Dear Journal,

“5 o’ clock, Rarity,” I read aloud to myself. With a sigh, I quickly replaced my spectacles and my ledger, and made my way out of my bedroom. I made a mental checklist as I set about my practiced morning routine; there was much preparation to be done for the coming visit from Ponyville’s premiere fashionista.

The first order of business was styling my hair. Rarity was not looking for a visit with ‘ruggedly handsome’ Guilty. She was much more interested in a nice night in with ‘positively dashing’ Mr. Pleasure. Somewhere within the ordeal of brushing, and combing, and gelling, and styling, My mind began to wander. I wondered precisely what troubles were bringing Rarity to my door (and my bedroom) this time: a particularly bad date? An order bigger than she can handle? Whatever the case, I was sure I’d be hearing plenty about it.

I finished gussying up, tying off my mane in a ponytail with a dark blue ribbon; the top was styled nicely and cemented with gel. Happy with the results of my tedious grooming, I walked downstairs, moving on the next item on my checklist: the atmosphere. Easily the most lengthy and daunting task, setting up a suitable atmosphere is never exactly a fun thing to do. Most ponies think atmosphere only consists of candles and music; and while I will admit that soft melodies and mood lighting certainly work, there’s so much more that one can do.

I made sure that everything was clean, first of all; dusty floors are never really a turn on. I placed some fresh wood in the fireplace, ensuring a nice roaring fire would keep us warm long into the night. I put down a nice soft rug directly in front of the fireplace, in case anything too “active” happened before we made it to the bedroom. Just because one owns a sickeningly expensive enchanted bed does not mean one is always in it when the fun starts. I placed my table directly in the center of the room, a comfortable distance from the fireplace.

Okay fine maybe I did place some candles around and put some light piano on the gramophone; it’s a cliché for a reason. Lastly, I placed a pair of paper folding screens on either side of my little dining table. Successfully blocking the view of the kitchen and creating a secluded, little, private room. The stage was set, all that remained was the act.

Conversation with a client can be very tricky business. Sometimes clients don’t want to talk about anything at all, they just want to hit it and quit it. Other clients expect a little small talk, preferring to ease themselves into the more… adult… aspects of their session. Others come looking for advice (and sex). When someone comes to you for advice, it’s sort of a prerequisite that you are actually be able to give them any.

That said, if Rarity was having a fashion emergency, I would certainly need to be up to speed with any passing trends or fads in the fashion world. I pulled my latest issue of The Art of Fashion out of small pile of magazines I keep handy, and began my research.

I once had someone ask me, “If you do research like this for every client with a problem, wouldn’t that make you an expert in everything?”

“Of course not,” I responded. “It just means I seem like an expert in everything.”

The magazine was interesting enough, a couple of articles about the latest Canterlot style, an interview with Hoity Toity. It was more than enough ammunition for a couple hours of small talk. I checked the clock, 3:30, just enough time to get my best suit put on, and get a start on dinner. I never was one for formal attire, mostly because it takes forever to put on, but if a client expects a suit and tie, you wear it, or you lose a client. After a good hour of working my way into my modestly priced tux, I trotted into my kitchen and put on an apron.

Cooking is, of course, an art form, one for which I have much respect. Cooking while wearing a tuxedo, however, is a challenge. I worked carefully: pouring some canned sauce into a pot to simmer, getting some spaghetti noodles in boiling water, chopping a simple salad. I was well on my way to finishing up dinner when I heard the knock. I hurriedly flipped off my apron and answered the door.

She was stunning, she’s always stunning. She was wearing a thin black dress, it clung tight to her frame yet still managed to flow off of her. Her mane was, as it always was, styled perfectly; it cascaded down past her ears, yet retained a healthy bounce.

“Miss Rarity, a pleasure as always,” I practically crooned. For Rarity foreplay begins the moment she arrives, every word and line, every step and movement, all of it calculated and precise to make Rarity’s night in with me perfect. I knew I’d be keeping up the suave act for quite a while.

“Well,” her words came breathy and sultry, “If Mr. Pleasure himself says so, that must be the case,” she said, giggling slightly. I noticed her sapphire eyes catching fleeting glances at my attire, if she found any fault in my dress she made no mention.

“Please, come in. Dinner is almost ready,” I said, showing her inside. Her hips swayed heavily as she stepped inside. I have to admit I couldn’t help but stare.

It would have been rude not to.

She sat down at the table, her telekinetic grasp finding my issue of The Art of Fashion. She grinned coyly as she flipped through the pages. “Doing some research, I take it?”

‘Damn it!’ I scolded myself internally. ‘How did I forget the magazine?’ I’ll be the first to admit that I tend to micromanage meetings with clients, but there’s a good reason for it. When a client comes to me, they come expecting a certain level of quality, and with some clients that level comes very close to perfection. Still, even the greatest escort in history would never be able to create a truly perfect evening, so I have to take a ‘nice’ evening, and dress it up a bit. Illusion is a very big part of what I do, and it’s often what makes the difference between an escort and a whore. Knowing that small talk is hurriedly scrounged out of a magazine certainly breaks that illusion.

What I am trying to say, is that I had very suddenly been robbed of any ammunition I had had for this evening’s conversation.

“Just some light reading. Let me go finish dinner, it’s almost done.” I stepped briefly into the kitchen, just long enough to get the noodles onto plates and get some marinara on it. I returned to the dining room, with our food on a decorative silver tray.

“Oh spaghetti sounds absolutely perfect. I am positively famished,” she said, eyeing the pasta with hungry eyes. I quickly made one more trip to the kitchen, returning with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“I’m glad,” I replied. “I do hope you find it to your satisfaction.” I snuggled myself into my cushion, across from my ‘date.’ My voice kept its very best high-society accent, as I poured each of us a glass of wine. “I say, Miss Rarity, You look more than stunning this evening,” I said as I raised my glass into the air. “To what shall we drink?”

Her glass raised itself, wrapped in a satiny, sky blue glow. “To my friend, Twilight,” she said with a mischievous grin, “and her new boyfriend, may they find luck in love.” I could already tell where she was going with this.

“To Twilight,” I mirrored, betraying nothing. Our glasses clinked together, and we both drank deep of the sweet spirits.

Rarity was the first to speak. “However I’m sure she won’t be needing any luck, what with all the sage wisdom she’s been receiving.” Her eyes looked knowingly at me, a smirk on her lips.

“And whose advice would that be?” I inquired innocently, raising a fork full of pasta to my mouth. ‘Well, thankfully the spaghetti’s good.’

“Come now, don’t play dumb, Guilty. Twilight’s told me all about her little visit.” She raised a fork of her own to her lips, daintily nibbling at the noodles.

“Miss Rarity, you know full well that I’ll neither confirm nor deny any sessions with any other pony.” Rarity always does that, she tries to eke whatever gossip she can out of me, hoping for something juicy. I never give her anything, of course, It’s a poor excuse for an escort that shares private information about his clients.

Even though she does this, it’s as much for her curiosity as it is for her peace of mind. After all, If I were to share anything about another client, who knows what I might share about her.

“Well, from what I hear, you’re even more of a gentlecolt than I would have ever imagined. Twilight just went on and on about how you were more polite and comforting than she could’ve ever dreamed.” She took another bite of spaghetti, and another, longer sip of wine. “So, tell me Guilty. How have you been?”

“Well I certainly can’t complain. Work’s been a bit slow lately, but it gives me more time to relax.” I sighed dramatically. “I just wish I had more clients like you, who appreciate proper romance.” It wasn’t entirely true, but that doesn’t mean Rarity doesn’t want it hear it.

“Like reading?” She teased, her tongue sticking out of her lips playfully.

I gasped mockingly, feigning offense at the gesture. “How positively unladylike,” I shot back. We both giggled for a while, until we slowly sank back into conversation. For a while we talked about her latest exploits in the world of fashion. Apparently she was making a killing off of some scarf craze that was sweeping Equestria. We also talked about her friends, Twilight included. I was glad to hear that she and her new boyfriend were getting along swimmingly.

As the sun dipped past the horizon I kindled the fireplace, sending a dancing orange glow across our private dining room. Rarity’s face was turning red from the wine, and her speech was ever-so-slightly slurred. I pretended not to notice. I was still trailing far behind her in terms of inebriation; getting too drunk was an easy way to get a case of ‘whiskey dick’. There are some tricks, though, to drinking without getting drunk. Refill your glass before it’s empty, always take your sip with a bite of something absorbent, like pasta, and if the setting permits, spill frequently.

“Oh, I do so enjoy these evenings with you Guilty,” she hummed, resting her head in her Forelegs. “Twilight wasn’t wrong about you, you know? You really are the picture of a gentlecolt.” She raised her head from the table, long enough to take another sip of wine. “So, tell me, any interesting clients lately?”

I chuckled playfully. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” , as I began to clear our empty plates from the table.

“Yes, very much so,” she laughed as I took our dinnerware back into the kitchen.

I returned to find Rarity staring longingly into the fire, her mind clearly miles away. She seemed not to notice my return, even as I took my seat once more. She sighed heavily as I poured her yet another glass.

“Is something the matter?” I asked.

“Hmmm?” she responded, oblivious to my question.

“Rarity?” I asked. She turned to me, her face flashing a hint of melancholy. “What’s the matter… something is bothering you.” I looked her straight in the eye. “Talk to Guilty.”

“Oh it’s just… It’s nothing…” she said, flustered.

“Rarity,” I deadpanned, “talk to Guilty.”

“Oh, I don’t know It’s just… *sigh*… I had a particularly bad evening recently,” she said. ‘Of course she did.’

I smiled a well- practiced, comforting smile, “Why don’t you tell me all about it?” I asked.

Her glass floated down to the table, free of its magical bonds. She stared into the flames once more. “Well, two weeks ago, I was asked out by a customer. He was sweet… charming… handsome… and well off to boot. He had come in for a suit; I ended up giving him… something plum I think. Anyways, on his way out the door he sort of… asked me to dinner.” She smiled in remembrance.

“The evening was… wonderful; We ate, we drank… we even danced. He was a real charmer… but when it was over… He… well… he didn’t want it to be.” She stared into her wine. “It was dreadful. He started yelling... made an absolute scene. He ended up waking up my neighbors. Can you believe it?”

“Oh, my goodness” I was flabbergasted. “Did you call the police?” I asked. I’ll admit my inner gossip was just eating this up.

“Indeed I did… but by the time they’d arrived he was… long gone.” She sighed.

“That sounds absolutely horrific, Rarity,” I spoke gently. “Allow me, if you will, to apologize on behalf of my gender.”

“Now, now... it’s not as though I’ve lost faith in stallion kind,” she divulged. “It’s just… Is that what ponies think of me? That I’m some… easy mare expected to put out on the first date. I always thought I looked like a lady, not like a…”

“…whore?” I offered.

The color drained from her face. “Oh no… Oh nonono, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Relax Rarity… I’m just teasing,” I said, sticking my tongue out at her teasingly.

Rarity smiled briefly, only to sink her head into a pile of folded forelegs. “Do I, though?” Her voice came muffled through her limbs. “Do I… overdo it? Do I look like a whore?” She looked up at me pleadingly.

“Of course not, Rarity. Trust me, I would know,” I teased.

“I’m serious… Every day when I get up I spend hours plucking and styling and grooming…” ‘I know the feeling.’ “…and I do this… all of this, so that I come across as someone elegant, refined, and classy. It just feels like all my efforts make me seem…”

“…slutty?” I offered again.

Rarity frowned. “Stop finishing my… sennences.” ‘…and here comes the wine.’ Her eyes locked on to mine. “I’m nodda slut am I?” Tears began to well up in her eyes.

“Of course not dear,” I said, donning my most reassuring smile.

“Then why do all these stallions keep expecting me to *sniff* put out?” she sniffed.

Truth be told, I didn’t have an answer for her. There are any number of reasons a mare has a string of bad dates. Maybe she leads guys on without realizing it. Maybe she just has poor taste in guys. Whatever the case, what Rarity needed right now, more than ever, was to feel respected, and pampered.

“My dear, why don’t we lay down, you’re looking a little… tipsy,” I suggested.

“You might be right about that,” she admitted. Her half lidded gaze found my face. “I think I’d like to stay the night, dear. What does that cost again?”

“An extra fifty,” I divulged. Whenever a client stays the night, the pricing gets a little steep. I honestly do that to deter people. I prefer to sleep in my own bed.

We quickly made our way to the bedroom, bottle and glasses following in the best magical grip a half-drunk dress maker could muster. Rarity instantly dropped what she was holding and plopped down onto the silken sheets of the bed and I swiftly began lighting the myriad of candles that littered the room. I also made a quick stop at one of the many chests nearby, and pulled out a small phial of cloudy blue liquid. I pulled the cork out with my teeth and quickly down the potion. The all too familiar flavor of burnt hay and licorice briefly filled my mouth. Birth control potions don’t go down smooth, but they are necessary. After all, the last thing Rarity would want tonight was an unexpected pregnancy.

“Mmmmm, I always forget how wonderful this bed is.” She stretched herself lazily. “How does one even begin to afford such a luxury?” she asked, rolling across the mattress playfully.

“I’m not cheap, dear. You know that better than most I should say.” I smirked at her. She stuck hers out right back, and fell into a fit of giggles. She was most certainly drunk at this point. I was beginning to feel a little buzzed myself.

“Seriously though, I’ve seen what these things cost,” she asked with an eyebrow cocked. “,and I know what you cost.”

I never like questions that enter into my personal life.

“It was a gift… from a friend,” I quickly answered, desperately hoping that no follow-up questions would ensue.

“Nice to have friends with deep pockets,” she said, smiling. I joined her on the bed, and slid myself next to her prone frame. I wanted to change the subject quickly.

“Are you alright, dear?” I asked her smiling face.

Her eyes quickly adopted a sultry nature and she quickly licked her lips. “I will be, once you help me forget aaaaaall about it,” she went in for a quick kiss. My head jerked back with furious speed, deftly dodging her lips.

“Rarity…” I seethed. I did my best to keep from losing my temper, but one thing that most clients know is that kisses on the lips are off-limits. It’s a rule that Rarity tries to break occasionally, particularly when she’s depressed. “…you know the rules.”

“Oopsssssorry. I forgot,” she slurred as she smiled drunkenly. It looked like I could chalk this one up to the wine. “You juss looked so completely haaanssome.” Her face began to close in on mine again. For a second I was worried she would try to kiss me again, but when her cheek came alongside mine in an affectionate nuzzle, I relaxed. “I wish I could find a nice, dashing stallion like you… someone sweet and caring, who’s willing to go that extra step to make me sssmile,” she spoke just above a whisper into my ear. Her voice, if only for a while began to lose its formal cadence. She didn’t speak with any sort of pomp or elegance, she just sort of… spoke.

“Issa waste really… you could make sssome lucky mare very very happy.” She rolled onto her back and stared solemnly at the ceiling.

“But this way I can make lots of mares happy,” I said coyly.

“But issall just make-believe…” I was trying to make her laugh, but I think that only made her a little sad.

For a while nothing happened, we just lay in the candlelight quietly. Eventually she spoke up. “Guilty?” Her voice was filled with her high-society accent once more, and positively dripping with a musky allure.

“Hmm?” I brilliantly responded.

“Be a dear and fuck me, would you?” I’ve never been one for ‘dirty talk.’ Rarity, on the other hand, eats it up, so I oblige as best I can. ‘Alright, Guilty, time to let lose the almost-Baritone.’

“It would be my absolute pleasure, dear,” I crooned. She snickered slightly. I slid myself down between her haunches. I had a perfect view of everything. She was already soaking wet, her fur matted against her skin. My tongue gleefully dove into her tender pink flesh.

I absolutely love giving head, I would say it’s one of my favorite things to do to a mare behind bedroom doors.

I was greeted with the familiar sour flavor of mare, which swiftly washed the taste of birth control potion from my mouth. “Mmmmmmmmmmmm, you’re ssso good at that,” she hummed as my tongue probed her insides. I eagerly lapped up the taste of her arousal, brushing my lip against the tiny pink nub at the top of her lips.

“OOOH, Guilty, I think I’m already…!” Her hurried words were cut off and replaced with only silence as pleasure racked her brain. Her inner walls clenched around my tongue, as her hind legs squeezed my head. It hurt a little bit, actually. For a moment she was nothing but twitches and spasms. Eventually her facilities returned and she propped herself up to look down at me, still between her legs.

“How…*huff*… are you so… *huff*… good at that?” Her chest heaved as she spoke. I just smiled up at her, and gave her soaking vertical lips a quick peck. Her back instantly arched as she let out a breathy moan.

“More?” I offered.

“More!” was her reply, insistent and maybe a tad desperate. She remained propped up to look at me as I worked my magic on her nethers. Her tongue began to loll out of her mouth. I was tempted to say ‘How very un-ladylike!’ but speaking was not something I was in the… uh… position to do. Before too long, her walls took firm grip of my tongue once more, and an absolutely primal moan erupted from her mouth. “NNNNGGGGUUUUUUH!” She collapsed into a squirming pile of sweaty mare onto the cloud.

For minutes there was no movement save the rise and fall of Rarity’s chest. “Okay…” she spoke, “…new plan: find somepony…*huff*… half as good at that as you…*huff*… and marry him.”

I chuckled to myself. “Even if he’s an absolute slob?” I teased.

“Compleeeeeeeeeetely worth it!” she declared, smiling like a fool, staring hazily into nothing at particular.

I began to undo the buttons on my chest. Halfway down, I found my buttons enveloped by her magic. “Allow me, my dear,” she said as my shirt and tie began to remove themselves. Rarity’s own garb was soon caught in her magical field, and with a little squirming found its way onto the bedroom floor. The mare rolled onto all-fours, and turned away from me, and stuck her rear-end high into the air.

“Mount me, you sexy stallion, you,” she said. I had to do mental backflips not to break down in laughter at the pure corniness of the line.

“As you wish, my lady,” I said, just as corny. I slid across the surface of the bed and planted my hooves on her backside. I only then realized how hard I had become. I brought myself to her entrance and teased her moist folds.

“Just take me, already!” she begged, pushing her wanting sex into my own. I didn’t need to be told twice. I slid myself gently into her, reveling in the sensation on her marehood.

“OOOOOoooooh yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesss,” she moaned softly. After a few moments I began to pump in and out of her slowly. Each motion of my hips elicited a pleasured gasp from the fashionista. With each thrust, I buried my length inside of her, scraping myself against her insides.

“Is that good?” I teased as I thrusted away.

“It’s perfect… Don’t stop!” Her gasps began to run together into one continuous pleasured hum. I started to pick up my pace and made my strokes deeper, thrusting into her flesh. Our hips slapped together and slowly the intensity of the moment rose. Pleasure gave way to ecstasy , as I rhythmically pushed myself forward into the ivory mare again and again.

Eventually all of our toil and sweat paid off in glorious climax. I spilled into her as her walls gripped my rod with renewed force. For sweet seconds we both floated through a haze of pleasure, lost in our mutual orgasm. There were no screams or moans, no ‘Oh, Celestia!’ or ‘Sweet Luna!’ to punctuate our sweet relations. It was only candlelight and pleasure.

We collapsed into a pile of pony, nothing but spasms, and pants, and sweat bleeding into the sheets. I won’t say it was the best I’ve ever had, but it was definitely the best I’ve had with her. Rarity was the first to speak, her words slurred, drunk on wine and climax. “That was… *huff*… wonderful,” she sighed.

“I’m glad… *huff*… you think so.” I smiled at her as she lay there. Her face was still the picture of bliss: flushed and dreamy-eyed.

“You… *huff*… you really outdid… *huff*… yourself,” she said, her speech returning to her.

“Thanks… *huff*…” I untangled my limbs from hers and rolled onto my back, and I felt a dry sleepiness start to creep into my eyes. If I wasn’t careful I might fall asleep on her. Totally unprofessional.

“Mind if I smoke?” her voice shook me from my tired cloud.

“You know I don’t.” I heard the hum of magic and the sounds of a lighter. I stared upward for a while, and slowly trails of smoke began to billow up towards my ceiling. I love those moments: the moments between, ‘OH GOD YES’ and ‘let’s go again.’ For a few seconds it feels like there’s nothing on my plate, like there’s no job, no client, no nothing.

It’s nice.

“I must say, Guilty, that was, without a doubt, the best I’ve ever had.” She breathed a thick cloud of fumes into the air.

“I know what you mean… best for me in… quite some time,” I admitted.

“Oh?” she asked, I could hear the smile on her lips. “Now that’s a story I’d like to hear… ‘Guilty’s best.’” She really is a shameless gossip.

“Not going to happen, my dear,” I deadpanned.

“Oh, you’re no fun.” She took a drag of her cigarette, and daintily shook the ashes off, onto the floor. “You know, for all the time I spend over here, I don’t really know that much about you.” I didn’t like where this was going. “You never really… open up to me.” I really didn’t like where this was going.

“Why would I bother you with that? I’m here for you tonight, not the other way round.” I stole a glance at her as she puffed out smoke, like some kind of incredibly sexy chimney. She stared into space, her face a mask of concern.

“Well, be that as it may, that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to reciprocate.” Her gaze met mine. “I live to give, Guilty.”

“Well if you are, in fact, willing to reciprocate there’s something you could take care of for me,” I deflected, doing my best to showcase my ever expanding goods as subtly as possible. Anything to change the topic. Luckily, Rarity never turns down an opportunity to give head.

Rarity’s bedroom eyes kicked in again; she tittered. “Why Mr. Pleasure, it would be my… pleasure.” She slid around in front of me. She began to delicately rub her muzzle against the inside of my legs. Her breath tickled my loins, sending my member to full attention. I was honestly a little excited; Rarity is good at fellatio.

Her lips wrapped themselves around my rod rather suddenly. I gasped in surprise, my back arching slightly. Her tongue and lips played across me with practiced skill, lapping, and kissing, and sucking. By now she knows all my weak spots; she knows right where I liked it.

Soon I felt the entirety of my member slide deep into her throat. Did I mention Rarity is really good at fellatio? It was quick. It didn’t take long before I felt that familiar pressure build up and my loins started to clench. I exploded into her with potent force, her mouth eagerly accepting my load.

Her lips slid off of me, and I fell limp, letting out a satisfied sigh. The bed bounced slightly as Rarity hurried off the bed and, ultimately, left the room. Rarity never swallows. She says she’ll save that for the man she marries. We all have our reservations.

She returned moments later, cuddling up to my prone form, her head on my chest. “So... do I still ‘got it,’ as they say?” she asked.

“I should say so.” I quipped. She smiled up at me, looking proud. I could only grin. It was a short lived grin.

“Seriously though, you never tell me anything about you,” she whined, putting on a mask of mock hurt. Apparently a quick blowy was not enough to rattle this persistent mare’s memory. ‘Oh well, It was worth a shot… and I got head out of it.’

“I mean... For all the time I spend over here, all the things I tell you…” trailed off. ‘Okay Guilty...time to be serious.’

“Rarity, I don’t like talking to clients about my personal life,” I conceded.

“Well, that’s awfully rude, wouldn’t you say?” She was frowning at me now, anger brimming in her eyes.

I frowned right back. “How do you figure that?”

“Well it’s just… I tell you everything, Guilty… everything. It’s not too much to expect a little give and take is it?” She was starting to pout.

“Look, Rarity...” I did my best to look earnest. “I know... I know that I’m not exactly... forthcoming with my personal life. And the truth is... ninety percent of what I do, I do for my job, so there’s really not much to say. And as for other clients… well... you know I can’t talk about them.”

“Well…well okay, but… but what about your time before Ponyville… what about when you lived in Manehattan?” she asked.

And there it was. There are too many reasons I don’t like talking about my life in Manehattan, but Rarity wasn’t going to just walk away from this. I had to say something, and say something, I did.

“Can I be very very honest Rarity?” I asked, earnestly.

Rarity caught the sober tone in my voice, and calmed herself accordingly. “Of course, Guilty.” Her voice was all... concern.

“My personal life… or at least my life before Ponyville... it’s a very sore subject for me, and it... *sigh*... it isn’t something I really want to discuss… with anyone.” I stared straight into those sapphires she calls eyes, she was rapt with attention. “But even more than that… I just want a few things in my life that I can call.. mine.” Her eyebrow cocked.

“It’s like this: four times a week or so, I’m not me… I’m whoever the client needs me to be. I’m a psychiatrist, a confidant, a quick lay… a date. I never get to be… me. I mean… I don’t even use my real name… no one names their kid ‘Guilty Pleasure.’” I could see something resembling guilt begin to overtake her features. She was starting to get it.

“And even more than just that: It’s not just my... my, attitude or my time… It’s my body... it’s me. Every part of me belongs to someone else. For a few hours I exist for the pleasure of the client, in every way. So if there are just a few things, a few sacred things… just a few bastions of privacy I keep in my very exposed life… I think, Rarity, that it isn’t too much to ask that you respect that.”

It took a lot of effort, but I managed to keep a smile on my face the whole time. Rarity on the other hand was at a total loss for words; her jaw just... hanged open. I reached up and closed it for her. “Careful, dear, you’ll attract flies.” I was once more in the act, back to being the proper gentlemen.

“I’m… I’m so sorry. I-I wasn’t trying to pry or anything I jus-” I cut her off.

“Yes you were, Rarity… you were exactly trying to pry,” I teased. I stuck my tongue out at her playfully. “You naughty girl, you.”

“I… uh… I *ahem* Yes, well… I guess I have been rather naughty this evening haven’t I?” She was smiling again, thank goodness. “I am sorry, though.” She looked sincere. ‘Hmmm, I guess I shouldn’t hold it against her.’

“Don’t’ worry about it, m’dear.”

“Can I ask just one question, Guilty?” She looked up at me pleadingly. “Why do you do this? Why do you put yourself through all that?”

“Oh, it’s not so bad. For the most part I really love this job,” I replied.

“But why this? I’m sure there a hundred things a stallion of your talents could do,” she asked.

“Because, Rarity… this is the nicest way I’ve found to use my special talent,” I answered cryptically. I knew I wasn’t really giving her much to go on; but it was as much as I was willing to give.

To her credit, she seemed to accept that answer, surprisingly. “One of these days I am going to figure out what exactly that is, you know,” she teased. “One more question, Guilty?”

“Of course”

“What do you want to do?”

That’s not a question I get asked a lot. Even when I do, I don’t usually answer it honestly. I just tell the client something they want to hear.

For some reason, though, when Rarity asked me right then, I didn’t lie. “You know what I’d like to do, Rarity? I’d like to run into the kitchen, grab two spoons and a gallon of cookie dough ice cream, and just eat and talk until we fall asleep… How does that sound?”

“That… sounds very nice, actually.” Her smile right then... right when she said that... it was perfect. Any description I could give wouldn’t do it justice. It was just so happy... caring... serene.

The two of us spent what must have been hours just gossiping and devouring frozen goodness. It was heavenly, I even went so far as to drop my act… sort of… briefly… a couple times. We eventually polished off the entire gallon; and I must admit, it was the most fun I’ve ever had with Rarity. She fell asleep sometime after midnight, cuddling up next to me in the waning candlelight of the bedroom. It was nice.

Even now as I write, her delicate frame clings to mine, and soon the combined exhaustion and food coma will push me over the edge into unconsciousness. I’m somewhat thankful to her, It’s not often I enjoy myself that much during an appointment. I hope Rarity enjoyed it just as much as I did.