As Big Mac chewed on the tobacco he packed inside his cheek, he was walking to his truck wearing one of his signature outfits; A red flannel with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tucked into his dark blue bootcut jeans with a dark brown leather belt, and his feet covered by a pair of dark brown riding boots, and topped it all off with his light beige cowboy hat. He got into the Apple family pickup and turned the key in the ignition, the engine sputtering a few times before roaring to life, black smoke coming out of the rusted exhaust. He made sure his six-string was in the passenger side of the cabin before turning on the radio and tuning it to his favorite country music station. He then pulled out his phone and sent a text to Applejack who was currently finishing up some homework inside the house, making sure to let her know where he was going to be for the next few hours so she wouldn’t worry. ‘I’m headed for a drive. Don’t wait up, I’ll probably be back late. Make sure Granny takes her pills.’

With that out of the way, a small, lazy smile found its way onto his face as he started to drive off, just as one of his favorite songs started to play on the radio. He sang along with his naturally low voice as he slowly drove along the backroads of the city. The song was one that Pa always used to sing for him and Applejack after the fieldwork for the day was done. Mac was often told by several members of his family just how much he had taken after his father. That made him very happy, as it was a form of validation that so far, he was fulfilling the wishes of his father’s last words to him.

After a few more songs had played on the old, scratchy-sounding radio- all of which he happily sang to- He arrived at his desired destination; A large green field with a handful of large oak trees. He smiled at this and stopped his truck at the side of the dirt-and-gravel road he had driven on to get here. He turned off the engine and got out, discarding his mouthful of chew in the dirt, and taking with him his six-string guitar which he wore on his back, it being held there by the beaten-up strap it was connected to. He also took his cellphone out of his pocket and turned it off, then opened the glove compartment, his right hand tossing it in before taking out instead a bottle of warm sarsaparilla. The last thing he grabbed was from the bed of the truck; a faded but sturdy wooden crate, about a 18 inches in height, three feet in width, and two feet in depth. He took his things over to a large, healthy oak in the field, about 40 feet from the road. He put the crate down under the tree, right up against the huge trunk of the tree. He then sat on the large, low crate, setting the bottle next to him, and pulled his guitar in front of him. Stroking his shaggy chin-strap beard with his left hand, he took in a deep breath of the clean, open air around him before starting to strum on the strings of his instrument with a pick he had fetched from his pocket prior to sitting down. He then began to sing soon after he began lightly plucking the strings. The only person who really knew how much he loved to sing was Applejack, as she was the only one who had ever heard him do so. But if anyone heard him now, they would likely fall in love with his voice. He hit every note perfectly without any trouble, and his fingers played the strings so naturally, one would think he had been at it for decades, when in reality he had picked up a guitar for the first time only three years ago.

He closed his eyes and let the song bring him back in time, like an old film reel was just screened for the first time in years, the memory was slightly blurry. He didn’t remember all the sights, but the voices were clear as day.

“Alright, Mac, ready?”

“Ah sure am, Dad!” A young farm boy called from atop his father’s tractor. Mac’s dad proceeded to turn the tractor on before leaving his son to it, only stopping him when he had reached the other side of the field, smiling proudly as his son's natural skill was evident, having plowed the field almost perfectly.

“Yer a natural, Mac!” He said, rustling his young boy’s hair, drawing a laugh from his youthful smile. “When y’get a lil’bit older, Ah wantcha t’teach what y’all jus’ learned to AJ, alright, son?”

Another fit of content laughter uproared from the boy as he was hoisted onto his dad’s shoulders. Slowly the laughter faded, as did the blurry spectacle.

The day in the fields turned to a night at the cemetery, Mac holding to his grandfather’s tombstone, weeping as rain poured down on him. Granny Smith let her own tears fall as she tried to comfort her grandson, whose body was being continuously wracked by violent sobs. His wet, matted hair hung over his eyes and clung to his ears. The spectacle became blurry in Big Mac’s mind as he tried to read the tombstone, the memory fading to black as Mac weeped for Papa Smith.

Several memories took their turn at the forefront of his mind, and he played the strings on his guitar all throughout, his voice seeming to emote with each individual memory as he longed for what could have been, and what could someday be. Numerous Thanksgiving and Christmas celebrations with the entire apple family, the strain of hauling carts to the market after an unusually large harvest, summer nights camping in the woods with his cousins and sisters. Visions of a possible future, holding his own children in his hand, smiling and laughing proudly. All these thoughts came and went like clockwork, in time with the taps of Mac's boot on the crate.

He ended his song and smiled to himself, chuckling softly. He reached for his sarsaparilla and twisted the top off, slipping it into his pocket before taking a sip, licking his lip free of some residue. He looked up into the quickly darkening evening sky, his deep green eyes twinkling like the stars that slowly came into view, one by one. He laid back and marveled at the beautiful countryside he'd come to love in his life. He blinked lazily once before letting out a content sigh and shutting his eyes.

“Eeyup.”

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Gilda blew out a smoke crown from her mouth as she bobbed her head to the heavy metal song that played from the surround sound speakers in each corner of her room; No Remorse by Cannibull Corpse. “Fuck yeah, this shit is heavy, just the way I like it.” She smirked and blew a few smoke rings from her mouth after taking a hit from her joint. As the song ended she turned off her hi-tech stereos via remote and sighed in content, taking a few minutes to burn her joint down to a roach before tossing it in her ashtray. Feeling her high starting to get stronger, she smiled and walked lazily to her bathroom, taking off her running shorts and bra before stepping into the shower.

CLOP START

A few minutes into her shower, she recalled that she had a detachable, shower head in her bathroom. She smirked as an idea quickly formed inside her head. She spread her legs slightly as she put the shower head on its lowest setting and guided it down to her pussy. She grinned quietly as she felt the water tickle and caress her lips. “Fuck… I’ve been so caught up adjusting to living here, I haven’t been keeping up with my favorite daily ritual…” She thought for a moment before correcting her first statement, “... Okay, besides smoking weed. Heh.” She chuckled and then let out a small, gravelly moan as she turned the water to a higher pressure setting, feeling more it splash more firmly against her long-ignored sex. She pressed the head against her clit, grinding against it as her hand held it there.

“F-Fuck~” She breathed out, “Way too sensitive… definitely been too long.” She put her free hand against the shower wall and put her head down, eyes squeezed shut as she panted and grunted in pleasure. She put the shower head to its highest setting, and her lips quivered as she was pushed over the edge. “Fucking… Uhn!~” Gilda grunted loudly as she bucked her hips hard, squirting all over her improvised sex toy. After riding out her orgasm, she let go of the shower head, letting it retract back to it’s original spot on the wall.

CLOP END

Her lust sated, she sighed in content and finished up her shower before drying off and dressing in a pair of sweatpants and a black sports bra, and laying back on her bed as she grabbed her phone from her nightstand and sent a text to Dash. ‘Hey, Skittles. What’s up?’

Gilda rested her phone face up on her flat, toned stomach, only having to keep it there for a few seconds before it vibrated. Gilda smirked, entertained at being reminded that her friend has always been the fastest at everything; even something so trivial as replying to a text. She swiped her thumb across the lock screen and was greeted by a text that was about what she was expecting after poking fun at Rainbow with that nickname she never liked. ‘What’s up, bitch? <3’ She sniggered before quickly replying with yet another text that was lined with playful banter.

‘Nothin, just wondering if the walking Gay Pride flag wants to hang out. Go out and get some chow, or something XD’

‘Sure, we can go out to eat. No eating out tho, you’re not the only dyke I know anymore, lol :P’

‘Lol, fuck you Dash; you know I’m bi-sexy now. Anyways, I heard through the grapevine that you and Pinkie are an item now. It’s cool with me if she tags along. After all, I’m only a LITTLE bit of a cuntbag now XD’

‘Cool, I’ll ask her if she wants to go. Guess you’ll know when I get to wherever it is you’re thinking of eating at.’

Gilda thought for a moment before deciding she was in the mood for some eastern food. ‘How about the Chubby Panda? Sushi sounds good. Of course, I could go for another type of fishy-smelling stuff if you two are up for a three-way ;)’’

‘I would tell you to suck my ass, but knowing you, you probably would, lol. Sushi sounds fine. Meet you there in 30?’

‘Sure thing :p’

With a smile, Gilda tossed her phone on the bed as she sat up, quickly dressing in some black leather leggings and a gray tank top. After lacing up some black chucks, she grabbed her backpack and phone and sent a text to her uncle, who was currently at his tattoo parlor. ‘Hey Unc, I’m going out to dinner with some friends. I locked up the house, don’t worry. Don’t wait up either, I might be out late.’

She didn’t have to wait long for a response. Less than a minute passes before her phone vibrates. ‘No problem, kid. Have fun. Try to bring something back for me, I think the fridge is almost empty.’ Gilda made a mental note to bring some california rolls to her uncle once she finished dinner with Dash and Pinkie.

A small while later, she arrived at her destination; the Chubby Panda. By now the sun had set, and the cornucopia of neon lights that was downtown Canterlot came to life. The streets were bustling with life, the corners occupied by smokers and alleys by cats and dumpsters. Gilda slowly breathed in the scent of smog. Tobacco, and now the slight aroma of sushi. She smiled as she saw Dash and Pinkie waiting near the restaurant's front doors for her and walked up to them. “Hey, you two.”

“Hey, Gilda.” Dash smiled brightly and hugged her friend, who got an unexpected hug from Pinkie, but welcomed it just the same. “Heh, well let’s go inside. We have a lot of catching up to do.” Gilda nodded with a grin, and the trio stepped inside, ready to bond and share laughs over a delicious meal.

Author's Notes:

God, I love writing those country boy Big Mac scenes. I hope you guys like the little music clips I put in there occasionally. Sorry if it's not your type of music.

Anyways, as always, big shout out to my co-writer, RIngmaster1336, for all his dedicated collaboration on this story! You rock, dude!

Stay tuned for the next chapter, hopefully we can get it ready to upload soon.

Deuces, guys!