Applejack Gets Something Back


                                            >You grimaced and Twilight shrugged in response to your dourness.

                                            That’s really the only place I’m going to be able to get a pig?

                                            >“Yes, that’s right.”

                                            >You sighed at length and placed your hand on your forehead.

                                            So, in so many words, I’m screwed.

                                            >Twilight put a hoof to her chin thoughtfully.

                                            >“Well. . .”

                                            I am, you groaned.

                                            >Twilight moved her hoof and held it before her, and then she shrugged again.

                                            >You dragged your hand down your forehead, and kept dragging it until it had run across your face.

                                            >After taking a moment to yourself you exhaled, releasing yourself to your horrid fate, and then said:

                                            Damn.

                                            >“It won’t be that bad,” Twilight said. “Maybe Applejack won’t ask you for anything in return.”

                                            >You shook your head.

                                            Don’t be dumb.

                                            >Twilight huffed and said that she wasn’t being dumb, while you got up and started pacing round the chairs in Twilight’s throne room.

                                            Applejack is a business pony first, and business is all about seeing a return in your investments. And that means, precisely, that you never get anything for nothing.

                                            >“Applejack is your friend,” Twilight said.

                                            >You were sure that she did not consider you her friend, because she never acted as if the two of you were friends.

                                            >But you did not say so to Twilight.

                                            And a business pony, you said quickly. And I’m a valuable commodity to her. She’s going to ask for something from me for her pig, and it is not going to be decent.

                                            >“I seriously doubt that she’ll infringe on your rights as harshly as you’re thinking she will.”

                                            >You stopped by her throne and leaned on it, so you could look down at her.

                                            She’s crazy about me.

                                            >“That may be, but she’s not unreasonable.”

                                            I already know what she’s going to ask of me.

                                            >“I don’t think she will,” said Twilight.

                                            >Flipping your wrist, so that your hand hung limp before you, you said:

                                            You don’t know what I’m thinking about.

                                            >“Yes, I do,” said Twilight. “You think she’s going to ask you for sex in exchange for the pig.”

                                            >The hand froze, still limp. Twilight raised an eyebrow at you.

                                            Yeah, well. . .

                                            >You started pacing again.

                                            >“I will consent,” Twilight said, “to the fact that Applejack can be a bit, well, forward when dealing with you.”

                                            I call coming to my home, in the middle of the night, on New Year’s Eve, drunk, and banging on my front door, while loudly begging for sex, while I was babysitting my neighbor’s children, forward as well.

                                            >“Come on now,” said Twilight, “she was not begging.”

                                            Semantics, you said with a dismissive wave. Either way, she wanted some alone time, with just me and her. That’s what she said.

                                            >“So she’s a bit brazen,” Twilight said with a shrug. “Is that really such a bad thing? I thought stallions liked that quality in a mare.”

                                            >You shook your head slowly.

                                            I don’t. Especially if I don’t like the girl—or pony—that’s doing it. It makes me feel awkward. I never know what to say.

                                            >“You should just tell her how you really feel,” she said. “Instead of trying to avoid her all the time like you’ve been doing.

                                            >“You know we’ve offered to talk to her for you.”

                                            Don’t do that. That’d just make things worse, and I doubt it would stop her from pestering me.

                                            >“Well, then you’re going to have to deal with this on your own.”

                                            I guess. I want that pig, anyway.

                                            >After some silence, Twilight said:

                                            >“Why exactly do you want a pig?”

                                            It’s complicated.

                                            >Twilight nodded demurely, but was still thinking.

                                            You think I’m going to eat it.

                                            >“I didn’t say that.”

                                            But that’s what you’re thinking.

                                            >“I won’t judge,” she said, turning her head. “I understand that you’re an omnivore.”

                                            Let’s just drop it.

                                            >The two of you went to the door and, while you were standing outside, you said:

                                            It’s going to be awkward, being alone with her in her home.

                                            >“Applejack appreciates honesty,” Twilight said. “You need to tell her how you feel about her behavior.”

                                            I’ll try not to clam up this time, when she turns on her belligerent charms.

                                            >“I really think she’ll surprise you, if you do. Just remind her that she’s still your friend.”

                                            >You considered Twilight’s words, but did not think that Applejack was ever your friend.

                                            >You thought that it would be nice if you knew that there was a better side to her.

                                            >If you could know that she did actually care about you and about how you felt, and would want to be your honest friend, if you asked.

                                            >But you did not say so.

                                            >Instead you gave an agreeable, but half-hearted, shrug which made Twilight smile and say, “Good.”

                                            I’m still not looking forward to going alone, though.

                                            >Then your face lit up, following a thought. You gave Twilight a hopeful look and took a step towards her.

                                            Hey, Twilight, maybe you could come with and—

                                            >“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said, quickly shutting her door in your face.

                                            >You pounded on the door, trying to appeal to her with evidence of reasonability that existed in Applejack’s character, but she kept countering you, saying how you talking Alone with Applejack would teach you a valuable lesson about friendship.


                                            >Shuffling your feet on the dirt road, to raise the dust, you made your way to Sweet Apple Acres.

                                            >You went past the entrance arch and, following the white fences, passing the rows of apple trees, you were trying your best to make it look as though you had been carelessly ambling along with nary a destination in mind.

                                            >The last thing you wanted was for Applejack to think that you actually wanted to visit her.

                                            >When you came to the front lawn of the farmhouse you found Applejack.

                                            >Her back was turned to you and she was working a water pump.

                                            >She was filling up a bucket placed under the spigot, and she grunted every time she pressed down on the squeaky lever.

                                            >You stopped and watched her for a while, until you realized that if anyone saw you doing that they would get the wrong idea.

                                            >So you took a step towards her, but then stopped.

                                            >Because you really did not want to speak to her, even though you had to. But you didn’t want to. . .

                                            >You began to fidget in place.

                                            >You leaned on the air, first to one side, then the other, then you looked at your feet, then at the farmhouse chimney, which had smoke pouring out of it, then at some of the orchards that were near, all while listening to Applejack grunting.

                                            >Just then, the idea occurred to you that maybe you could ask Granny Smith for a pig.

                                            >After all, there was no reason why Applejack had to be the one to give you the pig.

                                            >In fact, coming to Sweet Apple Acres right away was a terrible idea, and you should probably leave and come back when Applejack is out selling apples on Main Street.

                                            >Applejack was still filling the bucket with water, so you began to tiptoe backwards, so you could get away.

                                            >And as you were wondering just where her family was at, the door to the farmhouse opened and Granny came out on the porch.

                                            >She was holding a wooden mallet in her mouth—which she used to hit a frying pan that was hanging from the rafters of the front porch.

                                            >You froze as Applejack stopped pumping water and wiped her brow.

                                            >But luckily she still hadn’t seen you yet. And Granny didn’t seem to notice that you were there either, probably because of her bad eyes.

                                            >You were thinking that maybe you actually could still get out of there, until Granny dropped the mallet on the ground and shouted, “Soup’s on, everypony.”

                                            >Just then, out from the orchards to the side of you, Big Mac came galloping right past you, pulling an apple cart behind him that nearly ran you over as he ran to the farmhouse.

                                            >Don’t get between him and his dinner. Sheesh, he didn’t even slow down.

                                            >Thankfully Applejack still hadn’t seen you yet.

                                            >So then you thought about hiding in the barn, but just then the barn doors opened and you froze again as Apple Bloom came trotting out.

                                            >Luckily she didn’t see you either, and she went straight to the farmhouse.

                                            >If she had seen you, she would have made a big ol’ embarrassing scene about you, because all the kids love you here.

                                            >They think that you being an alien is really cool.

                                            >Then that dog of theirs, Winona, started barking at your back, and you nearly screamed, because it took you by such surprise.

                                            >You turned around and saw Winona was crouched down, wagging her tail, and happily barking at you.

                                            >You tried to wave her away, but the damn girl just wouldn’t leave you alone—or shut the hell up.

                                            >“Winona, what are you barking at?” you heard Applejack say playfully from behind you.

                                            >You warily turned around, ready to throw your head in that bucket of water and drown yourself if necessary.

                                            >But Applejack wasn’t facing your way. She was still turned around.

                                            >“Winona, get over here,” she said, still with her back turned.

                                            >And, thankfully, that dog went running past you, and it went right up to Applejack and stood abreast of her.

                                            >Applejack started scratching it behind the ears and speaking to it affectionately.

                                            Good dog, you whispered.

                                            >Now you can get out of here.

                                            >“I found you,” said an exhausted voice next to you, which made you jump and shout a couple of expletives in surprise.

                                            >And then, as your sense returned, three things happened;

                                            >first, you saw Spike, gasping and holding a scroll of paper in his claws, next to you;

                                            >second, you heard a cheery voice say, “Well, ain’t this a surprise”, followed by, “And just what is a fine stud like yourself doing at my farm?”;

                                            >and third, upon reflection of all that had happened to you so far that day, you lost any hopes that you might have had for there being any benevolent higher beings existing.

                                            >You just decided that they’re all bastards up there and that it’s every man for himself in these times.

                                            >“Twilight felt bad about leaving you alone to visit Applejack,” Spike said. “So she wrote up a couple of her best icebreakers for you on this scroll, just in case you had trouble starting a normal conversation.”

                                            >“Aw, you were coming to visit me,” Applejack said sweetly to you. “Well, that does wonders for my heart, sugar cube. You have no idea.”

                                            >You shook your head, and Applejack wrapped her arm around your waist, so she could hug you close to her.

                                            >Spike placed the scroll in your hand but you wouldn’t take it.

                                            >So then he tried to forcibly close your hand on the scroll.

                                            I don’t want it, Spike.

                                            >“Come on, dude,” he said irritably, huffing and puffing. “I ran all the way over here and everything, and now you won’t even take the scroll!”

                                            >“It’s all right, Spike,” Applejack said. “You can go right on back and tell Twilight that I appreciate her leaving the two of us alone.”

                                            >She nuzzled the side of your thigh, and repeated that she really appreciated Twilight’s consideration.


                                            >“Hi,” said Apple Bloom to you, at the kitchen table.

                                            Yeah, hi, you said between bites of mashed potatoes.

                                            >It was about the fifth time she had said hello to you and she kept beaming at you, as if she was completely oblivious to the sullen expression on your face.

                                            >You tried to ignore her, and just focus on eating your mashed potatoes.

                                            >Beneath the table, by your legs, Winona was sitting on your feet and looking up at you with begging eyes.

                                            >She was panting, and her tongue kept touching your knee.

                                            >You were sitting at one end of the table, and right across from you was Applejack, staring at you longingly.

                                            >Granny, who had a very pleased expression on her face, had expectant eyes that kept moving back and forth from you to Applejack.

                                            >Big Mac, who sat as close to you as he could, was focused on his food.

                                            >You were sure that he was trying to pretend that you did not exist, but then, whenever you did something, even something small like take a drink or wipe your mouth, he would watch you from under his brow.

                                            >Also sitting as close to you as possible was—

                                            >“Hi,” said Apple Bloom to you.

                                            >You stopped chewing, raised your eyes from your plate, and again saw Apple Bloom’s bright and sincere face staring at you.

                                            >Wiping your mouth, and nodding feebly, you said hello again, and then pretended to focus on your food again.

                                            >She, and everyone else, was still looking at you; and you had no idea what you were going to do to distract yourself when you ran out of mashed potatoes to eat.

                                            >Just as Apple Bloom’s lips were parting to say hello again, and you were trying to arrange in your mind the exact and most effective words that you would use in your insanity plea when you were inevitably indicted for child murder, Applejack spoke:

                                            >“Apple Bloom, can’t you stop pestering our guest so he can eat. He’s going to need the fuel for later tonight.”

                                            >Granny giggled shrewdly. Big Mac snorted, but said nothing.

                                            >“I’m not bothering him,” Apple Bloom said.

                                            >“Well, he doesn’t need to hear you say hello again, is all,” said Applejack.

                                            >“Oh, all right,” Apple Bloom said.

                                            >The sound of silverware and chewing took hold of the room—and silence from Apple Bloom, who was staring at her food.

                                            >But then she raised her head and said to you:

                                            >“What are you and my sister going to do tonight, anyway?”

                                            >It was your last bite of mashed potatoes, and you stopped chewing.

                                            >Big Mac started to cough and he reached for a glass of water.

                                            >“Apple Bloom,” said Applejack, “would you stop prying—”

                                            Nothing, you said firmly. I’m not doing anything tonight.

                                            >“Now, I wouldn’t say that yet,” Applejack said.

                                            I know you wouldn’t say that. That’s why I didn’t ask you.

                                            >“If you’re doing nothing,” said Apple Bloom, “do you think maybe you could spend the night here?”

                                            >Big Mac started choking on his water.

                                            >“He’s already doing that,” said Applejack.

                                            >“Woah!”

                                            No, I’m not, you said to Applejack.

                                            >“Aw, why not?” asked Apple Bloom. “We could have all kinds of fun together. I got party games.”

                                            >Granny took your plate and started serving you more mashed potatoes.

                                            >She kept missing her aim though, and half of her servings kept ending up on the table instead of on your plate.

                                            >Winona began sticking her nose between your legs, making you bat her away with your knee.

                                            >Bad dog, you thought to yourself.

                                            Look, I’m just here for a pig.

                                            >“More like here to pig out,” Granny said while still serving the table.

                                            >“He sure is,” Apple Bloom laughed.

                                            >You didn’t laugh, which brought a solemn expression to Granny’s face.

                                            >“Don’t you be so gloomy now because of a joke. You know that you’re always welcome at our table.”

                                            >You gave her a reassuring nod, but didn’t know what to say.

                                            >Instinctively, you reached for that scroll of icebreakers that Twilight wrote you—it was in your pocket—but couldn’t get it because Winona kept nipping at your hand.

                                            >Luckily Granny gave you your plate, so you could get busy eating.

                                            >Your plate was a goddamn mess, though. It had mashed potatoes on the sides, under it, and some of it even got on your clothes somehow.

                                            >Across from you, Applejack, still staring at you, started giving her spoonful of potatoes these little suggestive licks. But you pretended not to notice.

                                            >Just then Big Mac pushed his clean plate towards Granny—which stunned you, because the guy had a mountain on his plate not even twenty seconds ago.

                                            >She asked him if he wanted seconds, and he had to nod because his mouth was so full of potatoes.

                                            >He probably would have nodded anyway, though.

                                            >Then, when he got his plate back, he flashed you this look from under his brow and began to eat furiously, shoveling as much as he could into his mouth.

                                            >You tried to ignore him, but when you did you soon grew aware of a lapping sound coming from under the table.

                                            >It was Winona. She was licking a spot of potatoes that had fallen on your inner thigh.

                                            >And when you tried to ignore that, your eyes shifted right to Applejack, as she gave her spoon one really long lick.

                                            >And, after smacking her lips, she winked at you and any feeling of inner-security that you might have had left was gone now.

                                            >“What’s wrong?” Granny asked. “You’ve hardly touched your food.”

                                            >“Why ain’t you pigging out?” Apple Bloom asked.

                                            >“Oh, don’t you worry about him,” said Applejack. “He’ll be doing plenty of pigging out tonight, with me.”

                                            >Her eyes looked down her body and then back up at you, in spite of your unamused expression.

                                            >“But I thought you weren’t staying tonight,” Apple Bloom said to you a bit irritably, as if you had deceived her or something.

                                            I’m not.

                                            >“Now, don’t lie to her,” Applejack said. “If you tell her that now, then what are you going to tell her when she hears you and me squealing later tonight?”

                                            >“Why would you both be squealing?” Apple Bloom asked.

                                            >You just shook your head.

                                            Look, why don’t we talk about the pig for a change.

                                            >“Looking for some privacy are we, just me and you,” Applejack said with a wink.

                                            Well, I was actually hoping to talk to Granny, about getting a pig.

                                            >“That’s awful sweet of you,” said Granny. “But Applejack is the one around here that takes care of the livestock.”

                                            >You peeked at Applejack from the corner of your eye and saw a grin spread on her face.

                                            Of course she is, you said to yourself.

                                            >There was no hope to be found.

                                            >Granny was useless.

                                            >Winona was in love with your leg.

                                            >Apple Bloom was only interested in party games and sleepovers.

                                            >And Big Mac’s red cheeks were so stuffed with chewed mashed potatoes that they were dribbling out of his mouth in a white-liquid form, as if his mouth were an oozing cyst.


                                            >You and Applejack were sitting in the living room together, and from the window you both could see the fenced mud pit where the pigs slept.

                                            >“Why do you want a pig, anyway?”

                                            >You drew out a sigh.

                                            I have a plan, with lots of ins and outs to it. It’s kind of complicated to explain it.

                                            >Applejack nodded, hummed, and then said:

                                            >“Well, if you’re going to eat it, why don’t you take one of the older sows? That way—”

                                            Let’s drop it, until we reach an agreement.

                                            >“Fair enough.”

                                            >She sighed in contentment, leaned towards you, smiled, and then said:

                                            >“So—”

                                            I won’t have sex with you for a pig.

                                            >A bit taken aback, she cleared her throat and sat upright again.

                                            >“Well”—she forced a laugh—“you could’ve at least let me ask it first.”

                                            >She was still smiling when she said:

                                            >“Listen here then, I got to get something I want out this. I’m a business pony, you know.”

                                            >You wanted to tell her that you hated it when she forced herself on you, that you thought very little of her as a pony, but her stern and determined temperament abstracted you.

                                            >You could not get started. Your feelings were deadlocked by diffidence.

                                            >All you could really say, and it was said while a sense of bitter self-loathing rested inside of you, was:

                                            Just nothing unreasonable, that’s all I ask.

                                            >“Aw, come on. You didn’t really think I was going to strong-arm you into sex over a pig, did you?”

                                            >Shaking your head, baffled, you said:

                                            You were going to, though.

                                            >She waved her hoof dismissively and forced another laugh, like her offer had all been a big joke or something.

                                            >But when she noticed you were still stony-faced she faked like she had a cough, and then said:

                                            >“Look, why don’t you go out and choose a pig. And by the time you’ve made your choice, I’ll have figured something out.”


                                            >You leaned on the wooden gate and watched the pigs rolling around in the bubbly mud.

                                            >The pigs were happy and it made you happy because you loved them.

                                            >Something about pigs just always seemed to bring joy to you.

                                            >They lived to eat and grow fat, to sleep, and play until they got dirty;

                                            >they were smart, sometimes smart enough to build their houses with brick; and they also enjoyed having orgasms.

                                            >Truly, they were our brothers.

                                            >Watching the pigs eased your heart and, perhaps because you were at such ease, Twilight appeared to you in a vision.

                                            >She was in the mud. She had appeared to you within the mud and her frothy face looked concerned at you.

                                            >“Why haven’t you told her how you really feel yet?” said the muddy Twilight.

                                            I don’t know. She’s making me uncomfortable. And her damn family isn’t exactly helping either.

                                            >“Well, you’re going to be alone again with her soon. That would be a good time to share your true feelings with her.”

                                            I’ll try, okay?

                                            >“Good.”

                                            >Then, after she did some muddy thinking, after some deep digging, from the phantom Twilight, she said:

                                            >“I don’t have any qualms about appearing before you in a vision to give you sagely advice, but why am I in a mud puddle?”

                                            >She looked to you for answers; her brown eyes had layers of self-consciousness under them.

                                            >And you wanted to reassure the muddy Twilight that you had only the utmost respect for her, and that you did not know how your mind worked, but then she said:

                                            >“Is there something about mud that reminds you of me? Because that’s kind of hurtful, if it’s true.”

                                            Aw, Twilight, it’s not like I meant to have you appear to me in a vision in a mud puddle. I’d have done it somewhere prettier, if I could have.

                                            >The sun shines on Twilight’s muddy, sad eyes.

                                            >“You promise that you don’t just have a very low opinion of me? Because I can change, if I’m doing something that’s bothering you.”

                                            No, it’s nothing like that, Twilight. I don’t know why you’re in a mud puddle. Honest injun.

                                            >She sighed with ease and the mud puddle rippled.

                                            >“Good. Well, good luck with Applejack.”

                                            >Then she was gone, and the mud puddle was just a mud puddle again.

                                            >Poor Twilight. You’ll have to apologize to her later, for envisioning her in a mud puddle like that.


                                            >After spending some quality time with the pigs you felt you were ready to go back to the farmhouse.

                                            >But still did the prospect of confronting Applejack seem intimidating to you.

                                            >Then an idea gave you some hope.

                                            >You remembered that you had Twilight’s scroll of icebreakers with you in your pocket, and you pulled it out.

                                            >Maybe Twilight wrote something down that could help you, like some personal information about Applejack, or some advice on dealing with her.

                                            >Your eyes fell on a random line in Twilight’s list:

                                            >‘Remember, most ponies are awkward when meeting somepony new.’

                                            >Well, that’s reassuring. . . maybe the next one will be helpful in some way.

                                            >‘It’s okay to be angry, because most ponies get frustrated when things don’t go their way.’

                                            >You’re starting to think Twilight got these out of a book.

                                            >Oh, but here is the list of conversation-starters.

                                            >‘What’s your favorite movie and why? When did you feel saddest in your life? How does it feel, how does it feel, to be on your’—

                                            >They were all similarly useless, which probably does mean that she got them out of a book.

                                            >You’ll have to remember to ask her what book that was later, so you can rent it and then shove it up her ass.

                                            >And if she gives you any lip, you’ll just tell her that it’s okay to be angry, because most ponies feel frustrated when things don’t go their way.

                                            >You’re not even going to apologize to her for that whole mud incident anymore.


                                            >Applejack patted the spot next to her on her bed, beckoning you to sit next to her.

                                            >And, since there was nowhere else to sit, you did so.

                                            >She was holding an egg timer.

                                            >“So here’s what I’m thinking. All of Apple Bloom’s talk of party games at the table got me thinking about some of the games I used to know of from my own younger years.”

                                            >She turned the dial of the egg timer.

                                            >“This one here is a classic.”

                                            >She leaned over you, her body brushing against yours, to place the egg timer on the nightstand next to the bed.

                                            >“It’s called Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

                                            >She pressed her body against yours. Looking up at you, with longing eyes, it was obvious that she wanted you to bend and kiss her.

                                            >Everything in your mind revolted against the idea, but the words that would convey such feelings would not pass your lips.

                                            Seven minutes is a bit long, don’t you think?

                                            >“The timer is all set and ready though.” She put her mouth to your ear. “And so am I.”

                                            Does it matter if I’m not?

                                            >Just then, from under the floor you could hear Winona barking at something.

                                            >Applejack looked quizzically down at the floor for a second, shrugged, and then turned back to you just in time to see her eyes snap open when the sound of something heavy crashing to the floor downstairs rose up.

                                            >Then you both could hear glass being shattered and more things being turned over and falling down, all while Winona was yelping and barking and her nails were hitting the floorboards, as she ran throughout the house.

                                            >“What the hay is going on down there,” Applejack shouted.

                                            >And just then the sound of your pig running and squealing came from the hall by the bedroom.

                                            >Applejack got up and opened the door.

                                            >“I said—”

                                            >Your pig ran right into Applejack, knocking her to the floor, and then ran past her to hide under the bed.

                                            >But Winona was hot on her heels, and soon the pig and Winona were running all over the room, knocking over the nightstand and the hat stand, and pulling the blankets off of the bed, and pulling all of the horseshoes out of the closet, all while their muddy paws and hooves left evidence of their great race.

                                            >Your pig jumped on Applejack’s back and then ran out back into the hall and headed towards the stairs, with Winona not far behind, and Applejack was getting up with smoke pouring out her boiler-room head.

                                            >She turned on you and shouted:

                                            >“Did you bring that darn pig in the house with you when you came back in?”

                                            >Stunned, you slowly looked around the bedroom and put your hand over your mouth, until your eyes came back to meet Applejack’s anger.

                                            >“Well,” she said impatiently. “Did you?”

                                            I might’ve, you admitted. And it’s okay to be angry, because most ponies get frustrated when things don’t go—

                                            >Another crash cut you off, followed by a scream and then a cry of horror from a different voice.

                                            >“The fridge fell on Granny!” you heard Apple Bloom scream.


                                            >The whole ordeal took five minutes.

                                            >The pig was put in a cage and Winona was thrown outside.

                                            >Granny was going to be okay and, apparently, she had survived worse than having a refrigerator fall on top of her.

                                            >You knew that was true because, after you all lifted the fridge off of her [one minute] she told you a couple of stories about her toughness [the rest of the time spent before returning to the bedroom].

                                            >Now you were sitting with Applejack again on the bed.

                                            >“What in the darn heck do you mean, turning that darn pig out with Winona all loose in the house?”

                                            >She was still a bit sore at you.

                                            I thought it would be okay, you meekly answered.

                                            >“Why would you think—oh, forget it. We’ve already wasted all that time.”

                                            >She got real cute all of a sudden, and started climbing on your lap.

                                            >“We better just make the best of. . .”

                                            >She looked down at your pants and scrunched her muzzle.

                                            >“Your pants are all muddy. What did you do, get in with the pigs when you were out there?”

                                            Just for a little bit, you said plainly.

                                            >Applejack groaned and shook her head.

                                            I didn’t think you’d mind, you said ineffectively.

                                            >“Why did you think that I wouldn’t—you know what, never mind. Look, I ain’t as prissy as Rarity, but that doesn’t mean that you can just come into my bed all muddy.”

                                            >She stepped off of your lap and said firmly: “Take your pants off.”

                                            >You waited for her to say she was kidding, but then she gave you a very firm stare.

                                            >“I ain’t kidding, partner.” She pointed towards the floor. “Take your darn pants off, right now.”

                                            >Now, you were on edge, being around her when she was being firmly brazen like that.

                                            >A line has to be drawn somewhere.

                                            >And besides, you’d probably die of embarrassment if you took your pants off in front of her.

                                            I’m not going to take my pants off for you.

                                            >“Aw, come on. I ain’t asking you to ride me six ways to Sunday. I just don’t want you dirtying up my bed. Not with mud, anyway.”

                                            >She then moved forward and tried to grab the button of your pants with her mouth, but you jumped up and dodged her.

                                            I said no.

                                            >“What is your problem? Would you just do it already? I only got two minutes left, and we’re wasting time.”

                                            >She moved on you menacingly and you backed away, keeping your hand closed on your button.

                                            >Then she jumped forward and the next race began.

                                            >She chased you all around her room, screaming at you to take your pants off, while your feet dipped between all of the mess that was still on the floor from the earlier race, and you spun and pivoted to avoid Applejack’s pounces and dives for your waist.

                                            >Finally, after you tried to vault over the bed but fell forward onto the floor instead, Applejack jumped on top of you.

                                            >A frenzied fight of batting hands and grabby hooves commenced, with Applejack grunting and moving on top of you while you tried to scoot along the floor to get out from under her.

                                            >She moved down your body and then bent her muzzle down towards your groin, trying to take your button in her mouth.

                                            >You grabbed her face just in time, but she pulled back and dove again.

                                            >Her mouth was snapping at your crotch like she was a slutty turtle, but you kept her at bay.

                                            >Until an awkward cough came from behind the door, followed by a voice shushing it.

                                            >You weren’t really sure what was going on, but Applejack’s face flushed with color and you heard her growling as she got up.

                                            >She pulled her door open to reveal Big Macintosh, Granny and Apple Bloom all eavesdropping on them in the hall.

                                            >Their faces were full of surprise, except for Granny’s; she was too busy asking Bloom and Mac for updates on what was happening.

                                            >She couldn’t really see or hear too well anymore, old Granny.

                                            >“What are you three doing?” Applejack shouted at them.

                                            >Big Mac and Apple Bloom started stammering, trying to come up with a sound excuse for their eavesdropping, but Granny’s face formed a scowl and she turned on them angrily and said:

                                            >“You two dingbats, she’s found us out. Couldn’t you both be quiet for just a second?”

                                            >“Get out of here!” Applejack yelled, slamming the door.

                                            >You got up, and then she turned to you, with red cheeks and furious eyes, and said sternly, “Enough of this nonsense.”

                                            >She pushed you along to the bed and shouted at you to sit down.

                                            >“Why couldn’t you just take your darn parts off? I said I wasn’t going to do anything. Don’t you trust me?”

                                            >It seemed like a dumb question, so you did not answer it.

                                            >“We’ve wasted too much of our darn time in heaven already,” she said as she sat herself next to you.

                                            >“But we ain’t going to waste anymore.”

                                            >She sidled over until she was close enough to you to wrap her arm around your neck.

                                            >“We’ve got a minute left,” she said into your eyes. “And, for the rest of that minute, you’re going to be my little lover boy.”

                                            >She started breathing heavily as her mouth inched towards yours.

                                            >The flames on her cheeks were burning yours and, as her body came closer, you could feel that she was trembling.

                                            >“And,” her voice sounded on the edge of something that was either emotional riot or fall; “and you’re going to like everything that I do to you.”

                                            >She stopped her face and held it inches away from yours, but your eyes refused to meet hers.

                                            >Her breath was hitting your mouth and it made you feel like you were trapped with her in a tiny smokehouse, with the sweat rolling out of your hair and falling into your eyes.

                                            >Your vison was blurry, and Applejack’s body kept trembling as she spoke:

                                            >“I know you’ll like it when I kiss you.”

                                            >She looked like an un-calm orange blob to you.

                                            >“So just let me do it,” she said with a nervous edge to her voice. “Let’s get it over with so we can be together, so that we can finally be comfortable with each other.”

                                            >The orange blob moved on you again.

                                            >“I’ve got to do it, or I’ll go crazy.”

                                            >Her lips pressed against yours, and her mouth began to move and suckle on yours, while she moaned inside.

                                            >But you would not move your own lips, as the resentment in your heart that you felt against her was too great.

                                            >Though her voice had sounded full of longing, and perhaps even had the vulnerability of love within it, your blood began to boil in anger, and the passion that was in the air synthesized itself into anger inside your body, which was beginning to tremble too, and was wishing for an outlet.

                                            >Then the timer went off.

                                            >You pulled yourself away from her immediately and she fell forward slightly.

                                            >And when her eyes turned slightly up, to meet the resentment in yours, they were splashed with fear.

                                            >“Now, look,” she said anxiously, “I was sure—”

                                            I hate you.

                                            >She shrunk back from your cold tone, but then tentatively she inched towards you.

                                            >“Can’t we just—”

                                            No.

                                            >You felt she was getting too close and you gave her a quick shove with one hand.

                                            >She fell to the far side of the bed.

                                            >And when she picked herself up and sat down again, the far side was where she stayed.

                                            >Her eyes faced you, but you would not meet them.

                                            I hate everything about you. You’re easily the worst thing about my life right now.

                                            >You were not even talking to her, but to the ground that your eyes were fixed to.

                                            All you ever do is annoy me whenever you flirt with me, or do anything suggestive. It even disgusts me sometimes.

                                            >There was silence, as you tried to calm your voice. But then your anger spiked when she said softly:

                                            >“Are you speaking truthfully when—”

                                            Of course I am, you shouted. But why should you believe me? You’ll never stop. All you care about is getting your own kicks, while meanwhile I have to suffer.

                                            I don’t know just what it is that is the matter with you. I don’t know why you insist on doing those things to me, even though it’s obvious that I don’t like them, but I think that it must either be that you’re just ignorant, or that you’re only a very cruel pony that doesn’t care about my feelings at all.

                                            >You were silent after saying that, waiting for your heart to ease itself from its frenzy.

                                            >Applejack did not say anything, but from the corner of your eye you could see that her hoof was placed firmly over her chest, as if she had just been stabbed.

                                            I’m leaving now.

                                            >“Wait,” she said as you got up.

                                            No, you said as you turned in anger. I’ve spoken my piece, and my time is up. So I’m taking my pig and I’m getting out of here.

                                            >Applejack’s eyes shrunk in fear, and you turned around and started for the door again.

                                            >“Don’t go. I want you to stay.”

                                            That’s a laugh, you said bitterly.

                                            >“Please don’t go. I can. . .”

                                            >And it was then, as your hand touched the doorknob, that something in her tone of desperation saddened you, as if there was an underscore of loneliness in her call.

                                            >“Don’t leave now. . . not now. . . I want you to. . .”

                                            >You didn’t want to, you really didn’t, but you began to pity her, and to feel sorry for the heart that was breaking behind you.

                                            >“Please.”

                                            >Your fingers slipped off the doorknob and your hand fell limply to your side.

                                            >With a deep and uncomfortable sigh you turned around, looked at the glistening and expectant eyes of Applejack, and then sat down uneasily next to her on her bed.

                                            >But you said nothing.

                                            >You just sat down, and waited for the empty of her room to be filled with her own emotional air.

                                            >She wiped her nose, even though she was not crying, and then scooted away from you slightly.

                                            >Resting her hooves in her lap, she bent her head down and then spoke:

                                            >“I didn’t know that you felt like that. I wish I had. And I wish that I had treated you differently.”

                                            >She turned to look at you, but you would not meet her eyes.

                                            >Then she turned them away again and began to rub her legs uneasily with her hooves.

                                            >“I’m sorry. If you really do hate me, then I don’t blame you. I reckon that I’ve right earned it, to be honest. I’ve been acting like I’m the prize ass at the rodeo, I reckon. But I ain’t going to do it anymore.

                                            >“That’s a promise,” she said, turning to look at you again.

                                            >This time you did meet her eyes. They were solemn and ashamed, and you got embarrassed looking at them.

                                            >Your eyes turned down, and then you nodded at her and looked away again.

                                            >“I suppose I should tell you,” she said, turning away, “and I reckon you might have picked this up yourself by now, but I’ll say it anyway. I don’t know the first darn thing that there is to know about boys.”

                                            >You wanted to laugh, but you suppressed it.

                                            >“The farm has been my only love for a long time. I did have my share of heartaches though, back when I was just a kid. But I soon figured out that those boys wanted something from me that they just weren’t going to get, no matter how hard they tried.

                                            >“So, after a while, we both stopped trying. And I forgot all about that part of me, until you came along.

                                            >“And I don’t know just what the hay it is that makes me like you so much. All I know is that I could feel it all the time, and I thought the time was right for me to finally do something about it.”

                                            >She sighed and looked down at her busy hooves.

                                            >“But that was a while ago now, I guess. And I think it goes to show that I didn’t know what I was doing. But everypony was rooting for me, my family and my friends, and even Big Mac was—though you probably couldn’t tell—and so I thought that maybe the squeaky wheel would eventually get the grease.

                                            >“But”—she made a sweeping gesture that illuminated everything around her, her room, the mess, the muddy paws and hooves, and you—“look at how far all that squeaking got me.”

                                            >She threw her hooves down in her lap weakly and shook her head.

                                            >“I didn’t think that you were any different from those other boys, and that was stupid of me to assume. Because you are different, and I should’ve just taken another chance on you, even if I wasn’t sure that it would’ve worked out the way I wanted.”

                                            >She waved towards the door.

                                            >“I won’t bother you anymore, if you want to leave. But I do want to tell you one more thing.”

                                            >She scooted herself towards you and placed her hoof on your thigh, which made you tense up and almost want to push her off;

                                            >but then she told you to look at her, and you saw those same solemn eyes, and heard that same certain tone, and all of that did good to ease you.

                                            >“I always thought that we were friends, but after hearing what you had to say. . .

                                            >“Well, now I’m not so sure anymore.

                                            >“So here’s what I want to say to you, just in case you don’t want to talk to me anymore, and this will be the last time we get to speak.

                                            >“Please don’t let my stupid-ness get in the way of what we could have. If you still want to be friends, want to give me a chance, then I’ll try my gosh-dang-hardest to make you feel like I’m the best friend you’ve ever had.”

                                            >She chuckled shyly.

                                            >“And I think we both know that my gosh-dang-hardest is a lot, isn’t it?”

                                            >You smiled slightly and she tilted her head and smiled too. Then she took her hoof away and sighed again.

                                            >“Do you forgive me?” she asked with her head bowed.

                                            >You brought her into a hug, eliciting a surprised gasp from her.

                                            >She eventually caught on though, and she wrapped her arms around your body.

                                            >Her entire personage, everything about her, had changed; and it only took you both seven minutes in heaven to make that change.

                                            >So you felt comfortable when you said softly to her, with your head resting on her shoulder:

                                            I forgive you.

                                            >And you thought of how nice it was to see a better side of someone, and to feel relieved at seeing that side, especially when an honest friendship is soon to follow it.


                                            >It turned out that Twilight’s list of icebreakers came in handy after all, because you and Applejack decided that, in order to get to know more about each other, you should both stay in her room and go through the list, answering all of the questions that were on it.

                                            >By the end of your little session you felt that you knew as much about Applejack as her friends did.

                                            >And you actually liked Applejack by the end of it, too.

                                            >You found her to be very funny, nice, honest and just an all-around good pony.

                                            >You know now that she would do anything to help you out in a heartbeat, if you needed it; and you knew that you always had a family to go to if you were feeling lonely.

                                            >The farmhouse seemed to glow with warmth as you stood out in front of it and looked at, it with Applejack right next to you.

                                            >“Now you just remember,” she said, “that our home is always your home, too. So you feel free to come by whenever you want, okay?”

                                            Sounds good, you said cheerfully.

                                            >You also had the pig underneath your arms.

                                            >She was a small and stinky little girl, and she kept wriggling underneath your arm, but you loved her all the same.

                                            >Applejack saw her wriggling and chuckled.

                                            >“She’ll get used to you, I’m sure. You’re easy to get along with—as it turns out.”

                                            Yeah, really, you said with a smile.

                                            >“So, do you want to tell me now why you wanted a pig, if you ain’t going to eat it?”

                                            I should probably give you something for it. After all, you are a business pony.

                                            >“You already gave me something,” she said sweetly. “A new friend.”

                                            >You both laughed, and then she asked you one more time:

                                            >“Now, would you tell me what you’re going to do with that darn pig?”

                                            Oh, I’m going to marry it.

                                            >Applejack’s eyes settled on you uneasily, but you did not lose your smile.

                                            >And you were still trying to calm the pig, and bring her in front of your body so you could hold her with both arms, while Applejack forced a short and uneasy laugh.

                                            >“I’m guessing that’s a joke,” she said quickly. “You told me that you weren’t a joker earlier though, you sly dog.”

                                            >Now cradling the pig, you looked at Applejack and shook your head.

                                            No, I’m going to marry her, you said plainly. I’m thinking about giving her a name first, though. Maybe something with more than three syllables, so that way, when she gets really fatty, her name will suit her size.

                                            >“Okay, come on now,” Applejack said sternly. “You can’t actually marry a pig.”

                                            Oh, you can. Well, in this county you can, anyway. I read all about it in some law books last week.

                                            >“Why would you read about—wait, are you serious,” she said with bewilderment. “Are you actually going to marry that pig?”

                                            I had my eye on a couple of them, to be honest.

                                            >You looked down at the pig affectionately.

                                            But this little porker, well, she just won my heart. She was definitely the best kisser of them all.

                                            >“What!”

                                            >But you weren’t paying attention. You were too busy puckering your lips and kissing her cute little snout, while she gave your lips little licks with her slimy tongue.

                                            >Applejack tried to say something, but all that came out were fragmented phrases of confusion and indignation;

                                            >then, feeling that she was going to throw up, as she watched you kiss the pig, she ran into the farmhouse, with her hoof holding her mouth shut and her face turning green.

                                            You’re just a little oinker, aren’t you, Miss Sugar Cube? you said sweetly to the pig.


                                            >One week later, on the day of the wedding, Spike was knocking on the door of the farmhouse.

                                            >When Applejack answered, and saw him panting and sweating and wheezing, she asked him what was wrong.

                                            >“I’ve been sent, as a last minute courtesy courier, in case you changed your mind,” he said, as he extended to her a piece of paper, “to give you this invitation to the wedding of Miss Sugar Cube and—”

                                            >But Applejack slammed the door in his face and ran to the bathroom, feeling that she needed to wash her mouth out again.

                                            >And Spike, pounding on the door, was shouting:

                                            >“Come on, Applejack. I ran all the way over here to give you this and everything, and now you won’t even take it.”