Femboi and Chill

Fruit. Sweet, tangy, juicy fruit.

Each bite is somehow more succulent than the last. You savor the moment with tiny, dainty bites—wishing it could last forever. As you wish same from the toasty afternoon sun bleeding through the leaves of the tree above you... and the homely scent of grass and wildflowers dancing in the breeze, sprinkled with the spice from apple groves lingering in the fields below.

It's a warm Saturday afternoon at Sweet Apple Acres. You sit on a spread picnic blanket beneath the cool shade of a branching oak tree. You feel the tickle of grass through the plaid patchwork fabric beneath your bare legs. You're dressed in a modest white summer dress, with a thin layer of crinoline residing secretly beneath. The gown ends just below your knees, and there's a sapphire silk sash just below the bust, tied into a ribbon in the back. You've taken your sandals off, exposing your pink-painted toenails to the kissable air of the country. Just a few inches away from where your legs are draped—like you're squatting side-saddle on an invisible horse—there's a broad-rimmed summer hat with a blue ribbon to match your sash. It's weighed down by a romance novel that you've brought with you, so as not to blow away in the warm summer winds.

Yet another breeze flitters past you now, tickling your ears beneath the sapphire-blue ear-rings you're adorned with. Between the playful wind and the sweetness in your mouth from the apple bites, you let loose a muffled giggle, careful not to let loose an unladylike spittle of fruit mush. Every once in a while, you reach into a tote bag and grab a silk handkerchief to dab your pink lips clean.

This moment is far too serene to be real, and yet here you are... courtesy of the young woman who invited you there... the woman whom you see marching up the hillside right now.

A pulse of anticipation lilts through your heart. You swallow the last morsel you've bitten, slide the half-eaten apple into a ziplock bag, and dust off your hands—

“Oh no, darlin'!” Applejack huffs and puffs, cresting the top of the hill and entering the shade of the same tree you're under. “Dun you stop on my behalf! That's Sweet Apple Acres' finest!”

You swallow and smile and say, “I really came just to hang out with you, AJ.”

“And here I kept ya waitin' long enough as it is.” She pauses, towering above you with her hands on her hips as she catches her breath. She's dressed in a flannel shirt tucked loosely into loose-fitting jeans, speckled with dirt and sawdust. A red-patterned bandanna wraps around a messy bun of blonde hair nestled atop her gorgeous crown. Freckles glisten with sweat, caught like porcelain in the waning glow of the sun. “I'm awfully sorry, Cherish.” She gulps, her breaths finally evening out. “My plum foolish brother forgot to tell me that there was a heap of apples needin' to be hauled from the east field to the barn. Otherwise...” She swipes her brow. “...I would have sat down with ya a heck of a lot sooner!”

“It's okay! Really...” Your grin is a soft one. You can't help but admire the well-toned muscles of her arms beneath those rolled-up sleeves... and how shamelessly she sports her un-dainty strengths to the clear blue sky. Applejack owns this land, this home, this earth. And—as your legs shift beneath the ivory folds of your gown—you'd be content with her owning you as well. “I've been enjoying myself this whole time! The view from up here is quite lovely, AJ.”

“So...” She folds her arms and arches an eyebrow, smirking. “...been fancyin' me from afar while I did work, huh?”

You positively feel your pupils shrink. A warmth spreads hotly through your flustered face and upper neck. “I... uhm...”

“Heh heh heh...” She waves a dismissive hand. “I'm just teasin' ya, hun.” She exhales heartily, gazing at you and... gazing some more. “Heavens to Betsy... just look at you...” The woman wipes her brow again—this time a slow and contemplative gesture. “Like a sweet carnation in the month of May.”

You swallow a sweet lump down your throat and fold two little hands together. “Awwwww... you're too sweet, AJ...” Your eyelashes flutter in the breeze. “...you... y-you really like the look?”

“Darn tootin'!” She grunts slightly as she folds her tired muscles and sits down next to you, her back to the oak tree on the edge of the picnic blanket. “Rarity really outdid herself this time. Can't even tell that you're actually a boi beneath all that flowy goodness!”

You chew on your bottom lip, glancing away from her suddenly. “Yes... well...”

“Awww shoot.” Applejack winces hard. She's an honest person, especially when she feels guilty. “A thousand pardons, sugarcube. I didn't mean nothin' cross by that! Well, poor choice of words... but...” She clears her throat. “You know h-how bad I am at this sort of etiquette. Been a while since you and I had a chance to sit and gab. How... uh...” She smiles kindly, her lush green eyes a direct channel to her heart. “...how would you like me to address you, anyhow, sweetie?”

A comfy breath rolls through you. Applejack doesn't mean any harm... and somehow that eases you more than anyone trying to... well... try. Besides, you're not even sure how you could legitimately answer her question. Everything's gone so fast these past few months. One day, you were just a tiny lonesome young man limping across the crowded Canterlot University Campus, fidgeting uncomfortably in a hoodie and khaki shorts, trying to keep your voice low against its earnest desire to sing. Then, the next moment, you were wearing sundresses and being carried—giggling—over shallow puddles by the chivalrous arms of a woman your age. And the purses... oh goddess, the purses.

“You can...” You look back up at Applejack, smiling sweetly, remembering the tanginess of the apple bites and seeing it once more in how her freckles light up at hearing you. “...you can treat me however you like, Applejack.”

She exhales slowly—with immeasurable relief. Her grin is a soft one, accompanied by a hand that reaches out to caress your bangs. All the girls do this—they play with your golden pixie hairdo every chance they get. But with Applejack—somehow—it feels different. It feels motherly. Her voice deepens, remaining womany in only a way that Applejack can maintain it, with her southern belle drawl that slowly twirls like a falling apple blossom.

“Alright then, darlin'.” A momentary hesitation, but then those freckles swim in a rosy sea. “I'm mighty happy to have such a pretty lady-friend over to share a picnic with.” It's honest.

You chew our lip again, only through a smile this time. “Then s-so am I,” you stammer. It's also just as honest.

Applejack's limbs relax, and she reaches a hand up to her bandanna—unraveling it with a mighty tug. “Whew... land's sakes!” She tosses her head, and that gorgeous waterfall of blonde locks flails loosely in the breeze, turning her back into the rustic goddess that she is. “Can't believe what a workout that was!” She leans back against the tree, settling into the sweat still clinging to her. “T'ain't nothin' like what I do on the weekdays, but somehow it felt a mite bit toughter—on account of knowin' you've been waitin' here this whole time.”

You shake your head. “You really shouldn't have rushed just for me.”

“Daylight's fadin', sugarcube,” she says. “And it's already enough of a shame that I wasted the whole afternoon—”

“A-Appleja-aack!” You giggle into a closed fist, smiling up at her. “Relax! I enjoyed the car ride here! I enjoyed talking with you! I love your home and this tree and the apple that you gave me—”

“Really?” Applejack squints at you. “Yer enjoyin' the sample?”

“Yes!”

“Yer not just blowin' hot air up my skirt? Well... guess yer the one wearin' the skirt...”

“I can finish it right now if you like!”

“Oh! Uhm...” She waves from where she sits, and suddenly it feels like a mile away. “Be my guest!”

You fidget slightly as you reach back into the ziplock bag, glancing at the lengths of the picnic blanket pattern between you two. “You... uh...” A hopeful cough. “You can sit closer if you like?”

“Pffffft!” Applejack tilts the brim of an invisible hat. “Cherish, darlin', I'm sweatier than a thirty-pound hog at feedin' time! T'ain't proper to mess ya up with my... uh... un-neatness. Besides...” She rolls those perfect emeralds. “Rarity would kill me if she found out I dirtied up that prim and proper dress she made ya.”

“Oh...” You blink down at the half-eaten apple in your grasp. “...well, I guess that makes sense. I won't argue with that.”

All is silent, save for the whistle of the wind through the tree branches above. You sense a little bit of squirming... and then a whole lot of squirming. Applejack fidgets and fusses like a bomb about to go off... until at last it does. “Awwwwwww shucks. To heck with it!” Her strong arms reach out and grasp you by the waist. “C'mere, you!”

“Aaackies!” you yelp, then roll into a cascade of giggles as she hoists you across the picnic and into her lap. She hugs you from behind, seating you squarely between her legs until her whole body is framing you in Unbreakable Country Woman(TM). Once the first two waves of your giggles have subsided, your nostrils become acutely aware of just how sweaty Applejack is. The air tastes sour... and more than a little bit dank. But—somehow—laced as it is with the warmth of her loving presence and the spicy scent of fruit lingering everywhere, it's more than manageable. In fact, it's several succulent degrees beyond alluring. You no longer feel squeaky clean in her sweaty embrace, and yet you don't feel dirty either. What you do feel—in no small way—is helpless. You cling to the work-hardened bars of that living prison and take a bite of the apple to christen the moment.

You sense her golden head leaning in from over your shoulder. “Still tasty?”

It takes a while to finish the bite. After swallowing, you inhale her country goodness once more, and you try to ignore the sudden wetness forming at a pinprick spot towards the front of your lace panties. “Very.”

“I plucked that from the east orchards. Them's the finest orchards.” She notices that your skirt is riding up, so she tugs it down slightly before doing the same gesture to your sash and shoulders—keeping Rarity's “doll” nice and tidy. “We always use them to sample for potential buyers.”

“I thought you sold all your stuff at your own vendor in the town market.”

“A heap of it, sure! But we make most of our bucks doin' business with Barnyard Bargains and caterin' for special events.” She wraps her strong arms around your chest, sending a chill of delicate delight through your nubile frame. “Not to mention Cider Season. But... ehhh... that's months away. Shucks... I really gotta get started on schedulin' for that. Granny Smith's too forgetful each passin' year to do it right and Big Mac's strengths are in his heart and muscle, not so much his noggin'.”

“Maybe Twilight can help you? She's good with scheduling.”

“Why—that's a grand idea! I just might do that, Cherish! Thanks a'plenty for the suggestion!”

You smile, shrugging into her sweat. “It's what I'm here for!”

“Yer here for a lot of thangs, I reckon.” Applejack leans in, resting her head—her face against the back of your scalp. “And I'm happy for each and every one of them.”

You're both silent for a while... save for the crunchy sounds of your persistent, dainty apple bites.

You feel her breath against your head... followed by a lengthy humming sound. “Dear Goddess... just how come you smell so... so... so wonderfully, Cherish?”

You're almost finished with the skin of the apple. It feels clear at this point that its redness has transferred over to yours. “I... uh... I dunno, really...”

“There has to be some magic to ya, darlin',” Applejack says. She's so delightfully close this whole time, and you sense her inhaling you once again. The hug grows tighter... and yet more tender. “You have got to be plum magical. It's the only explanation.”

“It's a crazy large world out there, Applejack,” you say sweetly. “There's bound to be other men just like me.”

“Nuh uh. I dun believe it,” she says. Firmly. “Not in a million years.”

Your heart skips a beat. You don't know how to respond to that.

“To be so precious... so delightful... so gentle and sweet-like... without even having to try...”

You gulped. “I'm simply that way because of you girls. Since you found me—”

“The point I'm tryin' to make is that you was made to be found, sugarcube. I believe it with my whole heart. Things as special as this... as special as you dun happen by accident with me and the girls. Ever since Equestrian magic came in, things have happened for a reason. You're here for a reason... and it's a real blessin', Cherish. Truly, it is.”

“I...” You fight back tears. It's so easy to break you... to squeeze your heart with gentle strokes and leak your feelings. It's a struggle at this point to hold the apple straight in your palms. “...I'm glad to know you f-feel that way, Applejack. I... uh... I really do...”

She continues speaking, the stride of her words not stopping for anything. “I want you to know this, darlin'. Even if none of the girls say so, I'm gonna say it now.” She caresses your head and neck, speaking past your ear. “We're gonna protect you, Cherish.”

“Huh?”

“I'm gonna protect ya, darlin'.” You sense her smile in your peripheral, and it tickles your heart—perhaps not the reaction Applejack is looking for, but—“So long as I'm around, ya ain't got nothin' to worry about, ya hear? Yer safe with me.”

You can't help but giggle. “What do you have to protect me from, Applejack?”

“Anythang, I reckon. Dun matter. But the fact of the matter is that we found ya and we ain't lettin' nothin' bad happen to ya. Ya hear?”

You endure a long, contemplative breath. Deep down inside—there's no denying that you've always wanted to hear someone say this, especially someone among your new set of gorgeous friends. There are other things you would like to hear them say—or maybe you're scared to hear them say—but that's neither here nor there. All you need to do right now is live up to your name.

So you do.

“I hear you, Applejack. And thank you.”

“Good... now... maybe that will make you forgive me.”

You blink. “Forgive you for what?”

“I can already tell I've stained yer shirt with sweat.” She huffs. “Rarity's gonna gut me like a fish.”

You giggle yet again. “Can't have that, can we?”

“Ah well. Good thang we've got a bath and a washin' machine at the homestead!” She squeezes you, and you sense her winking. “That'll fix it nice and good, right?”

“Heeheehee... sure thing!”

“I'm sure I've got one of Apple Bloom's old nightgowns lyin' around. You could wear that by the fireplace while I fix yer dress back up.”

“Sure... that sounds... sweet,” you say. And you take a final bite of apple, and that's sweet too.