"Ow! Damn boxes!"

You shake your stubbed finger as you set the last heavy box back down into the trunk. Like any move to a new house, it's been long and annoying, but this being the last box, unpacking it should be a little more tolerable, at least. You try again, and lift the heavy thing out of the trunk and start walking back to the new house, when you catch a sight in the corner of your eye. That hot girl that lives across the street is walking this way, her arms loaded with shopping bags.

Her long purple hair and sexy blue eyes made her pleasant to look at. Her tight white sweater, short purple skirt and knee-high boots made her even more so. You'd seen her on occasion as you came and went, transferring more of your stuff to your new house, and she'd seen you, too. But you'd never had the time to speak to her. You'd like to—after all, she is one good-looking girl—but you're busy with the move. You start thinking, maybe once you're done unpacking, you'll pop over to her house to ask her out. Maybe . . .

She stops in the sidewalk, right in front of your house, and you stop at the same time, catching her turning toward the street. She bends over, sets her bags down, and sifts through one of them, all the while keeping her back—and her backside—to you throughout.

Excitement grips you at seeing her show off her goods so unexpectedly. Nice little butt, you think to yourself. You find yourself looking her over, taking in as much as your eyes can cover, from the bouncy ends of her shiny, wavy hair to her slender, sexy legs. You find yourself undressing her in your mind; the longer you stare at her behind, the more vivid your imagination becomes, and the more you feel your face and neck warming up. After a while, though, common sense gets through to you, and you turn away, hoping she didn't notice you staring like a total creeper. You can't help but enjoy the show, though, and you take careful glances back to the sidewalk as you haul in your last box.

Yep, that's definitely a nice little butt . . .

You open your front door, set your last box inside, and shut it, quickly going back to close your trunk. The purple-haired hottie hasn't moved yet; she's still bent over her bags, as if giving you your own private show. In fact, it's almost as if she knows you're watching, and wants you to. She surely would have moved by now otherwise, or at least would have noticed you looking at her. The idea comes to mind, and the more you think about it, the more sense it makes; you remember that she does tend to look at you strangely every time she sees you. It's as if she liked the look on your face, and wanted to keep eye contact each time. It can't be a coincidence. In fact, thinking back on the last time you'd seen her, that look on her face then seemed to reflect the look on your own face now, as you stare at her skirt-covered butt, picturing what color her panties are.

You pull yourself away long enough to close the trunk of your car, but you glance back to see her standing up straight. You feel yourself stiffen as she runs her hand back against her disheveled hair, smoothing it out instantly. That's when she finally spots you, and you quickly turn away, feeling your face flush. But just before you make your way inside, you hear a voice call out to you, “Excuse me, kind sir? Yoo-hoo! Could you come here for a moment, please?”

You turn to see the purple-haired young woman beckoning you toward her, blinking her baby-blue eyes and smiling at you. You feel frozen as you get a good look deep in her eyes from only a few feet away. Did she catch you? Does she know? Is she about to tell you off? You can't tell; by her eyes and her tone, it doesn't seem that way, but you still can't help but feel cautious.

“Oh, don't be shy, darling!” she encourages you. “Just a moment of your time! Please?”

That familiar excitement grips you at the sound of the word “darling”. You can't even tell what kind of accent that is—some sort of pseudo-British dialect, maybe even fake for all you know—but every word she says is like sex to the ears. Tentatively, you answer her, walking up to her on the sidewalk and watching her smile get a bit wider with each step you take towards her. You stop right in front of her, unsure of what to say.

“Uhhh . . . y-yeah?”

The girl eyes you up and down, her grin remaining as she answers you, “I wonder if I might trouble you for a bit of assistance. I've just come back from the corner store, you see, and these bags are quite heavy.” Her voice increases a bit, in volume and drama, “I'm getting so weak and tired, and I'm afraid to carry all of this across this busy road all by my lonesome.” She takes a step closer to you, cutting the distance between you down to mere inches. “Would you be so kind as you help me carry these groceries to my house?” she asks with batted eyelashes and a pouty lower lip. “I'd be ever so grateful.”

Something about all of this doesn't quite make sense to you. But the girl is looking at you with that sexy stare, and you can't resist those pouty lips. Even if something weren't right here, she did ask for help. It would be wrong not to lend a hand now. There may be unanswered questions, but this is a risk you are willing to take, and you know at least some of your questions will be answered.

“Well . . . . okay.”

The girl beams at you. “Grand!” she cries happily. “Just take as much as you can carry, dear.” She takes one small bag as you comply. It's pretty easy to grip them all. You're still a little tuckered from moving boxes, but not enough to be a problem.

“Ooh, so strong,” she says as she looks you over some more. She steps closer and slips her hand under your arm, popping up one shoulder and tilting her head towards you, as she gives you that flirtatious smile. “Shall we?”

You nod, keeping your breathing steady, and the two of you start off. You feel your arm tingle from where she's touching you, and you feel stiffer than before, now. You feel her bouncy curls brush against your shoulder, and the slight scent of her shampoo catches your nose. It mixes well with her perfume, a flowery, deliciously attractive smell. It's almost as if she's calling you over to stop and smell the flowers . . .

“Oh, dear!” she calls out, disrupting your inner reverie. “How could I be so rude, asking for help without a proper introduction?” She looks up at you, that same alluring grin on her flawless face, “I'm Rarity.”

You take a nervous gulp before giving her your own name.

Rarity giggles and gently tightens her grip on your arm. “So, I see you just moved here, hmm? Enjoying the neighborhood so far?”

You nod, explaining that your parents just bought the place, and you are all living in a house instead of an apartment for the first time. You'd been to the local school, Canterlot High, only twice this week, and haven't been able to make friends just yet.

“Oh, don't you worry about that, darling!” Rarity assures you. “You'll have plenty of time to make plenty of friends at Canterlot High. For now, I suppose I'll have to do.” She ends with a wink, and you hold back a gasp. There's definitely something else going on here, and it's starting to become clear to you what it is.

And you find yourself not minding. At least for now.

Now only a couple feet from the opposite curb, you both pass a car parked on the side of the road, a sleek-looking blue four-door with tinted windows and what appears to be a cloud and lightning bolt design on the hood. Just as you set foot in the grass, the car suddenly roars to life, causing you both to jump, and Rarity to gasp. Her hands instinctively press against your chest as she comes across the curb, but it seems there is no need to panic; the car slowly rolls away from the curb and down the street, making the first available left turn.

There is an awkward pause as you and Rarity stand in the grass, her hands continue pressing against your chest. You can swear you feel them moving slightly, kneading your chest, as if she's testing your musculature. Either that, or she's massaging you. Either way, it makes you tingle. Soon, though, you feel her bag hand slip down you, and you clear your throat.

Rarity seems shaken back to the moment. “Oh . . . goodness me . . .” she says as she steps back, absently checking the bag hanging loosely in her hand, “Terribly sorry. I wasn't . . . quite paying attention. The car . . . gave me a bit of a fright, is all. You understand, of course . . . ?”

You nod, letting her know you understand. In fact, things are becoming clearer than before—the weight of that bag wasn't the only excuse she had to lower her hand down to the vicinity of your crotch.

You finally reach the sidewalk, then the walkway, with Rarity's hand grasping your arm the whole way. You hear her exhale gently, see her immaculate appearance, feel her hand on your arm, smell her scent—and all of it is driving you wild. But at the same time, the feeling that something is going according to plan still gnaws at you. This all seems staged somehow. Even the car that gave Rarity a scare (and an excuse to fondle you) seemed placed ahead of time. Of course, you never did think ahead—it's not every day that a hot girl comes up and asks for your help, flirting or not.

Planned or not.

“Well, that was quite an adventure,” Rarity jokes as you both approach her front door. “I'd like to thank you again, darling, for all of your help. I really couldn't have done it without you.” You highly doubt that, but it would be rude to say so, and you know it.

“No problem.”

Rarity giggles a bit before she fiddles around in her skirt pocket for her keys. She takes them to the door, opens it, and walks in, beckoning you in soon after. You walk into her home, and notice that it is well-decorated and very neat, as if done by a professional interior designer.

“Oh, you silly thing!” Rarity giggles. “Don't just stand there holding all of that! Just set it down any old place.”

You feel a bit embarrassed, and apologize. You set the bags down by the door, then turn back to Rarity, only to find she has closed in on you again, like back at your driveway. “You've been wonderful, dear. Truly wonderful. I'd like to do something for you in return, so . . .” she hesitates, blushing a bit and wrapping a lock of her wavy hair around one finger, but maintaining her gaze, “. . . would you like to meet me again later, for dinner? Say, Friday night?”

You feel your face burning, your knees buckling, and your breathing get faster, but you struggle to stay calm. Rarity picks up on it, though, and smiles. “Why, darling, I do believe you're blushing! So, is that a yes? Hmm?”

You knew it. This was never about Rarity needing help. The looks she gave you, the giggling, the blushing, the lack of hesitation to break personal boundaries—she's into you. Why she couldn't be honest about it, you're not sure, but you do know one thing: now you're finally starting to think a little more clearly about this whole situation. She said she'd been back from the corner store, and unless you're mistaken (you are in a new neighborhood, after all), that corner store was about three blocks away. If she walked all the way here, how did she carry all of that stuff with her the whole way? And why was she only now worried about crossing busy streets, especially when this one was almost totally deserted? And why buy so many groceries at a simple corner store? Somehow, you knew there was something about this whole scene that just didn't click for you, but none of it was as clear before as it is now. And it comes with the sudden realization that you're not as okay with all of this as you thought.

Before, the notion of this gorgeous girl wanting to date you was so far-fetched and unusual, just enough to cast aside any doubts you may have as to her sincerity and motives. But now that it's no longer a concept, now that it's out in the open, you panic. You were sure this would amount to, at best, a kiss on the cheek before you left.

You hardly expected a date.

“I'd better go.”

You turn to leave, but you feel Rarity's hand on your shoulder just before you head out the open door. “Wait!” she calls you. “Does . . . does that mean 'no'?”

You turn back to her and ask why she couldn't say earlier where this was all going.

“I just want to repay you for your kindness, darling,” she pleads. “I asked a favor of you, and you fulfilled it. Why wouldn't I want to?”

You look deep into her eyes, searching for any dishonesty. You then ask if she'd wanted to go out with you this whole time.

Rarity sighs and looks down, away from your gaze. “Well . . .” she begins, uneasily, “. . . I . . . I suppose I thought you'd say no. I haven't been very lucky in the dating game lately, and I thought this would be a good way to change that.”

You ask if that was all, finding it so strange that she'd be so hesitant to approach you. You add that pretenses weren't necessary.

“No pretenses, darling,” Rarity counters, sounding a bit hurt, “just . . . an icebreaker, really . . .”

She slowly looks back up at you, and you see a different look in her wide, shiny eyes. It's far from the flirty looks she's been giving you since she first laid eyes on you. It's even different than the look she gave you as you searched her expression for the truth. This is the truth you wanted. This is an expression that conveys something deep, something abstract. It's not quite remorse. It's not really sadness or desperation. You're not even sure what to call it. But somehow, you know you can trust it. Somehow, you know from those eyes that Rarity is a decent person.

“A 'thank-you' is all I needed.”

Rarity doesn't answer for a long time. She simply looks at you with those pretty baby-blues, that look of purity staying for just as long. You just keep looking back, entranced; the look in her eyes adds a whole new dimension to Rarity you wish you'd noticed earlier. That look of innocence, of sweetness, of trustworthiness, it made her more than just the purple-haired hottie that lived across the street. It made her the beautiful purple-haired girl who'd wanted to share a special moment with you, and was afraid you'd say no.

You now have no idea how you could have.

You realize too late that you and Rarity are slowly leaning close to each other, and by then, it doesn't even matter. She closes in on you, and you can smell her lovely, flowery scent once more before your lips touch hers. You kiss her long and passionately, slipping your hands over her waist and feeling her palms glide up your stomach and chest. You then feel her soft hands gently caress your neck, and your own hands run up and down her waist and hips as you keep the connection. Everything about her is soft, smooth and damn-near perfect—her lips, her hands, her hair, her sweater, her skirt, even her low moan as she takes pleasure in your kiss. One hand even creeps down your body and slips behind you, stopping inches from touching your butt.

As innocent as you now see her, you also realize she can get pretty playful when she wants to.

You slowly part, and your lips feel like they're begging to touch hers again. You both take calming breaths as you look into each other's eyes, and you feel your blush returning as she looks back at you with that familiar flirty grin. That look of trust is still there, but now, it's mixed with a bit of comfort. You see reflected in it a similar feeling you have now: comfort that the girl you're with is truly good. She may be a bit naughty (given where her hand is right now), and her actions might seem a bit dishonest, but it doesn't make her bad. It makes her scared, maybe experiencing a spell of insecurity, like everyone else does at one point. Even you've felt that way at least once. But now, you're comfortable with her, having seen a side of her that you are probably very lucky to see.

And you know she must feel comfortable in not having to resort to “icebreakers” just to catch a date.

“Mmmmm . . . . how's that for a 'thank-you'?” she whispers, her hand slipping lower and finally reaching your backside. You feel as stiff as you felt before, but this time, you like it. A lot.

“You're welcome.”

You sink back into the kiss, and Rarity moans excitedly into your mouth as she presses her modest bosom against you. One of her delicately manicured hands caresses the back of your neck, the other continuously rubs and pinches your butt. Your hands continue to fondle her waist and hips, sliding down until they reach the skin of her legs. You then slide your hands back up, and she giggles a bit when you start slipping them up her skirt and covering more skin underneath. She squeals when you reach her panties, shimmying in place a bit as your hands fumble with the lacy material; she responds by reaching down and slipping both hands into your back pockets.

“Oh, my . . .” she finally pulls her lips off of you long enough to say, “. . . is that a pony in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me, darling?” She compounds your excitement by giving your butt a playful grab from inside your pockets.

After all of this—the bags, the flirting, the talking, the making out—it only now occurs to you that Rarity's front door is still open. You step into the doorway a little more, and she follows, still stroking your body all over. Finally, you reach out with one hand to close the door as your other hand grasps Rarity's nice little butt. She gives another sexy squeal before sinking into another long kiss with you.

“Yes!”

From inside the sleek blue four-door, Rainbow Dash high-fives Applejack from the driver's seat. Behind them both, Pinkie Pie bounces up and down in her seat in excitement, and Fluttershy, taking the occasional glance out the window, blushes vividly.

“See?” Applejack says triumphantly. “Told ya so. I knew Rarity could do it. They got so into it, they didn't even know us drivin' back up here.”

“She just needed a boost to get out of this slump,” Dash grins, “and we were just what she needed. A little extra confidence never hurt anyone!”

Pinkie Pie's excitement isn't restricted to just bouncing in the backseat. “And not to mention the drive to the store, the extra groceries, driving her to the end of the block, parking here and waiting for him to come home, waiting extra long for her to walk by, revving the engine to get them a little closer, driving off so we wouldn't see them making out—”

“Okay, Pinkie, um . . . I think we know how it worked out . . .” Fluttershy mutters, finally able to turn fully away as Rarity's front door closes. “Oh, I feel so naughty, looking in on them like that.”

“Relax, sugarcube,” Applejack turns to her from the passenger seat, “All's well that end's well, and this is endin' right purty. Ain't it, Rainbow?”

“I'll say! Rarity totally scored! Not that there was any doubt, of course, when she's got us on her side!”

“Now, the next thing we do,” Pinkie announced, “is get Fluttershy a date!”

“What?” Fluttershy replied nervously, adding to it with a short, sharp, “. . . . eep!”