“WANTED: Farm Hand Position. Must be able to lift, push, and carry heavy loads. Apply Within”
That's what the sign reads on the wall beside the door to her house. You glance at it one more before summing up the courage to knock. You'd been preparing for this moment for weeks, and now it was time. You'd rehearsed your lines, anticipated every possible outcome and development, and even prepared yourself against every possible answer. And now, there is no turning back.
You’re asking your biggest crush, Applejack, out on a date.
You reach out and knock hard, and suddenly realize that it sounded a lot louder than you thought it would. There's a rush of feelings in your mind: worry that she might hear you and answer, desire for her to do so, concern that someone else might answer and create an awkward scene (in spite of how you've worked that out in your mind; you'll simply tell them that you're a friend from school asking about a homework assignment), among other things.
The rush of feelings grinds to a halt as you hear footsteps behind the door.
The panic intensifies, and you now find yourself hoping that anyone but Applejack answers, at least giving you a little extra time to mentally prepare yourself. At most, you could say you have the wrong house and run as far away as you can. You also cling to the hope that she's not home, so you won't have to deal with the potential failure. She is, after all, probably the most perfect girl you know. The temptation to turn and bolt is strong enough to move you away from the door, but you hear the footsteps get closer. There's no wimping out at this point. It's now or never.
At last, the door opens, and when you see who answers, you feel your heart hammer in your throat. Applejack herself stands in the doorway, her eyes widening slightly when they find you.
She greets you cheerfully by name, “Howdy, there. Somethin' I can help you with?”
That's when you draw a complete blank. Every scenario you'd prepared for, every phrase you'd practiced speaking—almost every English word you knew—suddenly goes out the window. And for just a brief moment, you stand there and stare before replying with a stammer, “Uh . . . h-hi, A-Applejack . . . .” You can feel your face get warm, and you realize then that, if you were somehow standing outside your own body, you would promptly slap yourself right in the face for your idiocy.
Applejack chuckles a bit uneasily at your answer. “Uh, howdy,” she repeats with a touch more emphasis, “uh . . . what can I do ya for, partner?”
Shivering slightly, you make the attempt to ask her, just as you had planned. “Uhh . . . I j-just . . . I w-wanted to ask . . . I-I wanted to a-ask . . . ask you if . . . a-ask you i-if . . . .”
The orange-skinned beauty leans in a bit, her own eyes starting to show a bit of concern. “Ask me what? What're ya tryin' to say?”
Despite your inability to speak coherently, your consciousness is still running at full speed—and it makes you realize that the plan is failing. You glance around, trying to keep your panic contained, but also trying to make an observation that will save your first impression. You can hardly move your eyes without them falling onto Applejack's form. You’d always loved the way her remarkable breasts fit so well into her button-up shirt. You loved the way her hair shone brightly, even under the shadow cast by her cute cowgirl hat. You loved the way her thighs moved under her tight denim miniskirt . . .
Your mind quickly snaps back to the moment, and as you glance back at the “help wanted” sign, it gives you an idea. Hardly thinking, you blurt out, “Is the position still open?!” Like with the knock on her door, you realize too late that it sounded a little louder than you would have liked.
Applejack leaned back a bit, seeming confused at your words, and your volume. “Beg pardon?” she asks politely (you always thought her accent was cute, too).
“Th-the farm hand position,” you continue, secretly overjoyed that you have something to talk about, “on the sign, there. I . . . I'd like to apply, and I was wondering if it's still open.”
Her eyes remaining wide for a few seconds, Applejack seems to process what you're saying; once she does, her eyes narrow slightly, and a faint trace of a skeptic's grin appears on her face. “That right?” she asks, a knowing lilt in her tone. “That what you're really here for?”
“Uh, yeah . . . why wouldn't it be?” Again, you feel the need to slap yourself over how stupid you sound. Anything would have been better than a bold-faced lie, especially in front of a girl who's known all over school for her honesty.
“Just seems to me,” she continues, “that there might be somethin' else on your mind. Ya sure?”
“Yeah! Totally sure!” You tally a third slap in your mind.
Applejack gives a light chuckle, and you can't help but feel a tremble in your knees; even her laugh sounds so sexy. Briefly, she leans back into the doorway and yells out inside the house, “Oh, Granny Smith! We got someone askin' about the job! I'll be in the barn, if ya need me!” After a faint response you can't hear from the porch, Applejack nods, steps out, and closes the door—and you can already feel your heart speeding up again.
“Well, c'mon, partner,” she says, gesturing her head for you to follow, “you'll need to know a few things before ya get started.” She steps off the porch and begins to walk around the left of the house, and you closely follow her. Your shoes and her boots kick up dust along the well-worn dirt path around the house. Along the way, your eyes wander, and they find Applejack's strong, yet feminine form once again. The way her hips move as she walks; her smooth, well-toned legs, her cute butt—all of it drives you mad, but you struggle to keep it to yourself. The urge to confess your real feelings pops up in your head every so often, but you remain silent. You've dug yourself in way too deep, and confessing now would make you look stupid and dishonest in front of the girl you've been crushing on for years. By now, you've lost count of how many times you should have slapped yourself.
You snap your eyes to the front again and start coming up with another plan. Leaving now is out of the question, as it would be dishonest and mean, and would hurt her too much. Minimalizing effort in this work will make you conspicuous. So, to keep from hurting her feelings, you decide to work as hard as you possibly can, while at the same time taking this opportunity to show off how useful and industrious you can be and impress her. It's the perfect plan to save yourself from this cumbersome faux pas.
At least you hope so.
You finally set down the last bushel, having lost count of how many you'd brought in hours ago. Your first day on the job has already been rocky; the work had been so strenuous, you're starting to get the feeling you're going to pass out. You stumble a bit as you right yourself, wipe the sweat off your brow with the back of your arm, and move to exit the barn—only to feel that woozy feeling wash over you, making you wobble as you walk out the door.
Applejack's little sister, Apple Bloom, giggles as she passes by you. “Ya havin' trouble there, stranger?” she jokes as you feel your face warming with embarrassment. “Can't be too dizzy already! It's your first day!”
“Now, now, Apple Bloom,” you both hear a voice, and you turn to see Applejack approach you at the barn entrance. “Just 'cause he's a city-slicker, don't mean he can't put in a hard day's work. Show him a little respect, hon.”
You shoot a brief, affronted glance at Applejack. City-slicker . . . ?
“Hmm. Yeah, I guess you're right,” the younger girl agreed with a nod. “Welp, you're doin’ okay so far, I guess. Just don't go all loopy on us, okay?” She giggles again, this time a bit more lightheartedly.
“Ehehe . . .” you snicker with a forced grin, “yeah . . . thanks.”
Apple Bloom prepares to run off, but just before she does, she looks at you intently and beckons you down to her level, as if to ask for your confidence. You bend down to meet her gaze eye-to-eye, and she whispers something in your ear that makes your heart plummet:
“Good luck with my sister.”
That's when she runs off, her mischievous grin unfaltering. You try to force away your grimace of panic as Applejack glances between you and her quickly-departing sister. “What’d she tell you?” Applejack asks with a chuckle.
Again, you feel your face heating up now, and you shrink into yourself a bit. “Umm . . . nothing.”
“Now, now, hon, I wouldn't work so hard,” Applejack's grandmother, Granny Smith, calls out to you as she sets down a pitcher of ice water on a crate inside the barn. “Y'all take a breather if'n ya need ta. No sense in runnin' yourself ragged.”
Applejack's brother, Big McIntosh, stands next to her, eyeing you with a combination of disapproval and concern. “Eeyup,” he adds simply.
“It's okay, I'm good,” you assure them as you load up your tenth crate full of apples for shipping. You'd decided to try making up for yesterday by working straight through your shift without a break. So far, it seems to be working; you'd gotten glances from Applejack every so often, even while the other farm hands were around, working less hard or not as quickly. You never were sure, but it seemed as though she'd been impressed; why else would she stay for a few seconds to watch you working through your lunch break?
As you finish loading the crate and hammer the top onto it, Granny Smith speaks up once again, “Now, you're gonna need somethin' ta drink, sonny. Take a load off an' have some water.”
You double over, breathing heavily but proud of your accomplishment. “No, no . . . I'm . . . good . . . .” Those are your last words before you collapse to the floor of the barn.
The voices of Big Mac and Granny Smith are vague and indistinct from then on, and you're certain, even in your waning consciousness, that you can hear Applejack's voice among them. You’re not quite sure, but you could swear you’d heard her say “darn fool”, or something similar. A few seconds under, and a sprinkling of cold water on your face brings you around.
You try to speak, but Applejack stops you; as you lay on the floor, your head is in her lap as she lowers a glass of water to your lips. “Hush up and drink,” she says, her voice both caring and brusque at once. You obey, feeling the cool liquid chill your mouth and throat all the way down. Once properly revived, your mind is now working full-tilt, and with it comes embarrassment. Having almost keeled over from thirst, you seriously think that is the end for your job there.
But a friendly word from AJ keeps you in the game. “Don't you fret none, partner,” she assures you, smiling. “It's only been two days, and you've done darn fine work so far. Just remember to get some water in ya, and you'll do fine, okay?”
You nod—and blush—before saying, “Thank you.” It’s all you can really say, anyway.
Feeling confident that your third day will be better now that you have more experience (and common sense), you make the attempt to carry three bushels into the barn at one time. The other farm hands dot the landscape, focused on various other jobs, and paying only minimal attention to you. You hear a chuckle close by; evidently, the sight of a young kid hauling too much in one sitting is humorous. But you ignore him and press on.
You make it into the barn and set the three loads down. Two make it safely, but you accidentally spill the third all over the floor of the barn, and several apples ended up bruised.
“Heh, poor kid can't keep the stems on the apples,” one of the older farm hands mutters after seeing it. Two of his cohorts in the vicinity chuckle at his joke, making you feel dejected. The discomfort remains until Applejack comes along again, to help you out.
“Let's not go comparin' 'stems', boys,” she addresses the workers, a slightly snarky tone evident in her voice, “unless y'all got 'stems' worth comparin'.”
That seems to shut them up, and they go on about their work, glancing awkwardly around and avoiding eye contact. Her comment makes you smile. Good one, you think to yourself.
She turns to you, gives you a wink, and offers to help pick up the spilled fruits. You accept, willing to follow anywhere she goes, and you feel a sudden, appropriate surge of respect for her.
As you walk up to the front of the barn for your fifth day on the job, you start panting under the sweltering hot rays of the sun. You’re awestruck at how harvesting weather could get so unbearably hot, and you're half-tempted to take your shirt off, but you resist. You'd already risked enough with this job, even if you'd never wanted it to begin with. If you were going to impress Applejack, showing her your not-so-stunning physique was not a part of the plan. Besides, even on a hot day doing strenuous labor on a farm, just being in the presence of an attractive girl would make taking your shirt off seem like you're sending the wrong signals.
As you approach the barn door, kicking up clouds along the dirt trail leading to it, you spy Applejack opening the barn door from the inside. As she steps out into the sunshine, you are shocked to see an exhausted look on her face, her vest soaked front-to-back with sweat, and loose strands of her blond hair plastered to her face and neck. She is also sporting numerous smudges and stains all over her skin and clothes. You worry that she has been working too much already, even before the regular day shifts of all the farm hands, like yourself.
Applejack sees you and calls out your name, running out to meet you. “Boy, am I ever glad to see you!” she says with a breathy voice and hugs you (you notice immediately that she smells like a compost heap). She continues urgently as she pulls away from you, “It’s been a right mess ‘round here! Three o' the farm boys ain't showin' up today, 'cause o' the heat! The other two're out on a delivery, but the truck done broke down! Overheated engine! Can ya believe that?”
You start feeling uneasy almost immediately. “That's terrible! Have you been doing all the work all by yourself? How much do you need me to do?”
Applejack looks back at you, unsure. “Well, actually I managed to get a lot of it covered, so it ain't as bad as it was. I guess . . . I guess I just needed to vent. It's just the work, and the weather, and these things all croppin' up one by one . . . it's all a real worm in the apple, know what I mean?”
You nod, but you still aren't quite enlightened. “Well, you seemed like you were panicking before. Like, things were really bad or something . . .” It's at this point that you both realize that her hands are still on your shoulders.
When AJ notices, she quickly removes them, her eyes darting around in her head briefly before focusing on you. “Well, uhh . . .” she mumbles, “I guess I . . . wanted to see you again today. ’Cause, I have a lot of fun workin' with ya, y’know . . . ? L-look, we'd better get to it. Follow me, sugarcube.”
As she turns and walks back into the barn, you feel your heart skip a beat. She just called me “sugarcube” again, you think excitedly. She's done it only one other time since you've been working here: yesterday, in the middle of another harvest. You remember setting a bushel down inside the barn, but before you could get up to start on another, one apple tumbled out and rolled across the ground. You'd gone after it, but Applejack had placed a hand on your shoulder, keeping you down.
“Let me get that for ya, sugarcube,” she'd offered with a grin, and gone after the apple herself. You remember trying not to stare as she bent over and grabbed it, putting her denim-covered backside on display for a few seconds. After she'd come back and put the apple in your hands—not in the bushel, but your hands—she'd smiled again and said, “Y'all be more careful next time, okay?” You couldn't help but notice an ever-so-slightly flirty lilt in her tone, and it drove you wild. Maybe she likes me, you’d theorized, more hope put into it than thought, and she’s trying to tell me so? Does that mean she noticed all the work I’ve been doing was for her? You’re not sure, but you knew then that you couldn’t stop now. It had been a first glance at winning Applejack’s heart.
“I got a job for ya,” Applejack’s voice in the present shakes you away from memories of yesterday. “This here crate’s the last one to go out for deliv’ry. ‘Tween the two of us, we can get it filled up no problem. Think ya can do that?”
You see the open crate inside the barn, along with about two dozen bushels of apples on the floor around it. This time, you don’t even answer before you immediately get started on it, hefting one bushel (much easier than you could five days ago) up into the crate and plucking each red orb out, placing it gently in the crate so as not to bruise it.
Applejack smiles and takes her own bushel. “Now that’s what I like to see,” she chuckles as she steps up next to you and mimics you, placing the whole bushel in first before relocating the apples inside. Once you’re done, you take out the empty bushel and set it aside, grabbing another full one and starting again. Applejack finishes hers shortly after, and goes to replace her empty bushel with a full one; naturally, you can’t resist glancing back to catch a glimpse of her butt. You get back to work when she returns, and soon, you need another bushel again, as well. You turn to drop off your empty one, but as you bend over to take up a full one, you hear AJ’s voice behind you:
“Two can play at that game, ya know.”
You stand up right away and whip around to look at her; she looks quickly away, her eyes wide and shifty and her mouth in a deviously scrunched-up grin. “What?” you ask, hoping she’ll repeat it.
“Oh, nothin’,” she replies innocently, returning to the crate.
Once you’re both about halfway through with the hoard, Applejack takes a step away from the crate, takes off her hat and begins fanning herself with it. “Whoo!” she huffs. “Shucks, but it’s hot! An’ in September, too!” She then brings her hands up to her collar, and starts undoing the buttons on her shirt. You only notice this upon glancing at her from your own work, and it makes you do a double-take.
“AJ?!” you squawk, shocked at what you are seeing. “What are you doing?!”
Applejack looks back at you, confused, and calls you by name as she replies, “Come on, now, it’s too hot out to go on like this. Truth of it is, I shoulda done this hours ago.”
You swallow hard as she undoes the last button and peels the wet top off of her moist, orange body. She slides the shirt off her shoulders and slings it over the side of the crate. She stands there, her simple white bra (carrying her shapely breasts) calling attention to the skin she bared all over her back, arms, ribs, and well-toned stomach. As nice as you think her cleavage is, you can’t help but marvel at her sculpted abs.
“You work out, don’t you?” you ask her, and immediately, you realize that you sound stupid.
AJ scoffs, smiles and rolls her eyes. “Ain’t ya got any manners?” she playfully scolds you. She then gives you a light tap on your arm. “Come on, now. We’re almost there.” You comply, but you stall for a few seconds—you’re still caught off guard by Applejack’s strong, sensuous body.
Another few minutes of unloading bushels, and soon, there are no longer any to unload, and the crate is nearly full. Applejack begins picking up empty bushels to set out of the way. “Way to go, partner!” she says happily. “Much obliged for all your help. Couldn’ta done it without ya!”
You can’t help but blush from Applejack’s praise as you reply, “No sweat. Well, quite a bit of sweat, because of the weather, but still . . .”
Applejack snickers after setting the bushels aside, and looks into your eyes as she approaches. “Aw, what am I gonna do with you?” she asks benignly, as if asking a precocious child getting into harmless mischief.
You feel your blush intensify, and you return her laugh with a giggle of your own. You realize how close you are to her, mere inches, in fact, and you take a step back. As you do, your foot makes contact with a stray bushel, and you swiftly lose balance.
“WHOOOOOOAAAA!!”
Applejack grabs you by the arm as you fall backwards, but it’s too late; you pull her down with you without meaning to, and you both flop down on a bed of hay behind you, you on your back, and her on her front, on top of you. Her shiny green eyes and adorable freckles are now up close and personal, and it is both thrilling and abrupt.
You see AJ reflect your surprised look right back at you, but for her, it only lasts a few seconds. She gathers herself quickly, gives a soft laugh, and says, “Whoops.”
At first, you can’t speak. You start to think it’s because of her weight pressing down on you, but you soon find that that’s not nearly as much of an issue as you thought. You are much more captivated by her green eyes, and the nervousness stemming from the fact that only her bra is keeping her bare breasts from touching you.
“I . . .” you struggle against your wordlessness, “. . . I’m sorry, Applejack. I know I’ve been messing up a lot lately, and . . . well, I don’t mean t—”
You stop when Applejack presses her fingertips to your mouth. Neither of you speak for a good few seconds, even after she removes her hand. Finally, she speaks in a low, alluring whisper, “”It’s about doggone time.” She then lowers her face onto yours, planting a kiss directly onto your lips.
You panic for a second, astounded at her gall. But after a moment, you close your eyes and sink into comfort, wrapping your arms around her. Her body is still slick with sweat, and the fact that she desperately needs a shower is made even clearer. But none of that matters. You’ve achieved what you thought was impossible.
You got a kiss, on the lips, from the girl of your dreams.
Just as it was five days ago, you are incapable of speech. Even the slightest of sounds die before they reach your throat. It takes several seconds for her to realize it, and when she does, Applejack speaks first. “Well, least I got your attention, huh, sugarcube?” she teases, grinning. “And as long as I do, might as well ask what you really wanted to tell me.”
You continue to struggle with remembering human speech, and in response to AJ’s statement, all you can squeeze out is a weak, crackly, “. . . Huh?”
“You know, what you were tryin’ to tell me five days ago,” she explains, a knowing tone permeating her voice, “before ya backed out and asked me for the farm hand job y’all didn’t want in the first place.”
“Wait . . .” you try to argue, more words returning gradually to your vocabulary, ‘. . . how . . . . ?”
“Honey, I can spy a fib from a country mile. I only let this go on ‘cause we needed the extra work, and ‘cause I wanted to see if you could go a week without quittin’. Or tryin’ again to flirt with me, whichever came first.” She flashes you a lovely smile, the only stainless thing on her at this moment.
Now, you feel guilt creep up on you. “You knew . . . I’ve been embarrassing myself for five days trying to impress you, and you knew the whole time . . .” You turn your head away from her, not caring that a straw of hay is poking you in the cheek. You struggle to keep your eyes from watering. “You must really hate me . . . .”
You hear Applejack sigh, and you feel a gentle hand turn your head back towards her. She’s staring back at you with an annoyed look, and it makes you feel that much worse. Her words, however, are a different story:
“Now, look. If I hated you, then why would I kiss you?”
That very kiss comes to mind as soon as Applejack mentions it, and immediately, you feel ridiculous. As guilty as you feel, it wouldn’t make any sense for the girl who just kissed you to hate you for any reason. Then again, she had been privy to your ulterior motives from the beginning and never said a word until now—it was safe to say that there couldn’t be much sense to be made from the situation anyway.
Applejack says your name gently. “Listen, I ain't mad at ya or anything. But I am disappointed. Y’all didn’t have to go to all that trouble for me. I know you were nervous before, but if you’d just spoken your mind, there wouldn’t have been a reason to go killin’ yourself workin’ like this just to please me.” She lays a hand against your cheek and gives you a warm, comfortable smile. “’Sides, if you’d asked me out, like ya shoulda, I’d have said yes.” Now, it’s her turn to blush.
You can hardly believe what you just heard. All this trouble spent getting Applejack to like you, and you could have saved yourself the trouble if you had just stuck to your guns in the first place and not freaked out. Guilt, shame and embarrassment mix together in a strange, uneasy cocktail of emotions that you soon find you’re having trouble handling. Still, you feel you have to say something, as if not speaking will put the moment at risk. “So . . .” you begin unsteadily, “. . . if . . . if you would have gone out with me . . . then why didn’t . . . why didn’t you . . . say something earlier . . . . ?”
There’s a certain air of awkwardness around you as Applejack only now gets up off you and kneels next to you. You sit up soon afterwards, awaiting her answer to your question. She takes a breath and answers carefully, “Because I had to know for sure. I think I do, but I gotta be sure. Now, be honest with me: did you want to help me for the sake of helpin’ me?”
You think you have the answer right away, but you are afraid she might not believe you—she did figure out your feelings, after all, so she might not be as trusting now. That, and the answer is more complicated than you were expecting. “I . . .” you hesitate, lowering your head and closing your eyes to avoid her gaze, “. . . I don’t really know. Maybe I did just want to impress you. Maybe I really was enjoying myself this whole time, even though I screwed up most of the time. Maybe I did just take the job just to hang out with you. But all I know for sure, is that the only thought that kept me coming back here every day for five days, is that . . . well . . .” you fight for the words once again, “. . . I didn’t want to let you down. You trusted me, and I didn’t want to hurt you.”
You finally look up at her solemnly. “But I never should have kept the truth from you. I never should have been too scared to say what I felt, especially since I’ve gone all this time working with you, and haven’t lost my nerve once. I feel dishonest, and if you’re angry with me, I understand. I’m sorry, Applejack. I’m really . . . really sorry . . .” The guilt starts to hurt you deep inside, and your earlier promise to hold back tears is broken—a single drop trickles down your face and drops off to the barn floor.
Applejack scoots toward you a bit and presses her hand to your face again. “It ain’t that big a deal, hon,” she says in a poignant whisper. “After all you been doin’ here, I know ya ain’t a bad person. I believe you.” She takes her hand away and leans forward slightly. “And I forgive you.”
The pain is starting to vanish now, and you feel as though a great weight has been taken off of your back. Your heart swells at Applejack’s kind words and smiling face, and your elation begins to bring your spirits up at a rapid rate. You lean forward to hug Applejack, your previous trepidation now long gone, and she returns the gesture, holding you tightly and sighing contented sigh into your ear.
“Besides,” you hear her soft voice as the follow-up to her sigh, “I think it was better this way, don’t you? We know each other a heck of a lot better now.” She continues as you part, “Woulda been awful sudden for us to get together five days ago, don’t ya think?”
You admit that it would have been a little silly to try rushing things. Upon further reflection, you figure that working on the farm has done far more than just prove you’re a worthy person. Over the days, you and AJ have gotten closer and closer; she was even willing to help you several times when things got tough for you.
And if she’s really willing to forgive you for any perceived dishonesty, and has admitted to enjoying your company, then you see no reason to complicate things further. Still, the memories of your pronounced faux-pas resurface, making you take a more tentative approach. “So . . . what do we do, now?” you ask, bracing yourself for the answer.
You soon see that AJ is not nearly as cautious as you. She takes off her hat, tosses it aside, wraps her arms around your neck, and gives you a sexy grin. “I know one thing, honey. I’ve been waitin’ to do this for five days, an’ I’m done waitin’!”
“Wait! Are you . . . are you serious?”
“You bet. I’ve seen all I need to see about ya.” Applejack chuckles and adds, “Well, almost all. Ready or not, here I come . . .”
And does she ever. She lays into you with another kiss, taking you by surprise once again and knocking you both over, returning you to your positions in the hay. You feel the straw poking you in the back, along with the more pleasant feeling of Applejack’s breasts pressing against your front, and your hands slide up and down her hips. You take in the feel of her tough, toned skin and the bumpy texture of her denim skirt, and she moans a bit when your hand reaches and grabs her leg. Even now, you’re impressed by the muscle underneath the skin; it’s almost as if she’d spent her life kicking apples out of the trees instead of picking them normally.
Applejack’s arms continue to caress your neck and shoulders, and both of her strong legs clamp down on one of yours. Her knees rub against you, and you have to pull away from the kiss just to catch your breath. While your lips are not locked, AJ takes the time to speak in a breathy voice, “I . . . I got another job for ya, sugarcube.”
“What’s that?”
She leers at you, removes one arm from your neck, and brings her hand down to grab a healthy handful of your butt. She grins as you gasp, and she whispers her wish: “Take my skirt off.”
Minutes earlier, you would have freaked out at this question, but there’s no room for arguments while her hand has a strong grip over your backside. Besides, you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to. At her request, your hands find her waist and fumble around for the button on her skirt. You undo it, pull the zipper down, and she shimmies around on your body as you both work together in sliding it off. As you do, you sink back into your kissing, another light moan escaping her mouth and fleeing into yours as the waist of her skirt tickles her backside on the way down. You can now feel the crease of her crotch pressing and rubbing against you, and your excitement doubles. You can instantly tell hers has, too—she gives your backside another firm grab.
Now, you feel like returning the favor. With her skirt pulled down and your hand brushing over her butt, you can feel the soft, simple cotton layer of her panties, also wet with sweat (and, likely, other things). You draw your hand back and give her butt a good swat, and as soon as your hand touches her cotton-covered seat, you dig your fingers in with a harsh, well-timed squeeze.
Applejack yelps and takes her lips away from yours to glance down at her bottom, and your hand gripping it. You’re amazed once again; her backside is another part of her body that is well-muscled and sturdy, and it feels amazing, almost therapeutic, to grab and rub. You’re surprised she even felt that. She looks back at you, and you eye her with a leer of your own.
“How do you like them apples?” you quip, an amorous grin decorating your face.
Applejack looks back at you, reflecting your grin, but adding a raised eyebrow. “Y’all oughta be horsewhipped for that one,” she says bluntly.
You’re not sure whether she means the swat, the grab, or the one-liner, but your answer is the same regardless: “I wouldn’t mind that.”
“That right?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
Only a second later, the two of you return to your passionate embrace, your lips ecstatic to meet each other again. The happy coincidence dawns on you, as Applejack lowers her hands to your waist to undo your pants, that you are, quite literally, “rolling in the hay”.
With today’s work (and other things) done for the day, and the farm hand returning home, Applejack feels a spring in her step as she leaves the barn and goes inside. Upon arriving, she’d gotten word that Big McIntosh had gone to help the other two workers with their broken-down truck, and that all of them would be back shortly, safe and sound. Relieved and exhausted, Applejack goes upstairs, strips down, takes a minute to check up on the pink handprint and the fingernail marks on her butt, and takes a long, cool shower. Just thinking about her “barnyard love” moment earlier today is reason enough to keep the water cold.
Once clean and calm, Applejack climbs out of the shower, dries off, dons a new set of clean clothes, and goes up to her room to look for her cell phone. As excited as she is for her own love life, she feels the need to check up on her friends to see how theirs are going. It may be prying, but it didn’t hurt to check up on her friends.
Walking into her room, she finds her phone on her bedside table and flops down on the bed, cycling through her contact list to see whom to call first. The first call is answered by a message: “You have reached Rarity. Terribly sorry I couldn’t answer you, but if you leave a message, I shall get back to you presently. Au revoir, darlings!”
As is the second: “Um, this is Fluttershy. I’m ever so sorry, but I’m not in right now. I’ll return your call, though, I promise. Just leave a message. Um, if you really want to, that is . . . um, bye, now . . .”
The third is a bit different: “Hi! I’m Pinkie Pie! I’m not here, ‘cause I’m probably having fun, sexy times with my new lover! We have lots of fun together! I poke and I noogie and I pinch, and I get wedgied! Then we kiss, and then I pinch some more, and we kiss some more, and it’s funny and kinky and exciting, and I might be busy because of that, or I might be in the shower, or looking for my panties, ‘cause that rascal forgets how to wedgie me sometimes! Hee-hee! But anyway, leave a mes—”
Finally, Rainbow Dash is called, but unlike the others, Applejack gets a (slightly irritated) answer: “Yeah, what?”
“Howdy, there, Rainbow. It’s Applejack. How are ya?”
The country girl soon heard another voice, a lusty one, from the athlete’s side: “Who’s that, Dashie?”
“Just a friend, babe,” answered Dashie’s voice. “Look, AJ, I’ll have to call you back, okay? Later!” There is a click and a dial tone, and Dash (and her significant other) are gone.
Judging from Pinkie’s and Dash’s answers, Applejack deduces that they are all having fun in ways not unlike her own not even an hour earlier. While she’s glad for them, she is a bit upset at not having anyone to talk to today (it isn’t a stretch to say she wants to brag a bit about her earlier “exploits” today). As she goes to put the phone down, she suddenly remembers one other contact she hadn’t thought of earlier—Sunset Shimmer.
Immediately finding her name on the list, Applejack hits “send” and listens for an answer. Unlike before, when she’d gotten either a direct answer or a message, there isn’t even a sound of Sunset’s own voice; it’s the phone’s default message replying in a monotonous, mechanical fashion. She hadn’t even taken the time to record her own greeting.
Hmm, Applejack ponders to herself, maybe Sunset’s found someone, too? Be nice if she did. She really deserves some good lovin’. Her thoughts continue to wander to her friends and how they are doing, and something else comes to mind, something she’d never considered before, but now found very interesting:
I wonder if Twilight’s found someone . . . .
