"One of the first things you must consider in a herd is how to get along with your herdmates. Love and friendship can only blossom if you are willing to understand one another. One excellent way of doing so is finding if anypony has similar interests. Sports, hobbies, fashion, entertainment – any one of these can be a gateway to finding that you have more in common than you first thought, and by doing so, allow you to break new ground that brings you all closer together. Try to find something in common and the possibilities for a burgeoning relationship are endless."

Fuck was this world weird!

I’d only spent a day here and already I wanted to find a way back as soon as possible. Killer bears, judo ponies, crazy scientists – what the hell would I get thrown at me next?

It was bad enough I was dropped off into a furry freak’s wet dreams; it was even worse that I had no idea how or why. At least the inhabitants were nice enough, even if they made every single alarm in my tiny human brain go off with the fiery passion of a thousand suns.

Not only were there normal horse humanoids, there were even pegasus and unicorn varieties. Oh, and magic was a thing here too. Between all the flying, levitation, explosions, and other insanity, I wasn’t exactly sure what was real and what was the last fevered dreams of a dying man. I initially thought that this was the worst acid trip of my life, but then I remembered I never touched the stuff and booze didn’t exactly have innate hallucinogenic properties to it.

So yeah, this was real… and absolutely exhausting.

Frankly, all I wanted to do was go back to my house, get wasted on whatever alcohol I still had left, and then go on the greatest bender in my life. But I knew better than to do that.

I was going to go back to my house, get wasted on whatever alcohol I still had left, and then go on the greatest bender in my life. Without wearing pants.

Very similar but also quite different, the two plans. Pantsless was always the more sophisticated choice.

I did wonder if either of the two ponies/aliens/furries I’d mostly interacted with would come to visit me the next day during my already predicted hangover. They seemed nice enough, even if one could barely string two words together without getting flustered and the other wanted way too many ‘samples’ from me.

Also, they had the whole petting zoo look that made I want to feed them sugarcubes while they begged for ear scratches.

The sun was just beginning to set by the time I reached where my house had mysteriously appeared in this ‘Equestria’ place. I could see it nudging just up against the tree line where the EverfreeForest started – home to hungry, hungry bears and other monstrosities. Oh, and ridiculously strong and fluttery animal wrestlers.

But the real monster that garnered my attention was the leviathan of a confectionary blocking my front door. I walked up to examine the nearly meter-tall cake that had been plopped right on my doorstep. It was three tiers tall, each layer nearly a foot in height. The frosting was a bright, nearly eye-searing neon, pink, laced with ribbons of blue icing in the shapes of balloons and smiley faces. It looked delicious and certain to cause me type 2 diabetes if I even tasted it.

I… guessed it was a welcoming gift? Thoughtful, but it raised a few questions. One, who had made it and how the hell had they even known I’d arrived? I was only with the purple and yellow pone for most the day, and any others had only seen me in passing.

Two, and more importantly – the fuck was I supposed to get this inside? The cake was wider than my doorframe and had to weight a ton. In fact, how'd they even gotten it to my house to begin with? It wasn’t exactly a short trek to the outskirts where my house was located, and these ponies didn’t seem to have access to heavy machinery… or even cars for that matter.

Still, at least the thought counted. I wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the small (okay, huge) token of goodwill did help to ease my nerves after what most people would call the advent to a wonderful mental breakdown. I could get into my house through a window or something. Wouldn’t be the first time I’d forgotten my keys and had to scrounge up a substitute one (also known as the rock locksmith).

Something caught my eye. A greeting card, also ridiculously pink in color so it almost blended in with the frosting, stood up proudly on top of the cake. On the front, in bubbly, looping penmanship, was the single word, ‘welcome,’ with four exclamation points after it. Figuring that it was sent by the person(s) that’d dropped off the cake, I plucked it off to read.

I needed a name to attach to my thanks to, as well as a good-natured dope slap about the do’s and dont’s of unauthorized pastry dumping.

When I opened it, music started to play, a tinny, high-pitched tune that reminded me of a calliope. Huh, so they didn’t have phones but they had singing greeting cards? Well, to each their stupid, shortsighted own.

I looked up from the card when something else caught my attention. A rumbling sound emanated from the cake, almost as if in response to the musical card.

Why was the cake vibrating? That didn’t look safe.

And then it exploded.

Frosting, batter, icing, and who knows what else flew everywhere as the top of the giant cake erupted upward and outward. Through the haze of frosting covering my eyes, I distinguished a single feminine figure jump out from inside the cake.

The mare had neither horn nor wings, so she had to be a normal ‘earth’ pony that populated this land. She was pink, very pink, almost the exact same pink as the cake that now plastered my house’s siding, door, windows, lawn, and about sixty-five percent of my body. A poofy magenta mane and tail, eyes that sparkled like the sea in the setting sun, and a short, chubby frame - all packed inside a dancer’s outfit that struggled to hold her many luscious curves and chunks. I noted somewhere in the idler portions of my mind that the clothes resembled the strange courtesan outfits found in wild west films – a mix of seductive and cute that somehow combined a wholesome, nearly full-length dress with cleavage and fishnet stockings.

The unknown and clearly crazy pony took a deep breath, her whole body swelling comically. Behind her, a massive organ, one that by all laws of physics and basic storage sense shouldn’t have fit into the cake, started to blare a louder version of the calliope music from the card. Just as the music hit the refrain, the mare belted out into song and started a full dance-number... while never leaving the confines of the cake.

"Welcome welcome welcome~
A fine welcome to you!
Welcome welcome welcome~
I say how do you do?
Welcome welcome welcome~
I say hip hip hurray!
Welcome welcome welcome~
To Ponyville today~!"

She barely completed her song before she giggled giddily, wiping her brow. “Wow! I thought you’d never arrive! I was wondering how long I’d be stuck in there! I was this close to eating my way out and ruining the surprise!”

Hopping down from the cake, the mystery pony bounced joyfully on the back of her hooves before she caught me in a full alien face-hugger embrace. She didn’t even seem to notice or care that she was smearing the frosting covering me on her nice and (relatively) clean dress.

“Nice to meet you! I’m Pinkie Pie! Welcome to Ponyville!” She craned her neck to look at me, a considerable feat since she was barely eye level with my chest, the large feather in her hair threatening to smack me in the face. “What’s your name?”

Faced with such a compact sequence of mind-blowing oddities, I did the only thing I could do.

I laughed my godforsaken ass off.

Somehow, it seemed only appropriate when the newly introduced Pinkie joined me in the completion of my full and truly satisfying mental collapse.

If there was one word to describe Pinkie with, it was ‘energetic.’ The girl never seemed to be able to stand still, always springing around or just vibrating silently like she was an atomic bomb of glee waiting to go off. Bouncing on my doorstep, her bright attitude and capricious grin did nothing to invalidate this preconception.

Pinkie smiled sneakily and elbowed me in the stomach. “So, so, are ya excited? You’ve got me allll to yourself for the night. What horrific things do you have planned for this poor Pie?”

I snorted and plopped a hand on her head, ruffling her wild mane with a rough fondness. Despite sticking out like a bush in no discernable direction, Pinkie had the softest hair I’d ever laid hands on. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was made from actual cotton candy; the mare ate enough sugar to be part confectionary.

She made a happy noise and grabbed at my hand, sticking out her tongue and making a raspberry. Those ridiculous baby blue eyes stared up at me, and she held back a whinny as I pushed back her resisting hands to rub at her head some more, displacing the blue hairband that struggled to keep her beast of a mane in check. Pinkie responded by pulling my hand down and licking the palm, her long, thick tongue sweeping up and past my fingers.

I immediately withdrew my hand, her slobber all over it. She giggled again, only becoming stronger at my mixed look of exasperation and mild disgust. I shook off the drool. “Really, Pinkie?”

“What? You taste yummy!”

I groaned. There were just some things I couldn’t handle. One of those was Pinkie's inane and seemingly random displays of affection. And that’s what this was – a show that she was close enough to me to even drool all over me and not get smacked for it. Well, I’d still smack her… but not that hard.

I flicked her in the forehead. “C’mon, let’s get this train wreck over and done with.”

“Okily dokily!” Pinkie pushed past me and pronked (yes, there was a term for her strange conglomeration of hopping, skipping, and pogoing used for locomotion) into my house.

I shook my head and closed the door behind me. “So, what do you have planned?” I asked before stopping to take in the complete, silly sight.

Pinkie spun around on her hooves, her arms wide open as she aimlessly twirled around. Her eyes were closed and mouth was open while she let out a subdued (for her) and prolonged cry of ‘wheeeee…!’ I waited for a few seconds for her to stop, but she didn’t seem to have any intention to.

Look, as cute as it was to see the pink mare act like a child in the middle of a sugar high, I kind of wanted to move the night along. At least quickly enough before something inevitably happened to spoil it.

“Pinkie,” I said, no color or texture to my voice. “What are you doing?”

“Wheee… huh?” She stopped her twirls and came to a standstill. She raised her shoulders and bit her lips, grinding her hoof into my carpeted floor. Her ears swiveled. “Sorries! I’m just really happy! This is my first date with you and I’m really looking forward to it!”

…ow, my heart. “Uh, sure, Pinkie. I was looking forward to it, too.” And somehow, I knew that I wasn’t just spouting meaningless platitudes. As weird as this whole situation was, I had to admit that there was a mild sense of excitement to it.

Pinkie took my words at face value. Her face lit upon and she sprung forward, clasping her arms around my neck and planting a wet, sloppy kiss on my cheek. I frantically grabbed at her to make sure she didn’t pull me off my feet.

Ironically, the kiss didn’t fluster me that much. Ponies seemed to be a lot more tactile in their shows of affection - always hugging, nuzzling, or kissing without much deeper meaning to it. And Pinkie was the queen of skinship; there wasn’t a day that she didn’t kiss, hug, or demand snuggles from me whenever we met up.

Frankly, I think it was mainly thanks to her that I was even comfortable with persistent platonic bodily contact with the opposite sex that I never would’ve agreed with back home. Like hell would I be okay with having a female friend sit in my lap like Pinkie tended to do without getting all kinds of inappropriate thoughts.

And Pinkie didn’t exactly make it easy for me to think otherwise. Having her give me a ludicrously drawn out and noisy smooch as her hands wandered made me acutely aware of the warm and fluffy body in my arms.

Just like there was only one way to describe Pinkie’s demeanor, there was also only one way to describe her form. And that phrase was ‘shortstack.’

At just a couple inches under five feet, Pinkie was short for an earth pony but quite easily made up for it by having a stocky frame. She wasn’t fat, but she had plenty of love handles and a pudgy belly to go along with her larger-sized chest and wide hips and thighs. There was always a nice jiggle to her in all her motions. Her face was similarly rounded, with chubby cheeks and full lips that somehow managed to be adorable and pouty at the same time. Hell, even her mane and tail somehow managed to be chubby with how voluminous they were.

Some might think she was out of shape in all her jiggly grandeur, but I knew better. I’d seen the muscles under it all flex, revealing an extremely dense musculature that could crush boulders with ease.

That wasn’t an exaggeration; I’d literally seen the mare punch through a rock face the size of a house with less effort than it would take her to eat a donut. With less enthusiasm, too.

All in all, it made her a particularly smexy bundle of joy and, with the way she threw herself at me, made me sometimes wonder if she knew the effect she had. With her, it was probably all in good, clean fun.

Probably. Possibly. Hopefully…?

Speaking of which…

I had to yank Pinkie off me, holding her at arms’ length while she licked and smacked her lips. “Well, ya done eating my face?” I asked tartly.

Pinkie gave one final smack, stuck her tongue out, and looked up. “Hmmm… yup! I think I’m good!” She focused back on me, her face beaming.

For the first time since she’d arrived, I took a good look at the pink pony. I noticed that she was wearing rather casual clothing for what was supposed to be a date. Not that I was complaining. She looked (as she would put it, always with a food pun) scrumptious. She wore a dark red tank top over flared sky-blue short-shorts with blue-and-yellow striped socks from mid-thigh down. Her thick legs happily pressed up against the fabric of the hems, creating an indent in the flesh that lent to the absolute strike zone between pants and socks. Her belly poked out between the tank top and shorts, a happy roll of fluff and probably five pounds of ice cream.

I could also make out her underwear showing out from underneath her tanktop, the bra straps tangled up with those of her top and the cups not properly aligned with the collar. Like always, she was wearing something overly frilly and completely clashing with the rest of her ensemble.

…what? I’d spent enough time with the unabashed mare to learn her taste in lingerie. She certainly hadn’t tried to hide it, especially that one time she had me carry a bag of laundry so overstuffed it literally exploded in mid-downtown.

That poor elderly stallion. Drowned in a sea of panties and bras… Pretty sure he went down with a smile on his face, though.

I was pulled from my thoughts when I discovered Pinkie was licking my hand again, obviously trying to break me out of my self-imposed revelry.

I snapped my hand back. “Damn it, Pinkie!”

“What?” she said piteously. Her tail waggled droopily. “I just wanted you to pay attention to me!” Her eyes narrowed and she leaned over, giving me a nice view of her cleavage. I noticed that her chest tuft seemed extra fluffy today. “Or maybe you were looking too much?”

Pesky little flirt. Pinkie always enjoyed having a good time, whether that was through parties or teasing.

“Yes, yes,” I said in a tone designated for talking to a precocious child. “You’re very, very cute and I can’t keep my eyes off you.”

“Heheh, I knew it!” Pinkie grabbed my arm, squishing it to her. “You look pretty handsome, too. I have to give Twily props for suggesting that shirt.” Her tail wagged happily like that of an overexcited puppy.

“So you girls are planning something,” I said suspiciously.

“Maybe~” Pinkie hummed and bit her finger. “But enough of that, let’s get this party started!” She pumped a fist in the air as she hopped up on one hoof.

Resigning myself to the fact that I wasn’t going to get anything out of the mare if she was hiding a secret (especially if it involved a Pinkie Promise, which it probably did), I decided to just play along with her. Besides, I was interested in what she had planned for our date. Knowing Pinkie, it was going to be terrifying, silly, stupid, and fun all at once.

“So, whatcha got in your bag of tricks?”

“You’ll see…” Pinkie swung the backpack she’d been carrying, a stuffed gator that looked a lot like her pet, Gummy, off her back and started to scrounge around in the mouth-shaped opening. Bent over like she was, her tank top rode up and her panties, a canary yellow collection of polka dots, peeked out between her raised fluff of a tail and shorts along with the loveliest bit of butt crack.

Enjoying the scene for all its worth while the mare made cute grunting noises as she dipped further into the pack, at one point even shoving her entire head in, I made sure to avert my eyes when she popped back up, her hair even messier than normal. She held up a collection of film reels, her excitement infectious.

“Ta-dah! We’re going to have a horror movie marathon!”

I shook I head, chuckling. I should’ve known as much. Surprisingly, Pinkie was super into the horror genre. A bit of a disconnect to her party pony persona, but the mare always said that one of the best things in life was getting scared. Something to do with the rush of adrenaline as your brain pumped fear and stress hormones through your body. Or at least that’s how Twilight described it.

Really, Pinkie just liked screaming and laughing at the same time, and good horror films tended to do both if they were campy enough.

Unfortunately for her, the rest of her friends weren’t much fans of those types of films, specifically the type that Pinkie would watch. For her, the sillier the acting and the more extreme the gore, the better. If someone wasn’t getting decapitated after slipping on a banana peel in a chainsaw factory, it wasn’t worth watching. To put it frankly, she was a diehard fan of ‘so bad, it’s good’ storytelling.

Fortunately for the both of us, I was a fan of such entertainment and reveled in it. I was the kind of person who would yell at the soon-to-be-victim for being idiotic enough to run towards the ominous garage full of rusty tools instead of the brightly lit hotel. And then laugh uproariously as I experienced the catharsis of a person’s insides be introduced to a weed whacker.

So yeah, I watched the occasional bad gore exploitation flick with Pinkie and enjoyed it. She was just as willing to MST3K the whole experience alongside me which made it all the better.

Still, though, while the whole marathon did sound like a good idea, it didn’t exactly scream ‘date’ material, and I told Pinkie as much.

She grinned broadly. “But this time we’re doing it on a date!” She used the word like it explained everything. “Also, it’s gonna be an all-night marathon so we’re gonna have a sleepover!” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to let you sleep at all tonight.”

I snorted and let out a barking laugh. “You sure you can handle that? Don’t little girls have a curfew?”

Pinkie stomped her hooves and pursed her lips, her ears flattening. “I’m not a little filly! I’m a big mare!” She sounded whiney, but I easily saw the curl in the corner of her lips and hyper wagging of her tail.

I patted her head. “Whatever you say, shorty.”

“I am a big mare!” she repeated hotly. Pinkie stomped up to me, grabbed me around the waist, and pulled us tightly together. When she did, her boobs squished firmly into my stomach. She wiggled around dragging her front against mine, her face gaining a seductive quality. Her eyebrows wiggled. “Want me to prove it, silly billy?”

I responded with a stone-faced stare and waited.

We stood there, playing the world’s sexiest game of chicken, and I was the first to break. I snorted and then burst into rough laughter. Seeing that she’d won the battle, the dusky expression on Pinkie’s face broke back into her traditional hearty smile. She tittered in turn, rubbing her muzzle on me while we both shook in amusement.

“Kay, kay,” I mused, petting her head. “Let’s get this date night started. You wanna make the popcorn while I put the reels on?”

“Yupperino!” Pinkie hopped back and shoved the reels into my hands. While I knelt down to juggle them, she sneaked another smooch on my cheek, goosed me, and then ran at my disgruntled reaction, sticking her tongue out.

She headed towards the kitchen, pulling out a pan of jiffy pop stovetop popcorn from out of her backpack. Well, at least she was prepared.

I rolled my eyes in bemusement and walked over to my ‘entertainment’ display. Along with the ‘misappropriated’ flat screen and retro media devices my cheap ass could afford, there was a pulldown projector screen. Since ponies had apparently only just reached vacuum tubes in regards to television (odd considering they also had arcade cabinets but what did I know about the Industrial Revolution in a world of magic), they still relied on analog to record films with. Thankfully, it was easy enough to purchase a film projector slash speaker system to install in my house (seriously, how the hell did magitek even work?). Without it, I’d never be able to enjoy any new movies on the (to me) big screen.

Forget my computer, the monitor wasn’t nearly high quality enough.

It was just too bad that the films were such a pain in an ass to load. I’d only just hooked up the first movie (Chainsaw Madmares in Coltown, really?) when Pinkie arrived with a truly humongous bowl of popcorn. Seriously, the tupperware was wider than her and had enough popcorn to match the Tower of Babel in height.

Pinkie set it down on my coffee table, somehow not managing to cause an avalanche in the precariously balanced kernels, and plopped down on my couch. She patted the cushion next to her. “C’mon, Nonny, let’s start the movie!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” I muttered. I clicked the final seal in place and gave the main reel a quick spin to load it. Finding everything in working order, I flipped the switch. On the screen appeared the grainy countdown, and I hurried to my seat.

Pinkie grabbed a handful of popcorn, scarfing it down as she beamed up at me happily before putting all her focus on the film. I leaned back on the cushion, also grabbing a few kernels to munch on while the previews started.

I could feel Pinkie silently vibrating next to me and her warmth sink into both the couch and my side as she rested her head on my arm. I smiled. Maybe this would be a good time after all.

Damn it, popcorn and soda was just as much of a ripoff at the movies in Equestria as it was back home. I'd need to take out a mortgage just to purchase a small combo! Next time, I was going to do it the old-fashioned way and smuggle in contraband via a plastic baggie taped to my leg. Sure, the soda got warm real quick but it was better than paying the equivalent of a full-course meal for something with the nutritional value of cardboard.

My rabid grumbling gave me a wide berth from the few ponies lingering about the theater lobby and I took full advantage of it by quickly navigating towards my designated screen, several ponies diving out of the way to avoid my cheapskate fury.

When I arrived, I found that the screen could barely hold a couple dozen people and clearly hadn't been renovated to the extent the other larger rooms had been. I wasn't exactly surprised to find the dinkiest and smallest room was the one showing my film. Horror was a lost art in pony society. With the whole hippy-dippy lifestyle and focus on being so sickingly nice to one another, the concept of enjoying the brutal wholesale slaughter of the shallow end of the gene pool was, well, a horror to most ponies.

Heck, I heard that the only reason this movie was even showing was because it was a personal favor to a real slasher flick lover. The showing was for one night only but free of charge to anyone who wanted to watch. But since I appeared to be the only one in the room at the time, and the previews were quickly approaching, it was clear that no one else was even slightly interested in viewing this so-called atrocity.

It was too bad – Nightmare Moon on Elmwood Street sounded like good, cheesy B-grade fun. That it had even been approved and endorsed by Princess Moonbutt herself (who found the film’s meme-spewing portrayal of her corrupted form too absurd to take seriously as an insult) only improved my anticipation for how it would play out.

Plus, the ticket was free! How could you beat that?

I parked myself in a back corner and out of the way. I didn’t think there would be many other moviegoers arriving, but I always enjoyed the cozy, distant feel.

A few more commercials played when I heard someone else enter the theater. Absently looking back, I saw a pony in a film noir-style trench coat and fedora. The mystery pony’s outfit covered them from head to fetlock, but I made out they were rather short and that their fur color was flashy pink from the tail that peeked out from underneath their coat. I also saw they’d sprung for the extra-value size combo, the one designed to act as a full-party platter. How they managed to balance the bucket and trough that was nearly as big as them I didn’t know, but they were doing an impressive job at it.

This was probably the person that asked for the film’s showing in the first place. They certainly seemed like they were stoked. My theory was validated even further when they plopped down dead-center in the very front row, the spot where you’d have to use every bit of your peripheral vision to actually see the entire screen and use a neck brace to properly keep your head up.

Noir pone pumped a fist up, a very girly voice enthusiastically shouting out, “Whoo! Let’s get this blood party started!”

Then she dunked her head into the popcorn tub and threw it back, the snack exploding everywhere as she choked enough of it down that I saw her very pink cheeks bulging out like a chipmunk’s.

That voice, that altered trademark phrase, that way of gorging herself that would make the Romans green with envy.

I had a pretty good idea who noir pone was.

Figuring that me might as well say hello before the feature started, I ambled over and shot off a greeting. “Hey, Pinkie.”

Noir/pink pone jumped in her seat, popcorn spilling everywhere, but said nothing. I raised an eyebrow at the distinct lack of verbal response. Normally, Pinkie would immediately say hi back, accompanied with a hug or something. That she didn’t made me wonder if perhaps I was mistaken, but the odds of finding another pink glutton with ridiculous fashion sense didn’t seem likely.

“Hey, Pinkie, did ya hear me?”

“I du’ not know whoin this Pinnki you speaken of is, yong colt,” Pinkie(?) said in an extremely stereotypical and confusing Transylvanian/Germanic/What-Is-This-Can't-Even accent. She took her fedora and tilted it over her face. “I am tinking yusis hav’ me confused vit somepone else.”

I frowned and leaned forward, trying to get a better look. Though she tried to shift her face further away, I could still make enough out. The face was just as pink and eyes were just as blue as Pinkie’s (not to mentioned she was covered in butter-slathered popcorn) even if most of it was hidden behind a fake set of Groucho Marx glasses – complete with oversized schnoz and bushy mustache.

I raised an eyebrow. “Pinks, you’re not fooling anyone.”

The now definitely-Pinkie put a hand in front of her face and turned her head. “Yu teem to hav’ me mistakin for this Pinku Poie. Whyle she doo sound very fon and kyute and oh’ter neat tings, I em not her.” She flapped her hand. “Now… goo awhay!”

My face went flat. “Uh huh.” My eyes flicked to something above and behind her right shoulder. “Oh hey, it’s the Cakes. Huh, and they brought the twins with them.”

“Noooooo!” Pinkie stood up quickly enough that I barely saw her move and whipped off her hat and glasses, her voice shrill. She spun around, her hands squishing her cheeks. “You can’t let the twins see this movie, Mr. and Mrs. Cake! It’s too violent! Auntie Pinkie won’t allow it!”

She quickly noticed that there was nothing there and that the only people in the theater were the two of us. Seeing that her cover was quite thoroughly blown, Pinkie turned back around with a nervous and ashamed giggle. “Heheh, um… so… surprise?”

“Hey, Pinkie.”

“Hey, silly,” she mumbled. “Or maybe not-so-silly. So… you really knew it was me, huh?”

“Ayup.” I flopped down in the seat next to her. “You really thought that outfit would work?”

Pinkie slowly sank back into her chair. “Well… nopony’s noticed me before, and I’ve never had problems using it to get into places.”

I wondered about that. Either other ponies just played along with it as another of Pinkie’s eccentricities, or this world ran on TMNT logic when it came to disguises. Honestly, I wouldn’t pick either theory as the completely correct one. Equestria was just that odd a place.

“Yeah, well, I did. So, what’s up? Why all the sneaking around?”

Pinkie played with her hands, her ears drooping. “Promise you won’t make fun of me?”

I patted her shoulder. “Oh, Pinkie…” I did not smile kindly. “Of course I’ll make fun of you. But it will be with love.”

She let out a giddy nicker of a laugh. “Well, um…” She aimlessly gestured in front of herself. “I really… maybe… sorta like horror flicks. Like a lot. Like a lot a lot.”

My eyes traced the popcorn tub that was designed for a small platoon, a soda cup that could be used as a bird’s bath, and the hundred-foot screen that was playing previews not even a meter from my schnoggin. “So I see. Your point?”

Her eyes widened and mouth dropped open. “You don’t find me weird?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I said sardonically.

“Well, yeah, but I mean…” Pinkie waved her hands, her mouth gaping to find words. “You’re this cool alien from another world! Of course you’d like things that are weird by pony standards!”

Aww… pink pone thought I was cool. Just for that, I wouldn’t stick my finger in her face and laugh.

I’d just laugh.

Regardless, I found her logic to be a bit… off. “So just because you’re a pony that likes weird things, you’re weird by default?” I gave a harsh laugh. Nailed it. “Aren’t you the same pony that once chased Rainbow in a balloon - a single helium balloon, I might add – because you wanted to confirm if her favorite color was mauve?”

It wasn’t, by the way. It was blue, because blue equaled ‘cool’ and Rainbow Dash was cooler than any other pony by twenty (point something something something) percent.

“Well that’s just normal!” No, Pinkie, no, it really wasn’t. “But being entertained by gore and stuff is pretty creepy, isn’t it? I mean, I’m Pinkie the Party Pony!” The hell she’d gotten that sign with the trademark symbol from? And why wasn’t I confused as I probably should’ve been? “Confetti and butcher knives don’t really go together, right?” I wasn’t sure if I was seeing things correctly but it looked like her mane had literally gone flat during her spiel.

I shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong person here, Pinks. Frankly, I think finding a pony who isn’t grossed out by a little blood, popping eyeballs, and improper use of the lower intestine to be all hella kinds of awesome.”

She bit her lip and looked at me hopefully out of the side of her eyes. “Really?” Her ears twitched.

"Really really."

"Really really really?"

I gave her a flick on the nose. Pinkie let out a very uncharacteristic squeak. Was this really bugging her that much?

“Here, tell you what.” I grabbed a handful of her popcorn, innocently forgetting that my own portion had been abandoned somewhere in the back. “We’ll keep this just between the two of us. I don’t tell anyone, and you hang out with me every once in a while to enjoy some coeds get their legs lopped off by some guy with a Oedipus complex.” I noisily took a sip from her soda. Blech, did she add butter to this, too? “You don’t have to worry about anyone else finding out about your great, terrible, completely dorky secret, and I get someone to watch horrible movies with. Deal?”

Pinkie was silent and still. Then, like someone’d flipped a switch, her hair poofed back to its normal fluffiness (maybe even more so than usual) and her solemn frown swung up into an ecstatic smile. She launched herself at me, her lips seeking my cheek like a gooey love missile.

“Mwah!” Yes, she said the word 'mwah' as she kissed me. “Mwah! Mwah! Oh, thankies, thankies, thankies, Nemo!” She said my name like it was an oasis in a desert, like it was welcoming her home, like it was her first time drawing breath. “You have no idea how happy that makes me!”

“Hey, hey!” I pushed the assaulting mare away and picked at the few sticky, greasy kernels she’d planted on my cheek along with her lips. “Calm down, girly! You’re getting butter all over me!”

“Heheh,” she giggled. “Sorries.”

I scraped another kernel off as she beamed in sweet serenity. Shit, why’d ponies (and her especially right now) have to be so damn adorable? I flicked the last kernel back at her, hitting Pinkie right on the tip of her muzzle.

Pinkie’s eyes crossed to find the offending food item and then stuck out her tongue, sweeping it up into her mouth. She gave a tiny belch and bit her lips, holding her hands to her stomach that trembled in repressed excitement.

I rolled my eyes. “So…” I gestured at the screen, which had turned dark to indicate the start of the movie. “Was this really based off Princess Luna?”

“Uh-huh!” Pinkie said energetically. “Princess Luna is the ruler of the night and dreams, so making her fallen form be a villain that kills ponies in their sleep was a big selling point.” She tilted her head. “Though I don’t think the princess actually knows enough about modern culture to make all the reference Nightmare Moon does, but she really…”

I nodded in turn as Pinkie continued to blather on about the movie’s background even as the film opened on an idyllic suburban street. Soon, the real carnage started, and the only words exchanged between us was shouts of encouragement and disparagement and almost-never-ending peals of laughter.

It was too bad we never got to see the end of the movie. We were booted out of the theater for making too much noise right before the climax hit (an escalating argument of whether or not a pony head could actually fit up a bovine’s rectum).

Still totally worth it.

“That’s right, I still remember what you did last Hearth’s Warming Eve…”

“No…! No, it can’t be!”

Blood splattered across the screen as the towel-wearing mare screamed and was assaulted by the Gordon Fisherstallion right before the film cut to the credits.

“Called it.”

Pinkie blew a raspberry at me. “You did not.”

“Like hell I didn’t.” I cracked my neck. “No slasher is ever dead by the end of the movie. Those bastards are hardier than Dash when she crashes through a wall.” My fingers snapped smartly. “And I bet that she isn’t even dead and the killer’s, like, totally forgotten about by the general public when the sequel comes around even though it’d be in the headlines for weeks in the real world. Continuity? What’s that?”

Pinkie giggled-snorted into her hand. “You’re impossible.” She shrugged and ate some more popcorn, mumbling between bites. “Though, yeah, they didn’t put too much accuracy into the way the deaths played out, either. When that one stallion got speared in the neck with his own severed horn? The wound was way too dark in color; arterial blood is a much brighter red than what they showed.” She nickered snootily. “Amateurs.”

People and/or ponies had no idea how hot it was when a girl talked about over-the-top deaths with as much nonchalance and analytical insight as Pinkie did. I didn’t know why I didn’t hang out with the mare more often. It almost made me feel bad that I was wasting her time with this pretend date. If I was actually into ponies, I’d snap her up in an instant.

…Stop staring like that; I wasn’t attracted to ponies, goddamn it.

…even if Pinkie didn’t seem like she cared at all that I was, for all intents and purposes, lightly groping her epic boobage. I hadn’t done so on purpose; it just sort of ended up like that.

...Really! I swear!

While we had started watching sitting next to each other but still appropriately far enough apart, it just became more natural and easier for us to skootch closer together until we were basically glued at the hip. There was no awkwardness, no hormonal teen stupidity, just two good friends enjoying a bad flick together. Eventually she’d ended up resting her head on my upper chest while my arm dangled on her shoulder, my hand rubbing lightly against her bosom (both on her tank top and direct skin/fur contact) every so often when she shifted to adjust her seat.

Though Pinkie moved around a lot more often after we got closer together, thus causing me to touch her a lot more frequent than was fitting for platonic playmates (even in a practice date setting).

…eh, probably meant nothing.

“So!” I stood up, causing Pinkie to unhappily grunt as she had to lift her head from my arm to allow me to move. “Should we get started on the next one?” We were only two movies in and the real bloodbath hadn’t appeared yet. I wondered when Pinkie would bring out the big guns.

Pinkie bobbed her head fast enough to resemble a hummingbird’s wings. “Yuppers! You’ll like this one! It’s the reel with the guy wearing a hoofball catcher’s mask and carrying a machete!”

I shuffled through the collection until I found the one described. There was a pause. I raised it over my shoulder. “…Bloody Coeds at Canterlot Cove?” My tone was half-disbelieving, half-facetious.

“That’s the one!”

Oh, this was going to be bad – and by bad I meant stupendous. I set the reel up and walked back over to the couch. Pinkie leaned forward exaggeratedly, clearly waiting for me to give her arm pillow back. I gave her what she wanted, and she clapped happily when the movie started, pulling the now severely depleted bowl of popcorn to her lap. Leaning back on me, she raised a handful of the treat up, silently asking for permission.

I opened my mouth with a reluctant huff and she muffled her giggles when she tossed the food at me. I caught a couple kernel with my mouth but most of them just harmlessly bonked off my face. Pinkie laughed louder at my cross-eyed expression but settled down after I wordlessly threatened her with another forehead flick.

Soon, our attention was back on the film. It was another corny slasher flick, the kind with people too dumb to live (and often didn’t) and a killer who violated every basic law of physics by soundlessly stalking teens without them ever noticing despite being built like a brick shithouse. At least the killer was played by an earth pony, so his stupidly awesome strength (like when he ripped one character right down the middle with his bare hands) made some lick of sense.

In other words, it was perfect kind of intellectual junk food. There was one thing that kept bugging me, however.

“Like, oh my Celestia, Shimmer! Your boobs are so big!”

“Hey- ah! Sprinkles! Don’t touch me there!”

I tore my eyes away from the one ludicrously busty mare molesting the other just as ludicrously proportioned mare (both in micro-bikinis that couldn’t be collegial sanctioned) to ask Pinkie the same question I’d already asked a couple time before. “Pinkie, are you absolutely certain the director didn’t splice a porno in? I’m catching more ass than on the Playcolt channel.”

Pinkie gave I a look as if to ask, ‘you watch that?’ to which I eyeballed, ‘I clicked some random buttons, ok?’ before she twitched her lips and responded. “And I keep telling you, no.” She licked her lips in thought. “But I do recall he did do a lot porn in his earlier days before he switched to horror. He kept all his old cast with him, so he was most likely just working with what he had.”

Huh, so that’s why the first one to go was that effeminate unicorn stallion with the monster schlong (even by pony standards). Seeing that Pinkie wasn’t willing to answer more questions, her eyes glued to the screen, I followed suit.

It… really didn’t get much better after that. There followed an uncomfortably long scene where the two Sapphic mares never quite got to the degree of scissoring each other but did do enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if a guy walked in with an extra-large sausage pizza and they wouldn’t have enough bits to pay for it because they forgot their bitbags in their other pants so could they find an alternative form of recompense?

No way those mares ever wore pants a day in their lives.

Really, it wasn’t watching the pseudo-murder porn that was getting me bothered; I was a guy who walked out in my front yard in nothing but my boxers and a genial tent-raising. No, it was how Pinkie was pressing even closer to me the more graphic the scene got, having now somehow commandeered my arm to the furry, marshmallowy depths of her cleavage and her head neatly tucked under my chin. Her warmth and texture had quickly become very distracting.

Honestly, it’d be an insult if I didn’t react the way I was right now. But yeah, I didn’t need Pinkie catching wind of her effect on me (something that would no doubt lead to a great deal of teasing that I didn’t have the patience for) so I had to do something about squirrelling the general away.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have much to hide the problem with. My best bet was crossing my legs, but even the slightest movement would get Pinkie to adjust her hold on me and I didn’t want to take the chance of distracting her away from the film. So, I did the next best thing – I took a pillow from the end of the couch and stealthily moved it to cover my everlasting shame.

It was then I realized I’d made a terrible mistake. As if sensing weakness, Pinkie’s head slid down my chest, her legs swinging up next to me. With a graceless flop, her head landed right on the pillow, the girl now positioned to treat my lap like a headrest while her legs hung over the couch’s arm.

It almost seemed suitable that this action had come at the exact moment the money shot appeared on screen when Sprinkles suddenly had a steel infusion to the chest and Shimmer was bathed in all the wrong kinds of juices.

I hated whatever gods helped to shape Equestria because they were cruel and merciless ones.

Pinkie cocked her head up at me, her ears twisted to the side, looking all the world like a lap dog wanting all the snuggles. She pulled her arms backwards and stretched her legs. She laughed dumbly at my expression. “Feed me and give me scratchies.”

Okay, so maybe I had fooled her after all if she was acting like this instead of immediately teasing me. To fully satisfy the beast, I dropped popcorn on her face and scratched her behind her ears. Pinkie hummed in contentment while chewing on whatever popcorn had fallen into her piehole.

We were quiet while I watched the killer track a screaming and naked Shimmer down a barren beach (coincidentally away from the searchlights that pointed out the huge holiday weekend party said coeds had arrived for). Around the nth time the girl fell and yet the killer never seemed to noticeably gain ground, Pinkie piped up.

“Say…” Her tone sounded aimless but she was clearly looking for… something. “You think if we were in that movie we’d be horribly murdered if the slasher found us?”

I cringed at the bad makeup effect of Shimmer snapping her leg after falling into the world’s shallowest divot. What did they use to simulate bone – PVC pipes? “Definitely not.”

Her voice was curious. “How come?”

I glanced down at her. Her ears were perked up and her eyes waiting. I smirked and counted off on my fingers. “Well, for one, if a slasher did appear, you’d just blast their head off with your party cannon.” Pinkie choked back a snort at the suggestion. “Two, they’re mostly attracted by sexy times, and none of that is happening, so we wouldn’t be the first on the chopping block anyway.”

I froze and nearly swallowed my tongue when, the moment I said that, Pinkie nuzzled her head into the pillow, invariably brushing against my arousal. Her expression made it all too clear that she knew exactly what she was doing, her full lips curled and her eyes the tiniest bit closed but blazing with fire. She took my free hand that had been uselessly hanging to the side and brought it to her mouth, one single finger perched just between her lips.

She bit down ever so tenderly on the nail. “Wanna change that?”

…she knew, this whole time she knew exactly what she was doing. Every movement, every word, every avenue she’d taken – it was all for this. She had been planning for this one single moment the entire night. The silly, random, often brainless, and ‘foresight-what’s-that?’ Pinkie Pie had led me by the nose into a trap from which there was no escape.

And fucking heavens help me, I wasn’t certain I wanted a way out.

Pinkie giggled softly and sensually at my brightly flushing yet pitch pale ‘what’ face before it evolved into something more mirthful and mocking. Her tail whipped up from underneath her and swiped at my chin. “Maybe it’s a little too early for that step. Sorry for scaring you, Nonny!”

I blinked, my words hollow. “That was a joke?”

“No, that was a flirt. Ponies do that on dates.”

I didn’t think serial killer rutting was exactly a hot dating topic. Pinkie continued regardless.

She rubbed her head side-to-side, my tongue suddenly in danger of swallowing itself. “This is a date, so I’m treating it like one, and on dates, I like to flirt with my dates. Is there a problem with that?” Her tone said this was no different from usual but her eyes said something else, something I wasn’t quite ready to address yet.

I bit back what I was going to say and sucked back my lips. “I- no, Pinkie, there’s nothing wrong with that at all.”

“Good!” she hummed. Pinkie turned over on my lap and then lifted her chin pompously. “Hand, please!”

Mechanically, I put my hand back on her head and started scratching her beneath her chin. Pinkie squealed and scarfed more popcorn down. She let out a burst of terrified laughter when the killer finally disposed of Shimmer, reappropriating her head as a ventriloquist dummy.

Though my eyes were locked on the screen, my mind was a million miles away.

…what the ever-loving Christ balls just happened? Was that real? Did Pinky just offer me sexy times in what was supposed to be a casual practice date? Hundreds of questions raced through my mind, none of which I was prepared to answer.

I could confront Pinkie about her intentions, but, to be honest, I was somewhat afraid of what her response would be.

Yeah, I was admitting to myself I had some concerns – this was fucking with me that much.

…you know what? Fuck it. Yeah, really, fuck all of it.

I wasn’t going to tiddle around with this bullshit. I was here, Pinkie was here, get over it. If she was going to make something out of it, I’d let her and react as the dice rolled. Until then, I was going to not say or do a goddamn thing about this slippery situation. I had enough shit on my plate as it was.

Internally nodding at the reasonable policy, I put all my attention back on the film and its exceedingly stupid premise and special effects.

“…Did he just rip that dude’s arm out of its socket and beat him to death with it?”

“Yups!”

“…okay, so that was pretty retardedly badass.”

“I know, right? I really like the use of splatter patterns. See how one splash spells out the makeup manager’s initials?”

“Huh, no shit.”

I let out a prolonged yawn as I ambled down Ponyville’s main street. It had taken a while for me, but I’d finally gotten nominally used to living here. Sure, the whole concept of being a transdimensional alien trapped in a land of anthropomorphic animals was a hard and stupidly stupid one to swallow but I’d somehow managed.

Now if I could only get the ponies to stop being so bloody friendly! Even the ones who’d first treated me like I was half-a-sliver away from eating their loved ones with a side of Chianti now waved and called out greetings whenever I passed by. I wasn’t accustomed to such a well-natured and constant outflow of affable warmth; I was a human, damn it!

Still, I at least returned the favor, waving back and spouting out a few noncommittal words. I wasn’t close enough to any of them to try and remember their names or accept the occasional invite for gossip-mongering, but I could try to be about a quarter as cordial as they were to me. It was only fair.

I passed by several shops during my aimless wanderings, including the diabetic eyesore known as Sugarcube Corner. I didn’t know why everything in Equestria had to be so heavily stylized, but I could feel the cavities forming whenever I laid eyes on the building. Sure, the food was good and the proprietors were just as nice as any other of the town’s citizens, but, by god, how much sweetness could one pony handle?

I just walked past the entrance, briefly noting the chalkboard sign that labeled the specials for the day (raspberry jam cookies sounded good; maybe I should get some later) when I heard someone call out my name. I didn’t even have a chance to see who it was before something catapulted against my back.

Arms and legs wrapped around my chest and waist, and I had to take a couple steps forward to make sure I didn’t tumble ass over tea kettle from the sudden rush of high-velocity mass. My assailant shimmied up my body, forcing me to stumble and quickly place my feet correctly as they constantly pulled me off balance.

Eventually my attacker settled in on my back and shoved her face over my shoulder.

“Hey there, silly!” Pinkie grinned, her rounded cheeks shining with joy. She smelled like baked goods, latex, and the smallest hint of ozone.

I grunted. “Hey, Pinkie.” I shifted to the right and grabbed her leg as it slipped down. “Any reason you assaulted me in broad daylight?”

She squeezed her arms below my neck. “I’m just saying hello to my bestie!”

“Pinkie, everyone is your bestie.”

“Hmm… true.” She placed a finger to her chin and tapped it in deep thought. Her eyes lit up with a flash of euphoric eureka. “Okay then, then you’re a bestie-bestie! One of the best bestie-besties I could have!” She punctuated her proclamation by rubbing her cheek against mine, a warm, fuzzy feeling rising from the pit of my stomach (like heartburn).

“Okay, fine, but do you always have to jump me?”

“What’s wrong? Don’t you like my glomps?” Her lips quivered and eyes moistened with unsung sorrow at the notion I was rejecting her.

I never should have taught her that word. Pony corruption was only so fun until it started to bite you back in the ass. “Okay, okay!” I conceded. “I give! Turn off the waterworks already!”

“Yay!” Pinkie swung her hands up, causing her to tip precariously backwards. I felt her center of gravity shift and immediately grabbed at her to prevent her from falling off.

She yelped as I took hold of her ass, the heavenly feel of her firm yet spongy cheeks acting as a great set of handles for my fingers to grasp. That was one thing I always remembered about Pinkie – she had plenty of places to hold no matter where you reached. Considering all the ways she crawled over me like I was an outdoor playset, I had plenty of experience finding each and every one of them.

Pinkie tilted forward, looping her arms back around me to make sure she didn’t almost accidentally fall off again. She giggled as I gave off a long-suffering sigh. Gently, she put her hands on my shoulders and raised herself up. Her heaving bosom squished itself against my shoulders as she pushed herself to whisper into my ear.

“Naughty, naughty Nemo,” she cooed, a playful lilt in the words. I felt her tail sneak its way under my shirt and tickle my belly. “Where do you think you’re grabbing?”

I forced back the swallow I wanted to make at the tone of her voice. Pinkie was undeniably a ball of fun and flirts in a curvy package, and she always liked to aim those teases at me. Too bad for her I could easily fend off her capricious remarks with pure, unadulterated apathy.

I relaxed my grip and deadpanned, “Would you rather I just drop you on your ass?”

She shook her head, that smile never leaving her face. “Nnnope! I like my ass right where it is!” She poked my cheek with a single finger, her teeth flashing. “And I think you do, too!”

I rolled my eyes and didn’t deign her provocations with a response. Pinkie just laughed gaily and rubbed our cheeks together again, tightening her hold on me.

…and yup, she was smooshing her boobs all over the back of my head again. I could feel her floof get caught in my hair. What was she, marking her territory? Granted, I seemed to consistently be an unofficial Pinkie carrier whenever we hung out, but this was ridiculous.

I shifted my hands, getting a better grip on her butt. Pinkie just giggled and let me, squealing ever so quietly as she rolled side to side on my palms. I grunted again. “So? You actually want something or are you just here to tempt me to fall to the pink side?”

“Join us…!” she rasped, wiggling her fingers. “We have cakes and pies…!” Pinkie giggled-snorted again, a sound I was quickly becoming used to and even anticipating the more often she did it. “But no, I just saw you and figured you could use your daily helping of Pinkie Pie!”

“Yeah, well, I think I’ve had my recommended dose, so if you’d just-“

“Nope!” she crowed, swinging back and nearly pulling me off my feet for the third time in as many minutes. “Four out of five ponies agree that every human needs thirty giga-giggles of Pinkie every day! You’ve only had five so far. You still have a long ways to go!”

“Really?” I mused, a crooked smile rising to my lips. Damn it, I was getting swept up in her rhythm and, scarily enough, I didn’t mind it. “So, what do I have to do to get there?”

“Just leave that to your big sister!” She pounded a fist against her chest. I could feel the vibrations from all that jiggly Pie goodness course through my back and spine.

I decided not to mention I was several years older than her. It'd never made a difference the first hundred times I’d used the argument.

Pinkie whipped out a tricorne hat from whatever extradimensional space she kept pulling her random crap from and pulled it down on her head, though her mane made a big show of not being happy about it. She pointed her finger forward like it was a royal banner. “Now, my loyal steed, to the market! We must go questing for baking ingredients! The Cakes have a big order coming in and it’s up to us to make sure that they have enough to fulfill it!”

I didn’t take a single step. “So, uh, am I gonna be carrying you the entire way or…”

“Don’t worry! Pinkie has treats for good little sillies who follow their big sister’s orders.”

“I’m not a dog, you know.”

“But cookies…” she said, waving a small and delectable-looking pastry in front of me. The crisp yet fluffy bread and jewel-like quality of the crimson jam on top made my nostrils twinge and mouth water.

Well shit, they were raspberry and freshly baked by the smell of it. I grumbled as I tilted my head up and took the cookie from her beckoning fingers with my teeth. Crunching down, I had to hold back the satisfied shiver that radiated throughout my body.

Yup, that was a damn fine cookie.

I licked my lips and stared back into the victorious gaze of the pink menace. “Fine, you win. Just keep feeding me and we’ll have no problems.”

“Yay!” Pinkie snapped her fingers and another cookie popped up from between their tips. “Now onward! To fruits and grains and all kinds of yummy!” Her legs squeezed around my waist, and I felt the hidden muscles under the layers of chub tense up as her hooves brushed against my stomach.

I shook my head. “Damn crazy mare.”

And with that, the two of us trundled into adventure and danger. At least my appetite was well sated.

Oh, and the cookies were good, too.

I woke up to the sound of heavy machinery. Sleepily wondering when a construction site had opened in my house, I slowly realized there was a heavy warmth on top of me and a dampness spread across my upper stomach. Blearily opening my eyes, I took a glimpse around the room from on my back, my head resting on the arm of the couch. The sun was already out, bathing the room in light and giving me a good view of the lump pressing down on me.

The snoring mass there could only be one Pinkamena Diane Pie. Her short, chunky frame was half on, half off my legs and lower torso, her mouth wide open as she drooled liberally through my shirt. She smacked her lips, rubbed her face into my stomach (smearing her spit around even more), and then went back to imitating a broken electric can-opener.

Still half-asleep, I tilted my head and noticed the popcorn bowl abandoned on the floor, the remains of its scant goodies scattered about the side of the couch. I pushed my head back and stared at the ceiling. Gradually, the events of last night came trickling back to me.

I remembered we had shifted on the couch again after the fourth or so movie we’d watched, Pinkie getting tired with treating me as a lap pillow. It was already early in the morning and I was lethargic enough to not argue when she pushed me into a lying down position and crawled on top of me. She’d kept one leg just swinging off the couch next to mine and used my chest as a holder for the popcorn bowl while she rested her cheek on my stomach.

Surprisingly, she hadn’t teased me at all. I half-expected her to pull up my shirt and either tickle me or blow a raspberry into my belly like she tended to do with the other girls, but she seemed content enough to nuzzle me as she shoved heapings of popcorn down her gullet. So, I followed her lead and just watched the movie while occasionally shoveling some popcorn or patting her mane when she grabbed my hand for cuddles.

It was around five in the morning that I last remember anything clearly. Nearly seven movies in and the warm lure of the couch and my company finally lulled me to slumber. I must’ve knocked the bowl over sometime in my sleep. Urgh, I was going to need the vacuum later or else the kernels would bury into the carpet and that would be a hell of a nuisance to clean up.

Still not quite awake, I was absently amused at how comfortable I’d been in the face of sexy-cute adversity. Even with Pinkie pseudo-mounting me, I wasn’t nervous at all. A little horny, sure, and very much aware of her voluptuous form molding itself to me, but antsy? Not in the slightest.

However, as my consciousness came back to the forefront, I realized several reasons why waking up in this position would not be healthy for my sanity. One of which was the innate morning reaction of all males, compounded by the detail of having a hot, playful woman on top of me with her legendary mountain range nicely nestled around said appendage.

So, with great reluctance even as my brain screamed at me to get a move on, I raised my hand only to find that it was entangled in her voracious mane. Attempting to remove it only seemed to trap it more, and one gentle yank somehow managed to pull Pinkie closer so that the general was in danger of being swallowed into her tanktop through multiple layers of fabric.

Pinkie let out a moan in her sleep. She giggled and rubbed her face into my stomach, sandwiching me further. “Naughty, naughty~” she mumbled in a drowsy, singsong tune. I felt myself twitch.

…I hated everything and everyone right now. If I didn’t get Pinkie off me soon, whatever self-control and dignity I had left would fall to nothing more to dust.

Slowly, carefully, I removed my hand from her mane and placed both my hands to her shoulders.

I gently shook her. “Pinks. C’mon, Pinkie, wake up, it’s morning.”

“Hwah…?” Pinkie mumbled my name as she raised her head, her lips drooping and trailing drool. Somewhere along the line, her hairband had popped off and her shoulder-length hair bounded for the great beyond. The girl needed to keep a squadron of combs on her at all times to lasso that puppy.

Her eyes slowly opened, a little crust in the corners, but when they alighted on me, they crinkled. “Hey… morning, Nonny.”

“Morning to you, too.” I pushed myself up on my elbows and scooted backwards to sit up more properly. Pinkie followed suit and moved off I, now sitting fully on the couch. I smirked ruefully. “Looks like we didn’t stay up through the whole marathon. I must be getting old.”

“That’s okay…” Pinkie let out a huge yawn, her chest pushing out as she bent her back. I noticed her straps had fallen down around her shoulders, revealing even more of her swells and dips. Fuck was she delightfully plump. Pinkie smacked her lips and grinned, her eyes still closed. “You make for pretty comfy bedding.”

“Glad I could please.” Not receiving anything more from her, I bent down. I noticed her head dipping down as small snores and whinnies brushed from out of her mouth. “Hey, wake up,” I said sternly, flicking her forehead.

Pinkie jumped and put her hands to where I hit her, her eyes quickly open and ears twitching. She giggled abashedly at the thin line of my lips. “Sorries…” She got to her feet and stretched, her belly, sides, and crack popping in and out between her clothes. I pushed her tail out of the way as it playfully thwacked me. “Mhhmm…! That feels good!”

Pinkie then turned to me with her game face on. “Well, let’s clean up! I’ve got work this morning so I want to make sure I’m nice and fresh before the Cakes open up.”

With that, we swiftly cleaned up the room, gathering up the loose reels and stowing them away in her backpack and sweeping up any loose debris on the floors or furniture. Pinkie would occasionally hipcheck me when we passed the other by, making her classic giggling chortle whenever she did. Soon, the place was spotless (or at least as spotless as when she’d first arrived) and Pinkie raised her hand for a high-five.

“Yeah!” she cried after a satisfactory slap. “That was great! I’m so glad we did this! We should go on dates more often!” She beamed at me expectantly.

I wasn’t sure what to say. While I had immensely enjoyed myself, the implications Pinkie was making, on purpose or not, left me somewhat unsteady on how to proceed. On one hand, going on more ‘dates’ like I had would be exceptionally fun if last night was any indication. It also would feed nicely into what Twilight was trying to do for me – make me more social, if only with a few select people.

On the other hand, it still had the connotation of a ‘date,’ and I didn’t know how earnest Pinkie was about the whole ordeal. Was it just as much an exercise in fun to her, or was there something deeper to it? After last night, how much was just flirting and how much was… something else? How did I feel about Pinkie? I knew I liked spending time with her, but anything more than that…? And until I had a solid grasp on it all, I didn’t want to answer frivolously.

But having Pinkie smiling at me with those hopeful eyes and innocent charm made me realize that – what the fuck did it matter if it was real or fake? I enjoyed my time with her, and that was that.

So, I said the only thing that made sense.

“Hell yeah, we have to go out again. Last night rocked!” I put out my fist to seal the deal. “Agreed?”

Pinkie put a hand out, but instead of pounding it like I expected her to, she put her hand on top and pushed mine down. She shook her head. “Silly Nonny, you don’t hoofbump at the end of a date. You kiss!” To prove her point, she got up on the tips of her hooves, spread out her arms, closed her eyes, and puckered her lips.

I rolled my eyes. Yeah, yeah, the little cutie could have her kiss. I leaned down to plant a big one on her snout, a small revenge for all the ones she’d imposed on me. I’d do without the goosing though – didn’t need to give her any ideas.

I was shocked, however, not to kiss her nose, but somewhere else entirely. The moment my head got within reach, Pinkie grabbed me by the cheeks, pulled me in close, and gave me the mother of all smooches on the lips. This wasn’t the short, friendly pecks on the mouth she handed out to friends and ponies close to her. This was one of those full-blown, lover-only, you-make-me-tingly-all-over, where’s-your-bed-I-need-to-check-its-stress-limits kisses.

And when my mouth opened at the jolt of Pinkie kissing me like she wanted my babies right now, her tongue quickly took the unspoken invitation and went tonsil diving in the back of my throat.

It took a few seconds for my brain to catch up, but when it did it immediately formulated a tactical response. That response involved me squeezing the savory roly poly mare and kissing her back with just as much fervor.

Pinkie hummed happily when I finally started to return the favor but soon pushed away from me. Regretfully, I let go, and she hopped back, her mane even messier than before from where I tangled my hands in it, and her lips shining and somewhat puffy.

She slowly drew her tongue across her lips. Her eyes opened widely and she nodded with satisfaction. “Yup, you taste even better that way!”

And she tasted just as sweet as I’d imagined she’d be (even with morning breath) but seriously – What. The. Fuck?

Noticing my drawn down brows, Pinkie just wiggled a finger. “Unh unh unh! No need for a sad silly! That was just a thank-you gift for showing me such a good time!”

“Good time…?” I repeated faintly.

Continuing like she didn’t hear me, Pinkie exclaimed, “And you can look forward to more smoochies like that one if the next date is just as fun.”

“Next date…?” I echoed like a broken record.

Pinkie let out a slinky smile and sidled up to me. She placed on a finger on my stomach, the part that was only just now drying from all the drool soaked into it, and twirled it in place. Her tail wrapped around my calf. Her chest puffed out, tuft brushing and boobs heaving. Pinkie glanced up out of the corner of her eyes, her eyelashes fluttering and voice smoky. “And maybe we’ll get a little further if you’re extra good…?”

I mind raced back to the implications Pinkie made last night and the ones she was making now and decided on the most acceptable course of action.

BRAIN.exe has experienced smut inference overload/
BRAIN.exe has ceased functioning/
Please reboot to recover functionality/

I think I had smoke pluming out of my ears. Pinkie’s mouth stretched into the most shit-eating grin ever and she clapped her hands together. “I think you like that idea!” She bobbed her head up and down. “Well, then, if you’re a good Nemo, your big sis Pinkie Pie will treat you again later!”

She planted a shorter but no less hungry kiss on my lips, biting lightly on my upper lip with her teeth, while I zoned out in my fugue state and hopped back. Finding her second assault just as successful, Pinkie hitched her backpack over her shoulder and sauntered over to my front door, hips and tail swaying that lovely jiggle. As she opened, she wiggled her fingers at me and crooned, “See you on our next date, cutie pie!”

And with that, she slammed the door with a resounding bang.

I stood in my empty room for what felt like several minutes before my legs gave out from underneath me and I toppled over. Fortunately, I was still close enough to the couch that I landed on the piece of furniture rather than collapsing straight onto the floor.

I was- that is- Pinkie- she- mouth- tongue- chainsaw massacres- what…!

My ensuing brain fry was interrupted by the air in front of me spontaneously combusting. I jumped up in fright and shock when flames licked the space not even a foot from my face, but relaxed when I realized that the flame was purple and green. As if lending credence to my thoughts, there was a burst of spice-scented wind and a scroll with a wax seal popped out of nowhere before falling onto my coffee table.

I didn’t even bother questioning the parameters of dragon-fire delivery as I picked the scroll up. On the seal was the image of a star with six smaller ones orbiting it, miss friendship princess’s cutie mark.

Oh, thank shit heavenly Christ. Maybe this was an explanation for all the crazies that’d just occurred. At the very least, it might give me a hint as to Pinkie’s overly aggressive and highly flirtatious attitude. I knew that this event was deemed a ‘date,’ but that could only explain so much of the pink pony’s behavior.

Practice didn’t excuse propositions for crazed axe murderer snogging and hot pure sex make-outs!

I broke the seal and unfurled the scroll, my eyes skimming down the page. Addressed to me, the scroll read -

“Congratulations on the completion of your first date with Pinkie Pie! I trust that you enjoyed yourself? Pinkie was really looking forward to it when she won first dibs; she said she had a lot planned so I’m hoping she didn’t run you too ragged. And even if she did, I’m confident that you didn’t mind her brand of rambunctiousness.”

There was more written after the last sentence but had been hastily scribbled out. A new paragraph started after the mystery text.

“I can’t wait for you to tell me how it all went and how you plan on applying what you discovered. Unfortunately, I will not be available for a short while as I have some royal duties I must fulfill outside of town, but I’m happy to announce that I’ve already set up the next of your dates today at noon. Just like before, it’ll be a surprise, but I will at least give you the hint that it will be spent outside, so wear comfortable and sturdy clothing. Please patiently await my next set of instructions.

Sincerely,
Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Magic and Friendship
xOxOxO”

I blinked at the cheery if authoritative attitude of the letter. My mind spun. She already had the next date planned out? Who was it going to be? Was every date going to be the same as with Pinkie? And why did this all seem too well-put together? Especially with the main perpetrator conveniently absent for questioning.

There were chills running up and down my spine and butterflies breaking open in my gut. I didn’t know what was going to happen next, and that not knowing gave me all the feelings of dread right now despite how interesting the first date had been. I had started out with confusion, moved to enjoyment, shifted to arousal, and landed squarely in plain, abject fear. If I was going to be thrown off-guard after anticipating a nice, no strings-attached excursion like before…

…Fuck, I had the weirdest boner right now.

Author's Notes:

[Edited 1/21/18]

And there goes the first date. I like Pinkie; she's fun to write and even more fun to make a total flirt Our little MC had no chance of escaping from that unscathed, though I don't think he truly minded. Once again, WAFF and mini-smut ensue! As for the next date, can you guess who the (un)lucky mare is?

This was the chapter I remembered that ponies have a lot more nonverbal communication than normal humans do, what with the ears, tails, and whatnot. Hopefully I did an okay of enough job getting emotions/ideas/what have you across. Though I do think I used several different animals instead of just equine for the mannerisms. Eh.

As for any readers who're wondering how what little flashback segments were shown could possibly make Pinkie fall in love, well, they didn't. They simply acted as a catalyst for her to start seeing the MC in a different light. I'm very much of the mind that love doesn't happen at first sight, but interest and attraction sure do. It's combining the two and working them together that makes the former. Look forward to more scenes that show how the M6's interests started.

Till next time; criticism appreciated!