Leather Jackets are like hearts on fire
You are Flash Sentry. Your girlfriend, Sunset Shimmer, is waiting for you in the bed. It’s finally time to bump uglies. Do the deed. Wet your whistle. You know, have sex.
The only problem is that you’ve never done this before, and neither has Sunset. You both had figured that this was a normal high-school experience, and since you’d just had your 18th birthday and were very normal, then it was what you should do. You are also graduating this year, so it feels like the right time to do something dumb and poorly thought out. You love things that are dumb and poorly thought out.
Sunset is nervous, and you’d heard her mumble something about a tail. You wonder if she’s being followed. Carefully, you check the window. There are no cops to be seen—not that this is a crime. You wouldn’t be doing this if it was a crime. You’re an upstanding citizen.
“Hey, Flash, you coming? Or am I going to be doing this by myself?”
The thought makes you frown. That would be easier, but you’re pretty sure it doesn’t count. “Just a second. I’m not done undressing.”
That was a lie. You are, in fact, done undressing. What you aren’t done doing is checking out your buff abs. You are built like a Greek god, and your girlfriend is blessed to see you. Nodding at yourself in approval, you reach your hand to the Palmolive jar so you can give you hair a quick fluff.
It’s looking a little tired. Slightly worn down. A tad bit droopy, as it were.
Sunset screams through the door, “You better not be fucking with your hair right now, Flash!”
“Don’t worry, Babe. I’m not. My hair… My hair is perfect.” You lie again, but you had to. There was no other choice. The truth would destroy her.
Nodding at yourself in affirmation, you open the door of the bathroom and step into the motel bedroom. As you look across the room, you see the curtains are up. Good. You don’t want to be distracted by the truckers in the motel parking lot. They have leather jackets. Leather Jackets always deserve your attention.
Looking down, you nod at Sunset. She likes leather jackets, too. “The blinds are closed,” you say.
She just nods. She knows what you mean. She doesn’t want to be distracted from this dumb and poorly thought out high school ritual, either. The blinds were a necessary evil for the both of you.
Her lips quiver as she speaks, “Do you think they have cool patches?”
You smirk, suddenly realizing the coolest thing to say. “The coolest patches.”
Sunset squirms. You aren’t sure why. Maybe she’s cold because she doesn’t have her leather jacket on. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t have any clothes on at all, and isn’t under the covers. She needs to be on the bed for this to work. Not in the bed. The two of you don’t want to fall asleep.
You aren’t sure what to do next, but that’s never stopped you before. You climb into bed with her.
Sunset looks at you and frowns, “Why is your mane so shiny?”
You shrug, “I work out.” You don’t know what a main is. Maybe she meant that big muscle in your chest. You flex it to be sure.
Her eyes focus on it, and she frowns. “Huh. I’m used to doing this facing the other way.”
You suddenly feel unsure. Has Sunset done this before? Do you need to call the police? Is she secretly cougar? It can’t be true. She was the coolest girl at school, and you were the coolest guy. Tonight was nature. Anything else didn’t count.
You lean over her to kiss her, putting your hand on her boobs. She shivers, “Ouch, Flash. I know these are in a weird place, but they’re still sensitive.”
Her boobs must be weird. That’s okay. You dig weird boobs.
“I dig weird boobs.”
She squirms again as you reassure her that you’re still into her weird body. She looks at you with wide, innocent eyes. Like a chihuahua.
“This is just so… strange. Are you sure you don’t need me to pee on you or something, to see if I’m in estrus?”
You don’t know what that means, either. But you do know you don’t want to be peed on. “Na, I’m cool. Super cool.”
She blushes, the red strips in her hair quivering like bacon flayed fresh from the pig, “I guess I don’t want to get pregnant.”
You nod, her hair distracting you. Your hair is so much better. She doesn’t use Palmolive. You doubt she uses any hair care products at all. “Yeah, don’t get pregnant.”
You wouldn’t want to raise kids that didn’t know how to take care of their hair.
Sunset groans, “Aren’t you going to do this?”
You smile, assuring her, “Lets do this.”
You lower your body, and place you penis in her vagina. It doesn’t go in. Your dick isn’t hard.
Sunset looks down in concern, “Are you sure you don’t need me to pee on you? Stallions back home have to check for…”
You shush her with your hand, covering her mouth, “I’m not that kind of Stud.”
Luckily, you know how to fix this. You’re an expert at hair care, after all. You take your hand off of Sunset’s mouth and run it through your hair, covering it with Palmolive. She watches in fascination as you coat your dick in it.
“So that’s why you don’t need pee.” She’s mystified, entralled by your presence.
You imagine children with beautiful hair. They’d have blue mohawks, and strong chest muscles. Each would be a football star. Each kid would wear a leather jacket, with a cool patch. Like a lightning bolt or something. Maybe in a shield.
Your dick slips inside of her, and she makes a noise.
“Oh. It’s, uh, inside I guess.”
You smirk at her, “Yeah, I guess it is.”
Sunset looks nervously around the room. You do as well. You wait. Nothing seems to happen. The clock ticks. You hear a ruckus outside. It sounds like a fight.
Sunset looks at you, intently and deathly serious, “Do you think their jackets were real leather?”
You cum. The orgasm rips through your body while you whine like a little girl.
Sunset’s eyes grow wide with ecstasy, “A.. Are you all right? Is this, uh, normal? For humans, I mean?”
You still, shushing her again as you cry. Those jackets were real leather all right. The tears drip down your cheeks as you whisper to her, “It’s okay… It’s okay… It’s okay…”
She stares blankly at you, lost in the orgasmic bliss that you’ve brought her. Softly, you take your hand off her mouth.
She looks down at your joined bodies and then back up at your face, “So, uh, neither of us are virgins now. Again. Yay us.”
You nod. Yay us indeed.
She looks out the window and sighs, “Can we go ask them about their jackets?”
Stifling your tears, you realize that some things in life are more important than post sex crying. Your emotions could wait. You and your non virgin girlfriend have jackets to look at.
Real, leather jackets.
You are pumped.
Author's Note
Don't ask me why. That way I won't have to tell you.
