Preface: In writing this I have attempted to remain “classy.” My entirely-arbitrary definition of “classy” is that I use euphemisms; there is no explicitly named anatomy herein. Please note also that “Carrot Cake” is the declared, albeit never used in-canon, full name for Mr. Cake, husband of Mrs. Cake. Mrs. Cake’s forename is “Cup.” Although Pony Joe’s forename is, by some logic, “Pony,” I have opted to call him “Joe” for short, as “Pony” is a silly name.
This work is dedicated to my good friend Mouse, who I hate only slightly less than I hate myself.
The letter was innocent enough. It had no urgency. “Dear Carrot Cake, Please join me Thursday evening; I will soon be introducing two new donuts to my selection, and would love your input on them. Hoping to see you here! Sincerely, Pony Joe.” But Carrot knew better.
He and Joe had a long history. They studied the culinary arts together and developed a similar style, albeit applied to different pastries. But over this time he had also learned that Joe was constantly lonely and depressed. Having trouble making other friends and little romantic success, he had dedicated himself to his donut shop, but sometimes that just wasn’t enough.
As simple as the letter seemed, it was in reality a cry out for some desperately-needed attention and affection to the only friend he knew. And so Carrot had taken the first train out to Canterlot, to be reunited with his friend Tuesday evening. Cup could easily handle the shop ‘til he returned on the weekend, and Joe would certainly appreciate the extra time. Perhaps they would even have time to swap recipes and reminisce. “In fact,” Carrot thought to himself, “the last time we saw each other I believe we left a game of chess unfinished … I’m sure I could win in the next ten moves …”
He was pulled from his idle thoughts by the train whistle blowing as the train pulled into Canterlot station. It was later than he expected it to be; the day had long since passed on the ride, and moonlight was all Carrot had to see by. “I should have booked a hotel,” he muttered to himself, “I shouldn’t bother Joe so late at night. Oh well, too late for that.”
It had been years since Carrot Cake had visited Canterlot, and its winding streets took quite some getting used to. He wandered, only vaguely remembering the streets, as the moon continued to rise. “By the time I find him it’ll be the middle of the night,” Carrot lamented to himself, “but I guess I don’t have any other choice.” Just as his hooves were beginning to ache from the long and circuitous trek, he finally found himself at his destination, Pony Joe’s Donut Shop. Joe’s donut shop was also his home.
Hoping not to wake his friend, Carrot listened for any activity beyond the door. He heard a sudden loud moan, then what seemed to be a pained shriek. Concerned that Joe may be in some danger, he burst through the door unannounced.
At that instant he learned two things of his friend. First, his loneliness was beyond even what Carrot had anticipated, and second, he had a tendency to vocalize while in the act. For there before Carrot was his friend Joe, making a mare of a row of glazed donuts.
The shock of Carrot’s arrival led Joe to a somewhat premature conclusion of his activities. This release only heightened his embarrassment of course, and he glowed a bright red while averting his gaze. Carrot Cake was so unnerved by the entire proceeding that he stood paralyzed, unable to respond to the event he had just witnessed. Their friendship, he was sure, would be forever changed.
The hotel was comfortable but was not a suitable distraction. A day and some hours alone had not sufficed to allow Carrot Cake to think of an introduction that would break this new awkwardness. But it was now Thursday, the day when Pony Joe had originally asked for his company, and he felt compelled not to break the date.
Arriving shortly after Pony Joe’s Donut Shop closed, he knocked softly on the door. Joe soon answered, still glowing as bright a red as he had been two days prior.
“Pony Joe, long time no see! What’ve you been up to?” Carrot attempted to give Joe an opportunity to avoid the uncomfortable topic entirely.
Joe twisted a hoof in the ground, raising dust. “Listen, Carrot, about the other day–”
“Err, no. That is, I mean, …” Carrot stammered.
“Sometimes I just need to–”
“Oh, I understand completely! Sometimes you just need to … err …”
After a beat they both laughed awkwardly. Joe invited Carrot in, and soon enough the discomfort was entirely dispelled, and they were chatting merrily about pastries. But Carrot simply couldn’t leave it at that.
“You know, Joe, you’re a great guy! Surely somewhere in Canterlot there’s a mare just perfect for you. You should get out more, make yourself available!”
Joe’s embarrassment, and red hue with it, returned quickly. “It’s not that, exactly. I mean, I could probably find somepony, but not a mare.” Realizing that he had revealed more than he intended, he stuttered, unable to retract his admission. “What I mean is, err, that is, uhh …”
Carrot saw easily through Joe’s failed attempted to hide his true nature. He had always suspected but never asked. And as he further thought over their friendship in this new light, the full truth of Joe’s feelings revealed itself to him. He understood why he was so uniquely the target of Joe’s friendship, he recognized the pain he had seen in Joe’s eyes at his wedding; everything became clear to him in that moment, as Joe continued to babble, flustered and flushed. Carrot wanted nothing more than to be a good friend.
Back turned, forelegs bent, tail uplifted and wife out of mind, Mr. Cake presented himself to Pony Joe.
There was a long silence. Joe had clearly not expected this turn of events, and in fact Carrot hadn’t either. After a moment, Carrot looked back, and could see that Joe had the necessary raw physical desire to proceed, but was flustered. Carrot stamped his hoof and looked at the ground, stretching his hind legs and swaying his hindquarters slowly back and forth. He was too committed now; he would not take no for an answer.
Joe looked around in sudden desperation. He didn’t want to hurt his friend, and knew that neither had experience. Finding only cooking oil and icing, he quickly rendered a mix (ruining in the process the oil for tomorrow’s donuts) and slathered it on. It was thick, but slick, and shone as it caught the light. Nervous and embarrassed but nonetheless determined, he mounted and began to rub against Carrot’s exposed hindquarters.
It was a feeling unlike Mrs. Cake could possibly offer; but Carrot was steadfast to push her from his mind. This was to be his and Joe’s moment. He quivered anxiously as the tension mounted. He breathed heavily and twitched his tail. Joe continued to rub against him, spreading the sweet concoction until both tingled with the crackling of the sugar. With no warning, Joe began to push into him.
It was unexpected. It was intense. It was painful. Carrot winced and instinctively tightened, only exacerbating the pain. Joe balked and dismounted, ashamed and nearly ready to flee, but Carrot Cake would have none of it. Carrot snorted and stamped his hooves, insisting that they could not end it here. And so Joe mounted once again.
Carrot tried to calm his racing nerves. “Relax,” he said to himself, “and I’m sure it’ll feel good. Just gotta relax.” His muscles loosened slowly, and he nodded, signaling his friend. Joe pushed more slowly this time. The intensity was still there, this was unlike any experience Carrot had previously known; he felt as if his flanks were being pushed from his body and his spine wrenched from its place. He breathed heavily and was soon panting, trying to stay relaxed.
The pressure was hitting a climax. Carrot, feeling as if he would be torn asunder, forced closed his eyes and bit his lip (or at least tried to; biting his lip turned out to be a more difficult action than he had anticipated). He was almost ready to scream, but stopped himself.
With a thrust and a visceral pop, Joe was in. Carrot gasped, Joe howled; they were now beyond the point of no return. Carrot felt pushed to his limits, and this was merely the beginning.
Joe now began the task in earnest (or in Carrot, as it were), pushing deeper inside with every thrust. As each move tugged at him, Carrot swayed back and forth, the gentle weight of Joe’s hooves keeping them both in perfect rhythm. Carrot’s hindlegs quaked and he arched his back to maintain balance, which seemed to encourage Joe even further; their pace quickened and Joe’s sweat began to trickle down Carrot’s mane, glistening in the now-magnificent light of Luna.
By this point they were both panting and groaning, loudly and in rhythm with each other. Soon hind legs were pushed against hind legs with all their strength, and forelegs dug into flank so tightly that they bobbed in and out in pace. As Joe continued steadily, Carrot felt as if the workings of his body were being pushed aside, with each advance approaching not just the deepest recesses of his substance, but the very penetralia of his soul. He felt no shame or unease any longer, only a heartfelt desire to be true to his life-long friendship.
And suddenly, it was over. Joe retreated, dismounted, and left Carrot confused but hungry for more. He turned to see what was amiss, and found that Joe had simply ran out of steam. Working a donut shop was not, it would seem, an effective way to build stamina. He lay on his back, exposed and winded, panting, embarrassed at his sudden failure to maintain his energy.
Mr. Cake looked down on his friend and smiled. He stood tall and walked to him, straddling Pony Joe’s quivering body between all four legs. Joe pawed playfully at Carrot’s biceps and smiled back, still breathing heavily.
Carrot bent down until their bodies were touching. He felt Joe’s warmth through his loins and soft, warm breath against his ruffled mane. His body throbbing with excitement, he rocked his torso to and fro, rubbing against the supine body below him. Their hindlegs interlocked, with cutie marks pushed against each other, symbols coming together into a selection of pastries as sweet as their new found love.
Unable to contain himself any longer, Joe climaxed with a soft moan. Shortly, Carrot did as well. Their chests and necks glazed by the culmination of their deed, they collapsed to the ground, entangled in each others’ limbs.
Mr. Cake woke up the following morning, still beside Pony Joe. He slowly pulled away his legs, careful not to wake Joe, and snuck away. He felt sore and bowlegged, but managed to maintain his balance, escaping the shop without alerting his friend. Although he had enjoyed this time, his thoughts were now to his family and home. He quickly cleaned himself and made his way to the train station, carefully compartmentalizing his memories of the week. The next train to Ponyville came quickly and sped away with him aboard. Canterlot slowly fading from view, he fell asleep, dreaming the simple dreams of a baker.
Fin.
