Yes, everyone's over 18.

>Be Wallflower Blush, walking to your morning classes at Canterlot U on a foggy fall morning.
>Ugh. Stupid 7 AM start times.  The only person you can see is a pale shape a few hundred feet ahead, half-obscured by the fog.
>Your hoof kicks something that clatters, and you glance down.
>It's a star barrette.
>You shrug and walk on. The person ahead of you is moving in your direction, but not very quickly.
>A little ways further on, you find a dark grey bookbag. 
"Property of Limestone Pie."
>You frown. Limestone goes to the gym with you sometimes. She's not one for leaving her stuff around.
>You pick it up, hoping she won't explosively flip her shit at you for touching her property.
>Two steps later, something crunches underneath your foot, and you look down.
>It's a beaded hair-tie, intermingled with a pair of glasses.
>"Buh."
>Wait a minute! You know this hair-tie.
>You should. Moondancer absent-mindedly leaves it in your dorm's bathroom often enough. But the glasses aren't hers. They look more like Sugarcoat's...
>"Buh-rrr.">The repetition of the earlier noise makes you look up.
>The person you saw earlier is moving towards you with a slow, shuffling gait.
>It's definitely male, tall and pale, almost blending into the fog.
>He also appears to be naked.
"Sir?"
>His head snaps up, and he stares in your general direction.
>"Burrrr..."
>That doesn't sound like a normal noise.
"Sir, are you alright? Sir?"
>You take a couple of steps closer, despite your instincts screaming that something's off.
>Up close, the giant -- easily two feet taller than your own 4'0 -- definitely doesn't look well. His oddly small eyes are dilated until they're almost all pupil, he's covered in sweat, and his jaw's hanging open.
>"Brrrrr--"
>Oh, and he stinks. The smell is half sweaty stallion and half something else. Something you've never smelled before.
>"BRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDD!"
>You are abruptly snatched up and slung over one shoulder as the giant lurches into motion.
>Part of you wants to scream.
>The part of you that's being booped in the face by a truly enormous dick tells the first part to shut up.

>Be Zecora, organic chemistry professor and semi-professional shaman.
>You regret helping three amateur witches summon something from another plane and then give it a mega-dose of performance-enhancing drugs.
>You were trying for an incubus, and you got...something close.
>Still, in retrospect, drugging it was a bad idea.
>Not that the fingering, pussy-eating, and sex weren't great, but you came like ten times before he even started dicking you. You were exhausted and temporarily unable to self-lube by the time he finished.
>Then the alien interloper wore out all the three would-be witches (Fluttershy, Moonlight Raven, and Inky Rose).
>Then he went looking for more.
>At this point, he's carried four young mares back to your house, and worn them out too.
>Most of them were squirters.
>Your sheets are ruined, your mattress may be too, and your king-sized bed is getting crowded.
>"Does anyone know why he's doing this? You'd think four mares would be enough for any stallion."
>Ah, Inky's apparently recovered enough to talk.
>"W-well, some animals will kill large numbers of prey at once and then cache the bodies to eat later. Maybe this is just a less violent version of that? Oh, I hope it's just a less violent version of that."
>"Agreed. Vore and snuff are terrible fetishes."
"Thank you for that rather disturbing idea, Fluttershy. Shut up, Sugarcoat. More likely, it's because we drugged him with a combination of Viagra, Cialis, Ambien, pygeum bark, zinc, lecithin, maca root, celery seed, horny goat weed, elephant musth juice, and ground bull testicles."
>The door bursts open, and Anonymous (as you've dubbed him) staggers in, clutching a green-maned mare over one shoulder. He tosses her onto the bed, tears off her jeans and sweater, and buries his face between her plump thighs.
>Yep. Definitely should have refrained from drugging him.
>"Aaaaahhhnnn!"
>Erzulie dammit, this one's another squirter...

>Nine months later.
>Be Anon.
>Man, you really wish you hadn't taken responsibility when you came out of your drug-induced sex coma.
>Apparently, the universe heard you when you joked about wanting to be a white version of the "this man couldn't pull out of his own driveway" meme.  
>You'd sired eighteen mutant satyr babies with these big-eyed anthro horsies. One pair of twins per mare.
>You're proud of yourself for not screaming and running, but you are not looking forward to the next few years...