The party Pinkie threw for me was four days after I landed here, the next three days of that week went by quickly and without any accidents or happenings worth mentioning. That brings me to yesterday, the first day of Apple buck season.

Turns out that the Apple family took my offer to help out seriously, so here I am at Sweet Apple Acres, bucking apples off of trees. I can’t blame them for asking for my help, twenty acres for two ponies to buck in just a few weeks is a hell of a task, I know how tight money can be and I’m always willing to help a friend out… but damn is it hot.

I had thought Iraq was bad; the temperature here in the summer can hit a hundred and fucking fifty degrees Fahrenheit. That was my biggest worry about the job, hard work and long hours aren’t all that bad but heat like that will kill a guy like me.

No shit, at temperatures past one forty Fahrenheit the human body will lose more water than it could possible replenish, in just an hour or two you would completely dehydrate and die. Fortunately once I told Twilight these concerns she found a spell that will prevent such a grueling fate. Her spell thickened my skin, it feels leathery and weird now but I can stay out in heat up to two hundred degrees without dehydrating or even losing water now. I don’t even sweat during normal activities, yes I know that for a normal human that would mark the onset of heat stroke but Twilight assured me that I would be just fine.

The only real problem is that apple bucking isn’t a normal activity, not for humans anyway. Big Mac and Applejack both can ‘buck’ trees with their back legs and coerce the apples to detach from their branches. I cannot. I know this for a fact because I tried, multiple times and in every conceivable way, and failed miserable. After watching how Big Mac did it I got an idea.

Twilight was at the farm with us, she’s the Apple’s personal accountant and lawyer (Damn; librarian, scientist, accountant, and lawyer. Is there anything Twilight can’t do?), and was inside with Granny Smith discussing profit margins. I told her my idea and drew a picture of what I wanted. Being awesome, like she is, Twilight managed to make it even better than I had hoped for.

So that leads up to today, the second day of apple buck season and my first day actually working. Applejack has a section of trees nearest the house to clear, Big Mac and I have the rest to buck.

I shoulder my new toy (Oh, how I love my toys!) and pull a cart behind me. Mac slides his harness on and pulls a train of three carts behind him. Together we walk all the way to the farthest edges of the Apples’ property, we will work our way in from the edge and Applejack will work her way out from the innermost part, if all goes according to plan we’ll be done in less than two weeks.

Apple bucking is easy; there are only three real rules (According to Granny Smith who took an hour of my time yesterday to explain it.)

1. Buck the tree squarely in the middle of the trunk.

2. Place the carts, or baskets, underneath the branches of the tree in order to catch the falling apples.

And #3. Don’t lose any of the apples and don’t eat any of the apples.

Easy peasy, lemon piss.

Between Mac’s femurs of steel (Totally legit here, according to Twilight the bones in an earth ponies body are as hard as steel but only twice as heavy, for guys, and one and a half times as heavy, for mares, than a unicorn. Pegasi bones are thin and hollow so they are a lot lighter.) And my brand new sledgehammer (Made of steel and resembles a war hammer, I call him Jeff.) we think we can clear an acre a day at the very least.

It’s a good walk to the edge of the orchard and awkward silence is awkward so I decide to chat with Mac for a bit.

“So how long have you been doing this?”

“Hmm?” Mac looks at me thoughtfully and chews on his stalk of wheat. (Actually he has a wad of tobacco in his cheek and the wheat is just a cover, that way his sisters and granny don’t notice and nag at him for it. I had noticed him take a dip earlier and had promised to keep quit in return for a dip myself and some of this ‘appleshine’ of his I’ve heard about.) “Well this year’ll be my fifty second harvest, that I’ve actually bucked in mind you, but it’s my sixtieth year living here on the farm.”

I don’t stop but I do slow down. Sixty years, that can’t be right. If he had told me that Granny Smith was sixty I might have believed him but he looked in his mid twenties, early thirties at latest.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you sisters?”

Mac chews his snuff again and takes his time to answer.

“Oh, Applejack’s turnin’ thirty four this year an’ Applebloom’ll be nineteen next month.”

Damn, and here I thought that I was older than my friends, hell I’m five years younger the Applejack.

“How old is Granny Smith then? I don’t mean to be nosy but this is interesting.” Mac looks as if he’s about to ask what is interesting but he doesn’t. He just strolls along next to me and chews slowly.

“Granny’ll be two hundred and forty three years old next December, that is if she makes it ’til then.”

I nod my head; I guess ponies just have longer life spans here.

“Why do ya ask?”

“Well its odd is all. I’m Twenty eight.” Mac turns and eyes me, it’s obvious that he doesn’t believe me. “No, I’m for real. Here, look at my ID.” I toss Jeff into my cart and pull out my wallet and from it my military id.

“Lafayette Ryder, six foot six, three hundred pounds, twenty eight years of age. Do you believe me now?” Mac nods with a surprised look on his face. I put my wallet and ID away and resume pulling my cart.

“Here I thought you were pulling my leg and you turn out to be honest, hell you’re just a youngin. You’re not even old enough to drink or buck.” I’m about to correct him when I notice his last word.

“Wait what? I thought that’s what we were gonna do.” Mac’s confusion is apparent. “I thought that you and I were going out to the edge of the orchid to buck together, that what your sister and granny told me we were gonna be doing.” Confusion turns to rage and Big Mac stops walking in order to yell at me.

“JUST WHAT IN THE HELL ARE YOU SAYIN? AIN’T NO WAY SIS NOR GRANNY TOLD YOU THAT! WHAT KINDA STALLION YOU THINK I AM?”

“Sheesh Mac, I don’t think they heard you all the way back in PONYVILLE!”

“Well I’m sorry for shoutin’ but just where do you get off sayin’ such things? I know the rumors going around about me and their all horseshit! My barn door don’t swing that way. And you should be ashamed of yourself for even thinking for one moment that I’d buck an ugly hairless ape like yourself!”

“What?”

“Don’t you ‘what’ me! You know damn well what I’m saying!”

“Big Mac, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Uhh, what are you talking about?”

“Bucking trees together. For apple BUCK season.”

“Oh, oh shit.”

“Yeah ‘Oh shit’ is right. Now what the hell were you talking about?”

“Nothing, apple bucking, nothing else at all.” with speed I hadn’t expected Big Mac pulls away, three carts in tow, and trots off towards the edge of the grove.

“Ah hell naw! You aint getting out of this one so easily Big Macintosh!” Pulling my cart (And Jeff) behind me I speed to a jog to catch up with Big Mac. I do catch up to Mac but he doesn’t stop or even slow. For the next ten minutes we both run, both pulling about a hundred and fifty pounds with us, until we reach the area where we are to start bucking. Trees that is.

Mac finally stops and I tackle him, no way is he getting out of this. You may remember that I was a varsity heavyweight, one thing I was particularly proficient at was pinning someone down. In just a few seconds I have my legs wrapped tightly around Mac’s torso and have his front hooves pinned to his sides. (It’s not gay unless balls touch and I’m wearing pants, so there.)

“Let go of me ya hear! Get offa me you faggot!” Big Mac kicks as hard as he can but I don’t budge.

“I won’t let you up until you tell me what the hell is going on.” Mac just struggles harder. “I can sit here all day without a problem, you on the other hand lose precious time to buck apples with every minute you refuse to tell me what’s up. So talk dammit!”

“Fine I’ll talk, but will you at least let me up first.”

“If I let you up do you promise to talk?”

“Yes, yes. Cross my heart, hope to fly, stick a cupcake in my eye.”

“Wut?”

“Just let me up dammit!”

I unhook my legs and help Mac to his feet.

“I’ll tell you, but let’s at least get going, we’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

“OK then.” I pick up Jeff and place my cart beneath a tree. With a good solid swing I knock half of the apples down. “So what the hell where you talking about earlier anyway.”

Big Mac has his carts positioned and starts bucking trees; with a single kick he removes every apple from its perch. I guess I’ll have to step my game up if I want to compete with him. On my next swing I clear my tree.

“Bucking can mean kicking trees. It can also mean, forgive my language, rutting.”

“So bucking and fucking mean the same thing?” I move to the next tree and drop three fourths of its fruit in one hit.

“Yea, but very few ponies are inclined to use such…vulgar words. Bucking means the same thing but less crude, you still wouldn’t say it in front of ladies or foals or your granny.” Current score: Big Mac seven trees, me three. Dammit.

“OK, so why did you get so twisted back there?” Woohoo, every apple on the tree in one… dammit there’s still more.

“You said that we would be ‘bucking together’ and I took it the wrong way. I’m sorry. It’s just that ever since…ever since Cheerilee said what she said I’ve been real touchy ’bout the subject.” If I remember correctly Cheerilee was the teacher I terrified.

“Bucking?” Mac- twelve, me- six.

“Er, yeah. Specifically with another stallion or in your case a guy.”

“A bit homophobic I see.” Fifteen to eight, carts half full.

“No, just touchy.”

“Ah, so you got caught?” Seventeen to eleven. “Don’t worry about it bro, it happens to the best of us.” Twenty to fifteen.

“What’s that now?”

“It happens to the best of us, getting caught that is, I’ve been caught and so have a few of my friends.” Twenty two to nineteen, I’m finally getting the swing of this. Heheh, I didn’t mean that to be a pun but it was.

“Getting caught cheating?”

“My friends yes, me no. I’ve never cheated on anyone.” Twenty five to twenty two.

“So you got caught with…”

“Another guy, yep. Wanna hear the story?”

“Uh, sure. Why the hell not.”

“It was a while ago, back when I first joined the Marines and was on my first tour of duty in Iraq. My squad had weekend leave so we went into a nearby town. Specifically we went into a bar in a nearby town.” Mac nods and bucks another tree, thirty to twenty eight. “Well my C.O. decided to get his noobies plastered. Now I can hold my alcohol better than most, just not when I mix it up. Give me anything straight and I'll drink you under the table, mix my drinks and I don’t spew or pass out or anything, I just get…horny. So my C.O. starts giving me shots; rum, whisky, vodka, tequila, and a bunch of other shit. Well after about twenty shots I was shit faced and making googly eyes at someone across the bar. My C.O. being the wonderful guy he was told me to go make my move, so I did. I went to get a name and number and instead I get taken up into an apartment above the bar.” Mac takes a rest and I slam Jeff into another tree, thirty six to thirty six, I may win this yet. “So we start going at it and sure enough just a few minutes in my squad mates’ bust down the door, my C.O. in front with a camera saying ‘cheese’, what a smug son of a bitch he was. Well they had assumed that I had picked some fugly broad to bang, they hadn’t seen who I went up with, they just saw me leave. I had actually picked some fugly dude.” At this I see the wheat fall from Big Mac’s lips. Also thirty six to forty three. “So somewhere back on earth there is a picture of me balls deep in some bearded fuck from the Middle East. My squad mates never did let me live that down despite the massive amount of booze in my system at the time. So what happened with you?”

Big Mac gulps and spills his guts. “Cheerilee and I had gotten into a big fight and a friend of mine came over to comfort me. Part of his, uh, comfort was bucking me in the barn. Evidently somepony saw us leave together and told Cheerilee, the next day she called me a coltcuddler in front of my family and dumped me. I’ve been touchy about it ever since. But hearing your story kinda…” He drops off so I finish for him.

“Kinda blows your piddly ass problems out of the water?”

“Yeah.”

The carts are full, I think I won, and I’m tired and hungry.

“How bout we take these back and call it a day, we planned on bucking thirty trees and we bucked over eighty of them, and then we can get a drink and chill. If memory serves you still owe me some ‘appleshine’ for keeping quit about the snuff.”

“Yeah, that sounds fine, and I'll get you your booze.” We load up the carts and set off for the house.

“Hey Lafe?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind not telling anyone about our talk today, I don’t think anyone needs to know about us being… you know.”

“Gay?”

“Eeyep.”

“What the hell Mac? I’m not gay.”

"Huh? But you just told me ’bout some feller you fuc...”

“I’m not gay, I’m bi. I swing both ways, either when the guy’s particularly good looking or when I’m particularly drunk.”

“Ah, wait, that’s a thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh hell, I thought that you were either straight or gay, not both. That makes me feel much better.”

“Glad to be of assistance. And, by the way, I’m still pissed off about that ‘ugly hairless ape’ comment.” I look over at Mac, fury in my eyes. To my delight he actually seems scared.

“I’ll have you know, I’m not bald, I just shave my head.”

He stares at me.

I stare at him.

We both laugh like the damn fools we are and walk on towards the homestead where food and booze await us.

All in all, it’s been a good day.

Author's comment: If you didn't get the reference, Lafe's new toy is named after my favourite pasty faced serial killer, with good reason too, but that won't happen for a bit. That is unless somepony pisses Lafe off really bad.

Now with 20% more fan art!!! I'm a fan of my own work so yes it does count. Now shut up and gaze in awe at Jeff!