see what Twi thinks.”

She smiled warmly. “I’m glad to have had the pleasure, dear.”

“Wellll,” Dash said, standing up. “I guess I’ll have to go find Twilight now.”

“Feel free to visit me any time you wish,” she said, winking. “You seem like a nice enough mare.”

“Sure will,” she said, trodding over to the door and reaching her hoof for it before stopping and turning her head over for a bit; she noticed a small shudder in the building’s foundations, and considered it irrelevant.

“By the way,” she said, her hoof resting on the doorknob, “I know Twilight’s fetish.”

“Ooh!” she said, giggling. “Do tell. I’ve been trying to find out for years.”

She leaned in a bit, looking conspiratorially to the sides.

“Beards.”

It was upon the completion of her voiceless alveolar sibilant that the door burst open, sending Dash slamming into the very nicely-papered walls.

“Professor Sparkle!” the red pony shouted, “urgent news!”

“Doctor Starshine Jingle,” Star said, “did you spill the concatenation fluid again? I’m not going on euthanasia duty for you just because you’ve got a pretty mouth.”

“No, ma’am,” she said, “the Equipment Proctor just informed me that your daughter’s just used the long-range teleportation equipment to focus her arcane matrices towards a point in the Alpha Centauri system!”

A muffled what? came from behind the door.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Star Sparkle nodded, reached over to her drink and sucked on the chocolate bottle’s nipple once more, then sighed.

“I’m sure it’ll work itself out.”