Title:           Rhyme Anon (Oneshot)
Author:          noodle-
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/pznHLD6B
First Edit:      Tuesday 19th of February 2013 05:03:08 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Tuesday 19th of February 2013 05:03:08 PM CDT

>Just another day in Equestria. Sometimes being the only human can really get the best of ya.
>You’ve been here for months, astounded at the pony homes made from trees and stumps.
>Pony’s are a friendly race; not overly dramatic or in-your-face.
>Some treat you fair, others treat you kindly. Although arriving at harvest time was a bit untimely.
>You work like a dog to support your own life; thank goodness you don’t have any kids or a wife.
>You live alone in your small little shack; the walls plastered white and the curtains are black.
>Although in Ponyville there is one fine mare you always wish to hold.
>Her name is Lyra Heartstrings; her eyes orange and her mane a minty cold.
>Days pass on and you wish to call her yours, but after hours of mental prep you give up and retreat through the door.
I love you, Lyra!
>You scream out in your head.
>”Oh, Anon! Come here…I’ll lead you to my bed”
>With a fiery wink she saunters over to your location, until you remember that it’s just a mental hallucination.
>You sigh and get back to bucking.
Oh, Applejack, why must you work me so hard? Maybe after work I’ll find Lyra and see if she wants to go…
>Play a card game.
>You sweat and toil the whole day through. When you first started your job, it was truly something to rue.
>”Thankya kindly fer that, Anon!”, Applejack states.
>Bucking’s not so hard after all, you’re actually starting to become pretty great.
>With a little more practice and a little less slack, you’ll be treating Lyra to dinner in no time flat.
>The Sun sets down on Sweet Apple Acres.
>In your time here you’ve seen the Apple family is tough; ain’t no fakers.
>You make your way back to your home. Hopefully soon you won’t have to go alone.
>You walk to your bed, your boy weak and legs weighted like the dead.
>Onto the mattress you tiredly flop, until at the door you hear a clop.
Oh boy; here comes Fluttershy again…ripe with a new ploy.
>You trudge over and fling open the door, and see the tiny mare sitting on the floor.
>”H-hello there, Anon”, Fluttershy states.
>”care for s-some afternoon r-rape?”
>She turns around and presents her flank as she glances at your face, which is completely blank.
Fluttershy, I don’t have time for this jazz! I’ve got to go and score a piece of Lyra’s…
>Rump.
>The yellow pony looks up at you. She really does look rather lonely.
>”O-oh, I’m sorry to be a bother. Maybe I wouldn’t b-be so horny if I wasn’t r-raped by my father.”
>You cringe at the thought; Fluttershy’s father plowing into her plot.
Fluttershy stop! Just let me go see Lyra. And when I’m gone, don’t smell my shirts and clop.
>You set off down the path, away from Fluttershy’s crazy wrath. Then you hear:
>”Anonymous, wait!”
>Fluttershy trots up to you. This repetitive action is never out of the blue.
>”Do you like lettuce?” She asks as she produces a head, “I-is that your fetish?”
Again with this, Yellow Timid? Your fetish guessing has really reached its limit.
>She gallops away, trying hard not to cry.
Fucking Fluttershy.