Five Star Service – Auld Lang Syne

By Five Stars of Manehattan
Special to the New York Life and Manehattan Post magazines
March 9 issues

New York Life Chief Editor’s Note:

Nearly a month and a half into our publication of these articles, they—and we along with them—have received much attention and acclaim. To be certain, we have also received a great deal of criticism and even legal trouble, including boycott and lawsuit threats, and, as many of you know, obscenity charges recently filed by a city councilwoman.

While our lawyers and legal advocates address such concerns, the articles will continue. We emphasize once more we take no position on Five Stars’ Profession, Gentlemen for Mares or the question of interspecies relationships. We are publishing these articles uncensored because we feel that with a growing number of human/pony pairings occurring on both sides of the portal, it is an issue that should be discussed, not hidden away from view.

Though on a less gracious note… to those threatening to boycott us, feel free. Our circulation and ad revenue has soared thanks to these articles; we won’t miss you. You can claim we’re just trying to sell papers if you wish, and you are correct—we are a business and selling papers to make money is what we do. People have the right to buy our product… or not. If they ARE buying it, it’s because they like what we’re selling.

That’s the essence of a free market and society. If you don’t like it, tough. You don’t have a right to shut us down just because we’re selling or saying things you don’t like.

Signed,

—Kalido Tema, Chief Editor, New York Life magazine

Manehattan Post Owner’s Note:

Like our sister publication, we have received thoroughly mixed reviews regarding our publication of these articles, with some local pony politicians threatening to prosecute us using archaic, centuries-old laws forbidding ‘depictions of interspecies indecency’ or open advertising of comfort horses. Needless to say, I find it very ironic—though very unsurprising—that the same ponies who so acclaimed us when we published unflattering and often-explicit exposes on human culture and mating habits are the same ones now screaming about ‘indecency’ and ‘undermining herd harmony’ when we turn the same scrutiny on our own society.

As chief editor, I must listen to such concerns and point out politely that the journalistic profession requires the asking of uncomfortable questions and the exploration of all sides of an issue. However, as the owner of Manehattan Life magazine, my response to such critics is less constrained:

Kiss my flank. The articles stay.

And as for that lurid ‘exclusive’ in the New Yoke Times that I have in fact used Gentlemen for Mares myself… they are correct. I have. And will very happily continue to do so.

Signed,

—Hot Topic, Owner and Founder, Manehattan Post magazine

Before I begin this week’s article, I would like to once again thank the Manehattan Post and New York Life magazines for their willingness to publish them, and the fact that they continue doing so even in the face of the criticism and apparent legal troubles they have received.

I don’t really understand why sex is such a taboo topic in human society, though I certainly know why Gentlemen for Mares is a controversial subject to ponies. I, too, have received a good deal of fan and hate mail over the past few weeks, some of which I plan to share and answer in future articles. I am personally past the point where the latter bothers me, and would simply note that it’s very easy to toss insults and cast aspersions via mail when you don’t have to identify yourself or look your target in the eye.

Easy, but contemptible. I don’t respect or respond to anonymous sniping. If you don’t have the courage of your convictions to put your name on your letter as I have put mine on these articles, it goes right in the garbage, unread.

My next story has less to do with Gentlemen for Mares than with me personally. In truth, I debated not sharing this particular tale, but… it was a night that did much to redefine my identity as a mare and in many ways made me the pony I am today. For that reason, it’s a tale worth telling.

Out with the old…

As my heat passed following after an unexpectedly happy and cathartic Hearth’s Warming, I headed towards the New Year a new pony and resolved to make the most of it, my time with my departed dentist friend a springboard propelling me forward—no more moping and no more looking back, I promised myself as I saw her off from the train station. It was time to move on with my life, to well and truly make a new life for myself there in Las Pegasus. I would make a name for myself and I would find a new stallion and herd, I vowed as we rung in the New Year in true Las Pegasus style, the casinos and hotels emptying out into a giant open-air Street party the likes of which I’d never seen.

New Year’s Eve parties in Manehattan could be raucous and even occasionally raunchy, especially out in the crush of ponies watching the ball drop in Epochs Plaza. But I quickly found out they had NOTHING on Las Pegasus. The main difference began with the simple fact that unlike Hearth’s Warming, New Years was a celebration shared by all species, and Las Pegasus had plenty of non-ponies about. You might see the odd griffin or Saddle Arabian in Manehattan, but here in the desert oasis… at least a third of the denizens, both residents and guests, were non-equine. To say it made for an interesting scene would be putting it way too mildly: as the evening wore on and with plenty of alcohol (and a few other more illicit substances) flowing; societal and species boundaries were becoming very blurred… if not outright disappearing.

At first it was just the odd kiss or wingbrush—nothing I hadn’t seen at the Shemareaton’s New Year’s gala. But it quickly escalated well beyond anything I’d ever encountered or even imagined before. It began in earnest when I was stunned to see what looked like a brief interspecies aerial scrap turn into a pegasus stallion mounting a griffin eagless on top of a fountain to loud cheers (I later learned they weren’t fighting—griffins just liked to spar with prospective partners before mating to get themselves worked up!) I’d barely gotten over my shock at that when I saw an adolescent dragon (he couldn’t have been more than fifty!) pick up an unresisting unicorn mare and put her on his lap as he laid back on a stone bench (belly-to-belly mating? How kinky was THAT?), his serpentine tongue lewdly wrapped around his equine mate’s horn while she shrieked her pleasure, her horn erupting in fireworks that rivaled what the repurposed pegasi weather teams were firing off overhead.

Now reeling and wondering what in the name of Celestia was wrong with this town—interspecies mating, let alone public interspecies mating was WAY beyond the bounds of common decency, I thought (ironic, right?)—I turned and saw over in the corner… two zebra stallions making out openly, hiding neither their erections nor intent—being a ‘colt-cuddler’ was apparently not taboo in zebra culture. It certainly was (and is) in ponydom, however, and this display was less well-received… though I noticed many mares were staring intently at the pair and apparently very turned on by the sight of two males getting it on, if their stiffened wings and glistening slits were any indication.

Surprised and more than a little uncomfortable at what was happening around me, I stuck to my serving duties as best I could, ignoring entreaties from my coworkers to join the party in earnest and the personal assurance of my hotel manager it was okay—on this night of all nights, we were allowed to partake and participate in the festivities ourselves, I was told repeatedly. I held out as long as I could but finally, I realized I was going to have to put something in my system to get through this awkward night. So when I thought nopony was looking, I grabbed a flute of sparkling cider and downed it in one gulp.

Just one drink, I promised myself. Just to steady my nerves…

An hour later, one bubbly drink had become four, and I was about a horseshoe and a half to the wind.

Maybe it was my steadily lowering inhibitions, maybe it was the encounter I had so recently enjoyed with my dentist friend, or maybe it just the general vibe of sex in the crowd, but… I found myself, through a chain of events I can no longer recall, giving into the demands of the throng and making out with a random pegasus server mare from the Palisades hotel next door. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with it and I don’t think she was either, her semi-stiff wings aside… though there WAS something deliciously naughty about the whole thing; breaking the rules like that.

Nevertheless… we were sure we’d just lost our jobs when our respective hotel managers abruptly materialized in front of us—I mean that literally; as in the two unicorn mares teleported in with a bright flash, scaring us both half to death. The pair of older mares put on an angry air and stared at us for a moment, still in their hotel manager uniforms—violet for the Mystique, silver for the Palisades. The nearby crowd fell silent in seeming anticipation as my manager, an orange mare with white mane named Rising Star, reprimanded me for “socializing with a rival server,” while the Palisades manager gravely told her own cringing worker that “such brazen disloyalty amongst my staff simply cannot to be tolerated.”

“And I had such high hopes for you, Five Stars…” Rising Star shook her head sadly, giving me a stern and sorrowful look. “You seemed like such a good worker. But here I find you smelling of cider and neglecting your duties for a fling with another filly,” she said with a nod to my left.

My ears went flat at that. She was right—I had violated my not only the hotel’s (rarely enforced) fraternization policy, but my own personal code of conduct by drinking on duty… to say nothing of acceding to this… display. “I… I-I’m sorry,” I told her, bowing my head in shame. “It was very unprofessional of me.”

“Indeed it was,” my manager told me sternly, drawing herself up straighter. “Because if you were truly going to be professional about entertaining our guests…” she got a devilish gleam. “THIS is how you’d do it!” she announced loudly as she turned towards her Palisades counterpart…

And started to make out passionately with her as the mixed-species crowd erupted in cheers like they’d seen this act from them before. My muzzle dropped open as the two unicorn mares magically undressed each other, tendrils of their orange-and-blue auras slipping inside each other’s clothes and probing beneath the other’s tail as their kissing got ever-more urgent and tongue-heavy… the pair finally ending up buck-naked on the ground belly-to-belly in a modified swirl, suckling each other’s teats while simultaneously running their horns along the length of each other’s slit… probing and pleasuring each other with their auras while I could only watch slackjawed, a blush in my cheeks while my palisades twin stared transfixed, her wings going extremely stiff and almost-painfully splayed at the display in front of us.

It took less than two minutes from beginning to end—clearly something they had plenty of practice at and enjoyed. When they came, it was all over everything around them; the orgasmic eruption from their horns shamelessly showered everypony within a thirty-hoof radius with magical, multicolored sparks that tingled pleasantly when they hit you, almost instantly soaking into your body and giving you the barest echo of what they were feeling. It had happened with Snow Lily a few times and she was usually embarrassed by it… but never from a total stranger!

“Now THAT is how you entertain our guests!” Rising Star told us as she climbed somewhat shakily back to her hooves, speaking in a slightly breathless tone like she was telling the punchline of a joke.

“And we expect much better performance from you both in the future…” her still-flushed Palisades counterpart added as she stood back up as well and began to re-dress, the two mares sharing a parting kiss before bowing to the wildly cheering and hoof-stomping crowd. “Come with me, Five Stars,” my manager told me, carrying her clothes in her aura. I’d never seen her without them on, and she was a very elegant orange unicorn who wore her years well; her white hair was graying slightly but still possessed its original sheen.

My world turned upside-down once again, I let her lead me away, badly shaken. Realizing I was in no shape for anything at that point, she teleported me back to her office (which did NOT help my upset system) and sat me down on one of her guest cushions.

“It’s a party, Five Stars. The biggest party of the year, in fact,” she told me, more gently as she mixed me a drink out of her personal minibar, which was stocked with all sorts of exotic alcohols. “I’m sorry if I shocked you. I was just trying to show you—by example—it’s okay to let go. I want you to loosen up and enjoy yourself out there,” she emphasized as she floated me the drink, which I accepted with a shaking hoof, half-wondering if she was planning to loosen me up herself… and if I’d let her do it. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you’ve been pensive and uptight ever since you started here. I thought you got better the last couple days, though—I heard from the elevator guards you were hanging out with a certain guest over Hearth’s Warming a lot?” she told me with a sly grin, causing me to blush. “Ah… so you HAVE already indulged yourself with a guest,” she gave me an approving nod and smile… which fell slightly as I looked away.

“Why so ashamed? Did she not enjoy herself?” Rising Star asked, her head cocked to the side.

“She… she did,” I admitted, remembering what my dentist friend said about how I’d saved her vacation.

“And did YOU?” my manager immediately followed up.

My intensified blush answered for me. “Good,” she said in satisfaction. “Then you helped a guest to enjoy herself, and helped yourself in the process. So what’s the problem?”

I blinked at that—so what WAS the problem? I found myself wondering. “But… it’s unprofessional…” was the only response I could muster, and it sounded weak even to my own ears.

She arched an eyeridge at that. “That’s the second time you’ve said that. So tell me, Five Stars…” she said, pouring her own drink while she looked out her big office window over the massive party on the Street; as we watched a giggling pegasi mare shot past pursued by two young griffin tiercels—another uncomfortable (and strangely titillating) reminder of the interspecies action going on out there. My manager smiled at the sight, craning her neck to see them. “You were very coy when I initially interviewed you about your previous job and life in Manehattan. I didn’t press because I could tell you didn’t want to talk about it, and you don’t have to here either. But I would like to know… why did you leave?” she asked, turning back to me. “I promise I won’t share it or hold it against you.”

Deciding I had nothing to lose, I took another hard swig of the drink—Griffin Gin, much more potent than the sparkling cider I’d been drinking—and told her everything: my previous herd and herd stallion, my lead mare manager, what happened with her when Discord returned… and how the aftermath finally forced me out. Rising Star listened quietly and by the end she was staring at me, nodding in sympathy. “Your last manager sounds like a real piece of work,” she told me, a little more subdued. “I trust you know by now I’m not like that.”

I could only nod numbly—no, she was no Autumn Leaf. Though you’re a piece of work too… I didn’t say.

“So… you were an up-and-coming concierge with a promising career and a good herd, but you lost them and now you’re starting over,” she summarized. “I know it’s not easy, but this town, Five Stars… it’s made for new beginnings,” she told me. “It swallows up some ponies whole, but for others… it’s the ticket to a new life and career. You said yourself that you were meant to be in the hospitality industry, and take it from me… you’ll never find a place more welcoming or hospitable than this one,” she told me with a wry grin as the pegasus mare and griffin males flew by again, the latter starting to close the distance on the former. “I think you can make it here… but ONLY if you decide you want to. Only if you embrace the city’s spirit… and yourself in the process,” she said, speaking slowly.

I shifted uncomfortably on the cushion where I sat. “I don’t know if I want to embrace it if that means I’m required to bed guests.”

“Not required,” she quickly corrected me. “Tell me… why did you indulge with that one guest over Hearth’s Warming?” she challenged, taking a sip of her drink.

I shifted uncomfortably, wishing the gin would soak into my system faster. “Because… I was in heat and I liked her. Because… I was lonely and I needed her, and… well… she was having a rough time and needed me,” I said, rubbing a hoof behind my head, still scarcely able to believe I was having this conversation.

“Exactly!” my manager nodded. “My only rule is staff/guest relationships is this: that there are no obligations, and it’s for mutual benefit and enjoyment,” she said, causing me to blink. “You do it because you want to, not because you have to. You make a guest happy, they come back. They tell their friends. They come as well and they all spend more bits. In the same way… if you make a server happy, they make guests happier. Mutual enjoyment is the essence of this city—the essence of entertainment itself,” she told me. “Surely it wasn’t so different in Manehattan?”

“Not like… THAT!” I pointed with a hoof out the window to a nearby rooftop, where the two tiercels had finally cornered their pegasus mare quarry, who didn’t look too at all unhappy to be trapped as she turned and raised her tail. The pair wasted little time in pinning her, the first laying little love bites with his beak all along the leading edge of her stiff wings and shoulders as the second moved to mount her, his large wings splayed wide.

Rising Star looked out at the scene and smiled. “Well… don’t get me wrong. What you’re seeing is basically a once-a-year thing when we have this massive Street party and all inhibitions get thrown to the wind. Any other day, that wouldn’t happen except in private or behind closed doors. Still… there’s probably no other place on the planet this could happen except here… and it is a point of pride to us,” she told me as I heard a mare’s muffled shriek of pleasure and the two male griffins traded places. “Though maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you’re still acting the way you were supposed to as a concierge in Manehattan. But in Las Pegasus… the rules are different. Especially at my hotel. And ESPECIALLY tonight,” she said with another wry grin as she began to put my slightly disheveled uniform and makeup back to rights with her magic, emphasizing her point by giving my flanks a sudden squeeze with her aura as it passed over them to smooth out my dress.

She pulled back quickly when I flinched. “Now that said… I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to,” my manager hastened to add, perhaps sensing she’d gone too far. “If you’re not comfortable out there, you can take the night off and when you come back I’ll try to find a posting more your speed. But in all honesty… I think you should give the party another try. The tips are good tonight, and nopony—least of all me—is going to mind if you indulge yourself with a drink or a patron,” she grinned at me. “You said you were a concierge at an upscale Manehattan hotel, and it shows—I can tell you’re a classy and intelligent earth pony, Five Stars, and your talents are clearly wasted as a server. But at the same time… I’d like to see you succeed as one before I begin moving you up.”

I told her I understood and asked her for some time to compose myself and think about things. She nodded and left me to it, promising I could remain in her office for as long as I wished. With a parting invitation that I could use her washroom as well, her horn flared and she disappeared in a flash of light, teleporting back down to The Street below. As I nursed the drink she gave me, I mulled what she had said, turning her words over in my head. Oddly enough, what stuck out most was something my father had once told me years earlier and she had roughly echoed; a basic truth of the hospitality industry:

That happy staff equaled happy guests, and happy guests spent more bits and came back for more.

Embrace the spirit of the city, and embrace yourself, her words echoed in my head. But could I do that? And what exactly did ‘embracing myself’ mean…?

And In With The New!

I didn’t leave the office for the better part of an hour, slowly sipping at my drink while I thought… and brooded.

At the Shemareaton or even my father’s hotel, we were supposed to see to the comfort of our guests even at the cost of our own. But here in Las Pegasus… it was different. Here… it was apparently supposed to be mutual. And I have to say, I rather liked the idea that I could my put own enjoyment and comfort on equal footing with our guests…

In hindsight, a good future lesson for Gentlemen.

So then… what do you want, Five Stars? What makes you happy? I asked as I stared out the office window, hearing the clock strike eleven. Professionally, the answer to that question was easy—what made me happy was making others happy, as befits someone born and raised to be in the hospitality industry. It was my both my career and my identity, as my cutie mark showed only too clearly. But as for what made me happy personally… a warm body and the attention of a stallion, the answer came back quickly.

I blinked at a sudden thought—so why did they have to be separate? Why couldn’t they be one and the same? Why was I clinging so tightly to the protocols of my past, following the rules of the Shemareaton and a former hotel manager I no longer worked for or respected? My new manager was trying to show me a new way to think and work, one which, if I was being honest with myself, I’d already indulged in just a few days earlier.

So… why not try it out? I asked as I stared at my reflection in the glass window. Why couldn’t my private passions be part of my profession as well? What do I have to lose?

With that, I made my decision. I touched up my dress and makeup, put a little swagger in my step, downed the remaining gin and headed back downstairs. Take a deep breath, I stepped outside and grabbed a fresh serving tray, reserving one flute for myself as I waded back into the crowd.

From her private perch overlooking The Street, Rising Star caught my eye and smiled.

The next half-hour passed quickly. I had another couple drinks, and with my change in attitude and a newfound willingness to flirt with the guests, I found myself picking up a lot more tips (funniest thing, right?) and interest, from stallions and mares alike. I found myself appraising the former a great deal, wondering who would be good to concentrate a little more effort on.

I got an answer quickly. As the clock rolled towards midnight and The Street party got even more wild, I discovered a slightly-overwhelmed looking earth pony stallion kind of hiding in a corner, a gold-furred and fire-maned country colt wearing a brown pleather vest and a matching Stetson with a black band just above the brim.

Finally fully into the festivities myself, I hated seeing a stallion not enjoying himself, especially one as good-looking as this one, and did my best to put him at ease. “Hey there, cowcolt,” I called to him easily—he certainly looked like a cowcolt with his attire, and I wondered if he was a performer of some sort. “Can a filly offer you a drink?” I presented my serving tray.

“Ah, well…” he answered in a rather thick country accent that certainly made him sound like one too, making no move to take one of the flutes. “Ah’m ‘fraid Ah don’t have many bits on me…” he said, sounding slightly embarrassed. “Can’t say Ah really like that bubbly none neither.”

That cinched it—if he didn’t have money and wasn’t soliciting any, he certainly wasn’t a performer; he was the real deal. “Then let a lady buy you one,” I told him with a disarming grin. “What’s your pleasure?”

He raised his green eyes to my orange ones in surprise. “That’d… be right kind of ya, ma’am…” he tipped his hat to me in gratitude. “Maybe some ale?” he asked shyly, and I swiftly retrieved it for him, declining his slightly-awkward attempt to give me a tip. Starting to talk with him, I learned he was a native of nearby Appleloosa (about a half day away by train), in town ‘on business’, but his train got cancelled and he’d then gotten caught up in the party with no place to stay… clearly not knowing what to do in the midst of so many different ponies and other species, many of whom were now openly making out or rutting. He was certainly getting his share of attention from the mares, I noticed, but seemed flustered by it; wasn’t reciprocating their attention at all.

I really didn’t understand why. To say he was gorgeous would be an understatement; with his looks and outfit he could easily been mistaken for some of the stallions in the high-end male revue shows—and probably was. Regardless, a couple tall and frosty mugs of frothy ale seemed to loosen him up, and I began checking on him more frequently, though I can’t say my motives were all innocent—helped by own alcohol buzz (how many drinks had I had? Six? Seven? I’d lost track) I resolved that if I was truly going to ‘loosen up’ as Rising Star wanted me to, I’d start right here and began to chat him up in earnest, charmed by his Appleloosa accent, polite manner, frontier-style cowcolt attire and rugged good looks.

“So what brings you out to Las Pegasus, cowcolt?” I asked him with a twinkle as I brought him his third drink, just five minutes before midnight.

“Just trying t’ drum up some tourism fer mah town, ma’am…” he explained, starting to sound a little more at ease. “Now that we’re on good terms with th’ local buffalo tribe, we could both use th’ bits,” he added, going on to say he’d been trying to get the local tour outfits to start offering trips into Appleloosa and surrounding countryside, with the promise of offering an ‘authentic frontier experience’.

“I see…” I told him, looking him over more directly now. “So then tell me, cowcolt… what ‘authentic frontier experience’ do you have to offer?” I challenged, stretching out my neck and batting my eyes at him.

“Well, uh…” he shifted his hooves a little nervously as he sensed my interest. “Ah reckon what y’ see is what y’ get?” he said, turning fractionally to the side to give me a better view of him, giving me a look that was equal parts shy and sly.

Needless to say, I liked what I saw—physically, he was a young and well-muscled workhorse, and that vest and hat of his only added to his cowcolt allure. In terms of personality, he seemed a bit bashful but also very honest and earnest—“runs in th’ family,” he told me when I brought it up later. “Most’a us ‘r apple farmers.”

“Well, I certainly like your apples,” I nodded at his flank in a deliberate double-entendre—by my words and where I was staring, I could be referring to either his cutie mark… or what lay beneath his tail.

He was a country colt, but that didn’t mean he was slow—he got it immediately, his green eyes widening a bit. “Well, ma’am… it ain’t right fer me t’ brag, but… mah apples ARE pretty popular,” he tried. “Everypony who tries ‘em likes ‘em, Ah mean.”

My eyes turned hooded. “Well, then… I might like to try them,” I told him, bumping his hip with my own and whisking my tail over him.

He visibly swallowed, looking surprised, excited and frightened all at once. “Ah think… that could be arranged…” he offered tentatively.

“How soon?” I asked eagerly, briefly flagging my tail as I turned away to bend down and pick up some discarded flutes. No question about it—I was actively trying to offer myself to him… and it was even starting to sound like he might let me have him!

“W-well, uh…” he stammered, rubbing his hoof behind his head.

I once told a prospective gentlemen that I don’t have much in the way of subtlety—that when I find a male who I think might be interested in me, I just tend to go after them, human or stallion. This was the first time that actually happened, and I loved the feeling of power it gave me. “Don’t be so coy, cowcolt,” I tut-tutted at him. “Surely you’ve got the size to satisfy?” I asked him cheekily, bumping him with my hip again while in the background, I heard the one-minute countdown begin.

He grinned, his cheeks warm—was he blushing or was that just the alcohol in his system? “Cahn’t say Ah’ve evah had complaints.”

“So tell me more about this ‘authentic frontier experience’ of yours,” I cooed in his ear, rubbing my flank along his, noting his breath caught and he didn’t pull away. “So just what does Appleloosa have to offer?”

“Well, uh… we offer apple juice and hay rides for all the colts and fillies,” he offered.

“Oh really?” I grinned, feeling devilish, some part of me both amazed and appalled at what I was about to do. Taking a final deep breath and throwing both caution and a lifetime of etiquette training to the wind, I stepped in front of him, brushing his shoulder with my hip and nose with my tail as I walked—basically sauntered—by. “Well, then… care to give this filly a ride, cowpony?” I asked him in as sultry a tone as I could muster as I flagged my tail and glanced over my shoulder to give him a come-hither look, my wet and swollen marehood inviting him to mount me right out in the open in front of every buffalo, pony, griffin, zebra and dragon watching us… and there were many; all nearby eyes were now on us, the crowd loudly urging us on.

His jaw fell open and green eyes went wide at my forwardness; he nearly dropped his ale mug as he beheld—and couldn’t seem to look away—from my display. “W-well, now. That’s a mighty temptin’ offer ‘o ya, Miss…” he stammered, looking around nervously and seemingly hesitating even as his stallionhood dropped right out of his sheath, quickly hardening up beneath his belly—no, he certainly wasn’t lacking for size! Whatever internal battle he was fighting, the sight of a ready and eager mare seemed to settle it as he pulled himself up straighter and he took a pair of deep breaths. “Reckon it’d be impolite t’ leave a filly waitin’… and mama always said to treat a lady right!” he announced as he threw back his remaining half-pint of ale in one continuous swig, tossing the mug aside with a loud wooden clatter before rearing up to mount me, his powerful forelegs locking quickly around my barrel, holding me in place while he probed for—and shortly found—my entrance.

He was a little tentative at first but quickly found his stride, sinking his throbbing stallionhood halfway in me on his very first thrust. To that point I’d never been mated by another earth pony and soon realized what I’d been missing; the sheer strength of his body and the public nature of the act only adding to its rapture for me. My vision swam and I found myself lost in a haze of pleasure as the country colt rutted me with all the considerable earth pony power and passion he could muster, rearing up and slamming his hips forward one final time to deliver his seed deep within me just as the clock struck midnight. I saw stars, both real and imagined as Minotaurian fireworks erupted over The Street, joined by unicorns and dragons shooting their own celebratory displays of magic and flame into the air…

My screams of pleasure were lost in the explosions.

The party didn’t end there, either out on the street or for me personally.

To little surprise, my manager had seen the whole thing—then again, we were rather hard to miss. To great surprise, however… she teleported in when we were done and gave me the rest of the night off, telling us both to go enjoy ourselves, even offering us a complimentary suite.

We stayed out there another two hours before taking her up on that offer. I took off my server’s uniform (always a relief, believe me) and walked The Street shoulder to shoulder to him to see all the various shows and performances, occasionally pulling him aside to make out or inviting him to take me again… watching him in gain in confidence and eagerness each time.

He did have some quirks, like leaving his vest and hat on as we rutted, but I enjoyed the feeling of his soft vest against my coat, an interesting but not unwelcome contrast to his hard muscles and powerful earth pony body. He was a workhorse and it showed in his rutting, I learned the difference earth pony strength and stamina made as we returned to the Mystique, collecting a room key from my manager. We went to our suite and mated hourly for the rest of the night, rutting each other’s brains out and only collapsing into each other’s embrace for the final time as Celestia’s sun rose on a New Year.

I don’t think either of us stirred until it was nearly noon. But then again… how were we different from anypony else in Las Pegasus on New Years’ Day?

I woke before he did, and found myself lost in thought even I snuggled closer up against him. On one level, what happened out there was surprising to me for several reasons, not the least of which was that I wasn’t usually interested in sex so soon after a heat (in my experience, it tends to leave your libido suppressed for a week or two afterwards), and… though I did not consider myself a prude, I was NOT one to just, well, tuck/fuck out in public like that in front of several hundred ponies and others who could see me… let alone pounce a nameless male I’d just met!

And yet… it was so liberating, just tossing all the rules aside like that. I felt free in a way I’d never been before—there was no obligation, no danger, no demands in what we’d done—nothing except two ponies enjoying themselves and having a good time. I should mention he knew MY name from my uniform nametag, but I didn’t know his—he started to offer it later that night, but I stopped him with a hoof to his mouth—part of the night’s magic was in the mystery of his identity, I reasoned, so why spoil it? I reminded myself as I snuggled up more tightly against him, drifting back off to sleep.

When I next opened my eyes, I found his green ones staring back at me, almost in wonder as I lay curled against his flank. “A bit for your thoughts, cowcolt,” I finally spoke up, giving him a nuzzle. “What’s on your mind?”

He was a little embarrassed but finally told me. “Reckon Ah just don’t get it…” I eventually dragged out of him. “Why’d a high-class lady like you wanna be wit’ a classless, bit-less cowcolt like me?” he asked in earnest. “Ah ain’t complainin’!” he hastened to add, throwing up his hooves in placation when he saw my expression go a little sour.

I bapped him lightly on the nose with my hoof. “Don’t you ever talk about yourself that way,” I told him sternly. “Take it from me—class isn’t defined by station or breeding or how many bits you’ve got in your pockets. It’s defined by what’s here,” I emphasized, poking him in the chest between his open vest lapels. “You’ve got more heart and more class than many wealthy Manehattan and Las Pegasus ponies I’ve met. Trust me, I’ve been in this business long enough to know the difference.”

“Thank y’ kindly. But Ah still wanna know…” he bit his lip, looking like he was steeling himself. “Of all th’ ponies out there las’ night… why’dja choose me?”

That caught me a little short. It was a question a mare would normally ask a stallion, not the other way around. Thinking about it, I wasn’t immediately sure how to answer, other than to note he was a big strong stallion who had caught my eye just as I’d decided to take my manager’s advice and really cut loose. Except it’s more than that… I belatedly realized, noting if that were all it took, he was right—there were plenty of other attractive stallions out there last night; I’d seen several before settling on this one. Okay. So why him…? I suddenly found myself wondering, smiling as the answer came to me.

“It’s because you’re real,” I told him. “Because you don’t pretend to be something you’re not, unlike way too many ponies I’ve seen around here.” If I had any real gripe with Las Pegasus, it was that—too much pretention, too many pretenders… too many dolled-up mares and too many males who only seemed to care about the next piece of tail they could score—I wanted more than that, and was sure he could give it to me. “It’s like you said last night… what you see is what you get,” I noted, giving him a poke in the shoulder. “When I look at you… I see a strong and earnest earth pony who cares about his community and family. One who was here not to help himself, but to help his town. Though that said…”

I smiled as my hoof traced down his belly towards his sheath, causing his breath to catch. “You looked a little lost out there last night. And maybe it’s just being in the hospitality industry so long, but… I HATE seeing somepony not enjoying themselves. Especially a stallion as good-looking as you,” I said, stroking him back to hardness. “Though you know… if you advertised yourself as the face of your town, you probably wouldn’t have any trouble attracting tourists—especially mares,” I added with a wry gin.

He blushed and gave me a look. “With respect, ma’am… Ah don’t want folks—ponies or no—t’ think that’s what we’re about in Appleloosa,” he told me in a slightly reproachful tone.

I blushed back at that, my foreleg stilling. “Oh…” I said. Open mouth, insert hoof. “Forgive me, I-I didn’t mean to~”

He pulled me close and silenced me with a kiss, indicating I could continue, running his hard hoof through my curled mane. “It’s okay, Miss. Fer whatever it’s worth… Ah think yer real, too…” he offered cautiously. “Mah family’s into farming ‘n Ah haven’t met many fillies… uh, ci-city fillies, Ah mean… that Ah’d care t’ know better. But you…” he trailed off uncertainly, looking away in what seemed to be confusion for a moment.

I frowned at his sudden change of mood. “What’s the matter?” I asked him.

“Nothin’,” he assured me, though there was an odd undertone in his voice. “Just’a touch of’a hangover,” he said, suddenly rubbing his temples and seemingly unwilling to meet my eyes. I wasn’t convinced, but let it go, just enjoying his presence and snuggling. I did stroke his stallionhood for a bit longer, but couldn’t get him off again—apparently even Earth Ponies had their limits. “Th-think Ah’m just about done, ma’am” he said, almost apologetically.

“’Just about’, huh?” I grinned at him. “I like a challenge…” I announced as I shifted around a bit, moving my head down his belly.

“M-ma’am? What ‘r ya…” he asked in confusion, his voice quickly cut off as I lowered my head and took the head of his stallionhood inside my muzzle.

The effect was instant. I heard him take a ragged breath and his slightly flaccid shaft instantly hardened up fully. “B-but…! y-you…! th-that’s…!” I heard him mildly protest between panting gasps, like I was doing something unfair. I still don’t get why oral sex between different genders is a big deal among ponies, but it was clearly something he’d never encountered before… and liked a lot!

I spread his now-unresisting hind legs apart insistently to give myself better access and view, draping myself him over as he gasped repeatedly, gritting his teeth with his back arched almost painfully against the bed as I continued to go down on him (though I didn’t learn ‘go down on’ as a term until I met humans!)… cradling his apples with one hoof while gently stroking the base of his shaft with the other. Despite as many times as he’d already come, he had one more in him and didn’t last long under my efforts. I heard an almost-pained groan and felt his hips buck hard, releasing one final load of seed into my waiting muzzle.

With that, he was finally spent… and myself, sated. It was a good feeling.

Despite his sweaty body, we stayed in bed together another hour, snuggling like I’d enjoyed—but so rarely gotten to do—with Burning Heart. It couldn’t last much longer, though. As much as I wanted to remain there with him, his rescheduled train was leaving in the early afternoon, and I’d be back on shift in another couple hours, so we had to part company soon.

Something was wrong.

As lunch came and went—room service compliments of my manager—he got progressively more moody and distant. When I tried to initiate contact with him, he pulled away repeatedly, saying only that he needed some space. When I asked him what was wrong, he wouldn’t answer. When I told him I’d like to see more of him, he froze up completely, a far cry from the eager cowcolt he’d been the previous night or earlier that morning. Starting to feel rejected, I asked him at least to let me take him to the train station and see him off. Somewhat reluctantly, he allowed me to.

And thus, for the second time in a week, I sent somepony home from Las Pegasus, another lover I wasn’t likely to keep. “Guess this is it,” I told him somewhat sadly as we stood on the platform.

“Reckon so,” he said neutrally, still not looking at me. The moment lingered awkwardly for a moment, neither of us knowing quite what to do.

The time of our parting at hoof, I felt like I had to say something. Now or never, Five Stars! I told myself as he opened his muzzle only to close it again, shaking his head as he went to board the train. “Listen… I’m sorry if you’re having second thoughts,” I called after him. “But… whatever’s bothering you… please don’t hate me or regret what we did,” I begged him, putting a hoof on his flank. “I’m very glad to have met you, and wouldn’t trade last night for anything… or anypony,” I told him honestly. My heart sunk when he didn’t immediately reply, but rose when he stopped and looked back at me like he was considering something.

Stepping back from the train, he shrugged out of his vest and picked it up in his muzzle, draping it around my shoulders. “Fer you… and only fer you… Ah won’t, Miss Five Stars,” he promised me somewhat cryptically, calling me by name for the first and only time. With that, he hugged me hard and gave me a parting kiss that lingered for more than a minute, taking my breath away one last time before he finally boarded the train. I watched it depart and slowly recede into the desert, the cowcolt waving his hat out the window at me until he was out of sight forever.

As ridiculous as his vest looked on me, I wore it in my off-hours the rest of week. In fact, I still keep it in my closet to this day.

Thus, a Hearth’s Warming to remember was followed up with a New Year’s I’d never forget.

Needless to say, it was one hay of a way to ring in the New Year. Having gotten at least a measure of assurance that my cowcolt friend genuinely did like me and was trying to come to terms with whatever was troubling him, I pulled on his vest and felt an odd peace descend over me as I trotted back to the Mystique, sensing I was a changed mare. I didn’t yet know what it all meant or portended, or even if my wonderful cowcolt would ever come back. But for what he—and the night itself—had done for me, I decided it was all worth it.

The thoughts of my coworkers weren’t quite so deep as I returned to work. They teased me endlessly for days, either noting that I’d “finally gotten into the proper serving spirit” or asking endless variations of “so how well did the cowpony ride?” For the record, the answer I gave was always the same—that he made love with his vest on, and he more than earned his spurs with me.

It was an especially awkward question when it came from my manager, but Rising Star had certainly proven she was no Autumn Leaf—she seemed genuinely happy at the change she saw in me and made sure I was okay with all had happened that night. I told her and her alone the full story of what had happened; she told me the best thing I could do would be to give him some space and not go looking for him—“If he wants to see you again, he’ll let you know, but it may take some time,” she reminded me gently.

As for my nameless cowcolt friend… I could have found him (or at least found out who he was) by a simple visit to Appleloosa, but I followed my manager’s advice and did not seek him out. My forbearance was rewarded when, about two weeks after New Year’s, I received a package with no return address except an Appleloosa postmark, with a request that the Mystique mailroom ‘Please deliver this to my Five-Star friend’. It was presented to me by my manager, who shooed away the other servers when they realized who it was from and kept it for me until I could take it back to my motel that night.

My shift couldn’t end fast enough but when it did, I rushed back to the motel so I could open it in private. Inside was a gift basket filled with Appleloosa-grown oats and apples, a flask of locally-distilled (and VERY potent) cider… and a multipage missive from my cowcolt friend, muzzle-written on several pages of rolled-up parchment.

I’m not going to share his letter, but in it he apologized for how he had acted before leaving and explained the reasons behind it, some of which very much surprised me… and left me feeling a little guilty, realizing only then how uncomfortable I must have made him feel. He did emphasize he was very flattered by my interest and as time passed found himself more at peace with our night together, especially appreciating me telling him that “he was real,” noting it was one of the nicest things anypony had ever said to him… but for the time being he simply ‘didn’t feel right’ doing it again, and, as tempting as it was to see more of me, felt it was best for both of us that he didn’t return to Las Pegasus.

Though disappointed, I understood, sending back a letter to the Appleloosa post office addressed to “my fire-maned, fruit-flanked cowcolt.” In it, I apologized for any distress I had caused him, thanked him again for a wonderful night, told him I wished him well and if he ever wanted or needed me, I would be there. I never got a reply, but the letter also never came back, so I assume he got it. Regardless, the letters granted a measure of closure for us both, and I was able to move on from it.

I did eat the fruit he sent me, though. Braeburn Apples, I believe. And as he promised… they were quite delectable.

Thanks to Permanent Temporary for the pre-read! Happy Holidays, folks. This will probably be the last chapter before the New Year... so what better way to mark it than with a New Years' Eve story I originally didn't even plan to write?

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