Getting Braeburned

Chapters

The First Part
The Last Part
Epilogue

The First Part

Getting Braeburned

You walk out into the back of ranch, thanking Celestia for the Texas Rangers cap nudged tightly on your head. You still have to squint a little your eyes to keep out the mid-day sun as you make your way to the fence, holding your tray of two sparkling lemonades closely. You chuckle to yourself at how you’ve ended up more as a weird combination of cook, companion, and errand-boy than another simple ranch worker. It makes sense, after all, since some things earth ponies just do better. For a lot of other things, a human comes in handy.

You run through a mental checklist of the other things that you have to do today— from collecting eggs from the chickens to picking up some new hunks of hay. You feel surprised at how you’ve gotten so used to ranch life after growing up in the Texas suburbs, getting your degree in writing and reading through all these poems. Your old self would have pictured this manual labor as enjoyable as drinking lighter fluid.

But life here feels more like a vacation on that desert-y San Diego resort place where your folks came from than pure, mindless ranch work. Braeburn appreciates having someone so tall and with such dexterity in his “handooves”, as Braeburn called them, as well as with the knack for “them fancy mathematics”. Your partnership means a lot to both of you.

You glance left and right for your friend, seeing nothing but a flat mixture of dirt and grass for a while around. Your eyes bounce around the batches of trees and bushes going along the fence, which was such an oddity for a desert town such as Appleloosa. Your mind replays that little speech from Dusk Mites, “the smartest unicorn ‘round these here parts” as Braeburn said, about how whatever magical force brought you to Equestria gave the earth around your then unconscious body an “inverse burn”. For yards and yards around, bountiful green growth sprang up out of nowhere and just kept spreading.

A low moan that you hear snaps you out of your little daydream. You lean over a big bunch of bushes. You spy two sunny yellow hooves sticking out, jiggling a bit. You set the tray down neatly in a patch of mossy rock and move around some branches. Braeburn curls about around the grass, eyes suddenly blinking.

“Ugh, what in tarnation happened this mornin’?” he asks, rubbing his hooves against his eyes and tossing his soft, golden brown mane around. You shrug as you both lock eyes. He grins that funny little “come here, buddy” smile that you’ve gotten used to, and you reach out to pull him up.

“I think you meant ‘what happened last night’, sheesh,” you say. It’s Braeburn’s turn to shrug as he leans up against the fence, flecks of whitewash rubbing off against his worn brown vest. You lean a little to the side and snatch his cowpony hat right out of a young maple’s branches. Braeburn silently hops up and almost magically seems to pop his hat back on his head, his moves still pretty tipsy.

You flash back to your first party in Appleloosa a few weeks ago— a welcoming event that Braeburn had hoped would warm the other ponies up to you. Things didn’t exactly go so well. Both of you could hardly understand why buffalo, dragons, and ponies living together worked more or less okay but a mostly hairless ape on two legs attracted such fear and mistrust. You wince as you recall Braeburn’s drunken arguments on your behalf, five parts embarrassing for every one part sweet. Last night probably was different, instead involving Braeburn’s ceaseless efforts to woo about anything with a pulse and a dress.

“Hey, thanks partner,” he says as he eyes the tray. He leans down, immediately freezing before his hoof even touches the glass. “Aw, shoot!” He gives his side a playful smack of a hoof. “Ah ain’t been gardenin’ this mornin’, even though ah promised… and ah promised again and again. Mah cuz’ is gonna kill me.”

You pick up the glass and hold it right in front of Braeburn’s face. He has to drink something or he’ll start losing it in the afternoon desert heat. He knows that too, and he gulps it down. You do the same. You get the weirdest feeling watching him swig his lemonade, dripping sticky yellow stuff along the sides of his face and into his frizzy mane. Before he catches you just gazing at him, you mosey on down the fence to a big cardboard box full of rusty tools. He follows you a few feet behind, bumping up against the fence posts for support.

You alternate between looking back at him and glaring at the watering cans as you pick them up. It makes sense, of course, for you to feel so attached to that handsome stallion. He had been the first pony to find you. You had lied there on the desert ground barely breathing, helpless and exposed, until he nudged his face right down on yours.

You toss a dull grey hoe over to Braeburn. He fumbles to his hind hooves, but he manages to catch it while making a forced smile as if he’s still feeling alright. His goofy facial expression makes you flash back to that moment five weeks ago when Braeburn splashed his canteen right into your face, snapping you back to life, before giving you the kindest and happiest “Howdy, and welcome!” greeting that you had seen anywhere besides Disneyland.

A few days ago, he mentioned sort of offhand that you had looked “pretty darn cute just sleepin’ there, like a lost rabbit needin’ a home”. That had to explain why Braeburn welcomed you to Appleloosa without any hesitation or anything, treating you as kindly as a Ponyville tourist, unlike the other skittish ponies around you. Still, your feelings towards him have gotten so... complex. It's not just that he gave you a place to stay and a good job to work at. You have never felt such joy from doing nothing more than gazing at another creature in your entire life. Not even your old ex-girlfriend back on Earth made you feel like this.

“Right, let’s get… right to work…” Braeburn says, bringing you back to reality. He steps a little bit over the fence to the other side. You turn around. You tell yourself: whatever odd feelings pop up in your heart, you’d never let it ruin your friendship.

A loud cry causes you to flip around. You see the stallion curling around a fence-post, biting his lip in pain. You drop the canteens and rush over. He winces as you try to pick his left side up and balance him gently against the grass, his vest twisting in your arms.

“Dang it, mah blasted shoulder’s actin’ up again,” Braeburn grouses. He shifts backwards a few inches, his hat falling behind his head and his mane fluttering over his eyes. The scene gives you that same odd, happy-yet-hungry-sort of feeling inside. “Could ya… uh…” He brings his front hooves together, putting on a sheepish expression. His voice shrinks to a whisper. “Massage mah side again? All over?”

You laugh out at Braeburn’s nervousness. You wonder how, three days since his injury with you helping him time and time again, he still feels like there’s something wrong with you just touching him— as if you haven’t been seen playing hoofball together by dozens of ponies before. He seems to calm down just as you get relaxed, and you bring both your hands over to his shoulder. You spread out your fingers and dig them into his body’s light, coarse fur.

“Thanks, partner,” he says. He reflexively stretches his neck and hind hooves out as you keep going. You look over at his jiggling lip on his face, breaths turning into soft pants, and you can’t help but laugh again. He always gets so blasted worked up over such a small gesture. As your hands move on, Braeburn rolls his eyes, and you rub your fingers across in spirals along his left shoulder.

“I’m guessin’ I’ll hafta open up a place right nexta Strawberry Pop’s ‘house of ill repute’ soon,” you mutter, pressing down with both hands as you go from his shoulder along his side and up to his chest. Although a Californian at heart, despite your hat, your sarcastic play on Texan and pony drawls brings a smile to Braeburn’s face.

“Might as well,” he replies, curling in the grass again as you keep massaging, “and getcha some good bits for ya’lls… skills.” He pretends to punch you with that last word, and you hold his hoof with your hands. “It’s just the contrast, partner, that’s all.” Braeburn wiggles and tosses his handsome mane across his face as he talks.

You see Braeburn glance over to the side for you to keep going, and your hands thoughtlessly slide down his hoof along his chest back to his left shoulder. “Contrast,” you repeat. You have a hard time forming a conscious thought as you find yourself moving down inch by inch closer to his face, perched over him with his back to the ground.

Contrast... That word haunts your mind as your massage goes on. You’ve never put it that way before, but it makes perfect sense. It’s not just that your backgrounds and personalities couldn’t be more different. It’s not just that your soft, colder, pale-ish hands— made from flicking around pages of poetry all your life— feel unbelievably nice against his calloused, warm, muscular body— made from years of ranch work— for both of you.

Contrast... It’s not just that you can find endless ways to curl your fingers inside his fur, pressing your palms down and taking in his warmth. It’s not just that his mane seems to naturally want to nestle itself around your skin without you even moving, the golden strands feeling almost like thousands of tiny kisses. It’s not just that a big whiff of his scent from week after week of hard work as well as a good look at that rancher’s tan going around his body gives you the oddest sensation. You know there’s more to it than that.

Braeburn can't hold himself back much more, pants building up louder and louder. Your faces go down inches from each other. His eyes close shut, clearly the pleasure blows his mind. You do the same. You realize that you’re suddenly realizing something, deep inside.

The contrast goes beyond just the sensation of hooves on hands to represent something in your hearts— the fact that you’ve felt so lost, so isolated, so lonely, and so unwelcome ever since popping up in Equestria while Braeburn has been so grounded, so connected, so friendly, and so welcoming. It sounds almost elemental between the two of you, like a hot poker melting a block of ice. You feel so blessed to have him in your life.

“Hey, there!” Braeburn calls out, shifting in place and popping his hat back onto his golden mane. You immediately freeze. Your heart goes from a steady beat to something like a jackhammer.

Your thoughts shoot through your mind like a meteor shower. Oh, no. I took it too far. I’m going too far. You can feel the color draining out of your face. Damn it! We’re both straight, for Celestia’s sake! What the hell is wrong with me, ruining our friendship like this!

“Sorry, I’ve, uh…” you say, so ashamed and barely able to open your mouth. You feel as if someone put freezing wet towels all over your body, sucking the energy out of you.

“Could you, please,” Braeburn interrupts, jostling all four of his hooves around with grass torn out of the ground. You look back into his big, sweet eyes. The stallion perches his hooves up in a submissive pose as he goes on. “Please, partner, just… keep goin’…” He glances down at his body. “Keep touchin’ with those talented handooves, but not just mah shoulder. Everywhere.”

“Sure,” you say. You take a deep breath, and you run both hands slowly down his chest, fingers curling left and right. He rewards you with a low grunt. You press both hands down, and he smiles once again. The smile fades a few seconds later, however, and you can tell that something inside him seems to tell him that what you’re both doing is wrong.

“Braeburn,” you say, clasping your hands against the sides around his belly. You get a good look into his eyes, those giant pools of green that you want to just dive into and feel sheltered by forever. “You don’t have to hold back anymore.”

“Anymore…” he mutters. You can see his chest heaving, his heart beating like crazy at the same time.

“I’m yours,” you say as you press your arms onto him, “I’ve always been yours. Whatever you want from me.” You take a gulp, watching as the low breeze flutters around Braeburn's flowing golden mane.

Braeburn bends his head up. You hesitate, but you suddenly can’t believe your eyes. You see him cry a little. Your hands reflexively go up his neck over to the sides of his head, his wonderful mane dancing along your wrists.

“TOUCH ME!” Braeburn screams. You recoil back for a second before he clutches your arms and legs with his hooves, drawing you in. You scrape your fingernails down the sides of his cheeks to the back of his neck, and he purrs almost like a tiger. “Touch me! Touch me! Oh, dear Celestia, don’t you stop… touch faster… touch harder…” He jerks around left and right as you flick against him. “Use those talented hands of yours, oh, please! Please! Your hands! Haaaaaaaaaannnnnddddsssssss!”

You watch drool pour out of his mouth as you obey. Whatever separation between the two of you has completely disappeared, and you feel every last inch of him that you can think of. Your fingers nudge inside his mane, behind his head, around his back, down his sides, and up his front hooves.

Time becomes meaningless. Braeburn seems to totally lose it— mouth hung open, eyes popped out, and shivers erupting through him every few seconds. His rhythmic grunts feel like perfect music to your ears. You keep going, knowing in the back of your mind that something will happen very soon that could bring everything to a screeching halt once again. You couldn't care less. You've never felt such affection for someone else for a long, long time.

A little gooey splash suddenly rubs up against your shirt. You freeze. Braeburn lets out a loud cough, and he throws his hooves against the ground. You stand up straight, knees buckling, as Braeburn backs up against the fence. You can barely look at him anymore; you totally focus right down on your midriff.

Right there, right on the bottom blue circle of that three-colored mod target on your ‘The Who’ shirt, sits a small white stain. You hold the side of your shirt with your left hand as you touch the stain with your right hand. It feels like an out of body experience, everything moving slowly underneath a translucent white light.

You hold up your fingers before your eyes, rubbing the sticky stuff on your thumb. You know that feeling— something similar to how you ended most lonely girlfriend-less nights that you had back on earth. Yet it’s so, so different right now.

Braeburn came. At least, he sort of came. He dripped some pre-cum on you. On you.

You force yourself to breathe, your head swimming in raw emotion. You shut your eyes tightly. You hear Braeburn panting besides you, but you force that out of your mind.

“I have a stallion’s semen on my shirt,” you mutter.

A stallion.

A male pony.

Male.

Pony.

Semen.

You let out a faint scream, scraping your fingers against your shirt. You feel yourself falling down to the ground, and your legs swing over to smack the fence. You flash back to the bullies in High School, taunting you.

“You a fag, paint chips?” you hear them holler. You got over the “anti-tard” nickname “paint chips”, it doesn’t hold up very well now when applied to a Phi Theta Kappa member. Yet ever last little “fag” burned into your subconscious like a nail onto a mental chalkboard forever. Your mind replays all those conversations with your parents, ranging from “Don’t get that cellphone color. It’s too swishy.” to “Don’t bring up your aunt by marriage into this. There are no queers in our family.” to “That haircut’s too gay.”

You force your eyes open. What you see makes you feel even crazier than all of those inner voices. Your eyes lock along Braeburn’s belly. Your eyes slowly move down his thick, dark brown rod over to his fuzzy golden-brown balls. You take a deep breath as you look back up his two-and-a-half foot colthood at the tip, little white drops still coming out of the end.

“Please, partner,” Braeburn says, clearly just as overwhelmed as you, “Sorry, ah just feel deeply sorry.” He curls his head down, tears beginning to form beneath his eyes. "Ah know that you're... you're not ah... ah... one of those..."

You open your mouth to say something, but you can’t even think. You tell yourself that you shouldn’t feel this way. Your subconscious screams at you that to feel this way about another guy is despicable, going against everything that you thought as you grew up, but for it to be another horse, with a horse’s own parts in the mix, is simply insane. Whatever the ponies in Equestria do, the authorities on Earth would lock you up for even talking about such a thing.

You shut your eyes again. You walk over to Braeburn Out of nowhere, some little spark of conscience bubbles up from deep inside. Like a DJ’s set starting over a huge party, that one voice overcomes all of the niggling little doubts in your mind. Eyes still shut, you sit right in front of Braeburn. You hear him breathing hard and feel his back hooves now curling against your legs, your own feet digging into the dry grass.

“Just open your eyes,” you whisper, so quietly that you can barely even hear it yourself, “And whatever you think, what your true heart thinks of him deep down, will be what you think forever.” You take a huge breath, so deep that you can smell Braeburn’s rancher’s scent once again. You open your eyes.

He looks every little bit as handsome and charming as the moment you first met him, when he rescued you for no reason other than the goodness of his heart. You focus on those angelic eyes once again, sparkling in pure beauty just like two big emeralds. Your eyes move down his muscular, rugged face to his warm smile. He can feel you now. More than that, it seems as if his thoughts and yours and vise versa. You look up at his mane, blowing as if on cue through the gentle breeze. You take in his wonderful body, wearing that rustic big vest of his that you always made fun of but kind of envied.

You can't even begin to describe him with all the poetry that you've read. You could label him as a 'guy', a 'horse', a 'pony', or anything else in the dictionary. None of that really means anything. All that you care about is that Braeburn is the most beautiful thing that you've ever laid eyes on. Whatever way with words you have, all that comes to mind is the horribly cliched three.

"I love you."

Braeburn opens his mouth to respond. Not even a second has gone by before you shove your face into his. Your lips lock, and you drink in that wonderful taste of his: apples, not sugary and sweet but savory and deep. He puts his hooves around your neck, and you grip them hard, squeezing so intensely that he nearly winces in pain.

You kiss again and again, feeling such a build-up as if a volcano would go off inside of you. You move your arms around and press his body close against his, feeling his rock-hard colthood bounce up against your belly and chest. Somehow, it only makes you want to kiss even deeper. You twist your heads left and right as you make out, feeling his mane rub all over your head and groaning from the pleasure.

As your hands move down to Braeburn's sides, he starts running his tongue inside your mouth. The taste just builds up. You return the favor, and you almost feel your mind begin to melt. Your ex-girlfriend was nothing compared to this handsome wonder. You begin pressing him down against the grass, propping his body back in that wonderful supplicant pose.

The kissing continues, but you just know that you have to move on to something more... something especially satisfying. Even through your thick shorts, you feel the thing between your own legs pressing up against Braeburn's colthood. He seems so warm, so hot that you almost feel burned while touching him.

You suddenly break the kiss. Braeburn gazes back at you, a slimy trail dripping off from his open mouth to your lips. He lets out a soft whine for a moment before he watches your head tilt down. You shiver as if by reflex as you eye his throbbing colthood. You hesitate, mind totally blank, as Braeburn just nods. You reach out. You grasp it with both hands like a baseball bat.

Braeburn lets out a huge scream. You feel snapped out of the situation for a moment, hands still holding down firmly. He jerks around for a moment, hooves flailing before they lock against your chest and belly.

"Is something the matter out there, Braeburn?" hollers out Truffles Treats from the house across the field.

"Nope!" the two of you yell back simultaneously. You both remain perfectly still for a painful twenty seconds until Truffles calls out something mostly unintelligible. You hope that that will be the end of it.

You cough. Braeburn twists a bit to the side, and you let go of him. You both look sheepishly at each other.

"The barn locks, right?" you both say at the same time. You both nod, and you speed down along the fence as fast as your hooves and feet will carry you.

The Last Part

It all sounds like something out of a silly 60s pop tune, but it's true: you find yourself running out as fast you can. Somehow without stumbling over, Braeburn and you manage to hold on to one another's hand (or hoof). You try to get away in the still early morning, tossing open the doors to the ancient barn. You hear something click behind you, feeling satisfied that there's no other way in. Darkness drips all through the empty space with just a few strands of sun darting every which way.

You put your arms around him, and you both stumble to the ground, hay flying everywhere. You drink in that handsome face of his, better than usual with the messy hair all tossed about mixed in the hay. A shot of sunlight lights him up like an angel, your angel. You hold him a little tighter as you whisper, "I think we're alone now."

"There doesn't seem to be anyone around," he says back, shifting himself down with his vest opening up.

"The beating of our hearts is the only sound," you whisper. You reflect for a second the oddity of this being 'our song', thinking back to how much you miss your old iPod that Twilight Sparkle had confiscated for Canterlot-based analysis. Braeburn loved playing with it before the battery started to drain. You press against his chest, and you feel his heart going just as crazy as your s.

Braeburn lets out a cute little groan. You find that you've already, without even thinking, moved your hands under his vest and massaged them down his throbbing colthood. You look back at each other, love almost dripping from his eyes, and you kiss once more. Your hands stroke up and down his rod, forcing his body through sudden spasms of pleasure. You make out once more, falling totally into his embrace. You can't believe how wonderful those hooves of his feel against your arms.

Something between your legs starts to feel really jealous. You feel Braeburn's own colthood pressed up against your shorts, and you can't take it for one second longer. You break the kiss as you rip down your shorts and briefs, tossing them on the patch of muddy hay besides you. Your naked half presses all against Bareburn's thighs, and you feel these tingles going up all up your sides.

Braeburn's own hooves curl down your shirt, pulling it up slowly. You almost grit your teeth at the sensations, the contrast between his rough, coarse hooves and your softer chest and belly driving you out of your mind. Braeburn moves the shirt around the back of his back, and you kiss him all over, moving from lips to neck to cheeks to chin and onward.

He suddenly stops you, and he says, "Ah got an idea..." You just nod. You gaze as he slinks left and right, his vest and hat dropping off to your feet. He kicks himself back, even more hay fluttering around his sweaty yellow body. You smile as he fits your shirt on. He reaches up and tries his best to fit your baseball cap onto his flowing golden locks. You curl his raggedy cowpony vest on your naked body, surprised at how well it fits. Stretchy...

You giggle as Braeburn knocks his hind hooves down into your shorts. He pulls it several feet up, stopping as his huge colthood and fuzzy tentacles stick out from the open fly. You both smile at each other before you place his cowpony hat on your head, moving with phony grace and preciousness as if you're crowning yourself with regal honors.

"Ready to get bucked, partner?" you say, curling your eyebrow and digging your front right hand into the ground just like he would. Braeburn laughs. "It's what we do in these here parts, little mista hooman." You laugh yourself at the drawl you put on.

"Like, go for it, brah," he says back, rubbing his hooves absentmindedly against your huge black shirt and scratching his hoof against the side of his face just like you would.

You don't know why, but you've never seen a greater turn on, and you know you never will. The whole scene makes you feel hard as a diamond, and Braeburn's thing looks just the same. Still, something bugs you in the back of your mind. You glance around in the barn, eyes bouncing from empty box of tools to empty barrallels to rusted, old carts to the butter churn in the corner.

"You know, I've never..." you mutter, mind racing as you feel a pang of hesitation once again, "been with... another guy..." Or with a pony, for crying out loud! You feel a lump in your throat. "Getting the parts to... fit..." You feel so naughty and wrong even saying those words.

Butter!

You suddenly get up and walk over to the churn. You drag it over to Braeburn's spot as he waits, panting ever so softly and mouth open in suspense. Damn, he looks more handsome every second. You yank the top off and rub the delicious creamy stuff all over your hands. It soon goes all over your arms and chest, but you couldn't care less. You glance over at Braeburn's colthood, lined up perfectly on top of that big three-color mod symbol on your shirt he's wearing.

You hop forwards and pounce on him. Your dripping wet hands slide up and down Braeburn's rod. He moans and moans, tingles of pure joy coursing through him as you twist your fingers around. He leans his head down and bites the top collar. You feel pretty dizzy almost, your hands starting to move like machines without any real control from you.

You start pumping along his shaft pretty fast. He's breathing hard, and you find yourself leaning over with your face lined up right above the head of his colthood. He simply nods before biting harder against the shirt. You stare a little at Braeburn's thing, pre-cum pooling out at the end. Your subconscious mind screams at you how a good straight kid would never even dream of this moment. I guess there's... no turning back... You close your eyes.

*Slurp*

Ripples of what feel like electricity move through every inch of your body. Braeburn's own rancher's scent of savory apples, his almost sweet, gooey pre-cum, and the delicious butter slipping everywhere all combine to give you the smell and taste of a lifetime. You smother his colthood with kisses, your tongue moving all around the head and starting down the shaft.

Braeburn rewards you with a crescendo of huge moans. His hooves smack against your skin, rubbing up and down in total abandonment. You keep on kissing his rod, and you feel each other locking into an even tighter embrace. Braeburn shifts his head over and begins putting his own kisses onto your neck. You slurp over and over again, wondering if you'll really go for it.

Braeburn finally digs his hind hooves into the hay. He pushes you down against him, with your own pulsing thing between your legs now rubbing up against his balls. You go ahead and push your mouth forward, taking in all of the tip of his colthood. You can barely take it, trying not to gag and feeling as if you can barely even breathe.

The move causes Braeburn to scream. He litters kisses all over your neck as you keep on sucking. Your hands keep on twisting about his rod, butter now coating all over both your bodies. You slurp up his pre-cum, and you feel his body start to shiver and contort.

You can hardly take even a few inches of him in your mouth for another second, so you lift your head up and rub your tongue across his shaft. Your hands pump faster along and begin squeezing. Braeburn seems to be going into another world, his eyes glazing over and his body buckling. You swing your hands along his shaft as fast as you possibly can as you give the head one last sloppy kiss.

He calls out, making a gigantic grunt. Sticky goop fills the inside of your mouth and pools around your lips. You lock eyes with him as he makes a torrent of pants. You see through his eyes, the stab of pure pleasure straight through his mind taking Braeburn to paradise. He suddenly looks back at you. You throw your face against his.

*Smooch*

He wraps his hooves against the back of your head, and you do the same with your hands. Gooey stuff drips in between your mouths. You've never seen this outside of some especially kinky porn films, but now you know why they do it. Feeling him lap up his own seed, knowing that you're sharing it with him with total abandonment, and sensing that there's no longer any separation between the two of you... it all feels too much.

You shift your legs about. Your own rod, desperate for attention, rubs up against Braeburn's. A warm sensation shoots right through you. You make a little whine, sounding almost like a lonely, abandoned kitten. Braeburn suppresses a laugh, knowing how embarrassingly feminine you sound right now. He rubs his body backward, hay now coating all over him.

"Ah ain't gonna leave you hangin', not without me more than returnin' the favor, partner," he says, and a nervous look goes over his face.

You gaze, heart somehow beating even faster than before, as Braeburn slides the shorts down his hind hooves. He flicks his hooves up. He wiggles his tail up around his plot, the fluffy golden-brown thing seductively curling along between his legs. Your eyes narrow like a lazer beam down along Braeburn's body to his flanks. You take a deep breath as you stare at the thing you've never seen before: Braeburn's small, puffy tailhole. You bite your lip.

You reach to the side, pulling over the churn besides you. Butter coating everywhere between your legs and all along your hands once again, you position yourself right atop the stallion. Your hands run down from his balls to his tailhole. I'm... I'm going all the way, now. That's it. This is it. Your left hand delicately cups around his balls as your right hand hesitates.

You close your eyes, breathing stopped, and you nudge a few fingers inside. It's Braeburn's turn to squeal like a girl. You push the fingers a little deeper. He pants loudly, jiggling his body left and right. You pull your fingers out, and you open your eyes again. You glare at your butter-soaked, but otherwise normal-looking fingers.

You shift around your knees, now lined up perfectly. You take a gulp. Both Braeburn and you shiver with nervousness. You rest your hands against his chest, heaving hard.

"I love you," you say, without thinking.

*Thrust*

You can't even being to explain the pleasure. You press forward, inch by glorious inch, until you find yourself totally inside him, flesh to flesh. You throw your mouth open, and you moan uncontrollably. You sense something like thousands of rippling sparkles popping off inside your mind. You buckle down, face to face with the stallion.

You drink in his handsomeness. You can't help but cry. You've never felt so happy in your entire life. His little breathes, sounding off like a jackhammer, just seem so cute. You pull out slowly, hands thoughtlessly rubbing all across Braeburn's body and stopping at the base of his colthood.

You shove yourself forwards again. You pump back and forth. You slip into another world, something pure and something animal. You can't bear to just gaze at Braeburn's perfect face one second longer, and you give him a passionate kiss. One kiss becomes another, then another, and another still. Your rod moves deeper and deeper, somehow, into his tender body.

You make out with hands and hooves exploring all over. He shoves his tounge as far as he can into your mouth, and you return the favor. If you could think, you'd marvel at the crazy scene: a six foot three man dressed in a cowpony vest and hat rutting a five foot long stallion wearing a baseball cap, The Who shirt, and Dockers Shorts. Of course, you can't think at all. You're going by pure instinct, giving yourself into the endless waves of pleasure.

Whether it's the kissing, your hands along his colthood, his hooves along his chest, or your thing nestled inside his plot, you know that you'll lose it any second now. He can feel it two, and he tosses his hind hooves against your back. The pulses build up deep inside you. You throw your hands against his front hooves, fingers digging deep into his fur. You lean your head back, and you give that one last kiss: something sweet and almost innocent, like a husband and wife kiss.

Time stops. Your mind sails away to heaven for a while. You immediately find yourself back in an Appleoosa barn, flipping your body to the side. You blink. Everything goes white for a second.

*Clang*

"Wait, what the hell is going on?" you yell out. You hear loud knocking, and the sound of metal clicking against wood. You reflexively stand back up. You throw your right hand in front of you eyes. Oh, no... oh... NO! NO!

"Braeburn, what in Celestia's name have you," Truffle begins, slamming her portly green plot against the side barn door, "Been... doing..." She curls her head over and takes a good look at the two of you, now totally bathed in sunlight.

Your eyes flicker around the older mare's face, her short white mane frozen in place from shock and her eyes as big as dinner plates. You glance back at Braeburn, white and yellow goo dripping across his plot onto your shorts that he's wearing. You look down at yourself, naked except for Braeburn's vest, hat, and a very pained, forced smile.

"Good... morning..." you say. Truffle remains motionless, and Braeburn just shakes his head. The two ponies and you look out behind Tuffle at a white unicorn hopping up all of a sudden.

"Darling, I simply said that I had to meet Twilight's unusual new friend post-haste," she says, eyes closed as she steps into the barn, "I also need to relay the... news..." She opens her eyes, facing right at you. Your eyes dance around the white unicorn, her flowing blue mane fluttering in the wind.

You cough nervously, still not sure what to say. I've seen her before, haven't? She's the naggy friend of Twilights. Rarity? The girl that Twilight's pet dragon is boinking, or so his diary said...

"If you please excuse me," Rarity snaps, irritation coursing through her face as he twirls her head, "I'll be waiting at the house until you two are presentable." She lays on the venom with that last word.

"Oh, for Celestia's sake," you scream out, walking over as you hold Braeburn's hat in front of your junk, "You're with a dragon." You shake your fist in the air as Rarity walks off through the field, doing her best to ignore you. "You're screwing a cold-blooded reptile! At least Braeburn and I are both MAMMALS!" You see Rarity holding her hooves over her ears.

You turn back, seeing Braeburn holding Truffle. She seems to have gone into shock, her face totally immobile. You swing your head around while touching your chest. Braeburn gets the picture, and he tosses you over your clothes.

The next few frantic moments involve you both picking up Truffle, moving her to a nearby trough, and splashing water across her face. She snaps right back to normal in a second. Surprisingly, she spares you both a lecture. You lean down, holding Braeburn against your side as the old mare simply walks off towards the house and mutters curses under her breath.

"Not exactly the happy ending I was looking for," you mutter, shoving your hands into your pockets. Braeburn rubs a hoof against your leg. You lean down.

"Next time," he says. He gives you a sweet kiss on the cheek. "Ah'll see ya'll in mah own room."

You smile.

The End

Epilogue

This is an optional epilogue describing what could happen when the main story ends. Please note that this is a little bit bittersweet compared to the main story.

A long while later...

Your eyes grow to what feels like window size as you stare into the glowing abyss. Streams of yellow sparks dance across a shimmering array of bright green dots. Your inner instincts tell you to feel terrified, but your conscious mind keeps replaying what Princess Celestia has spent the past few hours telling you. You glance up at the cavernous walls of Celestia's Canterlot palace. You can't help but sense that you'll be going into a spiritual execution.

Of course, you can't stay. Celestia told you as such. Rarity told you as such. Even Braeburn, for all that the whirlwind romance of the past month has meant to you both, has admitted under the influence of a lot of moonshine that he knows you'll leave sooner rather than later... although he spun a different yarn while sober. With the sudden thought of that particular golden-maned stallion, you feel a cold chill across your heart.

You turn completely around. The collection of ponies all seem to have about the same flat smile, plastered in different ways across their different faces. A little bit of anger flashes through your mind. Why? Why aren't they crying? Won't they miss me? You keep on looking backward, even as you move your legs back and march towards the magical abyss. You hear the low hum of the spell, going all through your body from your toes to your nose.

You feel so hurt that you can barely open your mouth. Your conscious mind has already flashed through dozens of perfectly sound reasons-- from your family that you love being worried sick for you back on Earth to the odd little mutations inside your own body from exposure to Equestria magic, possibly fatal over too long a time-- for you to be where you are now. That doesn't make leaving any less painful. Appleoosa, Braeburn right at your side, is more than home to you; it's like a sort of Garden of Eden for you to frolic about with the best friend you've ever had. "Goodbye," you say to the ponies.

From Applejack to Celestia to Twilight and the rest of them, they all say "Goodbye" back to you. It suddenly hits you as you gaze at Celestia's motherly expression, with those big, soft eyes. They're trying to keep from bawling too. They can barely take it as well. You take notice of the pain, and some kind of profound understanding flashes between you and that beautiful alicorn.

"It doesn't mean forever," Braeburn says. Your eyes drop down to the familar stallion, those wonderful, sparkling green eyes of his looking as big as yours. You keep saying that. Celestia keeps saying that. What the hell does that mean? Please!

You think of a response, but the yellow sparks already start to shoot across your body. You take a sudden breath as your senses go blank. It feels too much like dying, pure bright light overwhelming each of your senses. You somehow sense that you're flying, off away towards Earth somehow.

You find yourself flashing back, almost like watching yourself a big cinema screen, to three days ago. You see yourself lying alongside Braeburn on a mound of dirty hay, both of you panting from having just re-consummated your love. You see the other you looking the stallion eye to eye and noticing an oddly reserved, distant expression. You didn't quite understand what that meant at the time.

You suddenly flutter against something... something gritty, but not still too hard. You blink. You first sense the taste. It's absolutely awful. You realize that you've bitten your lip, and that's already mixed up with this omnipresent smell of rotten eggs all through your head. You force yourself to stand, totally dizzy. You find yourself backed up against cold, damp bricks. Breathing in a smog filled patch of you, you shut your eyes completely. You hear a torrent of cars honking, swerving, and splashing through rainy roads off in the distance.

"I left Equestria... for this?" you grouse. You try to snap yourself fully awake, but you slip instead back out of consciousness and right into your memory of your last special time with Braeburn. Now, your flashback feels one hundred percent, completely real, like stepping into a time machine.

You gaze at that handsome face, his golden-brown mane curling across his cute chin and up his cheek. You replay what you said to him back then. The words come out so naturally, so easily, despite having all the power in the world.

"You know something?" you ask Braeburn, reliving that moment from a few days ago, "If you were..." He slinks a few inches closer to you, his muscular hooves rubbing up against your chest. "If you were human... and if you were a girl... I'd..." You gulp. "I'd ask you to marry me."

You relive that moment back when Braeburn just smiles and rubs his head against yours. Thoughts suddenly speed through your head like bullets against a paper target. Braeburn! Why did you lead me on! Why didn't you ever tell me that I had to get back to Earth soon or else I'd turn into some horrible pony-x-mutant thing from too magic exposure? Or that Celestia accidentally sent Twilight to Earth as they studied where I came from? Or how Twilight ever did get back? Or why everypony now feels somewhat afraid of Twilight? Or why Twilight looks like she just lost a fight with a pony-sized cheese grater? You grit your teeth. Why didn't you tell me I couldn't be with you!

Looking back, you have a thousand questions that should have been answered. Yet pretty much all Braeburn told you was that Celestia wanted to take care of it all. Then, as you stepped into the Canterlot Castle towards her royal laboraotry, Celestia just kept on babbling that "Earth is partially safe, unstable ground for ponies", "You have to say goodbye", but "Goodbye doesn't mean forever." Whatever that all means, dammit! You jiggle your head around. Past, present, and future just squish into one big mush in your brain. You wonder if you're even alive anymore.

*Splash*

You swing your arms in the air, jerking away from the wall. You step to the left. You look down at your drenched shirt and over at the bike messenger, now disappearing into the empty horizon.

"Hey, I'm walking here! I'm walking here, you dick!" you shout, giving the one-finger salute. You pause. "Well, I'm back on Earth..."

Three days later...

You make the lonely trek up your apartment stairs. You stop to glance at your reflection in the window. You look pretty tired. Of course, you had to be tired, forty-eight hours of pure hell plus twenty-four hours of a weird re-adjustment back to your previous life. You never were a political guy, but going from a state-wide missing person smothered in hugs and kisses to a virtual non-person shuttled from DoD office to DoD office like a prop without freedom or rights will probably make you a cynical for life.

You fumble for your keys in your big poofy greyish-white jacket. I can't thank the DoD for this, at least. You feel a lot more comfy not being tied up inside it and an eyeless black hood over your head. You yank the door open, mosey a few feet inside, and you collapse onto the couch. You lean over to kick the door shut before sighing.

You told them the complete and total truth, sparing no detail from the moment you woke up in Appleoosa to that goddamn bike messager. Those people, standing above you as you sat in those cold, grey rooms with handcuffs on, looked on you with the emotions of mall manniqueins. Even as you described fumbling your hands around Braeburn's plot, they just kept on asking questions. They just kept on prodding. The tests. The drugs. The needles. Those cold, gloved hands.

You smack your hands against your face, determined to put all that behind you. We came to an understanding. I accept their little story of being kidnapped by the mob, and they leave me alone. You throw your coat to the side. You dig yourself back into the smooth big couch, eyes closing.

"Hey, there!"

You seem to pop three feet straight up. Your head flies around every which way before you immediately make out some commotion from inside your bedroom. You scurry over, heart going like a jackhammer. You fling the door open.

Braeburn steps off of your bed, his mane tossing in the air behind him. He leans back and grins. You feel so overwhelmed that you can barely breathe. You should say something. You should clear things up. Yet you can't think to do any of that.

Your heart screams out for one thing, and one thing only. You leap through the air and grab Braeburn. Both of you collapse onto your bed. Before he can put a word in, you shove his face forward and kiss him. You've never kissed anyone else this passionately before, arms digging into Braeburn's neck and pushing him into your embrace, and you know that you never will again.

He curls his head back and forth. You just want to be a part of him almost... or make him into a part of you. In seconds, you find yourself running kisses across his chest and clasping your hands onto his front hooves. You stop to just lay your head against his chest. You let out a happy sigh.

"Ah said it didn't mean forever, partner," he says, nudging his hooves against the back of your head. You open your mouth to say something, but you feel so wonderful that you just can't keep from crying. "Ah can't stay very long... you saw from Twilight that things are still rough between ponies and human fellers in general, 'cept you." You feel him curling his bottom hooves up your legs. "But ah can't keep poppin' in ya'lls place from time to time. Like every other day. Promise"

"I'll see you every other day..." you begin, a dark feeling coursing up your chest like mercuriy in your veins, "for how long?"

Rather than reply, Braeburn pulls you up onto the bed. You're totally perched over him now. You make matching smiles. Braeburn puts his cowpony hat over your head, slowly and dramatically. "Ya'll should know," he says, breathing that savory taste of apples onto your face as he talks, "that if'n ya'll were a mare... ah would ask you to marry me."

You kiss.

"I do."

The, uh, other end

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