Mac's Drunken Hatred (RGRE)


                                            Pastebin for those curious fellers: https://pastebin.com/JkHD7HtS

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                                            An old green I wrote, I think in about June of 2018. I was toying with the idea of Reversed Gender Roles in Equestria from the RGRE threads and found myself underwhelmed with certain people's visions. Mine, however, is nothing too different, but people were very thirsty for more when I posted it. So, from my old pastebin to this new one, here it is.


                                            “...But yeah, that’s how I used to get by in my world,” you finish telling a one and only Mister Big Macintosh.

                                            >He responds in kind with a puff of breath, slamming an empty mug down onto the bar top.

                                            >His mane is disheveled; his eyes glaze over you.

                                            >The poor devil has seen better days.

                                            >Now, swaying atop the barstool beside yours, he's seeing double.

                                            >“Y-ya know wut?” he says, stumbling through slurred words, “thas some...some marely stuff yer talkin’ ‘bout. Nuh, not that I’m...judgin’ ya, or whatever. Eenope. I’m just a-sayin’, is all. Ya...ya know wut I'm sayin'?”

                                            >Yes.

                                            >Yes, you do, in fact, know what he's saying.

                                            >Thing is, you aren't sure if HE knows what he's saying...


                                            >Behind the bar, you find Hot Shot trotting over to the both of you.

                                            >Though a unicorn, her coat and mane's palette hearkened a certain pegasus you know, a very shy one indeed, ableit with some differences.

                                            >The pink of her hair was deeper, darker, and the yellow of her fur was warmer.

                                            >Her coat also featured small blotches of texture -- amost freckles, you'd call them -- which brought to mind the markings of a yellow cadberry egg.

                                            >A bartender at Lampshade's Hangar for the last two years, she knows the sounds empty steins make when they're placed atop coasters or oakwood.

                                            >Moreso, she has been long acquainted to the accompanying rables of a Big Macintosh with them.


                                            >When she approaches, her magic takes away your empty mugs.

                                            >"Hey, guys," she says. "Need more already?"

                                            >"I...sh...sh-shold my...haul today, an' made loooootsa lotta....lotta bits t'day..."

                                            >She freezes just before refilling your drinks through the tap.

                                            >“Uh, you sure you can drink much more, buddy?” she asks the stallion.

                                            >He's quiet before responding to her.

                                            >Mutters something about ‘limitations'.

                                            >Or was it "tarnation"?

                                            >Either way, Hot Shot remains unsatisfied; she looks over to you to clarify.

                                            >You just shrug.

                                            “Look, it's nothing," you assure her, "Macky's just had a rough day. He needs a little extra pick-me-up for tonight. You know, for his mood. Rough day. Just a rough day.”

                                            >Hot Shot remains unimpressed, but fills the mugs with the tap anyhow.

                                            >“Keeps drinking like he is this evening, then he’ll have a rough morning, too,” she says.

                                            >She hands over the newly filled mugs.

                                            >“At least tell me you have someone to walk him home tonight.”

                                            >You grab Big Mac by the shoulder and pull him in.

                                            “Well, of course he does! He's got me!" you say, beaming.

                                            >Meanwhile, Big Mac groans into the crick of your neck.

                                            >"Uh...w-wa...a-applesauce."

                                            >“Well, good enough," says Hot Shot. "Just doing my job here. We don’t want any mares around at getting some bad ideas, you know?”

                                            >You part from Big Mac, reaching for your new mug.

                                            “Oh, he’s fine. We’re fine. Right, Macky Boy?”

                                            >With uncoordinated hooves, Big Mac brings his refill to his lips.

                                            >First, he takes a few sips, then ultimately chugs the whole thing down in a whopping ten seconds.

                                            >And he speaks anew.

                                            >“Mmmugh...You...ya know what I really h-hate, Aaaanon?” he asks.


                                            >You and Hot Shot glance at each other, then back to him.

                                            “Uh, what, Mac? Whatcha hate?”

                                            >Again, the stallion pauses.

                                            >“I...I really hate me sum ass, Anon,” he says, frowning. “No, I rrrreally... I mean it, right? Can’t...can’t buckin’ stand it!”

                                            >Hot Shot's face goes askew.

                                            >"What did he just say?"

                                            >You, however, are cracking up.

                                            “Pfft! Ha! Really, buddy? And why’s that ya friggin’ nut?”

                                            >“Uhh...C-can’t stand th’ smell of it, can’t stand the taste... Cuh...Can’t stand none o’ that shtuff, ya know wuh I mean?”

                                            “So...so let me get this straight, Mac,” you say through giggling. “You're tellin’ me you don’t want a mare with a great ass or anything?”

                                            >Hot Shot just stands there in discomfort, watching Big Mac shake his head lousily, raising up his hooves in defense.

                                            >“Hell naw! I love ass! Like...uh...who duddn’t? Ass is ass, don’tcha know? Ya...ya grab it, s’all soft, supple, an' tight -- love me sum good ass. Buh other than feelin’ it? Other than fuggin’ it? Nuh-uh! Eenope! None 'o that fer this here farmpony. I stank 'nuff as it.”

                                            >"What the buck," says Hot Shot.

                                            >She flaps her mouth for more words, but winds up just repeating herself while you're laughing up a hurricane.

                                            “So ya don’t want any ass?" you press on. "Is that what you’re saying, bud?”

                                            >“I’m jus’ sayin’ thad nopony’sh gonna see me eatin’ ass no time soon!” proclaims Mac loudly. “Ass is for grabbin’! Ass is fer fuckin’! S’as shimple as that. Ya...ya gotta has a problem if...if y-you wanna put yer mouth all over somepony’s shit-covered...butt-lips or shit, I... I-I dunno. Damn gross.”

                                            >Hot Shot groans.

                                            >“Well, this is a very colt-like conversation, isn’t it?”

                                            “But Mac, buddy, people clean there! I mean, especially folks who’re into that kind of stuff. They do enemas or shit, you know?”


                                            >“Mmm...Don’ care iffit’s clean or not...Like, wudd if they fart? L-like...then what, stoopid? Thas gonna smell, pardner, riiiight up yer nose. Hmph. Maybe... mouth too...”

                                            >“By Luna's scrote, Anon, just how rough a day did he have?" asks Hot Shot.

                                            “Well, not enough to be this stupid of a drunk,” you chuckle, then turn your focus back to Mac. "Hottie's right. I think it’s time we getcha home, Mac, old buddy-pal of mine. Whaddya say?”

                                            >“If we made out a lil', you'd an' I wud be drownin' in so much buckin' cawk right 'bouts here,” giggles Mac.

                                            >You're dying.

                                            >You're laughing so hard, you must be dying.

                                            >And the look on Hot Shot's face only helps kill you more.

                                            >“Um, Anon?" she says, stunned, "Is Mac—”

                                            “Ha! Fuck if I know! C’mon, Mac. You’re done for tonight.”

                                            >“N-nah, ‘Non. Lez...lez putton a show fer ‘em and get sum mares starin’ at us...”

                                            “Noooope. C’mon. We’re leaving before you try and do something stupid to me.”

                                            >You sit up from the barstool, wrap an arm around his barrel, pick him up, and head for the door.

                                            >“Uh, hey! Aren’t you gonna pay?” asks Hot Shot.

                                            “Tomorrow,” you tell her, heaving Mac over your shoulder. “I’ll stop by and pay tomorrow.”

                                            >“Uh, sorry kiddo, but that’s not how this works,” she says, a tone in her voice.

                                            “Okay, fine. /This/ should cover it, then."

                                            >You unzip your fly.

                                            >No teasing, no slow dance.

                                            >You just lay your fat cock out on the bartable for all to see.

                                            "You wanna touch it?"

                                            >She wipes the sweat off her forehead, swallows the lump in her throat.

                                            >You can see the hunger deep in her eyes.

                                            "If you want," you tell her, "you can do more than touch and stare."

                                            >Her eyes dart up at you, pupils huge, her breath held in her chest.

                                            >"Really?" she asks.

                                            "Yeah, really. At least until /tomorrow/. I'll pay you lots then. How about it?”

                                            >She looks up and down, back and forth between you and your cock.

                                            >When you notice she licks her lips without meaning to, you smirk.

                                            "So?"


                                            >"...Bucking dammit.”

                                            >You slide your length back into your pants.

                                            “Good. See you then, Hot Stuff.”

                                            >With a wink you mimic from some 80's movie, you carry Mac by the waist adne exit the bar.

                                            >He's laughing, of course.

                                            >“Y-ya know, yer sucha slut, Anon. Ain’t no stallion like you in Ponyville.”

                                            “Ah, so what you drunk fuck? Could never get this much poontang back home. I’ll gladly take everything I get thrown my way here.”

                                            >“So...so then ya really gonna fuck her?”

                                            >You laugh out into the street of darkest nights.

                                            “Hell yeah! She’s got a great ass!”


                                            END

                                            (might add more?)