What a pickle · 9:19pm Sep 30th, 2018
The air reeked of vinegar, dill, but the other faint aromas were lost to the scent of brine. A pickle eating contest was soon to begin and registration was still open. Registration cost a few bits—a pittance, really—and all of the money collected went towards charitable causes. Sniffing, Copperquick looked down at Buttermilk beside him, and realised that he very much wanted to watch her eat pickles.
It was too late to back down; the lewd floodgates had been opened in their relationship and the bell could not be unrung. He’d given her a case of the shudders several times over; being the proper Grittish gentlepony that he was, apologised for it, because that is what one did after causing another to go crosseyed and lose control over their ability to reason.
It didn’t hurt that Buttermilk was fantastically cute when she had the shudders.
All that slurping, crunching, lip smacking; the more he thought about it, the more appealing it was. Buttermilk was an enthusiastic eater. She could be delicate, sure, and she had impeccable manners when the situation demanded them. But she was also a competitive, fierce, pint-sized pegasus scrapper with a lot of pent-up aggression.
“Oi, Copper, what’s with the staring at my Beezy?”
With an almost guilty gasp, he jerked his head around and attempted to look as respectful as possible. Butter Fudge was giving him quite a look, one he was unfamiliar with and couldn’t read. Now Buttermilk was also looking up at him, smirking, but also a little embarrassed, no doubt because her mother had just caused a fuss.
“Tell me, Copper… were you just thinking about my sweet girl eating pickles?”
He needed to find some way to deny it or shift attention to something else. “Uh—”
“Aye, that’s funny. What a bloody pervert, having those thoughts about my beloved Beezy wrapping her lips around a pickle.”
“Well,” Copper began, thinking fast on his hooves, “I wasn’t having that thought until you mentioned it. But now that you’ve brought it up…”
For a moment, nothing happened, and Copperquick tensed, fearing that the situation had soured. But then Butter Fudge brayed with boisterous laughter; her whole body shook with it, with her ears bobbing up and down from it. Buttermilk’s face turned pink, then red, then a deep shade purple associated with eggplants, royalty, sunrises, and sunsets.
Then, as suddenly as it had started, the laughter stopped, and narrowing her eyes, Butter Fudge focused a hard, hard stare upon her daughter. “Beezy… I bet that I can eat more pickles than you can.”
Mighty Midge’s ears pricked up straight and his head tilted off to one side as he shot his mate a quizzical look. Copperquick wondered if Mighty Midge shared similar thoughts. Who wouldn’t want to watch a mare eat pickles? All of Mighty Midge’s feathers now stood out and the diminutive stallion appeared to have doubled in size.
Mighty Midge was in a tough spot, Copperquick realised. He was going to get to watch his wife eat pickles, which was delightful. But he would also watch his daughter eat pickles while another stallion ogled her. Copperquick knew it for what it was; a dad dilemma. Being a father himself, he immediately sympathised with Mighty Midge. This was officially awkward.
“Moomy… really—”
“What’s the matter, Beezy? You ain’t got the stones?”
A terrifying, terrific transformation took place and Beezy became the scary pint-sized pegasus that Copperquick so feared. “Oh, it’s on, old mare! I was trying to spare you from embarrassment, you addle-headed geriatric granny.”
When Butter Fudge’s eyes narrowed into paper thin slits, Copperquick’s blood ran cold.
“I’ll make you eat those words, feather duster. Go on, sign up.”
Buttermilk made a sweeping gesture with her wing. “Age before beauty. After you, you gobby old gabber.”
“So be it, you tart-tongued cuss. Let’s settle this like mares.”
All that pent up aggression has been left to pickle.
Yesss excellent.
Oh... oh dear.
When you and your mother can have a sexually suggestive contest that's when you know your mother sees you as an adult.
Now I want pickles