Chapter 31
Copperquick was watching. Copperquick was watching and Buttermilk revelled in having captured his attention with such a mundane task. Never believing herself to be a looker or a pony of great beauty, Buttermilk was almost intoxicated with the very notion that Copperquick was watching and she allowed herself to explore every new sensation for being an object of adoration.
Churning butter had always been what she was best at, it was her special gift. But now, knowing that Copperquick was watching, churning butter had taken on a whole new thrill. Copperquick was watching her do what she was best at and he found her attractive while she was doing it. Did cutie marks have a special magic that reacted when one did what one does and said action helped to attract a mate? It sure felt that way. Buttermilk was a sexy milkmaid and Copperquick, who was watching, couldn’t keep his eyes off of her while she performed the task that was arguably her destiny.
It was a philosophically sexy moment, the first of its kind for Buttermilk, who savoured it.
While Copperquick was watching, it was easy to entertain such silly thoughts, thoughts such as quitting as a social worker and establishing a dairy farm. Just so Copperquick could watch. Of course, this was a foolish idea, but Buttermilk could see the appeal in it, and something in the back of her mind suggested that she would be a happy mare indeed if she did just that. To entice her, it cranked up the rickety old projector and loaded in a fine fantasy film.
After a taxing, sweaty morning of churning butter, when her back was a little achy, when she was feeling that tired, lazy feeling that happens as noon approaches, when she was sweaty and disheveled, Copperquick would take her… and she would be his butterchurn. Yes, she would be his butterchurn and he would drop the plunger in. Up and down, in and out, with slow, steady, rhythmic motions, Copperquick would churn her butter. After pouring in the heavy cream, following a great many churnings, Buttermilk would have a Butter foal… something delightful and buttery, a brother or sister for Esmeralda.
While working the shaft of the plunger, Buttermilk had a delightful case of the shudders.
She had folded clouds into this batch of butter, making it extra special. It would be light, fluffy, soft, and have just a hint of current on the teeth, giving it an exceptional mouthfeel. When she was younger, her cloud-butter won a surplus of blue ribbons at the fairs and dairy shows. It was something that only a pegasus could create, and very few pegasus ponies had butterchurns for cutie marks, so most pegasus ponies would never bother. With each stroke of the plunger, a faint whiff of ozone whooshed out of the churn and tickled her nose, which in turn only heightened her growing arousal.
Spring fever was a thing.
While the scent of ozone and cream was a fine thing indeed, the sound was also something to be enjoyed. Buttermilk listened to the squishy squelches, the sucking slurps, and the moist mucking as the plunger was plunged into the very depths of the churn. She alternated between slow and steady, then fast and hard, and then slow and steady again, gaining an appreciation for the sound and how it affected her rising excitement.
This afternoon for certain, Buttermilk planned to act upon her fantasies.
“Numwah?” Blinking, Esmeralda looked up at her father with big, soulful eyes and it appeared as though she was thinking deep, meaningful thoughts. “Bwahuwha?” she bwahuwhaed whilst blowing a spit bubble.
Esmeralda was having a perfect moment. She was awake, she was aware, and she was—for the moment—in an ideal, perfect state of being. Hunger did not gnaw at her, sleep did not call for her, there was no pressing need to potty, and so she was in a perfect state to make keen observations of the world around her.
She sat on her blanket, which was spread over the floor of the back porch, and watched with great interest the whole of the world around her. A ship went steaming past and she turned her head to keep her bright eyes focused upon the object that now held her interest, her father all but forgotten. With each sound, each little noise, her ears pricked, rotated, and reacted.
Copperquick realised that his daughter was developing. Right now. This minute. Right before his very eyes. As he watched, no less. With all of her needs met, she was free to have a moment of development. And his luck was such that he could watch and share in this treasured, perfect moment.
“Boat, Esme.” Reaching out, Copperquick pointed at the passing vessel.
“Boab?” The filly did her best to look confused.
“Boat.”
“Boad?”
“Boat.” Copperquick made a very deliberate over-pronunciation.
It was then he saw it in his daughter’s eyes: frustration. Nostrils flaring, she sucked in a deep breath, puffed out her barrel, and her lower lip protruded. Ears quivering, she looked up while he looked down and for a moment, there was a very real possibility that his daughter was about to throw a tantrum. Tiny wrinkles appeared upon her brow and sitting upon her haunches, she began to wave her forelegs around.
“Boat!”
“Yes, Esme! Boat!”
Just like that, the tantrum vanished and Esmeralda began burbling to celebrate her great accomplishment. The wrinkles on her forehead vanished and reappeared in the corners of her eyes, where her broad smile was shoving her chubby cheeks. Copperquick too, did his best to smile, a broad over-exaggerated grin that no doubt made him look silly, but he did it anyway because the doctor said it was good to do.
Distracted, Copperquick cast his eyes in Buttermilk’s direction, felt a moment of anxiousness, and then returned his attention to his daughter. “It’s tough, Esme. I used to be a cad. Wasn’t the best sort of pony. Then you came along and I had to do better. You’ve put me in a rough spot, Esme. Between you and Buttermilk, I’ve had a crash course in being a better pony. There is a lot of pressure to do right.”
“Butter,” Esmeralda said in a most matter-of-fact way, as if she was announcing the time.
“Yes, Buttermilk. Your mother is churning butter and it is driving me crazy.” Copperquick allowed himself to look in Buttermilk’s direction once more. “Your mother said some stuff to me last night that messed with my head. I’m not the smartest pony, Esme. You’ll figure that out soon enough and that worries me. I’m scared, Esme… I can see how Buttermilk’s parents tried to do right, and I do think they’re good parents, but mistakes were made. What if I make mistakes with you? What do I do? How do I fix them?”
“Butter,” Esmeralda replied while she smiled.
“Poor Buttermilk has messed up crazy thoughts in her head because of things her parents said and did.” Copperquick sighed, shook his head, and let out a snort. “I don’t want to do that to you, but I probably will. I’m sorry, Esme.”
“Butter?” Esmeralda burbled for a moment, thoughtful, blew a spit bubble, and with her eyes bright and cheery added, “Butter!”
With yet another sigh, Copperquick reached out one foreleg, hooked it around his daughter, and scooped her up. Bouncing her a bit, he allowed her to settle into the crook of his foreleg and to come to rest against his barrel. As she almost always did, she kicked and wiggled for a bit, then settled against him, content to be held.
“It’s not fair, Esme,” Copperquick whispered, keeping his voice as low as possible. “I’m supposed to be living my salad years. Sowing my wild oats. I’m supposed to be taking everything that life has to offer. Funny, I don’t know what happened. Crossed the ocean, came here, found a new land, a new way of life, and a new way of living. Sure, I enjoyed myself, but then I went and got stodgy. Got myself a job. An apartment. Applied myself at college. Went and made myself responsible. Oh sure, I occasionally went out and had a nice night out, and I chased a little tail, but I was too busy trying to build a future for myself. After I went and got stodgy, you came along.”
Feeling a little ashamed, Copperquick stared down at the grass. “You showed up and I don’t even have the option to go out and kick up my heels. Oh, I could do that, but it would feel wrong now. I suppose I could have surrendered you to Crown care, but I’d be a right git for doing that. Esme, I don’t know what is wrong with me, but I feel anxious settling down even though everything feels so perfect most of the time. A part of me wants to run away and go home… or just go elsewhere and not have to face all of this. Why me? It really isn’t fair. Why’d I have to go and make this my fight?”
“Boat! Butter boat!”
Now, when Copperquick looked in Buttermilk’s direction, he saw something else entirely. A life that he had some responsibility for. Somepony that he had some obligation to respect. She was more than a hot librarian type or a sexy pegasus with fascinating wings; Buttermilk was a mare with her own hopes and dreams. She had feelings, thoughts, and fears, all of which he had to be mindful of.
Yes, she had all of the fears that her mother had given her, Copperquick could barely understand them all, and she was afraid of him. Buttermilk was a fragile little hummingbird of a pegasus. Consummating their relationship—whatever their relationship was now—was going to require a lot of trust and patience. She was already asking the tough questions that he had never really given much thought to before. Where before, other mares had been conquests, flings, Buttermilk was somepony he wanted to spend his life with, so that meant not doing caddish things like having a go at her while she cried into a pillow, not that he had ever done that sort of thing.
As awful as it might be, Copperquick could see how that would be easy to do when one so easily discarded their conquests. He thought back to the night when Esmeralda had been made, and after a moment, felt a keen sense of regret. His daughter had been created during a meaningless encounter. Copperquick had taken what he felt he was owed after an expensive night of dining and drinking. That is what it was; an exchange. Esmeralda was the result of an exchange.
A deep and abiding sense of shame overcame him and he gave his daughter a squeeze.
Was this the pain of growing up? He was grown, sure, he was an adult in every way that mattered, but he was certain that he lacked mental maturity. How silly his goals and ambitions were in the face of all of this. To just muddle through life, being average, to be a well respected pony, to be conservative and cautious. Where had that brought him? What did his cutie mark mean? Why was he who he was?
There was a direction to be had now, though; to be a good father and a good mate, because in his mind those two things, being so entwined with one another, were one in the same. He couldn’t even imagine being one without also being the other. Everything else would come second. Overcome with some weird manic need, he rose from where he was sitting, and once standing, marched on three legs over to where Buttermilk churned butter, still clutching his giggling daughter.
Reaching Buttermilk, he put Esmeralda down upon the porch, snatched the startled milkmaid, pulled her close, and then kissed her with all of the savage, passionate ferocity he could muster. Buttermilk freaked out, and, with her wings flapping, she tried to get away, but couldn’t. After a moment her struggles slowed, then ceased altogether. Then, she returned the kiss with the same vim and vigour while her stiffening wings sprung out from her sides.
As the kiss intensified, one of Buttermilk’s hind hooves clopped hard against the boards of the porch and the eager little mare tried to push her way closer to Copperquick, and both were mindful of the foal down near their front hooves. Her glasses fogged over, went askew, and her tail flagged high.
Copperquick only broke the kiss because he desperately needed air.
While he stood gasping, panting, he heard Buttermilk say, “I’m taking you upstairs later. Maybe sooner.” She too, was every bit as breathless as he was, and she heaved out each word with breathless excitement.
It was too much to think about, and Copperquick responded in the only way he knew how; he kissed her, again, a reckless, oxygen-starved lip-lock that overpowered his senses and left him reeling. He was ready for her now, at this very moment, and he attempted to express the urgency of his need through the feverish, fuzzy-lipped, friction-filled sweaty kiss.
Down on the porch, Esmeralda giggled and clapped her front hooves together.
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Hoping it's not serious with you seeing the doctor, but I'm wishing you well all the same. Take care of yourself!
See!?
Tease!
8824762
Rated T, for tease, even.
Well this was a cute little chapter.
Esmeralda approves!
Next, on As The World Churns...
Oh Emse. No matter what a shouty, poopy, snotty little baby you can possibly be, you'll always be adorable.
Esmeralda's sittin' there like Cadence. "Finally, my magic charms worked. Relationship achieved."
Esme ships it.
8842882
She does!