Chapter 1
Coltcuddling for Dummies
A Beginner's Guide to Colt-Milking
By Butterscotch Cream
Chapter One
"If you're reading this, you may lack experience with colts, you might feel a little off your game, or maybe you just want to prep yourself for that special encounter. No matter what your reason or experience level, one thing is for certain: you want to rumpthump like a pro. You are the alpha stallion, the top, the bucker, the colt-milker, and you want to prove your moves. You ca—"
"Macintoooooosh!"
The red stallion grimaced a little as the yell pierced through his concentration like a javelin, thrown with no small force by Applejack's voice. Tossing the book down on his bed with an exasperated sigh, he pushed himself up on his haunches and stuck his head out the conveniently positioned hotel window to locate his sister on the dusty street below.
"Eeeyup?"
"C'mon down an' help with the luggage here will ya? Rarity just got in!"
"...Eeeyup."
Macintosh couldn't help grunting a little after his less than enthusiastic affirmation, but dragged himself reluctantly off the bed and down the stairs all the same — after stowing the book discretely beneath his pillow. Normally, Big Macintosh was a very patient and accommodating fellow, but this time was a little different for a couple of reasons. The first was that "this time" was the fifth time that morning since breakfast, and he'd barely gotten past the first paragraph. Actually, he hadn't even managed that.
Due to a fuddled combination of schedules, mixed transportation, and last-minute packing, Applejack's friends were all arriving in as organized a fashion as raindrops from a raincloud, though Applejack had managed to arrange getting there with him before anyone else.
Part of the plan was to exhaust their cousin Braeburn's exuberance before he could discharge it on the others. However, the additional opportunities to welcome ponies had done nothing but give Braeburn an exercise routine. In fact, as Big Macintosh plodded his way to the front entrance he could already hear the yellow colt yelling the trademark "AAAAAPPLE-LOOSA" that announced his spontaneous and invariably non-consensual tours.
No matter how many times, how long, or how recently you visited, Braeburn always hauled you from one end of the town to the other showing you what was new, what was old, what had changed, what hadn't, what was going to, and what needed to but never did. The old things just got older, the new things certainly didn't get newer, and the things that needed changing never did — including Braeburn in the whispered opinions of some.
The other part of the plan, though, was the luggage. While Applejack had touted it as vacation time, he got the distinct impression it came at the price of playing bellcolt. So far, that impression had held true.
Twilight arrived first and was technically the only one to arrive "on time." She always had three suitcases: one for clothes, one for books, and a third for miscellanea, all clearly labeled. Then came Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, and Fluttershy. Their luggage wasn't so much of a problem. Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy hardly brought any and Pinkie Pie—... well, no matter what or how much of "what" Pinkie brought, she only ever needed one suitcase, and everything inside it was as spring-loaded as she was.
He had discovered this by explosive experience.
While the series of interruptions had been an annoyance, though, it was still just the first reason he was disgruntled. The other reason was that he was here, at Appleloosa. Being here meant he wasn't home, and not being home meant no chores to tend. Having no chores, of course, gave him time to read, because when he was home and wasn't doing chores he was generally taking care life's two other necessities: Chores and more chores, with food and sleep on occasion.
Not that chores were bad — they were good, honest work and kept the farm running smooth — but when he had the opportunity to actually relax he liked to do just that. It didn't help that he'd been making some plans of his own this time around, which included aforementioned reading and a certain adorable stallion.
His reading material was a very... educational book he'd painstakingly smuggled through Spike. There was no way in Granny's girdle he was going to risk Twilight seeing that book. He shuddered to think what would happen if she got hold of it. Unfortunately, his discretionary pains weren't entirely successful where Spike's curiosity was involved, and it was partly his own fault for fibbing that it was a comic.
"This isn't a 'Captain Starhoof' issue! What's colt-mil—"
Big Macintosh broke off the irksome memory with another grimace. He would never have really flattened Spike's tail in the cider press, but the potency of the threat was enough to purchase him a lifetime of secrecy on the topic. By some gracious providence, at least the book's cover had been nondescript even if the title wasn't.
"Don't jus' stand there makin' faces at it, Macintosh! Load up an' carry it on inside! Lan'-sakes! Ya'd think we were askin' ya t' carry the train or somethin'!"
Applejack's reprimand snapped the stallion back to reality where he realized he was, in fact, wincing painfully at a wagon loaded with a ridiculously broad assortment of suitcases, hat-boxes, and bags: Rarity. He snuck a glance at the station to see just how much of the train's inventory Rarity's cargo had comprised and spotted two suspiciously exhausted colts slumped against one of the luggage cars. He'd never say it out-loud of course, but at times he wondered if Rarity attended these trips expecting to open an outlet, or if she just aggregated as much wardrobe as possible to waltz about in.
After clearing his throat and recovering his usual impassive demeanor, however, he went to work pulling off some of the larger items while Applejack returned to whatever discussion she'd been having with her friends. It sounded vaguely important, but he wasn't there to eavesdrop and he wanted to get as much unloaded as possible before Braeburn returned with Rarity from his fanatical exposition. He had... reasons for his avoidance.
Applejack knew he was a coltcuddler, but long ago she'd tried pairing him with Rarity as a 'true gentlecolt,' and Rarity had become so enamored with the idea she'd latched onto him like burrs from a hayfield — with the exception that burrs had the decency to come off in a shower. It also made things distinctly uncomfortable around Spike. He couldn't walk past the library for three weeks without feeling a pair of soulless eyes from the eerily darkened windows. There really wasn't much to incite jealousy except a number of awkward dinner dates, mediocre Ponyville pageants, and some shudder-worthy visits to her "boutique" best left in the neglected corners of memory.
Finally, he'd broken the news of his orientation to Applejack (news of which immediately repaired relations with Spike) and of course she'd stopped her pushing. The elegant white mare was not so easily dissuaded. Being the good sister she was, AJ had tried to explain the situation to Rarity, but it was all for naught. The determined fashionista firmly believed he must have felt something due to the dates he'd gone on with her, and waved it all aside with a florid speech that summed up to: "I can change him." While Rarity had since restrained her insistence to a respectful amount, he'd never again seen Rarity in the same outfit twice on these shin-digs, and she was always standing right where he couldn't—
"Hello, Big Macintosh~! It's so nice to see you again, darling! Did you enjoy your trip?"
...miss her.
"Eeeyup."
Big Macintosh immediately began scanning the area for Rarity's absent diversion. Braeburn shouldn't have been back for another—... Oh. A flash of familiar colors indicated his cousin's targeting system had misfired. Instead of Rarity, a cow-eyed Fluttershy was being haplessly hauled on a second helping of Appleloosan grandeur, the dazed victim of an enthusiastically oblivious Braeburn. Normally it would have been chuckle-worthy, but in this case it left Rarity a free agent.
"Do you like my new outfit? I worked arduously on it all last night. Of course the train ride was so bumpy it was very hard to get anything done. And you know you really should come to my boutique again, Big Macintosh~ I could make a suit you would look absolutely astounding in!"
Then came the prompting pause. Big Macintosh didn't particularly 'hate' anything, but Rarity had become distressingly adept at making statements he couldn't reply to with his three staple answers of "Eeeyup," "Nope," and silence. Right about then he conveniently noticed he had gathered enough luggage to warrant a trip inside.
"Thank ya kindly, Miss Rarity, an' ya look real pretty, but I'm afraid I don't fit in suits none too well. Beg'n yer pardon, though, do ya know what room yer stayin' in?"
For a brief moment Rarity seemed without reply. Her expression was just kind of startled, perhaps not expecting the dodge, or maybe contemplating the stupidity of saying suits "wouldn't fit" to a seamstress. He wouldn't have minded the latter; maybe if she thought he was stupid he'd seem less appealing. But, the shock didn't keep her down for long. In the next moment, Rarity had fully regained her usual refined deportment of inviting smiles and cordial laughter.
"Oh don't be silly, Big Macintosh! Why, that's my job~! You have my word of honor dear! You would look stunning! And I have just the set of gemstones to spruce up that old harness of yours!"
The fact that Rarity neglected to mention her room number was not lost on Big Macintosh, nor was the comment about his beloved harness, which he clutched with instinctive self-preservation. Apparently two could play that game and she was quite prepared with a hoof of cards.
"216! She's room 216," Applejack's head introduced itself between the two ponies shortly after the announcement was made, and thus the third player in the conversational game slammed down her trump. "Don't dawdle, Macintosh! You get that luggage upstairs right now an' don't come back till ya've got it all in the right places. Less chatter, more work! C'mon, Rarity, we need ya over here."
Once again Rarity looked to be in a momentary loss for words, though her eyes glittered at Applejack with a steely perturbation shrouded only by a veil of social training. Instead of dishing out her annoyance with a sizzled retort, however, she simply turned back to Big Macintosh and smiled with a nod.
"Very well, I suppose I'll see you later, Big Macintosh~" Though well-mannered, he'd heard mares had a second language of undertones they used with one another, and somewhere in that sentence echoed the tenacious resolve of, "I'll get him yet."
"Thank ya kindly, Miss Rarity. I hope ya have a very nice afternoon." Thus Big Macintosh absconded into the hotel, well over-laden by packages that likely contained the gallery of outfits awaiting their turn in the one-pony parade.
Now, Applejack had two nagging voices. The first voice was a somewhat bossy but endearing plead when she needed things done. The second was a very bossy and commanding snarl that brooked no argument. She only used that when she was rescuing him from an awkward situation, and it was hard for Macintosh not to smile as he tromped up the hotel stairs. He'd used the same tone with her on seldom occasion when she garnered harmless but unwanted attention from the summer help. It was an easy way to diffuse situations without horribly offending anyone, usually.
212... 214... 216. Big Macintosh unlocked the door with the key he'd gotten from the desk clerk and gave it a gentle boot with his hoof to swing it open. The room was one of the better suites available in Appleloosa, furnished with fineries likely imported from places he could neither pronounce nor spell. And thank goodness the room was large.
There was at least another trip worth of luggage to carry up (two, if he wasn't so desperate to finish in as few trips as possible), and he wasn't sure where to put any of it. If it'd been his luggage, Applejack's or any of the other ponies the answer would be simple: set it on the floor. But he feared that wouldn't suit Rarity, and as much as the opportunity to disenchant the mare's attractions appealed to him, he still considered himself a gentlecolt.
Each location he checked echoed a response, appropriately, in Rarity's voice. Bed: it would get dust on the covers... The coffee table: Too small. They'll topple on the floor! Inside the closet: Too inaccessible for unpacking. The couch: Still too dusty. The bathroom: They might get damp — oh, the wrinkles! Going through the darn things and putting them away himself: How rude!
"Jus' stick'em on the floor an' don't worry yerself about Rarity." Big Macintosh turned to find Applejack standing in the doorway behind him, smirking a bit and carrying the other half of Rarity's things. "Didn't think I was gonna let ya handle the whole kit'n'kaboodle by yer lonesome did ya?"
He grinned and stepped to the side to let Applejack in while shrugging at her suggestion. "I don't think Miss Rarity would like that too much, AJ, otherwise I would."
"I doubt she'll mind that much. 'Sides, the only messes Rarity'll ever be happy with are the ones she makes herself. That 'inspiration' room'a hers? It. Is. A. Disaster. Granny 'd tan my hide if I ever let my room get like that. Here..." She trotted up beside him, shook her own load off onto the floor (literally) and then nodded at her brother. "Give'em t' me."
One by one, Big Macintosh plucked the luggage off of the case-carrier draped over his back and gave it to her, and one by one Applejack tossed them onto the pile she'd started. Somehow they ended up semi-neatly stacked.
"That should do it," Applejack stated with a self-satisfied grin, "Now we can jus' tell her I did it. Go'on and get back to whatever ya were doin'."
Big Macintosh grinned again and squeezed her in a brawny foreleg. "Thank ya, AJ."
Wasting no time, Big Macintosh shimmied out of the luggage carrier he'd picked up downstairs and set it on the floor next to the doorframe. One of the bellcolts would come by and collect it later, he figured. More important matters were on his mind for the time being, and he practically pranced back to his room down the hall. He kicked his door closed with a swift thunk of his hind hoof and trundled over to the window to sneak a glance outside, perhaps possessed by an underlying guilt that wanted to make sure his secret wasn't discovered.
Whatever his reason, it was soon recanted.
Rarity, guided by her predatory instincts, was already staring at his window the moment he'd looked out and immediately began to wave with demoralizing enthusiasm. Before he could stop it, he began to give a half-hearted wave and a dim smile born of unremembered social obligation ingrained at foalhood. No!
Big Macintosh lurched away from the window desperately to stop himself, but it was too late. Rarity had seen it, and worse yet Pinkie Pie had been beside her. In the split-second it took to duck out of sight and plaster himself against the bed he witnessed the two mares put their heads together in whispered giggles, and he wasn't sure what part of that whole sequence was most disturbing.
Despite the sudden churning in his stomach, though, at least for right now there was a door and a barrier known as "Privacy" between him and them. After a moment to clear his head, he pushed the unsettling worries out of his mind and slumped back into bed with a sigh, rolling around till he'd discovered a comfortable position with his book. Finally, back to business.
"If you're read—" Bah! He wasn't going to get stuck reading that paragraph again. Big Macintosh began skimming for the place he'd actually left off reading. Wait, no. He didn't need to read the intro for a patronizing pep-talk either. All he needed was the how-to. Next section.
"Step One: Enticing your Target"
A small grin played over Big Macintosh's face at the title. While he hadn't actually done anything, he liked to believe himself pretty capable in that regard. He already knew who he was going for, too. That flamingly gay, boisterous, bouncy and most importantly, respectably distant cousin, Braeburn. Well, a wee bit less distant since they were both in the same town, but that wasn't the point. "Cousin" was more of a nick-name than an actual known fact, seeing as no one knew exactly how he was related aside from being an Apple.
Sure, the yellow colt's boundless energy could be overpowering, but there was an irresistibly adorable quality to him. The fact Braeburn's flank hadn't already been tackled by every eligible stallion in town astounded Big Macintosh slightly, even if said town was mostly populated by Apples of marginally closer relation, but he wasn't about to question good fortune. Besides, he was curious how Braeburn would act under— hoooooold it! He was here to read. Not fantasize. Mostly.
"Now, we're going to start off this section with the assumption you are neither stalker nor creep, and we highly recommend that you do nothing obnoxious or illegal. Those lesser points aside, being an obnoxious jerk will really hurt your chances of landing a date. You will get farther being considerate, or so ridiculously rich and famous that no one cares if you're not. One is far easier to achieve than the other.
"So the rule of hoof is as follows: don't be a jerk, be considerate, and be observant. It's better to have a little paranoia than to be so oblivious you don't see the hoof coming at your face till it slams your jaw into the back of your head. Don't just be confident, be courteous. However, this book is about the 'meatier' parts of male courtship, so we'll also make the assumption here that you understand what we're getting at, and entrust any additional learning to field experience and medical bills."
The grin on Big Macintosh's face got a little wider as he slid back against his pillow and turned the page.
"The second rule of seducing a colt is Hello, Big Mac! Oooh! Oh! Oh! What'cha reading!? Wait. Coltcuddling?! Why are you reading about coltcuddling!? 'A beginner's guide to—' your hoof is covering it."
"Pinkie!" Big Macintosh sat upright and slammed the book down so hard he nearly broke the bed, glancing down only long enough to ensure his hoof was still covering the only word that had been spared discovery before glaring at the pink mare. "What are y'all doin' in here!? Didn' ya see my door was closed!?"
"Not completely! And your window was open!"
"My win— my winda' ain't got nothin' to do with it! An' if my door wasn't all closed it was intended t'be." He huffed and deftly folded his blanket over the book to make sure it was obscured, then cleared his throat with an expectantly leveled gaze at her. "Now, what d'ya want?"
Pinkie Pie only paused a few moments as she processed this information. He wasn't entirely sure how much of it had registered, and the wall of privacy wasn't normally something he worried about others breaching. Up till then, Pinkie Pie's particular brand of irreverence hadn't been a matter of personal experience.
"Well really, Big Mac, you gotta be more careful about closing things so ponies don't get the wrong idea and barge in! I mean if you closed the door then I could've come in through the window, though I'm really glad you didn't 'cause I'd have to go crawling over the roof — but anyway! Rarity and I were talking and I saw you wave and she told me that you liked her and I thought oh that's wonderful! We could throw another party — cause your coming-out party was loads of fun! But then I came up here and got upset because I found you reading about coltcuddling which means you're a coltcuddler again and now I'm not sure if I should just throw you another coming-out party or if I should throw you a going-back-in party and then throw another coming-out party! You should really make up your mind about things because it's confusing and while I love parties you can only come-out and go-back-in so many times. I get dizzy when I do that, though that can be fun up till you get sick—"
"Pinkie!" Big Macintosh rolled off the bed and turned to face her like he would an errant Applebloom, pulling out his paternal reprimand voice. "I'm still gay, I always have been gay an' I never stopped bein' gay for Rarity!"
Pinkie Pie gave him an uncharacteristically serious look of disbelief. "You can't be gay for Rarity! You're a stallion! ...riiiight?"
There was a resounding thud as Big Macintosh facehoofed with a beleaguered cringe. "I mean, I am not attracted t'Rarity. I'm stickin' with colts."
"....so would that be a sticking-out party?"
"There ain't no party! Now I'd appreciate it if ya kindly let me read my book!" The floor shook underneath the furniture as Macintosh stomped across the room, preparing to pull open the still-mostly-closed door and usher her out, forcibly if necessary. However, he'd turned his back for a moment too long.
"They produce milk!?"
The door slammed shut in panicked reflex to prevent the escape of further incriminating words as Big Macintosh wheeled around, terror welling in his eyes. Pinkie Pie, of course, was peeking under the blanket at the book. He was about bellow out a terribly uncharacteristic rebuke when his thoughts were arrested by a heavy thump in the hallway. Doors didn't make that sound.
Jerking the door open again, Big Macintosh poked his head out and began searching frantically for the source of the noise. At first, the coast seemed clear, but then he looked down, and found himself staring at an unconscious Rarity. She was sprawled on the floor in appropriately dramatic pose with a slightly bloodied lip, likely the victim of untimely eavesdropping.
Big Macintosh fell back onto his haunches and dragged a hoof over his face, letting out a gut-wrenched groan. As if his day couldn't g— No! He was not going to think those words! She should've known better than to be listening behind doors anyway. A business-like calm settled over him as he pulled himself up and stepped over to try and wake her again. This happened often enough when newbie applebuckers got conked on the noggin one too many times.
"Miss Rarity? Miss Rarity, are you alri—"
"Hey look! A chiclet!" Pinkie was proudly displaying her discovery on a hoof: a small, candy-like square of white. "A weird-shaped chiclet with red on it. I wonder if it's cherry-flavored!"
No sooner had she said this than a cold horror seized him and an ugly thought blasted into his mind. Big Macintosh yanked open Rarity's mouth to confirm his fears: a black gap where one of her otherwise pristine front teeth should have been. The stallion recoiled and stamped his front hoof on the floor in consternation. "Of all the—" He glanced up to find that Pinkie Pie had already popped it into her mouth and was making tell-tale chewing motions. "Pinkie Pie! Spit that out! That ain't no candy! That's Rarity's tooth!"
There was a moment of dumbstruck silence before Pinkie abruptly spewed it out in disgust. The tooth was unwilling to forsake its new host so easily, however, and grappled Pinkie's lip with a long thread of siliva. Pinkie whipped her head left and right attempting to rid herself of it, but the tooth just swung around through the air like a desperately clinging spider. "Ew-ew-ew-ew-EEEEW! It wasn't chewy! And it didn't even taste like cherry!"
"Jus' grab the tooth an' help me find Braeburn — we gotta get this fixed or I'm a cored apple!" He knelt down and dragged Rarity's desecrated form onto his back as gently as he could, while Pinkie unceremoniously pounded the clingy tooth into the carpet with her hooves to force detachment. Just then, Twilight and Braeburn came up the stairs into the hallway. For once Braeburn had perfect — or at least more convenient — timing, and for perhaps the first time in his life, Macintosh got something out of his mouth first.
"Braeburn! Ya got a dentist here? Rarity went an' got'er tooth knocked out, an' we need it fixed pronto."
Twilight, as usual, bounded into help-mode. "Pinkie! Go get a glass of milk to put the tooth in! Keep her head elevated Macintosh, don't let her sag or she'll bleed all over! There's a dentist down on E-street, I read it in the brochure! How did this happen?" Before he could reply, Pinkie Pie provided an accurate, if painful summary.
"She was eavesdropping by the door and Macintosh slammed it on her face! Oh! Oh! Should I get regular milk or—"
"Regular! ...milk." Big Macintosh ignored the odd looks his emphatic interruption earned him. He was not taking chances on Pinkie's sensibilities. Fortunately, Pinkie Pie took his response as sufficient.
"Okay! I'll be back in a jiffy!"
While they were talking, Braeburn had trotted to Big Macintosh's side and repositioned the noodle-like mare into a spread-eagle position to keep her from slipping off. Her limbs dangled lifelessly around the shire's shoulders and flanks, and her head was propped awkwardly between his ears with her lips parted just enough for the gap to be visible.
Overall, the pose and expression gave her an uncanny resemblance to a snoozing hobo. Despite being late to the conversation, Braeburn finally found his turn to speak and he wasn't about to miss it. "Sure do, cuz! An' I gotta say he is the best dentist roun' these parts! Why I'd bet my best horsehoes he—"
"Braeburn," Macintosh interrupted with a meaningful glance, "jus' get us there." Then a thought occurred to him. "Oh, uh... wait jus' a minute." He hustled back into his room with Rarity's body bobbing around on his back in puppet-like exaggeration his motions, then shortly re-emerged tucking something underneath his harness. "Alright. Let's get'a move on." Right about then, he became aware of a breeze on his neck, and he turned to see Twilight waving a wing furiously at her friend's head. "What in tarnation are ya doin', Twi'?"
"I'm trying to help wake her up if you'd just hold st—"
"No!" In a feat of agility unbecoming his size and stature, Big Macintosh lept clear across the hallway over to the stairwell, somehow managing to keep the jelly-like mare on his back. "Have ya gone darn nutty!? I'm thankin' Celestia she's still sleepin'!"