(RGRE) "Mac's Drunken Hatred"

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 your story to Big Macintosh.
>He tiredly scoffs, slamming his mug of cider down on the bar table after chugging it.
>Next, he waves to the bartender, Hot Shot, a cream-colored mare with a sea pink mane, and rolls his eyes at you.
>“Y-ya know, that’s some...that’s some marely stuff yer talkin’ ‘bout,” he says lazily, swaying atop his bar stool.
>His mane is disheveled, his eyes stare through you, and his speech is slurred.
>The poor devil has seen better days.
>Now, he’s seeing double.
>“Uh, not that I’m, uh...judgin’ ya or whatever, no, no. I’m just sayin’, thas all.”
>Hot Shot, your friendly ol’ bartender, approaches the two of you with a raised brow and a couple of drinks.
>Seeing you two here was common, but seeing Mac shitfaced, muttering up a storm; that's like a blue moon.
>“Hey, Mac? You sure you can drink much more?” she asks, wincing as she puts down two more mugs of cider.
>The stallion mutters something about ‘limitations,’ and Hot Shot glances at you as if you know what he’s saying.
>You wave your hand dismissively.
“Don’t worry, Hot Shot. Macky here’s just had a rough day.”
>“Yeah, looks like he’ll be having a rough morning, too,” she muses, and leans against the bar table. “He got someone to walk ‘im home?”
“Ah, ‘course he does,” you say with a laugh, grabbing Mac by the shoulder.
>He groans into your neck tiredly.
“I am!”
>Hot Shot sighs in relief.
>“Phew. Just checking. We don’t want any mares walkin’ around at night getting any ideas, you know?”
“He’s fine. We’re fine. Right, Macky Boy?”
>Mac grabs his mug with uncoordinated hooves, barely bringing it to his lips without sploshing cider everywhere.
>He gulps down the sweet liquid for a strong ten seconds before parting from it.
>“Mmmugh...You...ya know what I really h-hate, Aaaanon?” he asks.

>You and Hot Shot curiously glance at each other, then back to him.
“Uh, what, Mac? Whatcha hate?”
>“...I really hate ass, Anon,” he says, frowning. “No, no, like, rrrreally... I mean it! Can’t...can’t fuckin’ stand it!”
>Hot Shot’s face flushes a deep red.
>You clutch your sides, laughing your ass off.
“Pfft ha ha ha! Really, buddy? And why’s that ya fuckin’ nut?”
>“Uhh...C-can’t stand th’ smell of it, can’t stand the taste...” The stallion grimaces. “Cuh...Can’t stand none o’ that shtuff, ya know wuh I mean?”
“So let me get this straight, Mac,” you say, giggling as Hot Shot just stands there in discomfort. “Are you tellin’ me you don’t want a mare with a great ass?”
>Mac shakes his head lousily, raising his hooves up in defense.
>“Oh n-no, I love ass! Like...uh...who duddn’t? Ass is ass, don’tcha know? Ya...ya grab it, s’all soft, supple, tight — love me sum good ass,” he insists, “buh other than feelin’ it, and fuggin’ it? Nuh-uh. Eenope!”
>You try not to laugh while sipping from your mug, rolling your eyes at Hot Shot’s scarlet-scorched cheeks.
“So ya don’t want any ass? That what you’re saying, bud?”
>“Nah, I’m jus’ sayin’ thad nopony’sh gonna see me eatin’ ass anytime soon!” declares Mac adamantly. “Ass is for grabbin’. Ass is for 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 some shit, I dunno. Damn gross.”
>Hot Shot tugs at her shirt collar, biting her lip.
>“Well, this is a very colt-like conversation, isn’t it?” she asks, mostly thinking aloud to herself sarcastically.
“But Mac, buddy,” you continue, “People clean there! I mean, especially folks who’re into that kind of stuff. They do enemas or some shit, you know?”

>“Mmm...Don’ care iffit’s clean or not...Like, wudd if they fart? L-like...then what, dumbass? Thas gonna smell, pardner, riiiight up yer nose. Hmph. Maybe... mouth too...”
>“Luna’s Moon, Anon,” says Hot Shot, shaking her head. “Just how rough a day did he have? He sounds fucking trashed!”
“Not enough to be this stupid level of drunk,” you chuckle. “Think it’s time we getcha home, Mac, old pal of mine. Whaddya say?”
>Big Macintosh just looks at you seated next to him, his drunken gaze scanning you from head to toe.
>“Kiss me, Anon...”
>You and Hot Shot’s eye widen.
>Her face is almost redder than Mac’s.
>Your’s is too, but mostly from laughing.
>“Um, Anon? 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...”
>You sit up from the barstool, wrapping an arm around Mac’s barrel to pick him up.
“Noooope. C’mon. We’re leaving before you try and do something stupid.”
>“Uh, hey! Aren’t you gonna pay?” asks Hot Shot.
“Tomorrow,” you say to her, and heave Mac over your shoulder. “I’ll stop by and pay tomorrow.”
>“Uh, sorry kiddo, but that’s not how this works,” she says sternly.
>You sigh, plopping Mac down on the floor like a sack of hammers.
“Here; this should cover it, then,” you say, and pull down your pants, unceremoniously flashing your cock with a smirk.
>Hot Shot’s cyan eyes whip right to it, eagerly absorbing in the image of your hefty member.
>You can see her breath stop as she stares at it in awe, her face reddening even more (a feat considering how red it’s been made already).
>She wipes the sweat off her forehead, swallows the lump in her throat.
>You can see the admiration deep in her eyes.
“So...This should at least cover our pay until /tomorrow/, right babe?” you say with a wink.
>She shakily nods at you, her gaze not letting up.

>“Uh, yeah. S-sure...”
>You smile at her and slide your length back into your pants.
“Good. Later, cutie.”
>You pick up Mac from the floor, carrying him by his waist, and head for the exit.
>He laughs stupidly.
>“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 what I get here.”
>“So...so then ya really gonna fuck her?”
>You laugh boisterously as you exit the bar, out into night-time Mane Street.
“Hell yeah! She’s got a great ass!”

END
(might add more?)