Zealous Soul Meets Anon

>You're Zealous Soul, a missionary in the Celestial Witnesses
>To be honest, no one in the CWs really knows what Celestia Herself thinks about the whole thing, but your brothers and sisters in the faith understand that Celestia is the Way, the Truth and the Light
>Rumor (quashed) has it that she thinks it's actually quite hilarious; too many other ponies think you're all a bit annoying.
>It's fine, though, the Solar Paradise waits for you, complete with the Garden of Cake and rivers of wine and hard cider.  And screw the scoffers, that's why Faust made Tartarus.
>You've learned of a strange, new creature who has recently made a home on the outskirts of Ponyville, Anon Y. Mous.  A hyoo-mahn, he's called, from some other world or dimension or something.
>You'd asked a few questions at a local cafe about him.  No one there knew very much about him, really, but you'd overheard a few whispers and some giggles from some of the mares.  But you did get some directions.
>You've taken it upon yourself to share with the newcomer the Good News of Our Lady and Solar Savior, Princess Celestia, and if he is, as the mares said, the first and only one of his kind in Equestria, this will be quite a feather in your cap.
>You trot down the road toward his house humming an upbeat hymn to yourself.  His house is larger than you'd expected, clearly scaled for a being much larger than the average pony.  it's rough-hewn, but built with care and skill.
>You sit back and knock with a hoof on the front door, which towers over you. There's no answer.  But you hear the a loud rythmic thudding behind the house, and after a moment, you decide to cautiously go to the back.
>You round the corner, and you see...
>He must be Anon the Hyoo-mahn.  And you've never seen anything quite like him.
>The figure is tall, standing on its heavily muscled hind legs.  it--no, HE--is bare to the waist, his lower half clad in belted denim pants that fit like a second skin.  From the waist up his sculpted torso is bare, muscled and glistening with sweat in the bright sun.
>You watch as he carefully places a small log on the block with one muscled hand, and he reaches down and grips the handle of a woodcutter's axe.  he lifts it and carefully swings it, and with a THUNK, the log falls into two pieces.
>You continue watching in wonder as he methodically, efficiently reduces the pile of seasoned oak into firewood, fascinated by the intricate play of muscles beneath his skin.
>And then the wind shifts, and your nostrils catch the scent.  It's the smell of sweet citrus and woodsmoke combined with clean sweat and heavy musk and a delicate, alien, ineffable SOMETHING, something exotic and just a little predatory, and you feel your hind legs going weak.
>Suddenly you can barely stand, and oh sweet Celestia, your mind is flooded with a mental image of him standing behind you, those huge, strong, rough hands clutching your withers with brustal alien power as he pulls you toward...toward...
>"Ummm...can I help you, Miss?"  Suddenly you realize he's staring at you with a bemused expression.  Oh Celestia, how long have you been--"
>You fumble for your introduction.  Oh sweet solar savior, your haunches are wet.  Please please please don't let him have seen or smelled you..."H-hi, are you...you Anon? Anon Y. Mous, the H-h-hyoo-mahn?" you manage to stutter.
>"Yeah, I'm he," he says.  He smiles, and it does things to that face, wonderful things.  Why is he having this kind of effect on you?  You've seen stallions before, even some damned good-looking ones, so why...?  "So what can I do for you, ma'am?" he says politely.
>You feel your heart fluttering.  Your face is flushed.  Oh Luna's jiggly teats, he smells good enough to EAT. Another image swims unbidden into your mind of you doing just exactly that, and it's absolutely wonderful.
>You try to push it away, mostly successfully.  For the moment.  "I'm...ah, I'm with the Celestial Witnesses, and I was...was wondering if maybe you'd-like-to-talk-about-our-lady-and-savior-Celestia???" the last comes out in a single squeaky, breathless monologue, and it's all you can do to keep staring at his luminous, alien eyes and not his (oh Celestia) body.  You pray that the wind shifts so his scent is away from you so you can think, even as another part of you hope that it doesn't.
>Please bright lady, save me from this unholy lust...
>The thought comes, unbidden, that you'd like to see if his taste is as good as that scent. You try to chase it away, and this time you fail.
>He smiles.  "Well, I could use a break.  Sure, why not?  Feel like a lemonade?  A cider?  We'll talk over drinks." He steps into his house, and comes out a minute later with two glasses, filled with ice and what looks like lemonade.  You barely care one way or another.
>He reaches down and you take one of the glasses, and your shivering hoof touches his hand.
>The feeling is electric.  You can feel the relentless heat radiating from his body like a furnace, and you suddenly see him across your back, his breath in your ear and his heat baking into your grateful body, helpless before his might, gripping you tightly as he...as he...
>Your nostrils are flooded with his powerful scent.  The world greys out in a haze of alien heat and musk
>With a squeak, you faint dead away.