I remember the day rather clearly. It was a Sunday in the dead of winter. Now, I forget the month, though I suppose that sort of bland information is irrelevant. It's on Sundays when we can finally relax. Nopony can possibly stomach bland social appointments every day of the week, after all. I was getting far too old for that, and it was a good thing that the public could realize such. The position that I had so carefully nurtured in Canterlot's social hierarchy had stabilized through a delicate touch and a certain gentleness.
It's morning now, and the feeling of wakefulness comes slowly to me. My old sides are still aching from the night's previous events, though thankfully she's able to still hold out much longer than I can.
At the thought of her, I reach out my broad hooves. They're tangled in the expanse of the satin sheets, and I exhale a grunt of approval as I feel her smooth forelegs lace about my neck. Her fresh smell of powder and cotton wafts to my nose, and I can hear a low hum rumbling through her throat.
"Good morning, darling," she coos, nestling her cheek against mine. I sigh in approval, and reach up to take her soft ear in my mouth to suckle.
She gasps, albeit a tad dramatically. I don't mind though, as I'm well aware of how tasteless my affections have no doubt gotten. Even so, her false pleasure is enough to encourage me. As I nibble at the shell of her ear; I can feel her small hooves press against my back.
We go on like this for a while, it being a Sunday and all, before she suddenly pushes me away with a hard thrust. "No more," she orders, though with a hint of teasing as to excite me further.
With a bleary-eyed, seductive look, she elegantly slides from the covers and hops out of bed, hips swaying as she walks across the vast expanse of our bedroom. I can hear her soft hoof-falls as she canters to the bathroom, no doubt preparing her make-up and prettying up for the day ahead of us.
I sit in bed for a few more minutes before clumsily rolling off of it. I'm quite like a cat as I land on my hooves, and I can't help but beam at my own petty accomplishment.
There is a wardrobe situated in the lower left corner of the room, and placed on top of it is a modest looking mirror. I walk up to it to survey my appearance, using my magic to pick up a well-worn brush to style my mane.
I have to admit, age has made me quite the regal looking fellow! I can see from the dim lighting that my crow's feet had begun to truly set in, and the dimples about my mouth have deepened since I had last examined myself. My navy blue mane has some tinges of grey laced through it, though I think the new color makes me appear sophisticated.
Of course, I don't admire myself for too long. After styling my mane I turn to our closet. It's a walk-in, though I'll admit that most of it is stuffed with my lady's dresses and outfits. I don't mind though, as I've always had the belief that a lady deserves to look as nice as she can manage. My own section is rather measly, home to just a few select suits and ties. I pick out one at random and fit it about my torso, buttoning the garment slowly.
"Dear! You've left your monocle on the nightstand again," she calls out from the room, and I canter out to see her teasingly levitating it in front of her. I take it gently, marveling at the feeling of our magic mingling together before placing the accessory upon my eye. Truthfully, I've never really needed it, but I've always thought that it made me look more dignified.
"Thank you." I bow my head politely, and she pouts. Her dolled up face does well to hide her own impending wrinkles. I catch the hint and lean over to press a series of kisses against her neck.
"Honestly. You're such a pig..." she purrs. "Careful you don't muss the mane, dear."
"Of course not," I mumble while tasting her smooth skin. I have to admire how well she's held up with her age, and how her skin still lays taut about her thin bones. She's told me that she takes ice-water baths to keep the wrinkles from coming. Perhaps they've worked after all.
"So," she raises a hoof to push me away, and her face turns serious. "What are our plans for today?" she asks.
I feel cheated, but such teasing has always been a habit of hers. "Well, I have us booked for a dinner at The Dancing Hooves tonight. You remember that place, yes?"
She nods slowly, and I see her horn glow. As I talk, I feel her magic smoothing out the wrinkles on my waistcoat.
"Now, as for the rest of the day; I'll leave that up to you," I finish. I have to admit that I'm a tad lost without my social appointments, so it usually always goes like this on Sundays. She can always manage to conjure up the most delightful ideas.
I can see her thinking, and she uses her magic to play with the ends of my mustache as she does so. "Hmm...." she breathes a sigh and looks up at me. "Well, perhaps we might go and visit some of my companions... would you like that?" she asks.
I raise an eyebrow. "Your girls, you mean?" My lady has her usual playmates that she visits on a weekly basis. They're a jolly bunch of pretty fillies, with their prettied up manes and brassy dispositions. "Well, I see no harm in it... provided that a few of their boys will be there." I chuckled. It would have been simply risqué to walk into a room with a flock of females.
She nods, a low smile curling up her lips. "That can be arranged," she murmurs. She walks over to our wardrobe to take a final look at herself, eyes scanning over her face and neck as to try and locate any imperfections or blemishes.
I walk over to her and offer up an expectant smile. "We've been lounging in here a tad too much for comfort, haven't we?" I encourage, taking a few steps to our bedroom door. Thankfully she seems to take the hint and trots up to my side, nearly pressed against me. I turn my head and allow for my horn to graze against hers before walking into the hallway.
It’s when I open the door to the outside bustle that our dynamics change. Of course, one has to limit certain behavior to the bedroom. Every proper gentlecolt knows that. As I used a touch of magic to close the large door behind us, my mare takes her position just a few inches behind myself. I pay no attention to her; indeed, I try to actively ignore her.
As we stand in front of our modest abode, I take the time to look over the view. Our house is situated on a little hill overlooking the main hub of the city. It's a breathtaking location, to be sure. Not only that, but my position has earned me a heightened status among our peers. We used to be situated in the suburbs, though it was my lady who suggested that we move into a more 'prime' location.
"Shall we, then?" she subtly nudges me with the tip of her nose, and I offer her a curt nod. Being relatively out of sight from the public eye; I allow for myself to crane my neck around and peck her forehead for a split second.
We set off then, our paces seeming to match perfectly as we slowly descend the incline of our modest hill. I can see from the general position of the sun that it's around noon or so. Sundays really are the only day of the week when I get to relax my need to keep up with the time. Of course, that excludes the small dinner appointment that we have awaiting us.
Our pace slows as we reach the central hub. Due to the day, there are only a few other ponies romping about the streets, mostly youngsters. I spot a small knot of gangly colts caught in a small scuffle on the side of the road, and I resist a slight urge to scold them. Who am I to meddle in the affairs of somepony's disobedient children? Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her looking at them with some distaste. She's told me repeatedly how much she dislikes foals. It was certainly a trait that we both seemed to use to our advantage.
There's another group to our left, and I see a certain Miss Rarity among them. She's aged well. I offer her a polite wave, and the whole group, including her, turn to face me and give their own procession of formal greetings. I can tell that they want me to sidle over to speak with them, but I manage another wave before cantering off.
We round the corner of one of the larger buildings to come in sight of our destination, a small coffee shop by the witty name of The Clippity Clop. Rather cheesy, you could say, but it's one of the finest establishments next to The Dancing Hooves.
There's a small front porch there, and I can see a few select couples sharing various drinks and dishes. It's a pleasurable sight, watching such young ponies bask in their new-found romances. Indeed, I cannot help but suffer from a twinge of haughty pride as I compare each of the mares to my own.
Still, the sensation is short-lived as we walk into the shop itself. I lead the way, of course, as we casually scan the room in search for some acquaintances.
My mare is the first to spot her own companions, a happy little group of fresh-faced fillies all done up in ribbons and dresses. They spot her from across the room and offer a series of reserved waves. As if on cue, I walk forward, with her following me from behind.
"Hello girls!" I greet, tipping my head to the side politely. The fillies stare up at me and giggle little 'hellos' in return. They gesture towards an empty seat for their friend, and she moves to sit. Her long, light pink tail lovingly laces about my legs as she does so, and I recognize this as a subtle sign that my presence wouldn't be required for the time being.
I give a word to her that we would reunite in a few hours, and I set off in search of somepony that I had particularly good acquaintanceship with, somepony that I didn't have to feel the need to put out a particularly professional cover for.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a lone stallion sitting at a small table next to one of the expansive windows. I squint my eyes to get a better look at his frame, and it's then that I recognize him.
"Why, Mr. Rich!" I exclaim, trotting over to his table. He looks up at me with tired eyes, though he smiles all the same, and reaches out a hoof to grasp the one I offer him.
"Fancy, is that you?" He coughs laughter, pointing at the other chair for me to sit. "Why, I haven't seen the likes of you in ages!" he chuckles. I have to admire how boisterous his voice and accent is, even after all these years. That was just like him, a regular salesman through and through.
"Well, I hope it is," I smile, and situate myself in the chair across from his own. "How's the Barnyard business? Still going strong?"
"Oh, that? Well..." Filthy Rich's charismatic smile seems to fade for a short second. The deep-set wrinkles in his eyes deepen at some pondering thought, and he looks down at the small frappe in his cupped hooves. "Well, ever since the Apple family's jam provider croaked our profits have taken a bit of a hit. Not much though, but enough to hurt. I've got a daughter I have to get through college, after all," he explains.
"Sorry to hear that," I mumble. "It's been fairly quiet on my end, as per usual."
"Really?" the stallion raises his eyebrow, a sly grin pulling at the corners of his lips. "What about that saucy mare of yours? Y'know, the one always following you around?"
I clear my throat. Mr. Rich has never particularly been known for his polite tact, just his excellent selling strategies and ideas. Still, I suppose I could warrant him an answer. "She is... a companion of mine," I reply evenly. I try to give off the tone that a subject change would have been more than welcome, though Mr. Rich didn't seem to catch the hint.
"Ah, I see her over there." he looks to his left and grins. "Still just as much of a catch as ever..."
For a short second, I can't help but display a proud smile. Indeed, my mare was quite a catch. My dear Fleur de Lis... Would her beauty ever see an end? Well, of course it would, but it didn't seem like that time would come anytime soon. For a short second, I give a small sigh and let my eyes shut.
We talk for a good, long while, both me and Mr. Rich. Occasionally I would shoot a glance over to her as to make sure that she was alright. When the light begins to fade, we both lift our sore bodies out of our chairs to go. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the snow-white body of my consort rise from her seat as well, offering goodbyes as her friends giggle back something in return.
She walks up to me and blinks slowly, gently, before lifting up her hooves to drape herself over my back. She does this quite a bit, for which I have to admit I'm grateful. It's a comforting gesture, and it's when our company isn't looking that she has a habit of peppering little kisses onto the back of my neck. For the sake of politeness, though, I ignore her and focus on Mr. Rich, who merely clears his throat at the display.
"Well, Fancy... It's been a real pleasure talking with you. Always is, you know," he sputters, and I inwardly smile.
"Of course, Mr. Rich. You take care now, won't you? Give my best regards to your wife and daughter." I nod, and move to step forward, waiting a short second to let her slide off my back to the ground.
We walk out of the shop refreshed and revitalized. Of course, I had not eaten a thing there. I had merely nursed on a small cappuccino. I ask her if she had eaten anything, to which she simply rolls back her shoulders in an elegant shrug.
"Surely you've at least drank something?" I ask, concern lacing my voice as we walk towards The Dancing Hooves. It isn't that far, only a few blocks. The bustle of the midday had died down so that hardly any ponies are on the road.
She looks up at me, taking a brief moment to rear up and take my ear in her teeth. "Darling..." she smiles. "That's nothing for you to worry about. I'm fine."
I can't help but look at her thin form, though my mind is muddled from the intimate contact. I drop the subject there, and we walk to our dinner appointment in silence.
"Evening Mr. Pants..." a tall mare greets us at the doorway of the restaurant, her torso neatly wrapped in a slick looking uniform. "Your reserved seats are ready for you," she smiles professionally and waves us off towards the interior of the room.
We've eaten here before, and yet the beauty of the place never ceases to amaze me. The floor is that of marble, freshly polished and laden with soft carpets as to not disrupt the customers with the sharp clacks of hoof-falls. The tables are spaced widely apart, their chairs and surfaces made of bright copper and glass. Our waitress leads us to the second floor, a more private suite to where we can dine without the fear of other pony's eyes gouging into the backs of our heads.
"Here you are!" she stops at a lone table overlooking a pleasant view of Canterlot from one of the many wall-high windows. There are a few other ponies seated some distance away, but there are some partitions set up so as to not disturb privacy. We sit down, facing one another as the waitress levitates two menus down to us.
As soon as she leaves, I drape a hoof upon the glass table, sighing delightedly as I feel that familiar snow white hoof lay atop of it. We sit like that as we leaf through our menus with some interest. It was going to be the usual, as always.
The waitress returns with two glasses of bubbling cider. As she sets them on the table, I notice that her cutie mark is that of a tea kettle. It certainly seemed fitting for her profession, and I can't help but smile.
"We'll have two orders of the foie gras salad," I tell her, lifting up the menus for her to take with a small nod. As she leaves, I can hear a soft sigh come from the other side of the table, and I look to her.
"Darling, must we always have truffles?" she asks me, her hoof moving rhythmically to stroke my own.
"I thought that was what you wanted," I mumble back to her. I adjust my monocle with a small flash of magic, and I can feel her gently stroke my mane with her own, her horn tinted a gentle pink. Her face is illuminated from the glow, and her features seem remarkably soft, soft and inviting to my touch.
"Mm, well... it will have to do, I suppose."
"I thought you liked truffles..."
"Oh, yes. I do, darling. I do."
Her response is hasty, and I feel as if I've distressed her in some way. Cautiously, I lean across the table to press my lips against hers.
We don't break the contact until our waitress is once again in sight, the navy blue of her magic gently surrounding the small dishes that she's carrying. Once they're properly situated in front of us, she excuses herself once more.
We eat in relative silence. I take rather large, though slow bites, while she takes small, dainty ones. Occasionally I remark on some point of interest outside, such as a band of ruffian foals on the street or of a rarely sighted pegasus flying by. She merely nods in reply.
We finish eating, and she stands to excuse herself to the restroom. I merely nod and watch her leave, taking some care as to nurse the refilled drink that I've been given.
While she's gone, I pay the hefty check and personally give the waitress a modest tip for a job well done. She accepts it with a soft smile, and I wait for her arrival.
She comes up suddenly, and pauses to pat a napkin to her lips before turning to me with a tired smile.
We leave then, and I cannot help but notice the slight stagger in her walk.
Bedtime comes early for me nowadays, and she always follows behind me so as to give the usual treatment. I often tell her that it isn't necessary, but she insists.
So we lay there, our coats still damp from our shower as we cling together. We connect only briefly, and her cries and my grunts are muffled by the curtain of satin that hangs about us. The world is silent, and not even my lengthening age can keep me from her.
After the act, she lays upon my chest, nuzzling the hollow of my throat as I hum tunelessly.
"I love you," I whisper.
She pauses, then raises her head to lick the bottom of my chin.
"I would do anything for you darling, you know that."
And that was all she said before slowly drifting off to sleep.