Anon marched forward, the very picture of a man on a mission. Some of the Ponyvillians greeted him in passing, though more than a few did a double take, noses twitching as he strode on by. Not because he still had a mare’s smell on him—at least he was pretty sure—though he probably did have an oddly girly (marely?) scent about him, having spent the last hour or so soaking in a tub, colored and scented by a particularly aggressive bath bomb.

He shook his head. Freaking Lyra. Despite all the hemming and hawing on how he needed a crash course on mares and courtship, he’d come fresh out of the bath to find her dead asleep, sawing logs atop the living room couch. He could have probably waited, or even shaken her awake, but the day was young and, dammit, he was still riding the high of the previous day’s glorious, hours-long rutfest.

The perfect day outside beckoned and on he went. There was a spring in his step and everywhere he looked—all the things and all the colors appeared brighter, more vibrant today. The warm sun felt extra nice on his skin; the air fresher, cleaner, crisper. The otherwise normal, mundane day now had an air of jubilant promise about it—that no matter what; whether come hell or high water, everything would be just fine.

All that from screwing Pinkie’s brains out. He should probably do it more often, if this were to be the aftermath. And hell, judging by the very enthusiastic ‘thank you blowjob’ she’d granted him earlier today, she’d more than be happy to take him up on it.

Again he shook his head. Pinkie dwelt on his thoughts or rather, her words did. Some of the previous day’s revelations caused him to look at certain ponies—certain things they’d done—in a new light, like a big puzzle piece that had been missing from an overall picture. Combined with his near encounter with Rarity, a sort of dawning realization gradually came over him.

“Rarity said we shouldn’t push it. She said you’d want to have fun when and if you were good and ready.”

The words nagged at him. He’d known full well Pinkie was hiding something. He knew and didn’t give a rat’s ass what it might have been. At least not at the moment. Not when he’d been so close to getting lucky with a cute girl—er, mare, rather.

Now, with the benefit of hindsight, he realized Pinkie and her close circle of friends had been getting... friendly with him as of late. He hadn’t thought about it too much. Ponies were friendly creatures after all, and he was more or less on amiable terms with all six of them. Except maybe Twilight. He still didn’t know what the deal was with that mare.

He did know, however, something was afoot, and those same six ponies were at the center of it. Hell, when weren’t they at the center of it? So many zany adventures and shenanigans revolved around them, it’s like they were the main cast in a show or something.

Regardless of what new plan or scheme they’d cooked up now, Anon wanted answers. He had no hard evidence, and he’d be the first to call it a gut feeling more than anything, but he’d swear he was at the center of some... well, he didn’t know. Luckily, he knew just the mare to go to for answers.

Applejack blinked upon seeing an unfamiliar stallion at her kitchen table.

“Uhh... howdy, stranger.”

The stallion forced a tight-lipped smile and responded with a weak nod.

“H-hi.”

“That’s her!” Granny Smith piped up, sitting across from the stranger. “My granddaughter, the one I told you about. Applejack! Come on over and say hello to Hard Flanks.”

“I-it’s actually Cart Clank.”

“What’s that?” Granny Smith said, leaning over and putting a hoof to her ear. “Speak up, colt! These old ears ain’t what they used to be.”

Applejack sighed.

“I-I said my name is...”

“Hard Flanks here’s an out o’ towner. Caught him by the train station during his first ever trip to Ponyville!”

“Well, actually, the train was delayed for a few hours and...”

“So I reckoned, ‘hey, why not take this handsome colt-about-town and give him a taste of the Apple family’s famous hospitality? No trip to Ponyville is complete without it.” Granny Smith peered at ‘Hard Flanks’ with an ominously cheerful smile. “So whaddaya think, young’un?”

He gulped hard and said, “It’s lovely. It’s a very lovely place. Very, uh, homey.”

Granny grinned. “Ours was the first family to settle these parts, don’t ya know? It’s good land. You won’t find a better place to settle down with a young, strong mare.”

Cart Clank began to sweat. “Y-yes. It, uh... it sure is that.”

“Applejack here’s gonna inherit the farm,” she nodded wisely. “She’ll be needing a good stallion to give her foals and help her run it. And she’s single.”

Applejack had heard enough.

“Granny, leave the poor stallion alone. Hard Flanks—”

“Cart Clank.”

“—thanks for visiting, it was nice t’ meet you.” She opened a nearby cupboard and withdrew a modest jar of zap apple jam, which she pushed onto the stallion with a muttered ‘sorry for the trouble’. “Now if ya’ll don’t mind, there’s a whole lotta chores t’ do and not enough hooves on hoof to do it.” She gestured politely for the door.

Jar in mouth, Cart Clank scampered for the door, shooting Applejack a grateful nod and a muffled thanks in passing.

“Now why’d ya go and do that, AJ? The colt was warming up to it!”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

Granny Smith shook her head. “Ya’ll gon’ die alone if ya don’t lower them highfalutin’ standards of yours.”

Applejack sighed and hung her hat on a nearby rack. “Granny, we’ve been over this. It ain’t that simple. Things have changed since great-grandpappy’s time.”

“Are you one of them... ohh, what’s that fancy new word everypony’s been usin’? Eh, filly fooler?”

“I like stallions just fine, Granny,” she said tiredly. “But things are different now. The farm’s big. Much bigger than in your time. We’re stretched thin enough as is, so how in the hay am I supposed to start a family when I got all...” she waved a hoof. “This t’ worry about?”

“That’s why ya need a stallion,” Granny insisted. “A big strapping one with strong seed who can pump ya full o’ foals.”

Applejack facehooved.

“Now I loved yer grandpappy, Faust rest his soul, but he hadn’t the strongest swimmers. They were weak! Ya’ll wouldn’t have known it, not with the size of the weapon tucked in that undercarriage o’ his.”

“Please don’t.”

“We tried all we could think of, but even the old ways didn’t help none. Heck, we even did everything in them Pony Sutra doodles that was all the rage back then.”

“Granny, I’m beggin’ you.”

“So we figured, hey, maybe a change of scenery will help some. So we tried in the cellar, the living room, in the kitchen... all the places. Even the roof! Eeyup, we worked the house top to bottom but even then we only had yer dear ol’ pappy t’ show for it.” She nodded sagely. “We also didn’t have them fancy doctors on demand like you young ‘uns. Did an old-fashioned home birth. Delivered him right in that same bed o’ yours.”

Applejack went white. Then green. Then there came a knock at the entrance and the farmpony jumped at the opportunity. Choking down her bile, she hurried to the door and left Granny Smith to continue her meandering, vomit-inducing rant. She opened the door and saw...

“Anon?”

He gave her an upwards nod. “Yo. Got a minute?”

“Who’s that at the door, AJ?” Granny Smith called.

“It’s Anon!” she hollered back.

“Anon? That the tall monkey feller? Well don’t just stand there, invite him in!”

“Can’t! He, uh...” she turned to him. “Did ya need me for somethin’?”

“Yeah, actually. I—”

“No can do, granny!” Applejack bellowed. “He’s got business with me! We gotta, uh, go an’ hash some things out. I’ll be back later.”

“Ask him if ponies and monkeys can have foals together!”

Anonymous sat on a stool. He leaned over the workbench, appraising the horseshoe with a critical eye. In his hand he held an unusually small tool; a pair of nipping pliers. That is, small for pony standards. The horseshoe itself was not too dissimilar from what he’d seen on Earth, save for one single component—a sturdy rubber sleeve that encased its metallic frame. It even had tracks in the underside, similar to what one might find on a human shoe, so as to aid in traction with the ground.

With his free hand he held the horseshoe in place. Carefully, he wedged the thin, flat jaws of the nipping pliers beneath the head of one of the metallic rivets. A firm squeeze on the handle and the rivet’s head popped off. He repeated this again; eight individual horseshoes with five rivets each. Once done with the full set he held up one of the horseshoes and with his free hand picked up another tool—a simple, thin metal rod and used it to push the remaining rivet pins from the rubbery confines of the horseshoe, repeating until the full set was done.

Now he could free the metal frames from the worn rubber casings and into fresh new ones, fastening them with new rivet pins and used another specialized tool to hold them in place. It wasn’t hard work, just very fastidious. He glanced over at Applejack on the other side of the barn. She busied herself by inspecting various bushels of apples, picked fresh in the morning, sorting out the good ones from the bad.

Tougher than a two-dollar steak, that mare. He didn’t know how she did it. Sweet Apple Acres was massive—less a charming little homegrown orchard; more a vast generational estate. The near literal breadbasket of Ponyville. He’d seen firsthand what her workload consisted of on an average day and was amazed neither the mare nor her brother collapsed from exhaustion alone.

Frankly he thought her a bit of a workaholic. Hell, her worn out horseshoes were a testament to this. The rubber casings were meant to last at least five months. Applejack and her brother wore them out in mere weeks.

He stole a surreptitious glance at the mare. Lightly stocky and with a sturdy frame, as was the norm for the earth ponies. He’d heard the phrase salt-of-the-earth thrown around every so often back home. He never fully knew what it meant, but damn if Applejack and her family didn’t embody it.

“All finished there, partner?”

Anon started a bit. Applejack regarded him expectantly, her head lightly cocked to the side.

Nodding, he said, “Pretty sure. Why don’t you try it on? See how well it fits.”

Applejack trotted on over. She and her brother mostly wore horseshoes on their hind legs, mainly to help with apple bucking; otherwise they’d crack and wear down their hooves without proper protection. He laid down two of the shoes atop the barn floor and backed away. Applejack maneuvered herself as best she could.

Ponies here could be surprisingly light and dexterous with their bodies. Applejack was no exception. That said, she had a tricky time aligning her back hooves with the horseshoes. Not surprising. Her legs could get a bit stiff after a long bout of apple bucking. She nickered with annoyance at yet another unsuccessful attempt at donning the things.

“Shucks,” she muttered. “These things are shakier than great Uncle Apple Pine on hard cider season.”

Anon seized the opportunity. “Here, let me help you.” Already he could see the retort on Applejack’s face, swift and ready to shoot the suggestion down.

Surprisingly, she scrunched up her muzzle and instead muttered, “Alright, then.”

Anon barely masked his surprise. Applejack was a prideful mare; this he’d learned long ago. Not the type to accept help easily. It could be a battle in itself to get her to do so. Still, he eased off the stool, knelt down at her side and plucked one of the horseshoes off the floor. Applejack half lifted her leg. He grabbed onto the wall of her hoof and lifted it higher, adjusting it so the bottom of her hoof faced upward.

She took good care of it, all things considered. A bit chipped in places, with considerable signs of wear. A thin layer of peach fuzz covered the frog; it looked plump and soft. He resisted the urge to poke it. He fastened the shoe as well as he could and it stayed in place by use of whatever weird pony magic allowed them to grab onto things. Applejack turned and allowed him to repeat the task with the remaining hoof. Once done, Anon stood and took a step back.

Applejack took some steps, humming appreciatively. She neared one of the support pillars and gave it an experimental buck.

“Whoo,” she said approvingly. “I’d reckon them’s a good fit. Thanks again, partner.” She made to tip her hat in gratitude, momentarily forgetting she’d left it back in her house. She promptly let the shoes fall and picked them up with her teeth, placing them atop the workbench. “Say, how’s that contraption of yours coming along?” She said, gesturing for the assortment of gears, chains and metal tubes awkwardly assembled by the wall near the workbench.

Anon suppressed a sigh. “Progress is... ongoing.”

“That well, huh? How many times have ya taken a crack at it?”

“Dozens, easily. I dunno. I lost count some time ago.”

Applejack hummed. “Well, ain’t my business to tell you your business but... shouldn’t you give it up by now? Move on to other things?”

“I probably should, yes.”

“But you ain’t gonna?”

“Nope.”

She hummed again. “I’m probably the last pony who should be saying this, but aren’t ya bein’ a mite stubborn?”

“I’d like to think of it as persistent—no, enterprising. Besides, the end result will be well worth it.”

Applejack gave the pile of junk another once over. “I don’t see it. What’s so important about this... this, uh, whatchamacallit?”

“Bicycle, AJ. Or bike, either’s fine.”

“Still. Why’d ya need it to get around? Nothing wrong with good old-fashioned horsepower.” She half raised her leg for good measure.

“Never said there was. Besides, you ponies have four legs to help you along. I don’t. This helps even the playing field. It’ll help me get to places faster.”

Applejack cocked her head. “Why’d ya need to go faster? You in a hurry or somethin’?”

“Well, no. But... how can I put this? It’s... convenient?”

“Convenient?”

“My world runs on convenience. And having a bike is just, well, convenient to have. Once I figure out how to actually build one.”

“If you say so,” she said simply and left it at that, as she often did when unable to grasp a concept of his world or his people’s ways. Anon watched as she took the assorted horseshoes off the bench and hung them in sets over two nails near the barn’s entrance. “Have you tried asking Pinkie Pie to lend a hoof?” Anon looked surprised, but shook his head. “I think I remember seeing her in some kinda, uhh... flying doohickey.” She nodded to the assorted pile of parts Anon had been working on. “Kinda looked like that, if I remember correctly.”

To Anon’s credit, he didn’t look too surprised, long since used to Pinkie’s proclivities for the random and bizarre.

“I’ll be sure to do that.” He considered his next action for a moment and took the plunge. “Speaking of Pinkie, we spent the day together.”

“That’s nice,” Applejack said mildly, fussing over something on her side of the barn. “What’d y’all do?”

“Rut, mostly.”

Applejack did a double-take, fixing Anon with a blank, slack jawed stare.

“Wut?”

“She invited me to her place, one thing led to another, yada yada yada, we spent the rest of the day on her bed.”

“That’s, uh...”

“Here’s the thing. Just before Pinkie came along, I was actually about to get lucky with Rarity, of all ponies. Funny how that worked out, huh?”

“Well, that sure is, uh, somethin’.” She cleared her throat, her attention now fully on him. “So you finally went and took the plunge, then? What’d you think? Being with a mare.”

“It was great. That Pinkie... she’s kind of a freak in the sheets.”

Applejack burst out laughing. “I reckon she is. Did she give you a good time?”

“...Yeah?”

Applejack nodded. “That girl is somethin’ else. I swear, once she’s in the mood, there’s more randy energy in her than a rabbit on mating season.”

Anon found himself at a loss for words. He’d hoped to take Applejack off-guard, yet after the initial revelation she’d taken everything in stride.

“Now Anon,” she continued. “I hope you also showed my friend a good time? I know stallions sometimes have a hard time keeping up with her.”

Again, the words died in his throat. Why was Applejack so nonchalant in discussing this with him? He’d seen the same attitude from stallions when the subject of sex and mares came up, but he hadn’t given it much thought. Just guys being guys. Not too dissimilar from his friends back on Earth.

“Y-yeah,” he said.

“Good stall—er, man,” Applejack nodded approvingly. “I am curious though... how do mares compare with your, eh, human gals?”

“Mares are,” he considered this for a moment. “Smaller. Softer? More flexible? Though I’m not sure if that last one’s just Pinkie.”

Applejack chuckled. “Fair enough. That filly’s probably got a category all to herself.”

“Yeah...”

“So, ah,” Applejack cleared her throat. “Think you’ll be doing it again? A romp in the hay with a mare? Or is it one of those one and done deals?”

“Why? You interested?” he said without thinking.

“Shoot, partner. Course I am. Any stud can keep up with Pinkie’s worth his salt in bed, I’d say.”

Anon found himself spellbound by the farmpony. He knew full well mares could be forward, inviting stallions (and himself) to bed as if nothing more than a friendly outing. But this was Applejack. He’d caught her staring intensely at him on some occasions, cheeks aflame and nostrils flared on those hot, sweaty days when heat season rolled around, but other than that, she’d not shown any sort of interest with him.

And it’s not like Applejack herself was without appeal. Anon would admit to being a sucker for green eyes, and he could easily stare for hours at the striking shades of Applejack’s emerald-green hues. Her charming accent; straightforward, no-frills approach to life and all; honest and hardworking nature, and her genuine, warm hospitality won him over almost instantly. The fact she hadn’t legions of stallion admirers beating down her front door for a chance to court her baffled Anon to no end. Were Applejack a human girl, Anon would have shot his shot with her ages ago.

“Partner?” Applejack now stood before him. One of the barn’s open windows allowed the sun’s rays to reach in, gilding Applejack’s features.

While she didn’t, in any way whatsoever, maintain her coat in the same fastidious manner as Rarity, Applejack’s coat had a healthy, sun-kissed glow. Anon wagered, were he to run his hand across it, her fur and her body would radiate a warm, gentle heat. Her blonde bangs, styled by nothing more than an idle pass of a brush and the whims of the wind outdoors, spilled somewhat messily over her eyes. Anon’s breath caught in his throat. Those eyes. They almost sparkled in the sunlight. It’d be so easy to get lost in their depths. Reluctantly, he averted his gaze, settling upon the freckles that framed the soft outlines of her face.

He’d long since considered the farmpony attractive; alluring in her own natural way. It didn’t faze him in the least, not before today, likely stemming from the fact he didn’t consider her nor any pony a potential partner, sexual or otherwise. Yet now he felt as if he were his younger self, back in the halls of junior high school, frozen to the spot when a gorgeous girl gave him the slightest bit of attention.

“Anon?”

Gulping hard, Anon mustered the effort to collect himself.

“What,” he croaked. “What did you say?”

Applejack studied him closely. Her eyes darted over his, right to left and back again. Something must have shown on his face. The corner of Applejack’s lips quirked to a small, knowing smile.

“Mares,” she said more clearly. “Think you’ll be...” Idly, almost nonchalantly, she placed a hoof over his knee. “Sampling the local flavor, now you got a taste of it?”

“I think I might,” he said faintly.

Applejack hummed, the sly smirk still in her lips. She blinked her eyes—a completely mundane action, yet to Anon’s heightened senses, she might as well have batted them, and it made his blood run hot.

“I’ve only ever been with ponies, did ya know that?” Her hoof made slow, lazy circles across the fabric of his pants. “All my kin before me’s been, I reckon.” Steadily, her hoof made a steady path upwards. “We’re traditional like that, us Apples. It’s in our blood. We like it that way.” His pants began to feel tight. “Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a mite... curious.”

“You haven’t...” Anon swallowed. “Showed any interest before.”

“Neither have you.”

“Touche,” Anon conceded.

The pressure on his pants eased somewhat. Anon looked down, surprised to see Applejack had somehow undone the button of his pants using only a hoof. Her attention now focused on his bulge. Faint traces of a blush crept up on her cheeks. She leaned forward, almost nose to nose with his crotch. Anon could feel little puffs of hot air even past the fabric of his clothes. Applejack’s lips parted and with surprising delicacy, took the zipper of his pants in her teeth, coaxing it downward.

Something clicked in Anon’s mind. Were Applejack to try this with one of his pants from back on Earth, she’d have had a harder time. Being the sole provider of his clothes, Rarity couldn’t help herself to, on occasion, project her own unique touch onto his garments; curiously enough, on the zipper of his pants. She’d made it bigger, considerably more robust than what Anon was used to; enough to facilitate Applejack’s efforts. Could this be the reason behind this seemingly random quirk the seamstress applied to his clothing? Did she intend for a potential partner of Anon’s to have an easier time helping him out of his clothes? Or was it simply an innocent oversight, in mind with pony sensibilities? He made a mental note to ask her sometime in the future.

“Anon...”

Now startled out of his random mental tangent, he looked to Applejack. She regarded him expectantly. He came here with the hopes of wheedling some answers out of the farmpony. Who better to give him a straight answer than the pony who literally can’t lie? Yet now, in less than a twenty-four hour timespan, a third (admittedly attractive) mare actively tried to get in his pants. Even for the supposedly sexually liberated Ponyville, this seemed a step too far.

Something was going on here. And Anon didn’t care one bit.

Already worked up, and with an enchanting, eager mare at arm’s reach, Anon gave in to his base impulses.

‘Sample the local flavor’ indeed!

Author's Note

Everybody who had Apple pone up next on their bingo cards, raise your hands