YCH

Chapters

1: Sex Sells...
2: ... but Love is an Investment.

1: Sex Sells...

Chapter 1: Sex Sells...

I hated when I’d wind up waking early in bed, wavering on that fine line of still too tired to get up, but too awake to actually fall back asleep. I’d try to find shapes in the textured ceiling until I went cross-eyed. Focusing on anything else usually ruined any chances of falling back to sleep. Yet, my mind would constantly shift back to the important things. Things, quite honestly, I didn’t want to think over when not on the job.

The saying “sex sells” was a gross understatement. Sex does not simply sell: it’s an ever-changing field, growing, expanding to those whose desires are as large as their checkbooks. It’s not always the same thing, or what narrow-minded ponies might call “normal,” and yet when it comes down to it, it’s all about one thing:

Pleasure.

But what was pleasure? Was it the trophy wife in your life that gave meaning to your aging libido? Maybe the stud found along Central Park in Manehattan, willing to do what any mare—or stallion—with a deep enough wallet desired? Or could it be the shut-in ponies of Equestria, those secluded in the isolated castle they called home, too intimidated to step out and seek love, instead wanting and willing to make it up using art for their self pleasure?

I didn’t know what other ponies do, and if I was being honest, I didn’t want to.

I looked away from the ceiling and turned to my right, seeing the beautiful silver mane of my wife laying beside me. Wrapped up in the comforter and facing away, the only sign of life was her occasional twitching pink ear, letting me know that she was starting to wake up.

To my left, the alarm clock was still ticking away as it approached the sixth hour. I had another half hour before I needed to be up and moving. Get coffee going, so that it will entice the missus to also rise.

We are a working couple; everything we do, we do as a pair. We had modeled together a few times before we hit it off, a chance date out to share a pizza between gigs. That had eventually evolved into love, and from that moment on, ponies couldn’t pull us apart. We couldn’t see ourselves with anypony else, and after seven years, I still believe in that.

And for those seven years, we’ve been at this same gig. Waking up, jumping from job to job, and coming home with a reasonable pile of bits that sat safely in our joint bank account. We never had time to take any of those vacations we planned: traveling Equestria, visiting Prance, or taking a cruise.

We hadn’t even moved out of our dreary apartment.

We could do it. We really could. But we just keep telling ourselves we’re not ready yet. There’s only so much time, and while our minds and bodies are young, we need to keep working.

I wondered, every morning when I woke up next to her, if that’s what we both were still feeling. Or was it just me? Or… just her?

I wasn’t sure how much time passed while I stared at the ceiling, thinking, brooding on my internal struggle as a husband, or more dangerously thinking about the future as a stallion approaching his thirties.

I didn’t even bother waiting for the alarm to sound: I sat up carefully, taking the clock in my hooves to study it up close. I depressed the hammer, shutting off the alarm before it could ring the bells. Our room was quiet, save for her occasional little snores, and the clock’s tick-tocks cascading in my head.

When I stood, I was careful to not disrupt the blanket, or tread too loudly on the floor as I made for the door, begrudgingly heading out to start our day.

I was going over our appointment book when I noticed something odd on our table: a business card for a local realtor in Ponyville.

At first, I simply ignored it. As I turned each page, marking down planned appointments for the coming weeks, that card would catch my eye again and again. I picked it up with my hoof, inspecting it. It was slightly worn, the edges frayed like it had gotten damp, then dried.

Weird. I’d not talked to anypony concerning realty. Had Bee finally started looking for a new place?

The coffee pot had only been percolating for five minutes when I heard our bed creak and moan from the offset weight. It was a stark contrast from when I’d gotten out of bed, trying to be as quiet as possible. My wife seemed to have no such reservations.

Unless, that is, we, meant to make it loud, but that hadn’t happened in a while. At least a month? I knew it hadn’t been two, because our anniversary had been a wonderful night, although it started a bit bumpy from an argument, filled with lots of cheap wine and Jack Gleeson albums.

The sound of approaching hooffalls drew my attention to the hallway. Her long silver mane was a mess, her tail even more so. Blue eyes muzzy with sleep, lids droopy, and she had some dried drool on her right cheek, making her pink face look almost comical.

I couldn’t do anything but smile at her, placing the card down in the book, its possible significance lost to the back of my mind.

“Good morning, beautiful,” I said, happy to see her.

Because I was. I was always happy to see her.

“Mornin’, Tabby,” she yawned, walking into the small kitchen to give me a nuzzle, which I returned in kind.

I gave her messy cheek a lick, trying to straighten out the fur.

She grumbled, but didn’t pull away. “Quit it, I know I look horrible.”

“You look anything but.”

The coffee pot continued to percolate, slow and methodical, putting out the holy smell of black nectar. We both preferred the old stainless canister style over the more modern glass pot. It wasn’t about how fast we got our coffee, but how it brought us together in the morning. It allowed us to both approach the morning at our own pace.

Turning, Bee ran her tail along my flanks and side, then lastly under my chin. She was just… so beautiful. Too beautiful for me. Too beautiful for anypony.

My eyes lingered on her cutie mark. It was a simple letter “B” inside a circle, the color a few shades darker than her pink coat.

Mine, the letter “A” in a square, stood out a shade darker than my dull blue coat.

Few ponies understood the significance of our cutie marks. We honestly preferred it that way.

Cutie marks weren’t always a definitive symbol of what ponies are to the world. I’ve met countless ponies whose marks were subtle, and unless you knew them personally you’d never understand the true, deeper meaning to them. Ours left many ponies scratching their heads in confusion, but few dared approach and ask us outright.

Bee was happy to indulge curious minds about us being models, although when the topic of what and where our images could be found… I would fall back onto my old statue modeling days. Bee, not as subtle, would say we were in several private galleries of the rich and wealthy, and unless you were very good friends with them, you’d never see them.

She wasn’t wrong.

Ponyville was a nice, friendly town, but the fewer ponies that knew what we actually did the better. They’d all welcomed us when we moved in together in this small apartment complex, and would often remark just how well we went together.

It was almost like we were made for each other.

The smell of coffee, and the rise of steam tickled my nose. I blinked, looking down to the pink hoof offering my blue mug.

“You were so out of it, you didn’t even hear it gurgling.”

“Oh. Sorry, I was just…”

She smiled at me. “Thinking again?”

I nodded, stepping over and taking a seat at our small dining table. She joined me, and together, each holding our coat matching mugs, sipped at our coffee. We both liked it black. Go figure.

Taking notice of our appointment book, she hastily closed it. “So, what were you thinking about?”

Her voice was sweet as honey, and my ears instantly shot in her direction. I still remember the first time I’d heard her call out to me. Say my name. Beg for more…

I looked to her, and she was staring at me, expecting an answer.

Do I tell her what’s really been on my mind these last few months? What I really want? For us? For me? Do I want to stir up that old argument again?

We hadn’t talked about foals for at least five years, because our work just wouldn’t permit it.

No… Her.

It wouldn’t permit her.

And after our first time together, there was no other mare I would dare work with.

If she had to wait, then so did I. Regardless of how much it hurt.

“Tabby?”

Blinking, I shook my head to free the cobwebs—they got thicker every day. Looking at her face, in all its messy glory, I wanted to tell her. Ask her. Beg and plead for her to hear my words.

Not yet. Not now. Soon, though.

“Just… about our jobs today.” I tapped the closed book.

She lingered on me for a bit, then our appointment book, and slowly let out a breath. Her hoof rubbed the side of her coffee cup, eyes and ears relaxing like she was relieved by my answer for some reason.

“It’s nothing we’re not used to, Tabby.”

“I know Bee, but I can’t help—”

I was interrupted by her leaning across the table, kissing my lips.

“Just relax. We’ll go about today like we’ve done every other day. We’ll get through it. Now, I’m gonna get a shower.” She grinned. “Care to conserve some hot water and share?”

Morning in Ponyville shimmers.

It really does, the more I pay attention to it when walking towards the train station.

My wife shines in Ponyville. An earth pony mare in an earth pony village. I like to think the village shines right along with her. Sugarcube Corner was no exception as we walked by, spying Missus Cake out sweeping the steps.

“Good mornin’, dearies!”

“Good morning, Missus Cake!” Bee said with a wave.

“Heading for Canterlot again?”

Bee hesitated, so I cleared my throat. “No, not today. Work has us going to Manehattan.”

“Oh my, you two travel so much. Have you had breakfast?”

“No,” I said. Our shower had taken longer than intended, so we’d just finished our cold coffee and headed out.

“You shouldn’t be travelling on an empty stomach! Just one moment!” The plump mare rushed inside.

We waited for several moments; passing ponies gave us the occasional wave or else ignored us completely.

She came rushing out, a brown paper sack in her mouth as she charged down the steps. Bee took it from her, giving the baker a brief nuzzle in thanks.

“Think nothing of it, dearies. I’ll put it on your tab. Oh! Ha ha, silly me.”

Bee looked to me, a smile on her muzzle even with the bag in the way. I simply rolled my eyes. It wasn’t like I hadn’t heard that joke a thousand times.

Then, something odd happened… Missus Cake leaned into Bee’s ear, whispering something I could not hear. Bee nodded, and the baker’s eyes lit up, full sparkle effect and everything. She smiled at me, and gave Bee another nuzzle before she returned to the bakery.

That was odd, but mares sometimes did odd things. We waved to her husband, who was looking out the open door at us, and continued on our way.

The rest of Ponyville was bustling with activity. Passing the market reminded me that we needed to get some more apples and carrots. Bee got distracted briefly at a storefront window advertising a new, plush velvet couch alongside a bassinet.

I tried not to look too hard at it. I knew our couch was getting worn, but that one seemed a bit too high end for our tastes.

With a nudge of her shoulder, we moved on.

It was not long before we arrived at the station. With our tickets purchased, we took a seat on the bench and waited. Bee had already dug into her muffin—banana from what I could smell.

Mine, more than likely, was blueberry. I wasn’t hungry just yet, and decided to wait until we were on the train partway to Manehattan. Knowing Bee’s metabolism, she’d want half of it by then, which I’d gladly share. I wasn’t a breakfast pony, preferring instead to have an early lunch, then a hearty dinner.

“Do you think Missus Cake put on more weight while she was pregnant, or after having her foals?”

Taken aback, I couldn’t help but stare straight ahead and blink, confused.

“I’m… not sure.”

“Huh. Me neither.”

What kind of question was that? I was about to ask when the train whistle blew, signaling its arrival.

She jumped from the bench, a bounce in her step as she looked back to me eagerly. I hadn’t seen her like this in… years. When the passion was still fresh between us. Love still as strong as oak. Back when we’d be on a job, looking at each other, longing, wanting to move and embrace each other in the throes of passion. This morning’s shower was a welcome change in routine.

Where had those thoughts come from? Better yet… where had they gone in the first place? I missed those, longed for them, but they seemed to have simply gone away with time. She'd lost interest, and soon, so had I, save for the occasional spat of passion at home, fueled by the fires of alcohol and Music For Lovers Only.

Bee practically dragged me onto the train, lost in thought as I was. We took one of our usual seats, facing away from the locomotive. I hated the idea of watching where we were going, instead wanting to watch Ponyville for as long as I could, until it was but a speck. A reminder that it would be there, waiting for us after our work was done.

I hated these jobs, being a freelancer, and yet, they are what brought us together. They are what we’re good at. We excel at an unorthodox talent that other ponies wouldn’t even ever consider as a special talent.

Yet here we were, seven years later. Sitting in this train car, on our way to do what we do best.

Sitting still.

Bee always said I think too much. I couldn’t disagree with her one bit, but I sometimes envied the fact she didn’t think as hard about things as I did. Or if she did, she excelled at hiding it from me.

It was one of the things that attracted me to her, all those years ago. She was just so… free. Happy. Wild. Sex was great, but I’d take a day of being in her company, of simply having lunch at a local coffee shop over any late night escapades. Listening to her stories, criticizing a passing pony by their looks and fashion.

To me, that was what love was.

The train was just rolling into Manehattan, and I watched Bee licking her lips clean of blueberry muffin crumbs. I was almost correct; she ate nearly the whole thing, save for a single bite-sized piece she offered me with a faint blush on her cheeks.

I was okay with this. I’d get lunch on the way to the studio. There was a small cafe which sold cold sandwiches that I enjoyed just a few blocks from our first appointment.

As we disembarked, Bee rubbed up against my side, walking in sync with me as we made our way out of the station.

Shoulder to shoulder. I stand slightly taller, although walking like this we looked like one pony. My light grey mane, mixed with her sparkling silver. The only major difference was our coat colors.

We weren’t about to pull away from each other any time soon, weaving around ponies who weren’t paying attention to their surroundings. Busy ponies who cared little about anything other than themselves, and if that meant bumping into me or Bee on occasion, they didn’t show any remorse for their actions.

It wasn’t long before we found a small cafe that served a cheap—by Manehattan standards—lunch. Bee went ahead and took a seat at an outside table while I ordered us both daisy sandwiches and small coffees.

I sat down with her, and it wasn’t long before our orders arrived. It had been a good couple of hours since the muffins, and she ate with a gusto that I was envious of. As I ate, much slower, I couldn’t help but notice how she looked at me. Smiling, a cheeky grin behind her coffee cup as she’d drink. Occasionally Bee would run a hind leg along my own under our table, causing me to raise a brow, but smile along.

It was just so easy to get distracted with her, forget what I’m doing, or saying. And yet, a sense of doubt came to the back of my mind. Lingering on a thought, words said in heated anger months prior.

She’s being extra flirtatious. This is… we haven’t been like this in so long… not since before she told me no. No… we couldn’t… I couldn’t be a…

“Tabby, your sandwich is gonna get warm.”

“Right. Sorry.”

She’s already had a daisy sandwich with a side of hay fries. It was a marvel that a mare who ate like she did was still so sleek and trim. It made me envious—I had to watch what I ate, and be careful not to overindulge. Work out extra to compensate because of my family’s husky nature. Our employers didn’t want a plump stallion with rolls or bulges other than where it counted.

Lean, not overly muscular, but enough where when I labored, moved my hips or lifted with my legs, they could see it. We had to work out regularly, not so much for the muscle mass, but because we need to be able to hold perfectly still, even if that meant I had to hold her up while standing on my hind legs.

Dance classes were well worth the bits invested, and we continued to keep up the practice at each and every Ponyville festival. Bee’s previous work at a Canterlot night club had honed her skills to a level far above most, leaving the daring stallions who’d asked for a dance with her lost for words beyond a pat on my shoulder and a quiet whisper about how lucky of a stallion I was.

Indeed, I am.

I made quick work of the last few bites of my sandwich, and after paying our bill we were off once again.

The studio was only five blocks away, and with each step we made… I was less and less certain I wanted to keep on. I glanced over to Bee, and she was looking around at the scenery. We’d passed these buildings countless times. They never change. Just the ponies that mill by us, but she paid them no mind.

She looked back, eyes large and caring. I felt her flank brush against mine, and I leaned into it, a reminder that we’re in this together. If she can push on, so can I.

Sketch Pad lived on the top floor of a ten story apartment complex. A studio apartment, and he used it appropriately.

I rang the bell.

He knew we were coming. He always left the door unlocked, but we always rang the bell. The lobby clock said we still had fifteen minutes before we’d be late, but we were always punctual with our employers. The term ‘freelance’ meant we were self-employed, but that didn’t mean our clients appreciated slackers.

A few seconds ticked by, and the door opened. No clunks of locks coming undone. No guard chain; that was long since removed. He was a very free spirited pony, and thought locks oppressed others, or some sort of mumbo jumbo he once told us. Bee was more accepting of it, while I noted the burglary rate of the area.

“Ah! Tabs, Bee, my two favorite ponies!”

He hugged Bee first, then me. Sketch was an ordinary unicorn: if the tribe could ever be considered ordinary, then he would be the prime example. Slightly plump, rounded edges, and a wild, unkempt yellow mane made up the red pony before us.

He wasn’t unfit by any means, simply husky, but could outrun any police ponies when his loitering in public parks became a disruption.

“Hello, Sketch,” I said, breaking the hug. “It’s good to see you well. It’s been, what, a few weeks?”

He pulled away, nodding his head and walking into his studio, and we followed.

“Yes, yes, I’ve been in a dry spell as of late. My inspiration, my mojo, was lost for some time. But I found it once again, in the embrace of a beautiful mare who not only appreciated my art, but didn’t run when I offered to show her around my studio.”

“Wow, Sketchy, sounds like you finally found the one.”

Sketch swept his hooves around the air, at the abundance of finished artwork, still waiting to find their home in the world.

Then again, most of Sketch’s art never found a home where it could be viewed by all who passed by. These were for the more private individuals, who wanted something to share with their loved one, or alone in fantasy.

“Alas, Bee, it was not to be, for the next morning I found her gone! Fifty bits missing from my wallet, and a clogged toilet from where she vomited profusely the cheap rum and instant noodles of our late night escapades.”

“That’s… something.” Bee looked to me, brow raised.

I just shrugged. At least this time, he didn’t wake up in jail.

“But! I must say, from our late night romping, she left me inspired! I wanted to draw her, paint her, but now all I have of her is memory, and that in itself is fuzzy in the non-fun places. So I knew right away the two ponies I needed to remember her by.”

I groaned. I had an idea where this was going.

Bee shoved me with a foreleg, silencing my unvoiced complaint.

Working for Sketch was actually a highlight of our career. He was usually very relaxed with what we did, allowing us to build up the mood, go along at our own pace, and let things be more natural. A pleasant change from the usual, Stand there, move your leg here, bite her ear, no, lick her ear. Move your hips so I can see you inside her. Rest your dick on her flank. That was always so commanding, absolute, like we were nothing but puppets for the artists to play with, not ponies.

I know Bee especially loved working with Sketch, and enjoyed his rambling stories as he drew us. He was a kooky stallion, but a pleasure to be around.

Sketch motioned to his studio proper. “Now, I hope you two are ready for a fun-filled hour!”

It was a corner of his apartment, where the blinds were turned so prying pegasi couldn’t catch a glimpse, yet still allowed the natural light through to brighten up the space. The city view was also grand, tall buildings reaching up, and if you squinted to the east you could just see the Empire Slate Building.

Surrounding the corner were five easels, all with blank canvases clipped upon them. The studio was furnished with a small bed and a couch with a mad scattering of blankets, pillows, and sex toys, where two, or maybe more, ponies could have a fun time.

Bee was quick to approach, and began making the bed. That was an odd habit of hers, one that I found endearing, although her occasional glaces back to me would earn me a thrown pillow or two for my expression. This also gave Sketch the time to get the appropriate tools of his trade out, cleaned, and ready.

He never complained about waiting on us, about allowing things to run their course. Waiting on him, however, was always constant. That didn’t bother us one bit, even though we were paid by the sold product, versus most of our other clients who paid by the hour.

Sketch wasn’t a real big star in the artistic world, but custom commissions for clients was always a booming trade, especially when a new rising star caught the public’s fancy. Millennia-old cities and empires returning, or even a new princess, always drummed up ponies’ wishful thinking.

And Sketch excelled at giving his customers what they wanted. His cutie mark—a white canvas with a smiling face—spoke of that trait.

Ponies, however outward, still shied away at such public things. So it came down to artists to use their imaginations, to create and design something for them to loosely base a fantasy around, to modify with their own features.

That’s why we were so popular with some of the lucrative artists. We were just plain-looking, ordinary, generic ponies who artists wanted to sketch a simple piece to show off their talent, their poses. To let their clients look through a catalogue of templates, ones that could easily be adjusted to fit what they envisioned.

Being earth ponies made it easier, because horns, wings, or even both could be added. Gryphons and hippogriffs were easy enough to sketch in. Quadrupeds were simple, but when you start getting into the minotaurs, or even diamond dogs, then it became more of a challenge. They weren’t as popular, but Bee was friends with a diamond dog dancer, and we’d met a few other uncommon species in our line of work, so it wasn’t unheard of.

Not that it bothered us any. We were just ponies, and his finished products would not change that.

Bee was just finishing with straightening the comforter when Sketch clapped his hooves together in glee.

“Yes, now I am ready. I need to set the mood for you two.”

“I think we’re good—” I began, but was ignored.

“Picture it, if you will. Last week, here, in this very room. She knew what she wanted, and I was only too eager to provide. Rum imbibed straight from the bottle, shared between us.”

I moved over to join Bee, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her ears were giving Sketch her full attention, although once I sat beside her, she rested her head against my shoulder.

“I’ve just finished showing her my most precious art pieces, the ones I’d never sell, the ones undoubtedly destined for public galleries upon my tragic untimely passing.”

Bee let out a giggle snort, while I simply rolled my eyes. Sketch was always such a theatrical pony.

“Then, I bring her to the studio here. I told her of all the amazing pieces conceived here, on this very bed. She was so entranced with my stories that before long, we were lost in each other’s bodies, melding together as we made sweet, sweet love on this very bed.”

I was about to get off, but Bee nudged me. “It’s alright, they smell clean.”

Releasing my breath, I settled back down.

Sketch’s magic lit, and an almost empty bottle of clear rum was brought to us. Bee reached for it, while I raised a brow questioningly, but Sketch shook his head.

“Do not drink, but smell. Absorb what was our scents that evening. Cheap rum, the oils of my paints. The fresh linens—you’re welcome by the way—and her perfume.”

Before either of us could protest, an atomizer bottle was hovered over us and sprayed. The particles trickled down, and the smell was… some imitation Prench perfume. I knew what the real stuff smelled like; Bee has a bottle from our fifth anniversary.

“Oh, that’s nice.” Bee took a big whiff and let out a contented breath.

I opened the rum bottle, and took a sniff. Honestly, mixed with the perfume and oil paints, it was pretty bad.

“Now, show me that night of passion. Do it. Do it now!”

I suddenly found the bottle of rum smacked out of my hooves. I watched as it tumbled to the floor, spilling onto the small area rug. I looked to Bee, startled at first, until she dove in and kissed me.

“YES!”

Sketch’s voice brought me back, and I leaned into the kiss. This was it, the way it always began working with Sketch. One of us would initiate, the other follow. Bee and I knew Sketch prefered drawings where the mare led, and I was never one to complain about how we built up to the final product.

Well, there was always that one part I wanted to scream at every time, but learned quickly that it would break the artist’s concentration, and that was a big no no. The jokes about “blue balls” never grew old for those ponies that were not me and not blue.

After a few seconds of intense kissing, Bee was quick to shove me onto my back, where my rear hooves barely hung off the edge. She joined me, laying on her side, kissing me passionately, and I was all eager to follow along.

“Almost there…”

I glanced over at Sketch—he was watching us intently, waiting for thatperfect moment to strike. He was lost in his own little world watching us; pencil in his mouth, chewing the barrel as his eyes studied our movements, and his long, shaggy tail wagged like an excited puppy’s. Hearing another’s voice gave many ponies in a compromising position pause, but not us. We were used to it. Artists talking to themselves, helpers rushing around to keep art supplies stocked.

Bee and I would tune that out, and do our job.

It always struck me as odd how Sketch would have us get involved with each other, before stopping us to paint. For 99 percent of our clients, they already had the pose in mind. They’d have us get into a general position, then have helpers, or themselves, move our limbs around to their liking. Sketch wanted things to unfold naturally, and we could appreciate that.

However, it made it more difficult to concentrate and hold it once we got heated up.

My wife was rubbing my chest with her hoof, and before long began to raise herself up, straddling me.

It was by this point, I knew I was already unsheathing. It was so long ago when something like that in front of others had bothered me. Now, I paid them no mind. Bee was my sole focus, keeping me entrapped in her eyes, her moans of pleasure, her sweet voice telling me what I want, and need, to hear as we went about ourselves and ignored the others.

It was so easy to get lost in the moment with her, forgetting we were being studied. Freelance bodies whose talent was to stop on a dime when told, and hold that. Don’t move an inch.

This wasn’t like the porn film industry, where over-enhanced stallions with horn extensions ravished and bucked at overtly beautiful mares with wide hips and swollen bits. We’d tried that once, but it wasn’t for us. Bee got bored of constantly being teased, and the spell on my spine and balls to hold back my orgasms grew very uncomfortable the longer it progressed.

No, this was art, where we were being true, real, and captured on a page, or canvas. Frozen in time so others could use us as a template for their own desires and pleasures.

Bee was now sitting just above my groin, rubbing herself on that patch of skin just ahead of my sheath. Her dock and tail were resting against my erection. We were both getting excited now, and I knew, deep down, that at any moment—”

“There! Do not move!”

We froze. I knew it.

This was both the worst, and best, part of this job.

For the first several minutes, we couldn’t move at all. Couldn’t talk, couldn’t change our expressions. Not even twitch our tails, and if we had to blink, we timed them in sync so that no illusion would be lost that we were frozen together. Unless the artist wished one of us to close our eyes.

We were staring at each other’s eyes, lost in the heat of passion. Bee’s mouth was partly open, and she held it that way, her passionate breathing beginning to slow as she relaxed for the long haul.

I wore a happy, tight-lipped grin.

No pun intended, but the ability to hold an erection, without any stimulation, was hard. I had to keep my mind focused, keep grasp of those idle thoughts that kept my attention going, and longing for pleasure. Shallow ponies would say a mare has it easy, that they just gotta get wet and stand still. Bee would tell them otherwise, and I would agree, because there were some times, some poses, where the mare was doing all the work, and she had to keep the stallion at attention.

An artist called that their muse.

My muse was my wife, Bee. That was the best part of my job.

Those deep blue eyes were inviting, drawing me in, never letting me go. I knew this, otherwise we wouldn’t still be together after so many years. I never wanted her to look at anypony else but me, never share these intimate moments with anypony but me.

She was the pony I’d devoted my life to, that I’d shared my vows with. We knew each other in such intimate ways that others might never be able to understand. Practical strangers watching, critiquing, poking and moving our bodies as we laid interlocked in intercorse. Move your foreleg here, shift your tail up and around there.

We took all these in stride, because as long as we were together, none of it mattered.

“Okay, my two lovers, you may now speak.”

I had a bad habit of losing track of time in these situations, when I was allowed to face Bee, sharing our breath or entwined in a kiss. Her blue eyes would just lock my pink ones in their control. This, here, is the moment I work for, where we are but displays for those less fortunate than us. Those who don’t have that special somepony in their life, and use the drawings and paintings of us together as a way to live out their fantasies.

Some would call that perverse. I call it beautiful.

“How are you doing, Tabby?” Bee asked me.

“I’m fine. You okay, love?”

“Of course. Is my tail too tight? I can relax it if—”

“No no, you must not change your tail! It’s perfect!” Sketch looked from his canvas, eyes studying our bodies. “Your tail is hugging his erection, telling it sweet nothings, and promises of what are yet to come, should it allow. Your tail is the director.”

“I’m fine, Bee, really. You were really getting into it.”

“Yeah, well I wanted to make sure this guy here—” she allowed her flanks to shift slightly along my shaft “—was genuine, and stimulated for the long haul.”

“I said no moving!” Sketch growled, feverishly going at his canvas.

“You’re too kind,” I said, fighting back a blissful grin I knew would anger Sketch to no end.

Bee was, truely. I still don’t know what I did to deserve her. I liked to be poetic, thinking it was her love that helped keep it up; past, present, and for as long as our bodies are young enough to be drawn.

“Do you think Applejack is going to raise her price for apples?”

I moved my eyes side to side. “No, she’s too good of a pony to do something like that.”

Her muzzle shifted around, deep in thought.

“Yeah, but the Running of the Leaves is soon.”

“Her cellar apples are fine. Maybe not as ripe for a simple snack, but they’re still great for cooking.”

Bee looked unsure, so I continued.

“She’s never run out of apples for Ponyville in the years we’ve lived there.”

“Well, if she ever did raise the price, then that would be the reason, I’d figure.”

“Probably.”

Some of the ponies we worked for found it odd that we could just talk about our normal lives nonchalantly like we did. Others would jump right into the discussion, like it was totally normal to talk to a couple during a sex scene.

It was worth it, too; that kind of casual conversation was how I got a great carrot cake recipe.

As we lay there practically frozen, mid-coitus, talking about this or that, Sketch would move from his primary canvas and switch to another that was blank. He’d once told us that he did this to see other angles, other perspectives. Once in a while, when he’d go about this, he’d completely re-do the piece, starting fresh again, trying a whole new angle of attack.

That was usually frustrating, because, again, Sketch didn’t pay by the hour. We planned all our appointments generally in the same day, maybe two if we were booked enough and didn’t feel like riding the overnight train to and from home.

“So, do you think the first one will stick?”

I cocked an eyebrow, since I couldn’t shrug. “I think so. The canvases near the window would hide me too much, so he’d need to stick with one of the three centered ones.”

Bee smiled. “That’s true, but you forget who we’re dealing with.”

Sketch glared at us. “I can hear you two.” He glanced back at the rough outline he started, then quickly shuffled back to his original canvas and continued to draw.

Until he got the paints out, we had to remain perfectly still. Our muscles had to stay as either taut or loose as they were as he sketched out our poses in pencil.

He was good at it, as his name would suggest, quickly making a sketch that showed every important detail. Once the paints came out, then we could start to relax and move around some.

Sketch got done more quickly than usual, which was a blessing. He was good at what he did, and knew us well enough by now to focus on the parts that would start to go away before he could finish. Our facial expressions, my erection, Bee’s occasional wink or her taut tail.

It was difficult to keep a stiffy up for more than ten minutes with no stimulation, be it visual or by touch, but thankfully Bee knew how to keep the guy downstairs perked and erect. A rub with her tail, a little breath of air there, even a gentle touch from a hoof or leg when it wouldn’t disrupt our pose. Contact and attention were key to making sure I stayed hard.

Then again, with Bee, it was sometimes hard to retract.

It was nice having an employer that truly cared about us, and who knew us well enough to not push us to our limits—or beyond. As soon as we were able to break our pose, he magicked over a couple glasses of water for us.

“So, what do you two think?”

Bee dismounted from my barrel, stretching her hind legs as she stepped down from the bed. I could tell right away one of her legs was asleep; she limped to a clear spot on the floor, and sat down. Sketch didn’t believe in chairs. She took her glass of water, drinking it eagerly.

I sat up, cracked my neck, and tried to flatten the spot of fur on my chest that her hoof had been resting on. I rolled off the bed and sat on the floor beside her as I claimed my glass. I took a polite sip and then began massaging her right hind leg with my free hoof.

She nuzzled me, which told me I’d been right about which leg was asleep.

We both looked to Sketch, who turned his easel around, with the finished product on it.

Well, as finished as we usually saw them.

The background was still only sketched in, left mostly barren so his customer could specify what they wanted. In the center, on the bed, were Bee and I, in the position he’d frozen us in, our colors painted with watercolors. It was odd to see from a third point of view. She straddled my crotch, her hoof resting on my chest, her mouth open in heated excitement.

I lay under her, a blissful smile on my face, looking up at her with half lidded eyes, My member rested along her dock and back, her tail trying to wrap around it.

Pink on blue. Our colors. Our ordinary looking bodies, our simple cutie marks that told ponies what poses were available. Slot A or Slot B.

It was remarkable how close to home those positions spoke to us.

There could be others in the painting, too. We’d done a partners image with another client once before, where there were two couples having at it. It was one of the few times both Bee and I weren’t comfortable. Not so much with the situation or the additional company, but because the other couple just… weren’t into each other. They didn’t share that love, that compassion towards one another that we had, and everypony could tell.

It was… almost depressing. Could that have been us, if we’d not found each other? If we hadn’t connected so well, fallen in love, and gotten married?

Would I be a chump stallion paired with a random mare for every display? Or her with any young, vertile stallion? Would we both have been strangers on some strange bed, faking pleasure for others?

I tried not to think about that. The very thought of Bee with another stallion set my blood to boil. I could never tell her that, or be outwardly jealous; I knew what we were and what we did. I had seen other stallions eye her up at the studios we work, artists and work hooves alike complimenting her figure. Saying what they’d do with a mare like her… or to her, if she could lose the blue sap she married. But wasn’t that the point? Wasn’t that why we did what we did?

“Wow.”

Brought back to the moment, I blinked and looked back to Bee. She was standing now, studying the picture. “Those slots will be bought up in a hurry, I’m sure of it.”

“Oh ho ho ho, you flatter me so, sweet Bee. One such as I can only hope. They would make a handsome profit, but... it pains me so, to have to obscure your beautiful bodies and fill in what others want. Why can they never see the beauty in your form? The way your coats complement each other, or the spark of love in your eyes? Why can they not see the way your passion for one another suffuses your entire form?”

It was my turn to stand, and I gave Bee a kiss on the cheek.

“You know why, Sketch.”

“Yes, yes, those foolish fools don’t know what they are missing. When I see you two, my heart yearns to capture that love on canvas. That romance. It begs to be shared with the world, but the world frowns upon your love! I spit at the world.”

Thankfully, he didn’t actually spit.

“Oh, but upon my dying breath, the world will see you two. Your love, it will be glorious.”

Bee’s eyes seemed teary, but her smile told me they were tears of joy. Sketch had a way with words, and Bee loved the stallion like he was her brother. However, my attention was drawn to a wall clock.

“Sorry, Bee, we should be going. We got two more appointments to go.”

She sighed, but gave me a nuzzle. “You’re right.”

Sketch took the painting, and placed it on his display wall in the studio, along with a half dozen other similar paintings of us together. We were in all manners of positions—nothing quite like the one we’d just posed for, but all simplistic and loving.

It was a shame he wasn’t one of the big name artists, like some of them in Canterlot. We got a larger cut from him than from most of our clients, but only when he sold the slots, so we risked not seeing the bits for weeks, or at worst, months later. He was one of the only ponies we dealt with that genuinely acted hurt to have to cover our images, painting over our mundane colors with something bright and exotic.

“It wounds me, more than you two can know, that ponies do not look beyond your appearance, vain and ignoring your love. I try so hard to capture it…”

Bee walked over, giving Sketch a hug, and a peck on the cheek. “I know, Sketchy, and we appreciate your efforts.”

“Anytime, sweet Bee.” He looked to me. “You too, Tabs. Do not let what others say about you, or your beautiful, precious Bee, ever sway your heart and mind. Now, you must go out there, and show the world your love!”

All I could do was nod, unsure what prompted those words. Yet, coming from Sketch, they… helped. Maybe I was having some issues with our relationship, but was I that readable?

Sketch walked us to the door, and we said our goodbyes for the time being. It was a sad affair that we only saw him once a month or two, but it was difficult to sell for such a niche market, made all the more difficult when they were in a bidding war.

I did not envy the artists.

Our next stop for the day was to the studio of Mister Prim. That’s what he liked to be called, or actually we were told to call him whenever he was around. On our list of ponies we like, dislike, or tolerate, he was near the top of the last one. At times, we found the needle bending down onto our dislike list.

However, his bits were good. He paid cash after a sketch, and it was a premium by-the-hour gig. Some days, we’d be there for an hour, others half the day. We never got any advance warning about this, either, which annoyed Bee to no end.

To her, going out and traveling was more than just work. She wanted to explore, to visit places we normally didn’t. It was difficult, because these days we’d be drained, tired, and simply wanting to go home after a session. Once upon a time, it was a challenge to see how long we could resist each other’s embrace and longing, going most of the day denying our pleasure, telling ourselves we’d check out that interesting place next time.

At first, we'd had sex anywhere we could find a good moment. A cheap hotel, the sleeper car on the train. As the years went on, we’d make it home. Then, at one point, we just stopped, instead going home to bed, or listening to our radio programs and falling asleep on the couch.

Maybe if Mister Prim wasn’t too harsh with us today, I’d surprise her and we’d go out someplace nice. See a show, have dinner at a Prench restaurant.

That would be nice.

Mister Prim’s art studio was on the corner of Twelfth and Oak, one of the more booming, trendy, or what some would call modern buildings to spring up in the last few years.

To me it was gaudy. Ugly. Bee once described it as a waste of rocks and timber that could have been put to a more meaningful use as public toilets.

I couldn’t disagree.

Mister Prim’s office was on the third floor of the building. The first floor held an overpriced coffee shop and a mane salon filled with stylists who wanted to dye my mane or coat or even better, both. The second floor held a yoga studio—we’d tried a couple of classes, but soon found ourselves banned because Bee was more flexible than the mare running it. We’d never had a reason to visit floors four or five; maybe one day we would.

Today we just wanted to get Mister Prim’s ordeal out of the way, and thankfully the unicorn operating the lift knew us and didn’t even ask which floor we were bound for.

“Good afternoon, Mister Tabs, Miss Bee.”

Bee tipped her head politely. “Afternoon, Dewy.”

I could never remember the poor stallion’s name, despite numerous trips in the lift. He was nice enough to stop calling us our proper names after our second visit three years ago.

“How’s your foal?” Bee asked.

“Oh, he’s a hooffull. Already two years old.” He slid the gate shut and then reached into his breast pocket, pulling out a black and white photo.

“Aww.”

“He’s cute,” I said, examining the picture. Lucky stallion.

The third floor appeared, and Dewy pulled the lever back, applying the brake. We stopped with a clunk, and he parted the gates with his magic.

“We’ll see you later!” Bee called out.

“Of course, ma’am. Oh, word of advice, Mister Prim is in a tizzy today, so best of luck.”

“Thanks.” I rolled my eyes, knowing full well he was always in a tizzy, and we walked out.

The elevator opened up to a short hallway, with only a single door at the end. All chrome and glass, with the words Prim and Proper Paintworks reminding us that we were already dreading the fulfillment of this entry in our appointment book.

I opened the door, allowing Bee to enter first. The reception area was a dull, modern chic design with lots of shiny metal edges, bleached wood chair seats and backs, and glass tables and countertops. It reminded me of how I’d always imagined the futuristic setting of the Buck Rogers radio program looked like in my young colt mind, just minus all the fun.

The green coated mare with a short cut blue mane and red wire-rimmed glasses seated at the reception desk barely paid attention to our entrance. I nodded politely anyway, and then we took a seat on two of the waiting room chairs, uncomfortable, but trendy.

The mare pressed a button, and after the buzzer sounded, she spoke into a wooden intercom box.

“Mister Prim, Tab A and Slot B are here, early, for their two o’clock.”

She spoke our names as if we were the worst criminals to be standing in the docks, having committed another offence simply by being early. We were beneath her, two ordinary earth ponies, and she was a high class unicorn receptionist.

I didn’t think there was such a thing as a high class receptionist, but she obviously did.

Of course, since we were early, we had to wait. We knew this game, and Bee happily turned her head to look out the panoramic windows behind us. I looked as well, allowing her to point out landmarks she’d read new facts on. We’d been looking at this skyline for years now, but it never stopped Bee from learning more about them. Places she wanted to visit with me one day. The pegasi flying around the cityscape made me slightly envious, because we couldn’t just go up there and look so easily.

After fifteen minutes she got bored of window gazing, and began reading the Mare’s Health magazine. I was glancing through a month-old magazine myself, a rich pony’s book full of advertisements for sky ships, expensive cigars, and natural-looking horn extensions.

Finally, the opposite door from which we’d entered opened. A large brown stallion with slicked back dark brown hair nodded to us, motioning to follow. We stood, returned the magazines to the glass table, and followed begrudgingly.

Passing several rooms, we get a reminder of what Prim and Proper really was: an advertisement studio.

Single ponies, or clusters of them, were in each room; painting, drawing, designing the next thing we would be seeing on billboards or in magazines, trying to sell us everything they could. Advertisement was a big deal, and I was sure once those in-home moving picture boxes started to get popular we’d be hearing ponies singing and dancing about the goods, the ever-familiar jingles on our radio brought to life.

Bee said movie boxes were just a phase and would die off. My grandfather had said the same thing about the radio, and now they’re in practically every home and office.

Lingering in the shadows of Prim and Proper, Mister Prim ran a side business in the carnal arts. He was not shy about this at all, boasting to anypony who would listen how he could paint anypony in any sort of situation. Any sexual position, with anypony who the client so desires, so long as their wallets were deep. The more high class, the more expensive. He even claimed to have done an art piece of Princess Celestia herself.

He’s a classless lout, and the only reason he can paint such poses is because of ponies like Bee and I he hires to model for him. I doubt Mr. Prim had ever gotten his dick wet, save for some hoof lotion.

We were led off to a narrow hallway, where the offices are still and quiet. These were the private rooms, where the higher-ups of Prim and Proper did their brainstorming, largely consisting of ideas tossed out in a cloud of cigar smoke and alcohol fumes.

From there, we were taken to a solid wood door, marked only with a small black and gold placard which read “Private.” This room was a stark contrast to all the trendy glass panel rooms. This was our usual room, where we worked, and thankfully for myself, they didn’t allow smoking in there.

My father had smoked big, fancy-named cigars when I was little, but he had to go into his study or outside to do so. Mother at least knew to listen to the doctors, and made sure I had very minimal exposure growing up. Even after all this time, my eyes were watering from simply walking down these halls, and I was trying to suppress a coughing fit.

The stallion opened the door, and stood politely to the side, allowing us to precede him. Bee entered and I followed. The stallion stopped behind us, remaining to guard the door after closing it.

Here, we were greeted by the usual sight. A massive bed, which could not be realistic in its proportions: easily five pony-lengths wide, and double that in length. An overabundance of pillows, as well as pink linens adorning the surface. Rose petals and candles littered the ground; small end tables were placed anywhere they could scatter them. Some had padded edges or reinforced legs for certain poses.

There were a good half-dozen stallions all doing things. Some were setting up lights, others making sure Mister Prim’s needs and whims were taken care of, which included supplying expensive chocolates and coffee from the cafe downstairs. And there, sitting in his director's chair, was the white stallion, whose black-on-grey pinstriped suit made his long, slick, black mane look like it was draining down his back in nearly perfect straight lines.

We approached, standing before his greatness, and gave a small courtesy.

“Good afternoon, Mister Prim,” we both said together.

“Tab A, Slot B. Glad you two could show up.”

Each of his words had an edge to them, far sharper than his receptionist. She at least sounded like she could tolerate us. Mister Prim sounded the opposite of glad, like we were carrying some infectious disease, and ought to be thrown out of his building this instant. Like he was just tolerating our presence, as if he hadn’t requested it.

He stood and began walking towards the bed, which we knew meant follow him and don’t keep him waiting.

“Now, I’ve got an important meeting at three thirty, so we haven’t got all day. I have an excellent pose in mind for the two of you. Something simplistic, so I won’t need to explain everything.”

I nodded my head. Even if I’d said anything, he wouldn’t have acknowledged us.

“You’re going to be doing a blend of table top and missionary. I shouldn’t need to spell those out for you, so let’s first set up Slot B.” He pointed with a manicured hoof. “Lay on the bed.”

He spoke like a machine. No emotion, no care, just lay down, spread your legs, don’t block the view with your tail, and don’t move unless I say so. We had other clients who at least asked us what we thought, or if the position felt right. They made sure we didn’t have any injuries that could hinder our positions. Tartarus, most even offer us a drink or made smalltalk before we get to work.

I’d love to call this guy out, tell him he’s a jackass and should show us a little respect. However, while we’re good at what we do, we aren’t the only ones out there doing this line of work. We are replaceable, and he’s made that fact abundantly clear in the past.

It was amazing we’d lasted three years working for the asshole.

I stood back and watched Bee approach the bed, pressing a hoof against the mattress to check the firmness.

“So, do you want my hind legs hanging off the edge? Or spread upward?”

Mister Prim gave her a critical look, but I could tell she asked him a valid question since he wasn’t reprimanding her right away.

“Let us try with legs up first.”

Bee nodded, and jumped onto the bed. With a graceful motion, she laid down, rolled onto her back, and with no reservation spread her legs, revealing her intimates.

Right away I knew something about her pose was off, because Mister Prim’s brows twitched. He marched over, his face practically into her marehood as he studied her teats.

“You’re eating too much.”

“Wh-what?” she stammered.

“You’ve got a bulge, here, of fat.” He poked her stomach. “You’re gaining weight.”

I was pretty sure only Mister Prim could be the dumbest stallion in the world, telling a mare with his face between her legs she was getting fat. If she was any less patient, she could have bucked him across the room.

I’d have spoken, but I was just as stunned as Bee.

“No matter, we can make this work for now. Please, make sure to resolve that before our next appointment.”

Before he walked away, he grabbed her legs, shifting them a little wider. With a nod of approval, he looked to me next.

“Alright, Tab A, drop so we can position you.”

It was still weird having a stallion ask you to get a hard-on in front of him. It was one thing to get one naturally, even knowing a bunch of guys were watching. It’s another to get one upon request.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat, moving my eyes to Bee, her legs spread before me. I couldn’t help but focus on that small plump curve on her belly. How hadn’t I noticed that before? She was always so trim, making this small pudge appear so odd on her. Had I simply not paid any mind? Was I not giving her as much attention as I’d thought?

“Any time now, Tab A,” Mr. Prim growled. “Time is money.”

“Right, sorry, I just…”

Why was this so hard? Urg, no pun intended, but usually I could put all these thoughts behind me, ignore the ponies looking at my wife, thinking if he can’t do it, I sure as Tartarus can.

“Tabby, come here.”

Bee’s voice grabbed my attention, and she was looking to me, laying still, legs up.

Mister Prim looked ready to protest, but I ignored him and approached my wife, stopping alongside the nearest edge to her. She reached over to me, grabbing both sides of my face with her hooves.

“Tabby, it’s okay. You got this. It’s only ninety minutes, then we can leave.”

Home. Ninety minutes. Yes, I got this. We got this.

Looking into her loving eyes, I lost all my concerns. I was worrying over nothing. I gave her a quick kiss on the muzzle.

“Come now, you two. This isn’t some quick romp and go. My patience is running thin.”

I turned around to bark at him, but Bee held my face firm. I looked into her eyes once more, and this time she didn’t need to say anything.

I unsheathed, a slower process than normal, but once out and in the open instincts took over and it began to stiffen. Once Mister Prim visually confirmed I was, in fact, hard, he called over two make-up ponies.

The first stallion was quick to dab some stuff on Bee’s face, darken her eyelashes, add a little blush. Some other stuff I wasn’t sure the name of on her thighs to help the thin fur blend inside her legs. A spray bottle coated her tits and groin with a light drizzle of oil, so the lights would highlight them.

The second pony added some pencil lines to help define my natural muscle. Next they sprayed the same oil onto my erection and ball sack, and lastly brushed my tail and used a thin thread material to tie it so it stayed off to the side, something they knew I struggled to do. As good as I was at controlling my dick, my tail wasn’t so cooperative.

Once the two stallions had left us, Mister Prim made sure one last time Bee was positioned how he wanted her, and then turned to me and motioned with a hoof.

“Alright, I will be having three variants of this shot. This first one I will require you two to be perfectly still. No talking. Once I have that done, I will copy it and apply it to two other canvases, which I will then need to only add your genitals together.

“First, I want you to prod her. No insertion, simply place your head to her fold, and no more force. When I say, the second will be insertion, half—no, three-quarters in, just past your ring. Last one will be a cum shot, your penis resting between her teats, and we will apply a substitute semen along her underside. Get all that?”

I nodded, and Bee gave me a smile.

“Alright, places everypony.” Mister Prim looked to me. “That includes you, Tab A.”

This wasn’t a problem, and yet my legs did not want to cooperate.

It’s never been a problem. We’ve done this countless times.

With practice comes familiarity. So why was I feeling like a rookie again? Nervous, hesitant, and lacking my usual self-confidence. Was it stress? Was I at the end of my rope?

Have the last several months of my mind playing games with my heart finally gotten to me?

“Tab A, are you with us?”

I blinked, nodding.

“Tabby, honey, are you okay?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but I was cut off.

“Of course he is. Mount that mare, forelegs on either side of her.”

Again, I nodded, and hesitantly did as instructed. Walking with an erection, I could feel some of the oil they’d sprayed on it oozing into my coat along my stomach, but I ignored it. I leapt up, both forelegs on her sides, tracing my eyes along her stomach.

I shifted my hips, inching my rear legs step by step, so that I was not straining my back, but still looking like I was ready to plunge into my wife.

My tip touched her, and I stopped.

“Good, now I want you to slowly bend your head down, like you’re going in to lick her neck.”

I inched my head down, waiting for the cue.

“Yes, there, perfect.” I froze in place.

I could hear the sound of pencil on paper, Mister Prim already going at the beginning sketches.

Good, we’re off to a decent start.

My eyes lingered on Bee’s neck, then I slowly moved them up to meet her own eyes. I needed to see her, to know she’s here with me. It wasn't just her body, but her mind, her heart, her spirit. All open to me through her eyes, and me to her.

Mister Prim did not notice, or care; the important thing to him was that we made contact. Bee knew the game, perhaps better than I, and already had that perfect seductive smile going. It was rare for Mister Prim to have me change from a more confident, “sure of myself” stallion role, or Bee her wide eyed, enamored look, full of lust and wonderment. There was one time we’d done a role reversal, a ball gag in my mouth as Bee pegged me from behind with a strap-on.

Strangely, it was Bee who after the fact wasn’t all too enamored by the concept. Mister Prim was fine with us doing more vanilla posing, only because he had usual freelancers that did role reversals or stranger-than-strange kinks.

I was glad that Bee had a wild streak to her sexcapades at home, because I was already familiar with that, so it lessened the awkwardness of doing it in front of half a dozen ponies.

We stood still for at least a solid twenty minutes, and then something… changed.

Bee and I had not moved at all, yet I could feel distress from Mister Prim. He’d already crumpled and tossed away two drawings, and that was never good. That usually meant more time, more standing still, and a very grumpy Mister Prim.

“No. No, this will not do. You, new guy over there.” He pointed. “Yes, you, the one trying to hide your erection behind the table. Come here, now.”

I couldn’t see what was going on, but Bee’s eyes were flicking back and forth between two different targets. Laying on her back, facing me and looking partly backwards, gave her a vantage to see what was happening. I wanted to risk asking, but decided I’d wait to see if she showed any signs of distress. Mister Prim often had his moods.

After a few seconds, her eyes focused on one point, which I assumed was where Mister Prim was seated at his easel. Suddenly, her eyes shot up to me, and she blinked rapidly twice.

That was her signal. Something was going on.

“Is everything alright, Mister Prim?” I asked, not moving save for my muzzle.

“No, Tab A, it is not.”

“Do you need me to change something?” I asked.

He ignored me, mumbling something I couldn’t quite pick up without moving my ears. Bee wasn’t worried about it; she had her full attention directed towards... whatever discussion they were having.

Finally, two sets of hoof steps approached. I did not like this, not one bit.

“Tab A, would you please dismount Slot B?”

Bee’s eyes got wide, but she didn’t otherwise protest. I blinked twice to her, and she responded with three.

Are we okay?

Go ahead.

Holding her eyes for an extra moment, I unlocked my rear legs and backed off the bed, my erection bouncing off my belly as I turned to face Mister Prim and another stallion—sporting his own hard-on—which was a good bit larger than my own.

I was a modestly-endowed stallion, but knew the larger, bulkier stallions had equally large equipment.

“What seems to be the matter?” I asked, trying to keep my tone of voice neutral.

Mister Prim cleared his throat. “Simply put, your wife’s stomach fat is ruining the whole illusion, so I’ve decided to scrap the first pose, and go with the other two.”

I raised a brow. “Insertion, then?”

“Yes.” He nodded his head. “And I’m replacing you.”

Blinking hard, I fought to keep my tone under control. “I’m sorry, say that again?”

“I need a large-girthed stallion, to help blend in with her fat roll. This stallion will do, so he shall be taking your place.”

I didn’t even try to hide my displeasure. “No.”

“Rest assured, Tab A, you will still be paid for your time. I simply had a strike of inspiration, and plan to use your wife’s new bit of pudge as an advantage. We shall have this well-endowed stallion mount, and insert to where his bulge will meet her roll. Then, when we do the cum shot, it will appear as a slight cum inflation. A perfect little change, if I do say so myself.”

“And I said no.”

For the first time, the slightly displeased demeanour of Mister Prim shifted into a frown.

“Tab A, I don’t think you understand. I’m changing you out, and am still willing to pay you for doing nothing but standing here. If you don’t wish to watch, you may wait in the lobby.”

“I don’t think you understand, Mister Prim, that no means no. I will not have another stallion mounting my wife.”

“Now you listen here—”

“Stop!”

Both Mister Prim and myself turned to Bee, who was still, bless her heart, holding her legs spread.

“This is not up to you, either of you. This is me, my body, and I say what I will or won’t do.”

“Bee—”

“No. Hush, hun.” She looked away from me, to Mister Prim. “You say we’ll still be paid in full, for this time, even with my husband out?”

“Of course.”

I couldn’t believe this. This couldn’t be happening. Bee couldn’t possibly be thinking—

“Double our hourly rate and that’s a deal.”

“What?” Mister Prim and I said in unison.

“That’s the terms. I will only accept if we’re paid double, for two hours of work.”

“That’s ridiculous! I’d never—”

Bee interrupted him. “Mister Prim, you said so yourself. What you first found annoying, my slight belly roll, is now something you can make into a good kink. You’re not gonna find another lean, trim mare like me with this perfect roll. So, what’s it gonna be?”

My focus was stuck on Bee, dumbstruck. This went beyond everything we agreed to once we’d gotten married. We’d promised each other no other partners, not unless we were both okay with it. I was not; I had made that perfectly clear. For some reason Bee was still willing to go through with this.

Mister Prim didn’t think about her counteroffer very long, because a few moments later, he had another aide over and was whispering into his ear. The stallion then marched off.

“Fine, Slot B, we have a deal.”

“Uh, no, we don’t,” I protested.

“Tabby.”

I looked to my wife, and she was looking at me pleadingly. I walked over, ignoring Mister Prim’s discussion to the new stud regarding what exactly he wanted him to do to my wife.

“Bee, you cannot do this,” I half whispered, half growled.

“Tabby, I know you don’t like this, but…“ She bit her lip. “We could use the extra bits.”

“Not like this! We don’t have any major bills, we’re doing fine, and we have a good chunk in the bank. We don’t need it this badly.”

“Yes, we do.”

“What? Why?”

She opened her mouth, but hesitated.

“I… can’t say, not yet.”

I raised a brow. “What does that mean?”

“Please, trust me, okay? I know what I’m doing. I’ve dealt with larger stallions before.”

“Seven plus years ago, Bee. Unless you…”

This time her eyes grew wide. “No, Tabby, no. I’d never—“

“Then please, don’t let this be the first time, not for Mister Prim of all ponies.”

She opened her mouth, her eyes leaving mine to look behind me. I turned around: they were already spraying the oil on his still-erect member.

“Please, can you trust me?”

I looked back to my wife. Damn it, I wanted to say no. I wanted to take her, leave this place, and never come back to this bastard’s office again.

But I know my wife. She knows her own body, better than I ever could. She’d never push me beyond any point I couldn’t handle, nor I her, so who was I to deny what she said she could take as well?

This was our profession. We posed in sexual positions for money. Neither of us had been with another pony since we started dating—we’d turned down any three-ways or full-contact orgies. The closest we’d come since getting married was sharing a bed with another couple, but we were with our respective partners only.

“I love you, Tabby. Please, let’s just get this done and over with.”

Hoof steps approached. I had to be firm. I couldn’t allow this, no way. Not my Bee, my precious Bee. This was wrong, so terribly wrong. My mouth wanted to fill up with bile.

I felt a hoof on my shoulder. I looked down. It was pink. I followed it to the rest of the mare I loved so much, wondering if this was some sort of test.

Did she need to prove something to me? To herself? Was she trying to make a statement, or show Mister Prim we could take whatever bullshit he threw at us?

Did going along with it make us the bigger ponies, or would we be better off saying no, and stepping away? There were always other clients out there. We’d find another client, and Mister Prim could easily find another mare and stallion.

“Alright Tab A, please step aside so we can continue. Slot B, please return your hoof to its previous position.”

I looked at Mister Prim, whose expression showed little care or remorse over his decision. The new stallion, his body large and strong, his eyes hungry like he was about to indulge himself… with my wife.

I don’t know what exactly happened, because suddenly I’d punched Mister Prim square in the jaw. His body hit the floor like a sack of potatoes; the shocked silence that followed in the room would put a graveyard to shame.

2: ... but Love is an Investment.

I was dumbstruck, utterly convinced both my eyes and ears were fooling me.

Tab A, Tabby, my husband, had just decked our client, a very rich pony who had several hired stallions of intimidating size and strength at his disposal that could and would grind my husband to a pulp with a wave of his manicured hoof.

Tabby had never been confrontational before. He never seemed to get jealous, or go after a pony for anything. In our line of work, we encountered exes and others we’d worked with. They’d all react differently when they saw us. Some would congratulate us, reminiscing about previous gigs and the like. Others were jealous of our marriage, and would try to put a wedge between us with embarrassing stories or obvious flirting, but neither he nor I ever let them bother us. It was just a job, work, and they were in a strange way our co-workers.

He didn’t even have the heart to kick the stray cat off our upper floor balcony, and let her squat there for months before she’d birthed and weaned her kittens and left.

The stallion I’d married was not a normal stallion, and that was why I loved him. He didn’t care for hoofball, loved red wine, and was amazed to learn a claw hammer could also pull out nails as well as drive them in.

I’d known for a while now something was bothering him, and this just confirmed my suspicions. Something was troubling my Tabby, and he’d decked our employer because I hadn’t been doing my part to press him for what was wrong.

How could he stand to be with me, if I couldn’t do the most basic of things that a wife, a mare, should do for her husband?

I quickly realized that all the other ponies in the room were just gawking between Tabby and Mister Prim, their expressions as dumbstruck as mine. Action was required, quickly, before they could react.

“Tabby, let's go,” I whispered, slowly creeping towards him.

My poor husband blinked, looking down to his hoof, confusion clear on his face.

“Tabby, now.”

Again he blinked, and then turned to look at me.

“I… That was—”

He didn’t get to finish, because suddenly Tabby was thrown down to the ground by the large brown stallion, stuck in a headlock and unable to move.

“That, Tab A, was an unfortunate thing for you to have done.”

I looked over to Mister Prim, who was waving off the assistance of his helpers, choosing to stand on his own. A small trickle of blood ran down his jaw, and a nice sized welt was forming on his lower lip.

He floated over a linen cloth, dabbling at the blood on his lip, his face a frown as he studied his own blood. “Yes, quite unfortunate,” he repeated, then looked to me.

“Mister Prim, I’m—"

He held up a hoof, silencing me.

“I… have put up with a lot of crazy antics from ponies in my time. They’ve tried to trick me, gryphons have tried to kill me, and my last two ex-husbands have tried to rob me. I no longer have any patience for the likes of them, nor you two.

“Get out. Now.”

“But—"

“I will not pay you for this session. I will, however, give you the benefit of the doubt; you've been good workers to me over the last three years. I will not call the guard, or the police, but I never want to see your faces in my work place again.” He tossed the bloodied cloth casually to his side, where a pony scrambled to collect it. “Do you understand?”

I was struck speechless—all I could do was nod. Our best paying client, gone. Because Tabby couldn’t control himself. No. Because I couldn’t get my nerves in check to talk with him about what was bothering him.

“Very well. Release him, and one of you others escort these two out of my studio, out of this building, and on your return grab one of the gopher mares running about. We still have work to do, and this stud is still hard.”

I watched the brown earth pony release Tabby, stepping away as he huffed angrily. His loyalty was quite clear, although his reaction time needed some work. Easing over with gentle steps, I approached Tabby, helping him up to his hooves right as two of the other work stallions began pushing us out.

Throughout all of this, Tabby was silent, but as we approached the now open wood door, he stopped. Both stallions were quick and took aggressive stances, but all Tabby did was turn his head back.

“Mister Prim, I’m sorry for striking you. That was uncalled for. I do, however, have something to say before we go.”

I was honestly a little scared at this point, because I wasn’t sure what to do, other than to try and nudge him to keep him moving.

“Yes, Tab A, you may speak.”

Tabby fully turned around, the two stallions clearly making sure any direct move towards Mister Prim would be met with resistance. Even the pony guarding the door was standing ahead of where we were going, watching with a tense, yet confused, look.

“We have put up with a lot of your stunts. From nigh-impossible poses without assistance, to obscure fetishes, all done to the best of our abilities, and all done without complaint. But I warned you early on of the one thing we would not do. And you promised me you wouldn’t.”

“Things change, Tab A,” Mister Prim said, his magic coming to life as a piece of paper materialized between us. “You both signed a contract stating that as long as one of you were willing, then nothing is off the table.”

“Yes, because I believed, and still do, in a pony's word; in their promise being what makes them honest. We asked you to promise but one thing, and you broke that promise. That is not something I take lightly. Bee is my wife. We devoted ourselves to each other. We’ve done things that no normal married couple could ever fathom.”

Mister Prim frowned. “You were there, and I have witnesses to her consent to go with the change. That is not going against—"

“Screw the contract—that’s nothing to do with us,” Tabby growled. “You couldn’t even be bothered asking me if I was okay with it.”

Mister Prim huffed. “Is there some point to this, or are you just going to continue galloping around in circles?”

“What I’m trying to say is, you are a selfish, arrogant jackass with a pole stuck up his ass that only cares for money, and not the ponies he employs. Contract or no, you, sir, can go fuck yourself. We’re leaving, and never looking back.”

Tabby did not give Mister Prim a second look as he—and then we—marched out.

Oh Celestia, I love this stallion so much.

The elevator ride was quite awkward, with poor Dewy confused as to why we were finished so early, and why there were two burly stallions escorting us out. Looking back to him, I noticed he had a strange twinkle to his eyes, as if he understood simply by Tabby’s stony expression.

As the lift hit the ground floor, he wished us luck, and I promised him we’d write and keep in contact, but that we were never coming back here.

We were quite literally shoved out the main entrance. I managed to stay on my hooves, but poor Tabby was sent sprawling face-first on the sidewalk.

“Tabby, are you okay?”

He sat up, rubbing his muzzle. “Yeah, I think so. How about you? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

My response was to lock lips in a passionate kiss. There were a lot of reasons why I loved my husband, and I’d come to the realization I wasn’t giving him, or showing him, that passion like I should have been lately.

Little did he know, I had a surprise for him today. Something he’d been hoping for for a long time, something he’d perhaps already given up hope for.

The reveal was supposed to have happened after our last session for the day, but now we found ourselves with the extra time together, although with far fewer bits than I’d like to have had.

I separated from him, his mouth frozen mid kiss.

“Wow… Bee, you sure you’re okay?”

Nodding my head, I helped him back to his hooves.

“Of course. What you did back there… I’m so proud of you, but so disappointed in myself…” My ears fell. I had to look away from him.

“Bee, honey, I know what you were trying to do, but there couldn’t be a solid enough reason to go through with that.”

I couldn’t look at him. I wanted to tell him, but out here on a busy sidewalk was not where I wanted it to happen.

It was this moment I realized passers-by were giving us odd looks, but I paid them no heed. This was none of their business. I could just ignore them.

Tabby, however, would not. We needed to leave here, go someplace else. I needed to come up with a diversion.

“Hey, now that we got this extra time…” I started, looking hopeful.

He looked to me, brow raised.

“Well, we’ve wanted to have a day to ourselves, right? We’ve been wanting to for years, but never could plan it out?”

His brow was still cocked, and he looked at me as if I’d gone insane.

“Bee, honey, we still have one more appointment today. In…” He looked to a turret clock. “Three hours.”

“So?”

“So?” he repeated back, a hint of distress in his voice.

“Yeah, so what? I’m sure if we sent a telegram to Acrylic, she’d understand.”

Tabby continued to gape at me for several seconds, so I placed my hoof under his chin and closed his mouth with a click of his teeth. Brought back to reality, he shook his head. “We can’t just cancel out of the blue. We schedule these appointments weeks in advance. She’s been expecting us for a month now.”

I just shrugged. “We tell her something came up.”

Tabby sighed.

“Bee, look, we’ve just lost our best paying client. We need to make sure we don’t lose another.”

“Do you think she’d drop us for one simple cancellation?” I rolled my eyes, starting to walk away.

Tabby was quick to follow on my right, his hooves clopping against the sidewalk with force.

“I don’t know, you don’t know. She could be understanding, or flip on us like Mister Prim!”

“Technically, you decked him first, so I can kinda see his reasoning.”

Tabby stopped walking. I did also, turning to look back at him.

“Oh wow, I really did punch him, didn’t I?” He looked down to his hoof.

I approached, nuzzling first his raised hoof, then his muzzle. “You did.”

“I’ve never… I didn’t…” he swallowed, eyes getting a watery, misty look, but no visible tears were coming out. “He… he had it coming, Bee.”

I didn’t move, leaving our cheeks pressed alongside each other.

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

Slowly, he pulled away from me to begin walking again. I could still see the hurt in his eyes. Confused, mostly, as the previous weeks' troubles had bled over until he couldn’t take it anymore. He had been hesitant with me, and distant after our fight. The make up sex had helped, and we’d been on the climb to recovery; this morning’s shower gymnastics had been a wonderful change from previous days.

I shouldn’t have done what I did at Mister Prim’s, but I had a reason; I just hoped it was a good enough reason.

Maybe he needs to know, now.

“Are you coming?” He turned around, looking at me beckoningly, although not in the seductive way I enjoyed.

I nodded, and as I approached, something became blatantly clear. I’d noticed some ponies’ strange looks in our direction, but I’d paid them no mind. I probably should have.

“Oh, for Celestia’s sake, Tabby!” I hissed.

His eyes widened in confusion, ear cocked in my direction as I rushed to his backside.

I quickly grabbed the line holding his tail to his leg and bit it off. “You’ve been flagging your tail since we got out! No wonder we were getting weird looks!”

He wagged his now freed tail. “Oh, huh.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t even notice it!”

“I… had other things on my mind.”

I sighed, and rubbed up against his side.

“Besides, not like I could wink at any ponies.”

I slapped his shoulder. “Tabby!”

“What?” he asked, and I could finally see the faint trace of a smile. “I’m not a mare, and I have more self control than most stallions could claim.”

He wasn't wrong; the accidental drop could, and would, happen from time to time, although it was rare for Tabby. Usually other stallions were relaxed, and adopted the trend of wearing clothes in order to help keep some modesty. When our heat cycles hit us mares, we often did the same in order to let stallions know that if the tail was raised but the goods covered, we weren’t interested.

I didn’t have to, cause I had much better control over my tail. I also tended to avoid going out on the bad days, or I took my medicine. My medicine, of course, was Tabby.

Ponyville, however popular it had become in recent years, was not very trendy, so clothes were almost a taboo. The small village also had one thing that cities lacked in an abundance: hard working farm stallions, who’d forgo their modesty to focus on the task. Blood pumping, sweat dripping down their bodies; it was only disrespectful when the curious, winking mares let their hungry eyes linger for too long.

Although, Mayor Mare would usually see an increase in wedding gigs shortly after the season.

Other than the garments sold at Carousel Boutique, it wasn’t uncommon for everypony to normally go completely bare. We had grown used to it, although it took a little bit of time to become accustomed. We’d been used to clothes, hats, fast paced carriages, all of it blending together in the chaos that was a city.

Ponyville changed that.

I dropped the torn string into a trash can along the sidewalk, and we continued walking.

We had a little time to kill before our appointment with Acrylic, and I was able to distract Tabby from his dark mood with the gym equipment at the Sire’s and Roebuck along Fifth Avenue. While he was distracted I took the chance and made my way down to the lobby to make a call using their telephone.

It was strange, using a telephone again. When we’d moved to Ponyville, the lack of such a commodity was at first annoying, but we eventually grew accustomed to using the telegraph system to set up our appointments and mail-order household goods.

“Yes, hello operator. I’d like to be connected with MAnehattan eight-two-two-two-nine.”

“Yes ma’am, please hold.”

I tapped my hoof as I waited for the call to be connected. With any luck, Acrylic will not have begun setting up yet, so at least when I cancel our appointment today she won’t be too terribly upset with us.

The phone clicked, and a voice came through the receiver.

“Hallo?”

“Hi, Acrylic, this is Slot B.”

“Oh, hi there girl! Are you in Manehattan? Oh, of course you are, this is a local call. Are you and Tabs on your way yet? It’s early—did you finish with Mister Prim already?”

“Uh, actually, about that…”

I proceeded to tell her a shortened version of what transpired at Mister Prim’s. I was amazed at how silent Acrylic was for the whole thing, but I couldn’t help but notice the mare at the customer service counter was trying not to eavesdrop. Both of her ears betrayed her curiosity: they were locked in my direction, with only an occasional flicker away. I could only imagine how juicy this one sided conversation was, but I didn’t let that bother me—I had to take care of this.

Tabby needed this, even if he thought otherwise.

“Wow. Bee, that’s... “

“Yeah, I know. So I wanted to ask if—"

“Girl, you take that husband of yours out for a play and dinner and show him how much you love him.”

I was silent for a moment.

“Did I lose you?”

“N-no! No, I’m here. I’m just… I thought maybe you’d be mad.”

“Mad? Girl, you decked one of the biggest pain in the flank artists of Manehattan. I’d kiss you if Tabs was into sharing.”

I couldn’t help but snort. The service mare raised a brow at me.

“I got some other things I can do. How about we postpone our appointment, and you two enjoy the rest of your day. Unless, you’ve got others scheduled?”

“No, you were the last one, so we could catch the early train home.”

“Ah, so you already saw Sketchy then. How is he? I hope he doesn’t still resent me turning down his advances.”

“Oh, no he’s—"

“Ma’am?” the service mare whispered to me. “I’m sorry, but customers are only allowed a few minutes, and you’re well beyond that.”

“Oh, shoot. Acrylic, I’m sorry, I gotta go. We will keep in touch.”

“Alright, take care of yourself Bee. And that stallion of yours. I know he doesn’t have the biggest balls, but it takes some good ones to do what he did.”

“Yeah… I know,” I said, smiling.

“Ma’am? Please?”

“Right, sorry. Acrylic, I have to go now.”

“Alright, I’ll be seeing you girl. Take care.”

“OH! Wait, also, real quick… thank you.”

I could practically hear her smile on the other end.

“Anytime, girl, you know me. Ciao!”

I heard her end hang up, and I hung mine too, passing the phone back.

“Thank you. Sorry I took so long.”

The mare smiled at me and nodded her movements automatically. I couldn’t help but notice the fading blush on the mare’s face as she struggled to keep eye contact with me. Poor mare, she must have gotten an earful.

“I understand. Thankfully my manager didn't wander by.”

I gave a polite bow, then raced back up the stairs to the workout section. Tabby looked like he was barely interested in testing out a bench press. When he saw me rushing back, he quirked a brow.

“What was that about?”

“Oh, I needed to use the little filly’s room, then I went ahead and called Acrylic to let her know we’d be heading out soon.”

“Oh, alright. That’s a good idea. We should—"

I placed a hoof over his lips to silence him.

“Actually, she said she needed to reschedule.”

Again, his brow quirked. “She did?”

I nodded.

“Oh. That’s…” he trailed off, looking around.

“Fortunate is the word I’d use.”

He looked back to me. “Yeah, oddly so.”

I gave him a wide, toothy grin.

Squinting at me, he finally let out a sigh and stepped off the bench.

“Okay, fine, so now we head home?”

It was always easy to know where his mind went at these times of lull. I, however, had other ideas. “Actually… I’ve been thinking—"

“Bee…”

I raised a hoof to my chest, mouth open in mock shock. “I just thought we could entertain the idea of maybe… going out?”

He blinked at me, holding my gaze. I wasn’t sure what was rattling around in that head of his. I expected him to resist, to say he was too tired and mentally exhausted and that he wanted to just go home and listen to the radio.

It was normal for him to have a struggle of this sort. He was always thinking about us, and wanted to do what felt right. He was the stallion, I the mare. He led, and I followed. Sometimes, however, we needed to reverse those roles or we’d spiral into a mindset that neither of us enjoyed playing for some artists.

What finally quirked my own brows, however, was his growing smile. “You know what, that sounds like a grand idea.”

It was my turn to look gobsmacked.

“Uh, I— wha?”

“Well, you said it yourself. We have the time now, what with losing Mister Prim and Acrylic canceling on us. Our train tickets are for later this evening. We could… go out! We haven’t had a nice dinner in ages.”

It was apparently clear, by his grin and hungry eyes, this was something he’d been thinking about for a while.

“Really?” I asked.

He stepped away from the weight bench, walking over to me to rub his side along mine, neck wrapping around my withers. “Of course. I’ve… not been showing it enough, but we need some us time. For better or worse, this was all a blessing in disguise, and we need to jump on the opportunity given.”

I couldn't help but genuinely smile at this, nuzzling his shoulder as he rubbed his neck along the back of my head.

“I love you.”

“And I love you.”

We stood like that for several minutes. Not talking, not moving, perfectly content to just hold each other. The middle of the gym section of a Sire’s and Roebuck was a strange place to have a moment, but I could care less.

The same service mare was there when we walked down, and Tabby asked to use the telephone. She cocked an eyebrow and gave me a curious look, but pushed the instrument and a telephone directory towards Tabby.

Getting last-minute dinner reservations turned out to be a chore, but by the third call he’d managed to find a small Calabrese place just a few blocks from the train station that had a cancelation. It was convenient, so if dinner went longer, we could enjoy the time and not feel as rushed to gallop for the train.

Until then, we had several hours to kill.

Still at the Sires and Roebuck, Tabby got distracted in the appliance area. It was mostly crowded with eager mares looking to spend their significant other’s hard-earned bits on the next best luxury, but we managed to find a few interesting things to keep in mind. I wasn’t as excitable as Tabby over kitchen appliances, but since he did most of the cooking, I didn’t want to shut down his enthusiasm.

The appliance which distracted him the most was a fancy electrical toaster. Thankfully, our apartment had electricity, and the subscription cost was included in our rent. Still no telephone line, but we had managed to live without one this long.

Our toaster back home simply rested over the stove top, and only browned one side at a time. I didn’t mind flipping the toast, nor did he, but I could see the gleam in his eyes. I mentally stored that info for Hearth’s Warming. Do they monogram toasters?

I could see it now: “To the Best Husband and Stillest Standing Stud.”

Tabby gave me a curious look when I started giggling for no apparent reason, but quickly forgot when I kissed his nose. I could feel other mares glaring at us. Jealous of us, because their husbands or wives didn’t shop with them was my guess, even if we were just window shopping.

We left, and I perused at Barnburger’s Outlet for a short time, but clothing really wasn’t my thing since we’d moved to Ponyville. I had plenty of my own in a dust-filled closet from my time living in Canterlot. Accessories, however, were always nice. I made sure to fawn over a beautiful scarf and earmuff set, so Tabby got the message.

Sometimes stallions needed a little bit of guidance.

We eventually found ourselves walking along Broadway Street, where most of the theaters were located. Ponyville didn’t have a proper theater playhouse, just an auditorium where musicians would play, or on weekends a traveling film crew would bring in a projector and we could watch newsreels and picture shows. It was a nice place to go when we had down time, watching and listening to the many talented performers in Ponyville. It was always a treat when we’d get to see our favorite, Octavia Harmony, perform. She was one for the classics, and almost always ended her performace with a very romantic song. We’d cuddle up together, sipping red wine we’d snuck in, and munching on popcorn.

The most excitement we got was when the school fillies and colts would perform school plays. It was cute… but left me feeling hollow. Like, this was something we should both have been enjoying: watching children perform, grow, and learn. Tabby always had this longing look on his face, looking in the direction of the stage, but more or less staring through the foals.

I guess because none of them were our foals, it wasn’t the same.

Dinner, I told myself. For tonight, simply enjoy the company of the stallion touching my flanks with his, rubbing shoulders, and occasional sweet whispers in each other’s ears.

Our teenager-like glee reminded me of once upon a time, when we’d first met, then started to date. Even right up to our wedding-turned-job as we learned the photographer had a side gig, and knew a guy who was looking for some marriage artwork…

That’s how it went from then on. We worked.

That, hopefully, was going to change. Tabby’s attitude at Mister Prim’s was proof of that fact, and now I had to sell it to him outright. I was hopeful in thinking that so far, I was off to a good start.

I noticed lines for many of the theaters weren’t long, other than a few stray couples debating what shows they wanted to see. None of the titles grabbed my attention; these were all older plays that most Manehattanites had already seen.

“Tabby?”

“Yes, Bee?”

“We should see a play.”

He stopped, as did I. I watched him look up at several of the theater signs, studying them.

“Do we have enough bits for a play and dinner?”

I sat on my rump and reached into my mane, and pulled out my bit purse.

“I think so.” I jingled the purse, feeling the weight and making an estimate. “Yes, yes we do.”

He sat beside me, tapping his chin as he looked from the turret clock to the row of playhouses.

“Alright, what do you want to see?”

Replacing the purse, I glanced over at him, then to the one sign that his eyes had darted to momentarily.

“That one,” I said, pointing, not even bothering to look at the title.

He looked, and nodded with a small smile. We both stood, returning to our place along each other’s side, flanks and shoulders touching as we entered.

The Lake House sounded like it would be a nice show.

I was still rubbing the dried tears from my eyes as we left; Tabby carried a small box of tissues in his teeth.

“That was… so beautiful.”

Tabby nodded, not smiling, but not frowning either. I hadn’t started openly bawling like he had, but the play had still left an impact on me.

I couldn’t pass up a moment like this. “Do you think there are any lake houses in Ponyville?”

He froze mid stride, eyes wide, almost dropping the tissue box. I took it in my hooves, trading it for a small kiss on his tear-streaked cheek.

We quickly composed ourselves, and I gave the half-full tissue box to the ticket colt. I knew somepony else could use it. He thanked us, and we left.

It was only a few more blocks to the restaurant: we’d have our romantic dinner and then a train ride home. I wasn’t sure about Tabby, but I was getting tired. This day had gone from ordinary to bizarre, and was now shifting romantic. I couldn’t help but think a day like the one we’d had might one day becoming a script, ending up on a play here on Broadway.

Wouldn’t that be a thing?

Our walking had slowed down, and commuters were passing us as they returned home after a long work day. The public clocks told us it was past five thirty, and our dinner reservation was for six. We should make it in plenty of time. Nothing to worry about.

“I’m sorry Madam, Sir, but we had to cancel your reservation.”

Those were not the words I wanted to hear. “Cancel our reservation? But… why?” .

“Originally, we had a cancelation, so we were able to squeeze you in. At the last minute, they phoned ahead and wished to reinstate their reservation. They paid in advance, so I’m sure you can understand.”

I did, and that’s what bothered me. Back in Ponyville, if this had happened at The Paisley Peacock they would just grab some chairs and set us up outside, so we could still eat. Here in Manehattan, there wasn’t really anywhere to set anypony up other than an alley or the busy sidewalk, but who wanted to have a romantic dinner there?

Tabby let out a sigh, and turned around. “Come on, let’s go Bee.”

I frowned at the waiter. Before we were out the doors, I turned my head around and stuck my tongue out at him. His face was priceless.

When we were back on the sidewalk, Tabby let out another sigh and looked at me.

“Well, should we try to catch the next train instead?”

Tired and drained from the day’s excitement, I was about to say yes when something across the street caught my eye.

Nestled between two larger buildings was a small two-story abode converted to a restaurant, a small neon sign advertising it as Mozzerella's Pizzeria.

I knew we could still have our romantic dinner—its salvation was just across the street.

“How does pizza sound?”

He cocked a brow in my direction, then glanced across the street.

“Oh. That... sure.” He looked at the unassuming brick building, an almost defeated sigh escaping him.

He began walking away from me, towards the crosswalk.

“Hey, Tabby.”

He stopped, looking to me.

“You up for a little more excitement?”

“What?”

I grabbed his mane in my teeth and dragged him onto the street before he could resist.

“Bee! What are you—"

There were no police ponies around, and hardly any wagon or carriage traffic on the street, so why not add a little jaywalking to today’s excitement?

Thankfully, Tabby caught on quickly to what we were doing, and darted with me from lane to lane, avoiding the few carts that passed us. I was whooping and laughing, turning to watch Tabby as he darted around a taxi. Amazingly, not one puller pony yelled at us, although I swore some were rolling their eyes at our antics.

We made it to the other side, where a couple of well dressed stallions eyed us up and down, shaking their heads at our child like giggling and lack of mannerisms. Quickly they brushed us off like we weren’t worth the bother and marched away.

“That was fun!” I panted.

“That was nuts!” Tabby agreed, although his voice betrayed his worried expression with mirth.

I ignored his guilty glances around, no doubt wondering if there was a police pony in eyeshot, as we marched into the half empty pizza place. Right away, by the smells coming from inside, I knew I’d love this place. When I caught Tabby looking at the large wine menu on a chalkboard, I knew he’d love it too.

A young mare approached us, her peach-colored coat clean and brushed; her dark red mane and tail done up in buns.

“Hello! Would you like a table or a booth?” she asked us, a pleasant smile on her face.

I looked to Tabby, and he quirked his brow. I could practically read his mind, reminding me that this was my idea, go ahead.

“Booth, please,” I said.

“Alright! Follow me, please.”

She led us to one of the few booths that lined a single wall. It placed us near the kitchen doors, and I wasn’t sure if I was thankful for being this close, or upset that we’d have to wait on our own order with these smells teasing our empty barrels.

Well, mostly empty, but the time still wasn’t right to tell him.

The young mare placed a single card on the table and I watched Tabby take a seat on the side facing the kitchen doors. I could tell they were both expecting me to take the opposite side so I could face him.

They thought wrong, and I knew this by their surprised expressions when I scooted right in beside my husband, rubbing his shoulder with my muzzle.

Tabby let out a contented sigh, and the waitress a little titter.

“Welcome, and thank you for coming to Mozzarella's Pizzeria. I’m Spicy Sauce, but you can just call me Red—everypony else does. I’ll be your waitress. What would you like to drink?”

I couldn’t help but giggle; the idea of this poor young mare being called either Spicy or Saucy was too much of a cruel joke, and I think she knew this all too well by how she implored us to just call her Red.

“I think we’d like to start with a couple glasses of water, please. We’ll pick a wine when we decide what we’d like on our pizza," Tabby said.

Red nodded, and took off before I could say a word.

“You sound like you already know,” I said, nudging his shoulder with my own.

“I have some ideas,” he said, looking over the small card of specials, “but I figured you’d like to hear some options.”

“Hm… I’m craving… peppers.”

“Alright.”

“And onions.”

“Oh, do continue.”

“Mushrooms.”

“Yes, of course, can’t go without those.”

“Olives.”

“Black or green?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Black it is. Alright, that sounds like their normal veggie pizza.”

“Mmm… I can feel my mouth watering already.”

“Red or white?”

I knew what he was asking.

“I’m feeling adventurous today… let's go with a white.”

“The scandal! My wife, wanting a white wine over a red?” he exclaimed in mock horror.

“You already know what I had in mind, don’t you?”

He just nodded, as Red returned to us with two glasses of water... with cubed ice!

I’d forgotten the little things I’ve missed going from a big city to rural farm town.

“Do you two know what you’d like?” Red asked us.

I nodded, but allowed Tabby to order for us.

“Veggie pizza, with plenty of mushrooms. Eight inch—"

“Make it twelve.”

He nodded. “Twelve inch, and we’ll take a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.”

“Ooooh, very nice pairing. You know your wines.”

Tabby grinned, a message from one wine connoisseur to another.

“And I just love pizza,” I added.

That got a snort from Tabby.

“Well I hope you really love ours. My mama and papa make it fresh, like from the old country.”

“You’re from Calabrese?” I asked.

She shook her head. “My grandpapa and mama were. When my mama married papa, he took to it well, blending in his attention for great wines. Once they realized their connection to pizza and wine, they couldn’t be pulled apart. Then I was born.”

Tabby and I nodded our heads.

“I will be right back with that Blanc.”

And off she went, opening those kitchen doors, allowing the amazing smell to hit us in the face.

I felt a limb wrap around me, and Tabby pulled me in for a tight one-armed hug as he placed his chin on my head.

“This is nice.”

I hummed in agreement, closing my eyes as I melted into him.

Our wine came quickly, but we forewent a toast in favor of me remaining wrapped up in his embrace as we gently sipped our wine. This would be my only glass. I had to pay close attention to these things now.

There were ponies at tables, eating and chatting, enjoying their company and their food. It was what I’d expect in a small establishment like this. Seated at our booth, we felt like we were in our own separate world, only coming back to reality as Red noticed Tabby’s glass was low and refilled it from our chilled bottle. I was taking my time, fully enjoying little sips at my wine, and Tabby was so distracted by our embrace he didn’t notice.

This was what I’d wanted our dinner to be. Slow, romantic, with a little fun mixed in like we were teenagers again. I was glad those other ponies had recalled their reservation.

Hopefully, they were having as good of a time there as we were here.

Our pizza arrived after twenty minutes. For that whole time, we didn’t talk, just shared contact with one another. I couldn’t help but draw in the parallels to our line of work: there, we stood, lay, or sat still in intimate poses, but always found conversation once we were allowed to talk.

This was almost the same thing. Bodily contact, sitting still… just without talking.

Did we really need to talk though? Or was the simple idea of company enough? We’d snuggle on the couch, under a blanket and listen to our radio programs. I always loved Fibbie McGee and Molly, while Tabby enjoyed his guilty pleasure of The New Adventures of Sherclop Pones.

We were usually silent then too. My occasional laugh would break the quiet. Or his remarks about new clues—the narrator often focused on them—and his guesses at the solution. Tabby was right more often than not, and I sometimes wondered if his deliberate way of thinking could have made him a great detective. He always looked so serious listening to the show, trying to tease out meaning. His ears stayed intently on the radio, and he had a cute little scrunch in his muzzle when he was really focused.. In a way, I guess, the company was as entertaining as the shows themselves.

Eventually, I’d had my fill of a little more than half the pizza. Tabby was usually a lightweight when he ate, but I was able to convince him to have that last slice. I knew I could tackle it, but I also remembered I’d stolen his blueberry muffin this morning.

Plates empty, serving tray bare save for a couple of stuck globs of cheese that I’d snag before Red could take it away, and our bottle of wine long ago finished, I felt bubbly, full, and happy.

”You barely touched the wine, are you feeling alright?”

I nodded. “Yeah, just… tired, didn’t want to have too much.”

He hummed, content with my answer.

There was truth to that, but something else far more important, critical, that I couldn’t indulge myself in alcohol now, or for the next coming months.

“I love you.”

His words grabbed my attention. We’d been telling each other that all evening, but for some odd reason, it felt different now.

It was time.

“Tabby.”

“Yes?”

“Remember… I told you there was a reason for what happened at Mister Prim’s?”

His chin pulled away from the top of my head, his foreleg around me slackening. I took this as my cue and pulled away, so we could face each other while we talked.

“I was really hoping we’d put that behind us by now…” he said, ears down.

“I know, but… I figured, just this one time, I could handle it, so we’d have those extra bits.”

He blinked, looking at me confused. “But, what for? Why do we need them?”

This was it. This was the time, the moment.

“I’m sorry, Tabby, for not asking you.”

“Asking what?”

I gulped.

“I knew you’ve been in a bit of a… sour mood lately.”

He shook his head. “No I haven’t.”

I placed a hoof on his shoulder. His ears went flat—for all his deliberate thinking, he wore his emotions like an ugly sweater.

“Since that talk we had, at dinner for our anniversary.”

This time his eyes looked down at the table, and I couldn’t help but feel my heart ache.

It would be worth it, though.

I sucked in a deep breath, then let it out. “I’m sorry I shut you down, but at the time… I think—I thought—that there wouldn’t be a good time in our lives, with our jobs, to have foals.”

“Bee, please stop.”

I shook my head. “No, Tabby, you have to listen.”

“Why do you want to ruin this beautiful evening we’re having? I was a wreck after Prim’s, and then you canceled with Acrylic—"

“I didn’t—”

He snorted. “Oh don’t play coy with me, Bee. I know you. You called her, and canceled our appointment, didn’t you?”

I opened my mouth to retort, and closed it just as quickly. What could I say?

“I thought so. Bee, what’s come over you? What… is it something I did? Something I said?”

“What? No!” I was quick to reply.

“Are you…” His ears shift back, and voice goes low. “I’ve been telling you I love you, and you say you love me. But… do you?”

My mouth hung open, shocked at the direction his line of thinking had taken him.

These words hurt.

I’d been doing a terrible job at loving him, hadn’t I?

“I love you, Tabby. I do. This wonderful evening together, you felt it, right?”

“Yeah, I did, and I followed along because this felt right. But, at Mister Prim’s, why would you—"

“I’m pregnant.” I’d said it. Not exactly in the way I’d imagined in my head, but I’d said it.

Tabby completely froze. Mouth half open, ears focused on me. Not even his eyes shifted to kitchen door, which I’d heard abruptly close from where Red was eavesdropping on us.

It felt like hours before he blinked. Then his mouth closed, he swallowed, and worked his jaw. Finally, he looked at me.

“You’re… you what?”

I could feel tears welling in my eyes.

“I’m pregnant, Tabby. You’re going to be a father.”

His eyes darted around, presumably going over everything that had happened today. It was the same intent, slightly confused expression he got when he was solving the mystery on the radio.

He must have finally figured it out, because his eyes grew wide and he grabbed me by the shoulders.

“You’re… you’re pregnant? Like, with a foal?”

“No, with a toaster.” I rolled my eyes. “Yes, with a foal.”

He kissed me. Hard. I hadn’t felt him press in with so much passion in a long time, months or even years ago when our romance was fresh and new. Today’s actions, I’d hoped, still showed that I love him.

His kiss was my answer, and I felt as if a weight had been removed from my chest, my pent-up anxiety flowing away as we kissed.

A sudden racket from the kitchen perked my ears, and Red came out seeming like she was about to burst with happiness and joy. She was holding a small plate with what looked like a little dessert cake on it, and the first thing I could think was that we hadn’t even ordered dessert.

Tabby and I broke our kiss, looking at the mare questioningly.

“What’s this?” Tabby asked.

“It’s a Congratulations Cake! On the house!”

“What?” I asked, “Why?”

“My ears weren’t fooling me when I heard you’re expecting a foal, yes?”

I nodded, too confused to answer.

“Oh, it just makes me so happy when I see others happy! Is this your first? Second?”

I found my mouth suddenly dry, and Tabby cleared his throat.

“This will be… our first.”

Red literally squealed with glee, placing the desert cake down before us, prancing in place.

“I’m just so happy for you two!”

And like a whirlwind tornado, she rushed back to the kitchen at the call of an older mare’s voice.

We sat still another moment, just staring at the cake, completely lost for words. Then Tabby began to giggle, which was infectious, and before long we were both in a fit of child-like glee. We laughed, while Tabby drew me back in for a hug, holding me tight. Once we calmed down, we grabbed our unused forks and dove into the cake.

It was carrot cake, my favorite kind.

We were briefly introduced to both of Red’s parents, who also congratulated us, although they were less enthusiastic than their daughter. We left the Sauces’ business shortly after, leaving behind a generous tip. I realized, after the fact, we didn’t even tell them our names. In a strange way, I didn’t think it mattered to them, but I felt a bit rude to not have introduced ourselves properly.

When we arrived at the train station, we still had about twenty minutes before our departure time, so we sat on a bench under a single electric street light. That was another thing in the city I didn’t like—Ponyville’s street lamps felt romantic, their flames shifting and changing, waiting for the perfect gust of wind or well-timed pegasus dive to blow it out so lovers could share one another in the dark. Electric lights just shined.

It glared down on us, as if it were waiting for the hammer to drop.

“When?”

The first word from Tabby since we left the pizza place. One I’d expected, too.

“After our anniversary. I realized a few days later that my heat had started early, but we’d been so busy I didn’t notice at the time.”

He nodded. There were still more questions. I decided to try and catch a few of them early. I had to make him understand. I knew what was bothering him the most. I knew he didn’t want to discuss it, but felt like I had to explain myself.

“That’s why we need the extra bits. Why I… was willing to go through with what Mister Prim wanted.”

He didn’t reply, so I let out a nervous laugh.

“I knew I wasn’t far enough along for that stallion to hurt me, or the foal. I almost thought the jig was up when Mister Prim mentioned the lump on my belly. Thought that he’d ruin the surprise, and we couldn’t have a moment like… this.”

He was still silent, although his ears were in my direction. I wasn’t comfortable when he gave me the silent treatment. Sure we’d have fights here and there, but we were able to resolve them with calm discussion.

I felt like this was a one-sided discussion, and I was the one doing all the talking, yet losing regardless; his expression was still like stone, and I couldn’t chip away enough to see what he was really feeling. I wanted to believe he understood. Maybe change the topic back to the foal?

“I uh, realized it a couple weeks ago. I was talking with Missus Cake one day, about some weird feelings I’d been having, and she got this look on her face. Took me into the kitchen to tell me. Then I went to Nurse Redheart for an examination, and she agreed. I was… I am, pregnant.”

If he kept up this silent treatment, I was going to bite him.

“I know you’ve… I know what you’ve wanted, and I felt horrible for telling you no. I thought our work was more important, that we had to make hay when the sun shined, as Applejack always says. That night, we’d drank a little more than we should have, and we’d fought over what we thought mattered most, work or family. I still remember, after the shouting, you brooding on the couch, the radio on to distract you, when I came out of the bedroom, just so angry I jumped you and we got passionate, and it just felt so good and right that…”

I swallowed around a lump in my throat and shifted on the bench. I just wished he’d say something.

“...but then, when I discovered I was pregnant, and realized what was happening to us… I wasn’t scared, or worried. It was like a weight was lifted off my shoulders, like Princess Cadance herself was giving me a sign. This was the time, our time, to be more than a couple. To be a family.

“We’re going to be a family, Tabby. The one thing you’ve wanted for so long, and I think I’m finally ready for it, too.”

Again, silence dragged on, and it was getting on my nerves. I was lining up to bite his shoulder when he finally spoke.

“Are you sure?”

I blinked in confusion, pulling my muzzle away from his shoulder.

“Of course I’m sure.”

He looked to me, the floodgates of tears ready to burst. He wanted this so badly, he had for so long, but I knew something was keeping him reserved.

“Bee, our work…”

That was the one thing that hung me up for so long. That was my worry and concern, while he had always been the one assuring me that we’d find a way through it.

It almost made me want to go in for a bite again… almost.

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it for the last couple weeks.”

“If that’s the case, then why did we go ahead and schedule more jobs? You realize we’re gonna have to start cancelling several months from now. And that’s not saying anything about our clients who don’t want a pregnant mare in the art.”

Honestly, that took me by surprise, and I inched away from him.

“How could you think that?” I asked, tears now coming to my eyes.

I could tell he realized he’d said the wrong thing— his ears dropped and his eyes looked everywhere but to me. He was mulling over how to fix this, I knew this look, like when he’d get the wrong thing from the market and couldn’t decide if he should admit his mistake or hope I didn’t notice.

“Because… I love you, and I don’t want us to have to struggle.”

“We have bits saved.”

“Yeah, but enough to take care of a foal?” He ran a hoof down his face. “And our apartment. It’s so small… too small. We’d need to—" he paused, then his eyes grew wide. “That realtor card.”

I’d been caught, finally.

I’d gotten sloppy with my evening routines, and had left the card out last night when going over our appointment book. I knew we’d have to start telling clients, and start canceling, or blocking out months at a time and I was trying to figure out who and when; what artists wouldn’t care or would still work with us in more limited positions.

“I was looking at some houses, when I’d run errands.”

“Bee, we can’t afford it, not if you can’t work and we’ll have to buy things for the foal, and—"

“Mayor Mare offered me a part-time job.”

He fell silent again for a few moments.

“She… you what?”

I hated the idea of another job, of not working with Tabby, but I knew in the back of my mind that one day would come when we couldn’t do it anymore. We’d have to find other work, and I knew a desk job wasn’t outside of my abilities.

“I saw a part-time desk job on the town hall bulletin board, and talked with Mayor Mare. She said I could have it once I was ready. After I… told you.”

He looked at me, confusion still in his eyes.

“I figure, talking with Missus Cake about when she was expecting, we have maybe another couple months we could work, providing as you said, ponies don’t mind my growing tummy. Then we’d have to stop, or at least, I would.”

This time I saw his eyes widen in surprise, and he was quick to shake his head, determination in his voice as he spoke.

“We agreed, Bee. If one of us stops, we both do.”

The answer I expected, and reinforced my love to him, his loyalty to me, and… just everything about him.

I did, however, have my own reservation to this, as trivial as it seemed.

“I know, but I’m not sure what… else you’d do.”

He turned away for a moment, but I swore his ears perked up as a thought struck him.

“I could go back to my old job in Canterlot.”

I blinked. “Your… old job?”

Looking at me, he nodded, the faint trace of a smile showing. “Yeah, when I was an older colt, I used to model for statues. Then when I hit the proper age, I switched over to the adult industry, because ponies marveled at how still I could stand for hours on end.”

There was more to it that he wasn’t telling me, be it shyness or modesty I wasn’t totally sure.

“Do you think they’d take you back?” I asked, looking to him hopeful.

He didn’t even need to think on this, nodding his head with confidence and a smile.

“I’m sure Mister Stone would, considering the situation. He always told me he’d have a spot for me if I ever needed the work. Of course, he laughed at that, ‘cause he knew—like I did—the art work would keep me busy and pay more.”

That was a fact. I was a Canterlot model for my first couple years before I hit the proper age, and could move up to the more adult arts.

For the first time since sitting down on the bench, he wasn’t all frowns. The slight trace of a smile was on his muzzle. This was good, he needed to hear that his—that our fears would be put to rest. We’d make it work, we had to.

Sex may sell, but love was an investment.

I leaned towards my husband, stopping barely an inch from contacting him. He responded by leaning into me, and we finally connected. I let out a sigh of content, allowing myself to relax and go limp against him.

We watched some ponies boarding the train, slowly filling up the half-empty cars. I hadn’t even noticed the train when it rolled in, I was so lost in our talk. I vaguely remembered there being an ordinance about over use of the steam whistle when in the city, but could we have really missed one or two at a distance?

“This… could work,” he said.

“It will work,” I assured him, my right ear flicking against his neck.

“We’d be taking a serious cut in pay.”

“Mmm hmm. We have enough saved to get us by for the dry times.”

Tabby seemed to be content with that, resting the side of his head against the top of mine.

“Hmm… so did you find a place you like?”

“Huh?” I blinked.

“A house. Did you find one you like?”

“Oh! A few. I talked with the realtor, I forget her name, about a few possible places. They’re all modest homes, but they have a front and back yard.”

It was actually more than a few, but he didn’t need to know I’d been traveling to other towns. Not that he would ever consider moving; he loved Ponyville too much. I did as well, but I also enjoyed seeing the different architectural designs in nearby towns. Touring other homes, seeing how other ponies lived.

“Oooh, that would be nice. I’ve never had a yard, you know?”

I simply nodded; I’d had the same lack of experience. It was always city apartments, condos, or even the basement of an employer. It would be nice to have a small garden, stretch my rusty earth pony magic. Celestia knows I don’t use it enough, and having a couple fern plants in the apartment isn’t the same.

“Hmm. We’d need to put forward a down payment,” he said, shifting so his chin once again rested on my head.

“Of the few I liked, she said she guaranteed none of them were that expensive, and they’re all being sold by local ponies, so they’d work with us.”

Mister Rich was a businesspony first, but he had lots of respect for the workers of Ponyville, and that included us.

He also still owed us a favor for posing for a portrait of him and his gold digging wife, but Tabby could learn who the prospective owners were later.

“Hrm. Well, I guess we’re not gonna be able to go on our vacation like we wanted.”

I felt my ears go low. “Yeah.”

In truth, that was one thing that saddened me about this pregnancy. I’d always wanted to travel, visit places like Calabrese, or Prance.

“Maybe after the foal is born? Get somepony to foalsit for a few days while we go out somewhere.”

“We’d need a foal sitter before too long regardless, when we return to work.”

“Or if.” I felt him shrug.

“If?” I asked.

“Well, we knew this day would come one way or another. Eventually, we’d be shriveled up old ponies whose bodies hold no physical attraction for anypony.”

“Oh, come off it now.” I nudged him with a hoof.

“Then after the foal, you’re gonna be all flabby like—"

“F-flabby!?”

“And I’m gonna get stress marks all over my face like my father.”

I bit his shoulder, although gently enough that he ignored it. “Are you calling me fat before the foal is even born?”

We separated, and I glared at him. Yet, he returned my look with a gentle smile.

“Bee…” he said, softly.

I turned my face away from him, folding my forelegs against my chest.

Suddenly, I felt a hoof touch my barrel. My stomach, where that small buldge had started to form.

“Bee... you’re going to be a mommy.”

I blinked, and slowly my frown shifted upward, turning back to look at him.

Tears were running down his cheeks.

“And I’m going to be a daddy.” His voice was shaky, lips shaking like he was about to bawl.

I started leaning towards him. He leaned towards me.

“We are going to be a family,” I said, and we kissed.

His eyes focused on me, and then closed as we melted into each other’s embrace. We held still for a good couple of minutes, locked in our kiss, until we finally heard the train whistle impatiently. The conductor was rounding up the last stragglers for the nine o’clock to Ponyville, which included us.

As unassuming a couple as we were, the conductor knew us well, and knew where we were bound. He could have waved his lantern and sent the train on its way—the platform was clear—but he waited until we broke our kiss. I got off the bench and started to walk across the platform, towards the waiting train coach.

“Come on, Tabby. Let's go home.”

He wiped his face with a foreleg, nodded, and stepped off the bench.

We didn’t even bother looking for our specific car or seats; most of the coach was empty save for a few half-asleep ponies.

Much like we were, once seated and comfortable.

Tabby sat against the wall, his head rested against the glass. I leaned against him and he wrapped his foreleg around me just as he’d done at Mozzarella’s. I rubbed along his side and released a contented sigh.

The whole train back, we faced ahead, tails intertwined, watching as the city gave way to plains. Our only interruption was the unicorn conductor taking our tickets from Tabby’s hoof, and after that we were left alone. The only sound breaking up our silent breathing was the soothing click-clack of the train’s wheels on the tracks, and the slow heartbeat of Tabby against my ear.

I wasn’t sure if I saw the twinkling gas lights of Ponyville before I fell asleep against my husband, but that was okay.

Either way we looked at it, we were going home, to a new future.

Author's Note

EDIT: Alright, blog posts for chapter one and chapter two are up! Enjoy!