Dear Journal,

It was raining when I got up, if just only a little. I don’t particularly like to go into Ponyville, but I do have to get supplies every now and then. The walk into town is pretty nice, though. Or at least it would’ve been if it weren’t muddy and cloudy... and cold. Even in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, the cold still got to me; so I shivered my way down the lonely little path to Ponyville.

There are a couple reasons I never really enjoy going into town. First and foremost is the attention I get. Now it’s not that I don’t like attention; I just don’t like the kind I get from some of the folks in town. Lots of hushed conversations behind my back. ‘Is that him?’ ‘I wonder what his cutie mark looks like.’ ‘I can’t believe he thinks he can bring that sort of business here.’ Blah blah blah. I’ve mostly gotten used to it, but still. It’s no fun being infamous.

Another reason I don’t like going into town is clients. It’s not that I hate my clients; I don’t. I just don’t like walking into their personal lives. My mere presence can make some clients blush. Not only that, but it can get kind of hard not imagining all those mares in compromising positions. Over and under and behind, wet and sweating and... in ecstasy. Sometimes it’s enough to make me blush.

Once I made my way into town I couldn’t help but take a mental tally of my clients. ‘There’s daisy, she likes it rough. That’s Cheerilee, she’s into roleplaying. That one calls herself C, she likes it when I talk dirty.’ It’s kind of eye-opening, I suppose, seeing all my clients going about their business. Each of them has a life, a job, a family, errands, chores. It’s easy for me to forget about all that, since whenever they come to see me… they leave all of that behind them. They’re just different ponies when they’re with me.

Enlightening... that’s a good word for it.

I wasted no time making my way over to my first stop: Close Shave’s barber shop. Close is a great guy, always greets me with a smile. I think he knows how much people talk about me, so he goes out of his way to make me feel welcome. He’s from Manehattan too, actually; which is probably why he doesn’t really care about what I do.

Close is a pretty big guy for a unicorn; he used to be in the royal guard. Ponyville was something of a retirement for him. From what he’s told me, he never actually had a barber shop until he retired. He was a guard barber, cut hair for his fellow guardsman for 10 long years. Once he became an officer, he sort of missed cutting hair. After he retired, he saw it as an oppurtunity to trim again.

He was busily sweeping some leaves off of his store front when he spotted me. “Well, well, If it isn’t Guilty, lookin’ like a fuckin’ hippy,” he chuckled. I guess my mane had gotten pretty long.

“Hey at least I still got color in my mane.” I jabbed right back.

“Yeah, fuck you too…” He walked me inside his establishment. “Now, let’s see if we can’t make little Guilty look like a boy again.” He laughed again. He has a throaty laugh... a smokers laugh.

I love this guy.

“So… how are all your girlfriends doing?” He asked, leading me over to his old barber chair, cracked and worn from years of use. I shook off my saddle bags, and stuffed them nearby.

“They’re, not my girlfriends, Close… they’re clients.” I took my seat, and he levitated a smock around my neck, each button snapping into place with a little *click.*

“What’s the difference?” He asked jokingly. A spray bottle from his little counter levitated over to me, and began misting my hair.

“They pay me, Close. They pay me to be with them.” I love flaunting that little fact in front of him. It makes him jealous.

“Yeah, well, let me know when your medal comes in.”

“Oh? What medal would that be?”

“The one fer ‘Luckiest Stallion in Equestria,’ ya son of a bitch,” He snarked. He began to run a comb through my mane. It’s really calming, getting my hair cut. It’s one of the few times when I can sit back and let someone take care of me. I almost dozed off, sitting there, just letting Close comb my mane. His voiced snapped me out of my trance. “So, Guilty, how’s life?”

“I can’t complain…”

“‘Can’t complain’… geez. Listen to you! Ya got the sexiest fillies this side of Equestria knockin’ on your door, beggin’ fer some sugar, and you… ‘can’t complain.’ I oughtta fuckin’ smack you.” He let out a deep sigh, as his comb floated back into its little jar of barbicide. “Seriously though, Guilty, how are ya?”

“… Fine, I guess. I had a new client a few days ago.” I tend to tell Close a little more than I probably should. It’s usually fine, he’s not much of a blabber mouth and I keep things anonymous enough.

“Sexy girl?”

“More cute, than sexy, really,” I answered. I thought back to Twilight’s appointment. The blushing, the stammering, the worry, even the panic was cute.

“Hmm… that’s fine too, I guess.”

“Trust me, Close, she was more than fine.”

“Yeah, yeah…” By now, Close had begun snipping away at my hair, his little scissors hovering around my locks in a silvery cloud of magic. Occasionally diving in and taking a quick snip, sending moist tendrils of hair plummeting onto my smock, and the floor.

I wish I had magic. So much of what I do would be so easy with magic. Time saved getting dressed alone would shave hours off of my week. Not to mention the multitasking capabilities for cooking and... sexy things. That would be great.

That said, even if I had magic, I don’t think I’d be able to do anything with it. I had a unicorn friend try and explain magic to me once. That may have been the most confused I have ever been. I gave up on ever understanding magic, that day. Either way, from what I understand, if I was a unicorn I might lose a lot of the stamina I have now. Unicorns have to work a little harder to stay in shape, or so I’m told. I’d probably lose some of my already underwhelming ‘size,’ as well. Stereotypes are stereotypes for a reason.

“Good between the sheets? The new girl, I mean.” Close’s voice shook me from my musing.

“Hmm? Oh, no I didn’t… service… her.”

“Really, that’s a shame? Wait... do you still get paid for that?”

“Yes… yes I do.” I couldn’t help but grin.

The barber shop was silent for a while. “… I fucking hate you, Guilty.”

“I love you too, Close.”

“*Hmph…*” he grunted. “Keeping busy, then, I take it?”

“Ugh... too busy.” I was tired just thinking about yesterday.

“Oh, don’t you even dare complain about fucking too many mares!” He mock shouted.

“No, not too many mares, just… too close together.. I’m just kinda worn out today.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake… What’sa matter? Poor little fella can’t handle all the ass being thrown at him? Let’s all shed a fuckin’ tear for poor, poor, Guilty.” Close just rolled his eyes.

“I’m serious. It’s not easy spending close to twenty-four hours with clients.”

“Fuckin’… a whole day? Stars above, Guilty, when do you find time for yourself?” Close just shook his head, as his scissors continued to click away.

“I find plenty of time to myself. It’s not always that busy.”

“I dunno, pal, I never see you just… out on the town, or anything.”

“Well, not in town… not really. Any time to myself is usually, you know… at home. Reading magazines… exercising… you know… me time,” I confessed.

“Shit, kid… You gotta get out more. Wastin’ the best years of yer life.” Close just shook his head again.

“Really… you’re calling what I do ‘wasting?’”

“No, I’m callin’ what you do between doin’ ‘wasting.’”

“How so?” I asked.

“You need a fuckin’ hobby kid… bowling, hoofball, fuckin’ stamp collecting… somethin’ to getcha outta the fuckin’ house.” The way Close said that kind of caught my attention. It wasn’t joking, abrasive, or crude. He was serious… just barely serious, but serious. Like he really thought I needed to get out more. As much as Close pries, he’s never really been one to butt into other’s business, at least not as far as I can tell.

“If you don’t mind me saying, Close… what’s it to you?” I wasn’t trying to sound offended, but I think I kind of did.

“Nothin’, nothin’, just… Look, take it from a guy who spent the better part of his best years married to the job. When I was stationed in Canterlot, I was... well… I never let myself live a little, you know? I… I dunno, for a long time I just kinda… lost sight of what was important.”

I was almost at a loss for words. “What the fuck, Close?” When had he become so… sappy.

“A: Watch your fuckin’ mouth. B: … I worry about you Guilty. You’ve been here for… what two years now? I never see you out with friends; I never see you chattin’ up some sexy piece of mare, when I know you could probably get any girl you want. I never even see you eatin’ out… shoppin’… anything. You’re not… *sigh*… You’re not, livin’ life. I like you, kid … and I hate to see a guy make the same mistakes I did.” A manedryer started blowing.

I opened my mouth to respond, only to have guilty speak up again and cut me off. “And before you make that crack about eatin’ out that I know you’re just dyin’ to make… I saw it comin’.”

‘He’s good.’ I couldn’t help but snicker. “Getting’ sentimental in your old age?” I cracked.

“Yeah, maybe so, Guilty… How’s it look?”

I hadn’t even realized he was done. My mane looked pretty good. Close has a decent sense of style for an older guy. It was short, but feathered and styled. “I look sexy,” I admitted. “Thanks again, Close.” I started to get up, ready to pull my wallet out, only to have a sturdy grey hoof push me back into my seat.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re goin’.” He chided. I’m not lettin’ you walk outta here without a proper fuckin’ shave.”

“C’mon, Close, I look fine. I shaved a couple days ago.”

“With what… a fuckin’ saw? Sit down, you look like a jackass.”

Being shaved with a straight razor is actually pretty neat. It’s the smoothest your face will ever be, even if it only really lasts half a day. Still, it’s pretty fun, for what is basically having sharp steel scraped across my throat by an ex-royal guard whom I tease on a regular basis.

Close quickly began lathering up a brush. “I am serious, just so you know. You need a damn social life.” He coated my face and neck in hot, soothing shaving cream.

“Where’s all this coming from, Close?” Close’s straight razor hovered over to my neck.

“Fuckin’ hold still, don’t wanna slit your throat... That’s a lie, by the way,” he snarked. His razor started to scrape slowly across my face, collecting little dollops of shaving cream and hair. He’d flick each dollop into the sink behind him, only to bring the razor back to my throat, and scrape it across again.

It felt heavenly… just heavenly. I had almost fallen into another trance, when Close’s voice shook me to consciousness again.

“I’ll be honest with you, kid… *sigh*… When I was in the Guard… I was a model soldier.” ‘I guess it’s story time.’ “I never did anything that wasn’t for the guard. In my free time I’d run, workout, polish my armor, run drills in my head.” His razor made its final pass down my throat, and I soon felt a hot washcloth wiping over my cleanly shaven face and neck. “And for the longest time, I never went out drinkin’ with the boys, never got myself a gal, never… relaxed… and if it wasn’t for one single person… I never would have.”

My smock’s buttons clicked open, as the cover was pulled from me. I got a good look in the mirror… I looked damn good. “And, who was that, Close?” I was only half-listening... I just wanted to be polite.

“The fuckin’ Princess herself… When she’d noticed I was working too hard, she put me on a mandatory sabbatical. It really forced me to… get out.”

I trotted over to my saddlebags and pulled out my wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

“Huh?... oh, uh… fifteen bits.”

“Fifteen!? For what?”

“A trim, a shave, and sage advice… total comes out to fifteen,” he stated very matter-of-factly.

“You charge for talking now?”

“Hey If you get to, I get to.”

I handed him ten. “Keep the change.” I made my way out of the shop.

“Ingrate!” He shouted after me, chuckling.

Close is a really great guy. Rough around the edges, sure, but he’s really nice to me. He’s like a little slice on Manehattan, right here in Ponyville. Everyone here is reserved, cordial, polite… it’s annoying. In Manehatten if somepony has a problem with you they’ll tell you to your face... shout it to your face, even. There’s never any undue kindness or courtesy; if you’ve got a problem with somepony… fuck ‘em, let them know about it. Here it’s all… fake smiles. Nopony wants to look like they’ve got a problem. Nopony wants to screw with the perfect little town’s perfect little image.

Close is crude, loud, and an enormous ass; it’s a nice little breath of fresh air for me. In all honesty I’m a little surprised the ponies here actually go to his barber shop. I’d figure he would be a little too… colorful for them. He’s the very spirit of a Manehattan, he doesn’t care what people think of him… except his wife. He doesn’t sugar coat anything, he’s vocal about his opinion no matter the circumstance. He shouts and swears and tells dirty jokes no matter who’s in the room; and, to top it all off, he just leaves porn lying around his waiting room.

I’m serious. Whenever he’s got other customers I’ll flip through a Playcolt, or something in the waiting room. They’re just sitting on a table in there. Every now and then some kids will sneak in to sneak peeks at the magazines. He pretends not to notice for the most part, and if anypony says anything he plays the ‘my eyes ain’t what they used to be’ card; I’m fairly certain his eyes are better than mine.

He’s just so... real, nothing about him is anything less than genuine, which is more than I can say for myself.

Well, anyways, I headed further into town to finish of my chores. I figured I’d stop by the market early, before it got too crowded, you know?. The rain was starting to pick up again; the drops were small so it almost felt like mist. It was really nice, actually. I’d brought a hooded coat, but honestly I didn’t feel like wearing it. The rain felt good.

The market was just being set up, all the little ponies laying out their fruits and vegetables, pies and pastries, crafts and knick knacks for ponies to buy. The Ponyville market reminds me of the Farmer’s market that they set up in Manehattan, only smaller. Smaller however does not mean worse. The produce here is… superb. Asparagus? Green and flavorful. Carrots? Crunchy and delicious. Apples? Perfection.

Nopony really paid me any notice, which was nice. Everyone was too busy setting up shop. I made my way over to my first stop: Zecora’s stall. Zecora doesn’t come to market often, but when she does, I always make sure to meet her. She sells what is possibly my most important provision: birth control potions. A necessity for escorts.

Honestly, she doesn’t have a stall so much as she has a cart, but it is a sight to behold. It’s a rickety looking thing, to be fair, but it’s covered, absolutely coated in phials, bottles, gourds, and pouches of every shape, color and size imaginable. They’re all filled with powders and potions and concoctions for every problem a pony could possibly have. Bad knee? Drink this tea. Liver trouble? Mix this with your bathwater. The medicines and potions here are amazing. The mare behind the cart however, she’s absolutely stunning. She’s just so… exotic: her mohawk, her jewelry, and of course… her stripes.

Okay, lemme just say… I totally have a thing for zebras. I’ve had a few as clients, and I just find them… exciting. Everything about them, their coats, their manes, their body movement, even their words are just so… purposeful. There’s just some intangible air about them that’s so… poised?… elegant?… disciplined? Whatever it is, it’s dead sexy.

“Aaaah, is that Guilty I see? I think I know what brings you to me.” She smiled at me as I walked up. Luckily Zecora doesn’t seem to have an reservations with my career, either. Never has a bad word to say.

“Hey there, Zecora. How’s my favorite zebra?”

“I am well, Mr. Pleasure, and it seems you are too. I believe I have some potions for you.” I love the way she talks. I don’t just mean the rhyming, either. Her voice is just so… effortlessly sexy. Every syllable is thick with that accent and just dripping with sultry goodness.

“Thanks, Zecora, I just ran out, actually.” I twisted my head around to reach into my saddle bags and pull out my bits.

“Somepony’s been a busy boy. You must bring many mares joy.” She chuckled slighty and starting pulling a case of familiar blur vials from the depths of her cart. It’s like a honeycomb, each little slot holding a corked phial in its padded cell. “A hundred phials for Mr. Pleasure, here’s your case of ‘Escort’s Treasure.’”

I counted out 25 bits and handed them over. The price is almost criminal. Four for a bit? I feel like I’m robbing her. I used to have to order these through catalogues, they cost almost five times that. But Zecora insists that it’s an easy brew and that she wouldn’t feel right if she charged any more. Sexy and a heart of gold.

“You’re a master of your craft, Zecora. I’m in your debt.” I wedged the case of potions into my saddlebags. It was a big case, but it still fit.

“Please, Guilty, I’m happy to aid. And how can you be in my debt if I’m paid?” She chuckled again, and smiled at me. Her gaze seems permanently half-lidded… eternal bedroom-eyes. Maybe it’s just me… maybe it’s just when she’s looking at me.

‘Skies above, she is HOT.’

“You say that, Zecora, but you do so much for me, I’d feel bad if I didn’t pay you back in some way. I wouldn’t be opposed to a little… barter, if you catch my meaning.” It’s not often that I actually make a point of seeking clients out; I usually just let them come to me, but like I said… I have a thing for Zebras.

She feigned shock. “Dear me, am I being seduced, or are you just trying to get prices reduced.” She chuckled a third time… Heavens, even that laugh is sexy… so throaty and rich.

“Both.” This time I chuckled.

She smiled again, but… but it wasn’t the same smile. There was something else there. Only for the briefest of moments there was a slight flash of… disappointment? Frustration, maybe?

“Perhaps, Guilty, I shall... someday. But such a time is... far away.” I’ve tried to get her to visit me a couple times before, and I got similarly cryptic responses. Nothing’s ever overt with her. I know so little about her; but honestly, it just adds to her mystique.

You know for as much as I… how shall I phrase this delicately… have a massive hard-on for Zebras, I have a limited grasp of their culture. ‘I might have to pay that Library a visit if I have the time, grab a book about zebra culture.’

“Well, the moment you get the chance… just write me, and I’ll make sure my door is open.”

“I Thank you, Guilty, you are too kind, a shining example of Ponykind.”

“Well let’s not go that far.” I laughed, and we said our goodbyes. I would have loved to stay and talk with her a while, but it just wasn’t in the cards. After all, I still had lots to do today.

Next I needed groceries, easily the most awkward chore on my list. After my little trip to Zecora’s cart, most of the other stands were set up. The thing is, most of the mares here are, or have been, clients of mine. Lots of the framing mares here are hardworking, single girls, the kind that are ‘too busy for a boyfriend.’ They tend not to, however, be too busy for me, which makes shopping in the market… pretty weird for everyone involved.

It takes a truly great escort to completely separate his personal and professional lives. To be able to see clients without thinking about all the dirty things you’ve done with them is a fantastic skill. It just happens to be one that have yet to master.

Shopping here just fills my head with sessions I’ve had. The girl who sells asparagus always blushes when I walk up, gives a meek hello if nopony’s around. Every time I see her, I can’t help but think of the time she had me in hoof cuffs, straddling me, bouncing up and down on my fleshy rod, tongue lolling out of her mouth as she came again and again. I’m not that into bondage, but that was a great session.

The radish girl on the other hand is very vanilla. We don’t even go all the way a lot of the time. She likes someone to talk to as much as she likes the sex. She’s started working the stall lately since her father decided her pretty face could draw in customers. She always has so much to say about her family, her job, her kid brother, and of course about her radishes. When I walk up to the stall though, she’s all business. Never shows any indication that she knows me, never gives anything more than a polite ‘hi,’ that’ll be 4 bits, have a nice day.

Honestly I don’t hold that against her, and I’m not upset about it. If she showed any familiarity with me, anypony could jump to the conclusion that she’s a client. Manehattan is a very different place. Sometimes it feels like you could walk the streets your whole life and never see the same person twice. Here, though, everypony around you is a friend, an acquaintance or a co-worker, so I can’t expect her to be acting all buddy-buddy with the town whore.

In some ways it’s preferable to have a client act like they’ve never met you, because that alternative can be... worrying. Sometimes clients want to be… more than just clients. Whether they’re looking for a boyfriend, a shrink, or just a fuck buddy, a client that’s looking for more is just… never a good thing.

Back on the subject of market girls, though, the most awkward by far, though, is the cucumber girl. It’s not as though she’s particularly touchy when I walk up, or treats me like I’m not there; it’s just… we’ve done things with her cucumbers. Walking up to her and buying vegetables that I’ve… used on her. I don’t know it’s just… I can’t help but think about things. For the most part we both just blush and exchange money and veggies. I always make sure to stop by her place when she’s not busy so nopony sees us turn red as tomatoes.

The stalls run by stallions are a mixed bag. I haven’t taken any male clients… at least not in Ponyville. So there’s nothing to get embarrassed over. The guys around here react to me in one of two ways. Mostly stallions in Ponyville feel threatened by me. No that’s not me being vain, a good number of husbands and boyfriends see me as a threat… a... home-wrecker if you will. They just tend to look down their nose at me, and shoo me away from their girlfriends or wives or whatever. Now I don’t blame them, at least not completely. There have been some pretty nasty rumors about me spread through town. They paint me as some kind of seducer incubus luring innocent mares away from their families, which is… whatever. I don’t pay rumors much mind anyways.

A few stallions around town however almost have a certain… adoration for me. It’s weird to think about, I know, but occasionally I get guys coming up to me and like… looking up to me. I mean… I’m flattered, but it mostly just weirds me out.

The guy who sells plums is kinda like that. His name is... Autumn Wind or something. He’s a really skinny little guy, about my age. He’s got this super nasally voice, too. He’s a nice enough guy, he always gives me a couple extra when I buy a lot of plums, but he’s still kinda creepy. He’s just always smiling at me, and always asks if I have any advice on picking up girls. I always tell him that I only know what to do with women once I get them, I don’t know how to pick them up. It’s not exactly true, but he doesn’t need to know that.

Sometimes, though, this guy gets EXTRA weird and starts asking me for advice for the bedroom. Now in and of itself that’s fine…ish, but he just gets WAY too descriptive. I mean, I’ll be buying fruit from the guy, and he’ll ask me if he’s, and I’m quoting here, “giving his girl’s clitoris enough attention during oral, because he’s not sure if he should focus on tongue insertion, or exterior stimulation.” Now, not only is it just a weird thing to ask right out of the blue, It’s just so… clinical.

I dunno… he’s weird.

My last stop today was by far the most… interesting, though. Carrots. The carrot stand is (surprise!) run by Carrot Top. I tend to wait to get my carrots till later in the day since she trades places with some other mare who I haven’t had as a client. Today however was shaping up to be a very busy day, so decided to stomach buying carrots from one of my least favorite clients.

There’s no tension in the air buying from her, just… I almost want to say anger… contempt is a better word for it. I walked up to her stand, there was no line at the time, so she saw me coming. There was a smile on her face until she noticed me; after that it just vanished... melted. She just started wrapping up a bundle of carrots... expressionless. It was clear that she just wasn’t a fan of mine, and honestly I’m not much of a fan of hers. There’s a sort of unspoken agreement between us. I don’t like her, and she doesn’t like me, but sometimes we rely on each other’s services; so we just play out roles and get it over as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Just as I was about to hoof her my bits something… unexpected happened.

“HEEEEEY… GUILTY… GOLDY!” A voice shot through the market. I turned my head around to see, even though I recognized the voice immediately. ‘Derpy?’

Sure enough that cross-eyed Pegasus was galloping over to Carrot Top and me with a big smile on her face. She came to stop beside me, breathing heavily. “Hey Guilty I… *huff*… I saw you and I just… *huff*… just wanted to say hi… *huff* *huff* *huff*… HI, GUILTY!”

I was honestly at a loss for words. My first reaction was to say ‘HI’ right back and start a conversation. But… but what was Derpy thinking? I mean… everypony could see her… hell everypony was looking at us after she shouted to me like that. I looked around, sure enough there were some ponies gawking in horror as their beloved mail mare rubbed elbows with the local boy-slut.

“Oh… *huff*… by the why, Guilty… *huff*… this is my friend… *huff*… Golden Harvest.” She pointed a hoof at the mare I knew only as Carrot Top. “She’s… *ahem*… probably my best friend in the whole world.” She looked over at the salesmare with a big smile.. “Hey, Goldy… this is Guilty… he’s that guy I’ve been seeing on Sundays.”

Terror, that was the only word for her face. Clearly for C-… Golden Harvest (and myself) worlds were colliding. At first I thought she was just horrified that Derpy visited me, but her fleeting glances toward me told the whole story. She was afraid I’d spill the beans and tell Derpy that she was a client. As if I’m that rude. It only took a single sentence to destroy any of Carr-… Golden Harvest’s fear.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Harvest.” Cue the perfect handsome smile. I’d really rather not put on an act for Carro-… Golden Harv-… No I’m just going to call her Carrot Top. Carrot Top’s quickly caught on to my act, and started one of her own.

“Nice to meet you too, Guilty.” She’s a decent actor… apparently; I almost bought it. “Derpy, when you said you were seeing someone I assumed you meant a psychiatrist, not…” She just sort of gestured toward me.

“Meh, Guilty’s just as good as a shrink… better even; shrinks don’t make me feel so good.” She punched my shoulder playfully.

“Hehe, well I do my best, I suppose.” I was still sort of in shock. ‘Derpy… friends with Carrot Top?! And not even just friends, Best friends?! I don’t… I can’t even Process this.’

“So whatch doin’ Guilty? Buyin’ carrots? Doesn’t Goldy grow the best carrots? Hers were the ones I used in my carrot cake muffins.” I remembered those muffins, not her best work but spectacular nonetheless. They had walnuts in them, I think.

Muffins aside, I just wanted out of here… I couldn’t even begin to understand how the two of them could be friends when they were so… different. “Is that so… well… I should get going; I have lots of errands to run, still.”

“I got time, I’ll go with you.” Derpy beamed at me… damn it all, I didn’t want her to be seen with me... for her sake. But... I couldn’t say no to a face like that.

“Uh… Okay, Derpy.”

“Where to?”

“Barnyard bargains.”

“Oh neat-o, I need stuff there too.”

So, the two of us left Carrot Top’s stand. She glared daggers at me as I left.

“So what’s going on, Guilty? I never see you in town.” She trotted alongside me, oblivious to the wide-eyed stares and bewildered expressions of the townsponies.

“I could say the same for you. But, uh… yeah, I don’t come into town very often… I’m just… grabbing the essentials… you know.” All the ponies staring at Derpy... i dunno, it made me nervous... i was worried I would destroy her reputation.

“Yeah, I gotcha… I just took a personal day, I’m usually busy most of the week.” For a while we walked in silence. It was... nice. It was a bit chilly, but far from uncomfortable. The ground was damp and cool, but not unpleasant underhoof. The air continued to mist.

A curiosity began to creep up into my mind. I had to know… I just HAD to know how Derpy and Carrot Top could possibly be friends. “So, Derpy… How do, uh… How did you meet Ms. Harvest?”

“Hmm? Oh, we’ve known each other since we were fillies.” ‘Go figure.’ The two of us walked through town to barnyard bargains. “It’s kind of funny… she actually used to make fun of me for my eyes.”

“Yeah… kids are like that.”

“Well anyways… one day I’d had enough and I… well I bucked her in the ribs.” ‘Like mother like daughter, I guess.’

“HA!” I whooped, drawing the eyes of ponies all around. I immediately regretted my outburst, I should have been paying more attention to my surroundings, for some reason I’d stopped altogether. Not listening for my name on the whispers around me… stopped noticing clients everywhere I went.

Ugh… what is wrong with me?

Anyways, Derpy just giggled at me and continued her story. “Well, I ended up bruising her rib; and she had to go to the hospital. My parents made me go down and apologize, so I did. When I did she… she said that she was the one that was sorry. Said she was just doing cause some of her friends were, and that she felt really bad about it. I said it was fine… which it honestly was, I’m not really one to hold a grudge.”

We reached the front doors to Barnyard Bargains; I held the door for Derpy and followed her inside. Who says chivalry’s dead? I love stepping into that air-conditioned grocery store. Even on a cold day like today, the air conditioning feels really good.

“So after that we were friendly-ish… we’d say hi… eat lunch every now and then. ‘Every now and then’ turned into ‘every week’… and, before too long, into ‘every day.’ Eventually we were just... kind of inseparable.” Derpy grabbed a cart; I didn’t. I was only there for one thing.

“We got along really good for a while... but eventually we drifted apart, you know how it goes. I got married… had a kid… she was still working on her parents farm, we just… never had time for each other.” Derpy swallowed hard. “Things uh… things changed when… well you know. I was between jobs at the moment and… and I got evicted from my place… couldn’t, uh... couldn’t afford the rent.” Derpy started weaving her way through the aisles, picking up a few things as she went: eggs, butter, flour… muffin necessities.

“Anyways, Goldy put me up for… months. Dinky and I slept in her living room. She never once asked for rent or anything. I… *sigh*… I don’t even want to think about where I’d be without her.”

It was all… very weird. It just… it wasn’t the Carrot Top I knew: the… empty mare who visits me when she’s desperate for pleasure. I didn’t… still don’t… know what to think. Maybe the side Carrot Top shows me is the side she hides from the rest of the world; maybe she uses me as an outlet. Maybe the opposite is true, maybe she’s always putting on a mask for the world, and she’s only ever herself when she’s with me. Hell, maybe Derpy’s the only pony she’s ever nice too.

In my daydreaming, I almost missed that we had made our way to the most important aisle in the store.

Breakfast cereals. Cardboard chests filled with sweet golden sugary treasure lined the shelves. Heavens, I love cereal. Anything with marshmallows or crunchy sugary morsels I’ll just devour. I’m particularly fond of these new Peanut-Choco puffs they’ve got now. I grabbed four boxes, I plan on rationing them out till my next visit into town.

Derpy took notice of my choice, and giggled. “Those are Dinky’s favorite.”

“Your daughter has taste,” I joked. Derpy laughed at that, and grabbed a box as well. We were both just about done, so we made our way to the register. That was really awkward. The cashier is a client of mine, every few months she comes in and well… she likes to dress up like a maid… likes me to discipline her when she messes up. You know that sort of thing.

Anyways that’s probably why she referred to me as “master” when she rung me up. She was mortified. She blushed more than… well more than Twilight did. Derpy broke into a fit of giggles; I think she figured out what had happened. I managed to cram the cereal into my bags alongside all my fruits and veggies, which were now full to bursting… luckily the only other things I really needed to pick up were small. Derpy finished up with the cashier, too, as I was cramming my cereal into my bags. Whatever she said made the cashier blush ever more, and smile.

I’m glad Derpy gets along with everyone.

We said our goodbyes and Derpy set off towards home, to make lunch for her daughter. I, on the other hand, was hoping to replace one of my favorite oils; so cantered over to the nearby spa.

Aloe and Lotus are a couple of really nice mares. They own and operate Ponyville’s only spa. They came to me as clients once… together. That was a fun day. Anyways, after a brief chat I picked up a fresh carafe of oil, and a dozen Nag Champa (whatever that is) candles. They weren’t really what I was looking for but they smelled awesome, so I got them anyways. I was originally opted out of a massage though. I was feeling tired; and something told me if I lay down, I’d knock out. So off I headed with my saddle bags all but full-to-bursting to my last stop. Luckily It meant I got to take something out of my bags.

Ponyville has a tiny little post office, and the guy behind the counter is kind of a jack ass. But hey, not everypony on my little tour of Ponyville can be the nicest pony in the world. He’s a persnickety little old guy, probably born here. Luckily I’ve got all his little rules memorized. He’s such a control-freak. 6-stamps for a package of my weight. Address always written just so. Brown paper and twine only. No small talk. Stand in line and wait to be asked to approach the counter, even if there’s nopony there.

And there wasn’t anypony there by the time I got there. The sun was starting to set, and the rain was falling pretty hard at this point. I was grateful for that… waiting in line at the post office is agonizing. I can always feel everyone staring at me. It’s worse than just walking around town… it’s not like I can just keep going until their out of sight. I’ve gotta wait there.

Anyways none of that tonight, I was in… out … simple. My hard earned bits would be in Manehattan soon.

I was finally done with everything. Groceries bought, oil and candles acquired, payment sent, and potions purchased. All in all, it was a fairly productive day. Productive and exhausting. Not only was I carrying a bag that must have been sixty pounds, but I’d also been walking all over town since this morning.

It was then that I made a foolish decision. I let my baser instincts win out over my logic and reason. I failed to analyze the risk involved, and my actions led me into a situation I deeply regret.

I decided to grab a snack.

Now normally I wouldn’t be making so much drama over a little bite to eat, but… well I’ll just get right to it.

It was getting dark, the sky was clinging to the last bits of the day. The rain was really starting to fall. I was cold, sore, tired, and hungry. So, I decided (being the moron that I am) that I’d stop by Ponyville’s little bakery for a quick snack, to tide me over till I got home and made dinner.

Sugarcube Corner, It’s called. It’s a neat little mom and pop shop, I like it well enough. The weird thing is, they don’t make any bread. It’s all cakes and sweets and doughnuts, tasty stuff too. Not at all like my Father’s place.

I cannot believe I just wrote that.

Ok, something is officially the matter with me, lately.

Anyways…

There wasn’t much of a line, barely any ponies at all, just like the Post Office. Everypony was home, warm and safe from the rain.

As I walked in, I was soaked… and freezing. The ovens must keep that place fairly warm, because it was nice and cozy when I stepped in. It smelled like frosting, too. It’s kind of a… rustic little place: wooden tables, wooden chairs, nice hoof-made looking stuff. It’s really nice looking. It’s got a little display case filled with cupcakes and such. All of it looked scrumptious.

The girl behind the counter was… let’s just say “lively.”

“Hi, What can I get for you? Maybe a cupcake? Or maybe a scone? OOOH, I know… a bear claw! You ever wonder why they call them bear claws? I mean they don’t really look all that much like a real bear’s. *GAASP* Maybe there’s some kind of pastry bear out there that has claws like that! Oh I’d love to meet him! I wonder if he’d like a bearclaw.” She was a pink ball of energy. Pink coat, even pinker mane, a little bit chubby… she was kind of cute.

“He would probably already have a few,” I said. I was really just trying to get a word in edge wise.

“Oh YEAH! Anyways, what can I get you, Guilty?” She had the most innocent smile on her face.

“Lemme just get a… wait did you say Guilty? You know my name?” I shouldn’t have been surprised as I was… I mean I am topic of much gossip. Either way her answer was interesting.

“Uh-huh! I know it from when you first came to Ponyville! You told me.”

“I did?”

“Yes indeedy! You came in and bought a donut and some coffee, we talked for a little bit. You told me you were opening a business in town. Which is weird because I was looking and looking and couldn’t find any new stores open in Ponyville or anything. I was so sad too, cause once I found it I was gonna invite you to a ‘Welcome to Ponyville’ party, but when I couldn’t find you I just thought you might of left town without saying goodbye and then I got even sadder. But then you walked into my shop right now and I got so happy and I asked what you wanted and then we started talking about bears!”

“Ok then.” I’m pretty sure I was just staring wide-eyed, amazed she’d managed to fit that many words into just one breath. “Wait, you were gonna throw me a party?”

She nodded “Yep, I throw everypony who comes to Ponyville a welcoming party… that’s how I’m friends with everypony in Ponyville!”

“That’s awfully nice of you. But I think it might be a little late for me to be welcomed to Ponyville, It’s been… jeez almost two years now.”

“That’s okay, there’s always a reason for partying… I can throw you an ‘Almost Two Years in Ponyville’ party!”

‘Oh please, no.’ “Oh, that’s fine, please don’t trouble yourself… besides… I’m not much of a uh… party guy.” I shuddered. Honestly the last thing I wanted was to call attention to my presence, a party would just… no.

“I getcha. But if you won’t have a party at least let me buy you something.”

“Uh, sure… how about that cannoli, there.”

“No problemo, that’ll be two bits.” She stood smiling. There was an awkward silence for a few moments.

“Uh… I thought you said you were gonna buy it for me.”

“OOPS… sorry. I forgot.” She got all embarrassed, too cute.

Anyways she rung up the purchase, and I took a seat. Most of the tables were free, just a couple other ponies dreading the wet walk home, enjoying the warmth of the bakery. I didn’t pay them any mind, and they seemed not to notice me particularly. It was a good cannoli too, even if it was a bit too sweet for me. I don’t normally have that much of a sweet tooth. (Cereal doesn’t count!)

I was thinking myself pretty lucky… here I’d met another pony in town who doesn’t mind my presence. For the most part I’ve managed to get my errand routine down to ponies who don’t HATE my guts, and here was one more. ‘But wait… does she know what I am?’

Before I had time to consider this fact any more, the doors swung open, with a loud bang. I snapped my head around instinctively.

It was her. The mare who brings the most trouble to my life. I had almost gone the whole day without seeing her. If I’d only just made my way home, I might never have had to deal with her. I must confess: I hate her more than anypony else in Ponyville; I’m sure she hates me just as much. She’s the reason I don’t live in the town proper, she pushed more than anypony to get me kicked out. She has a lot of influence in town… ponies seem to look to her in guidance. So when she started trying to get me kicked out of Ponyville, others soon joined her.

“Hey Applejack!” The cashier girl shouted at the dripping pony.

“Landsakes! Rainbow Dash an’ all them sure did a number on the weather.” She pulled the damp Stetson hat off her head and gave it a good shake, only to place it back on her head. “Hey there Pinkie… How y’all doin’?” That drawl... I’ve come to loathe that drawl.

“I’m great! The other day Pound Cake was…” I stopped really listening. At this point I was mostly concerned with finishing my Cannoli without getting spotted. I slowly moved my back to the counter, just praying that fucking mare didn’t glance my way. I was holding as still as possible, just trying to draw no undue attention.

It’s not as though my life depended on it or anything it’s just… she always… always goes out of her way to give me a hard time. What I do… bothers her, and wasn’t sure why. Whether she’s running her little stand in the market, or just sees me on the street, she just… chews me out. I usually just walk away, but recently she’s taken to following me for a bit.

Applejack and Pinkie got to chatting, but I was only vaguely aware of their conversation… one of them mention Twilight at one point, and that’s what caught my attention. “So Twah and her new bo are gettin’ along? Well that’s mighty good to hear.”

“Uh huh! The other day they were… *brrrrr*” Pinkie’s teeth started chattering audibly.

“Wha’s the matter Pinkie? Chilly? Maybe y’all should put on a coat.”

“No, I’m okay... I just got the willies right now… which is weird cause I never get the willies unless someone’s gonna start a fight.” ‘What??’ I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

“Don’ worry Pinkie, I don’ think any of these fine ponies are gonna go an’…”

I could hear it… I could hear her noticing me. I could feel her gaze on my back. I just tried to shrink… hoping that she would just… un-see me… that I wouldn’t have to sit through her ranting and shouting and insults.

“Ah’d recognize them fancy jeans anywhere.” ‘Damn my impeccable sense of fashion.’

She trotted up behind me… I was determined to ignore her. I didn’t turn to face her, and didn’t say a word. I just kept biting at my cannoli. “Now what I wanna know is… what makes y’all think it’s okay to come in here.” Her voice was low and calm… for now, that would change.

“A-Applejack… what are you…?” Pinkie was trying to say something, but her voice was barely above a whisper. Applejack paid her no heed. I was sure the everypony had their eyes locked on us at this point.

“This is a decent, upstanding, family-run establishment, and yer… yer just sullyin’ its good name settin’ hoof in here.”

‘You…’

“Why don’ you just go one home, back to yer little shack… OUTSIDE Ponyville.

‘Insufferable…’

“Fer that matter, why don’ y’all just go back to Manhattan where y’all belong.” Her voice was starting to pick up volume.

“Applejack, What the HELL!?” So was Pinkie’s

‘Impossible…’

“We don’t want y’all here in Ponyville.”

“Bitch.”

There was a long pause. I realized that I had said that last part out loud.

“…What did you say?

‘Well, I guess I’m committed now.’ Truth be told I’ve been wanting to tell her off for quite some time, I’ve just never… let myself get mad enough. My little slip, though, had put me in the thick of it. If I stopped then, I’d have been a coward.

I am not a coward.

I stood up, and turned to face her. She was… eight kinds of mad. She was just… seething.

“Applejack...” I shrugged, I could only think of one way I really wanted to say this. “... you’re a fucking bitch.” Her eyes went really wide.

“I haven’t done shit to you. But you… you hassle me every fucking chance you get.” I tend to swear a lot when I get riled up. “What the fuck is that about?”

I caught her off guard if nothing else. I’d never actually said anything back to her; so, for the briefest of moments she was surprised. She recovered quickly enough.

“I… I aint gonna sit here, an’ be talked to like that by… by a dang slut!” That’s one of her little pet names for me.

“Oh, real fucking original, bitch.”

“Don’t you DARE call me that agin’ you… you…”

“Are you out of insults already?”

“You… you… home-wrecker! Why don’ chyou just LEAVE?!”

“I haven’t finished my cannoli yet!” I smirked at her… mocking.

That… Okay, I’m not proud of how I acted… but she… she pushed me… had been pushing me… for months! But... but I… got pretty… pretty immature there…I... fuck… I’m an ass.

But that wasn’t even the worst of it.

I’ve been watching Applejack a lot, mostly when I’m trying to avoid her… but… I’m an observant guy. Even at the worst of times I… notice things.

“Jus’ GIT.”

The ways she says certain things. It’s always… we don’t want stallions like you here. She always calls me thing like home-wrecker, sometimes asks me if I’ve broken up any families today. As far as I know I haven’t actually destroyed any relationships to date. On top of that before she even met me, she’s been out for blood.

“We don’t want y’all here in Ponyville.”

And one thing that she never ever calls me, despite that fact that she has every reason to… is a whore. It’s like she doesn’t even want to say the word. I was… I was 90% sure she’s had a whore fuck up her parents’ relationship. I’ve never seen them, and when you spend as much time as I do listening to what everyone around you is saying, you pick up on a few things.

“We don’t any want stallions like you in Ponyville!”

And… and I just wanted to shake her up… I just wanted to rattle her. Just shut her up for a moment... to get the tiniest of breaks from her... everything.

So I just said:

“Why’s that, because your mommy left your family for a whore?”

I knew it had to be the mom. I knew because of her hat. That’s a hat she cares about. I mean, it was soaking, right then, and she was still wearing it. There’s a hat rack in the bakery, she could have hung it up if she wanted, but no. She put that wet hat right back on her head. Also, I’ve read enough fashion magazines to tell the difference between a Stallion’s hat and a Mare’s. Since I doubted she’d treasure a keepsake from a parent that abandoned her, and I figured the hat must be her father’s. That could only mean that it was her mom that… well... did whatever she did.

It was a gamble to be honest… just a cold read, a shot in the dark, but the look on her face told me I was right.

She went pale, like she’d seen a ghost. I guess it had been years since anyone had even mentioned it, knowing this town.

I’d made an educated guess and found one of the skeleton’s in applejack’s closet At first she didn’t look like she wanted to believe I’d really just said that. When she tried to speak it only came out is hoarse whispers.

“That… that ain’t true.” Her eyes started to dart around the room… she’s a pathetic liar.

“Please, It’s written all over your fucking face.” I was snarling... growling, even.

“I… I…” I could see the rage… the pent up anger… the fury brewing inside her. She was so…mad. She wanted to hurt me… I could tell. She wanted to give a black eye. She was shaking in anger, if only just. “I ain’t gonna stand here, and be talked to like that from A FUCKIN’ GOOD-FOR-NOTHIN’ STUD!”

The bakery was silent save for the ringing in everypony’s ears. All eyes on us. Half were probably waiting for my response, and the other half were most likely just surprised Applejack had exploded like she did... and used language like that.

I haven’t been called a stud in… ages.

That was crossing the line, for me… I wanted to shout back, call her… awful things. But… but when she… screamed like that I realized I’d pushed her too far… I was as much at fault as hers at this point. So I… finally… came to my senses. I just left. No parting insult, no caddy remark… I just… put up my hood and left. I even left what was left of my cannoli on the table.

As I left I could hear applejack crying, I think. That Pinkie girl was trying to calm everypony down.

I’m… I’m more mad at myself than her. I mean… she did start it, and she always does. That, and she did call me a stud. But everything she said was just… anger… just… blind rage. What I said… about her mom… it was… too personal. It was a low blow… super low.

I… I promised myself, too. I promised myself that I wouldn’t use my special talent like that anymore. I mean… I mean I can’t help but notice things… I can’t. Especially with someone who routinely makes a point of getting in my face. But…

But that doesn’t mean I had to act on them. I didn’t… I shouldn’t have said that… it was too... heavy. I… wasn’t composed… I let myself get angry… I…

I blew up, but that’s not even the worst part.

I… I was happy to. I was happy to verbal eviscerate her in front of… oh jeez, I just realized that that Pinkie girl must have been her friend. Well, looks like I can’t go back there again. But I just… I was… I guess I was just fed up. And probably not even with her, with everypony… with all the back talk, and gossip and rumors and hushed conversations.

Well… whatever.

Either way I still walked home in the dark, and in the cold, and in the rain, carrying 50 pounds of soaking wet supplies. When I did get home I just barged in the front door. I wanted to collapse, just lay down in my dark foyer and… sleep.

In the end though, I didn’t. I started putting everything away… each little sundry and grocery in its place. Until all I was left with was empty saddle bags… and soreness. The fruits and veggies seemed ok, after I dried them off. The cereal boxes were ruined, but luckily the plastic bags within kept the sweet morsels safe. What an end to a day that would have been. No cereal for Guilty.

I’ve been taking a lot of warm showers lately… I took another tonight. I didn’t bother scrubbing or cleaning or shampooing. To be honest that was partly because I was afraid I might have another episode. I just… lied down on the floor of my shower and let the warm water relax me.

It was nice.

I think… *sigh*...

I know… that something is up with me. I’ve been… out of sorts.

I keep… I keep forgetting myself. I keep letting my personal life slip, even in my writing. I lost my shit… I’ve been putting up with her harassment for a long time, and tonight I snapped? Not likely just a coincidence. And I’m not even going to get started on the scrubbing incident.

I… as I’m sitting here… writing… I can’t help but think about what Close was saying. I wasn’t really listening at the time. Well maybe it’s more like I didn’t want to hear him, but… but I think he’s right… I need a hobby or… or… something.

Maybe someday soon, I’ll stop by the library. Grab a book, not one for research or for some client… something… fun, interesting. Something for me to read just to read. I’m kind of wishing I’d taken the time to stop by there today. I probably had time for it.

Today, not unlike yesterday… had some good and bad. Unlike yesterday however, I would have to consider this overall… a bad day.

A bad fucking day, that I just want to be over. I’ve got to get up bright and early tomorrow for a client. If I recall I’ll need to prepare some restraints for myself... and some Aloe Vera. This mare likes to whip me.

When it rains it pours.