Road Trip

Road Trip

by

Diana Walker

This work of adult fiction, loosely based on characters portrayed by Russell Crowe, includes adult language and experiences; you have been warned. No copyright infringement on the original work is intended. Copyright Diana Walker 2006.

TERRY
“Hi, Honey. Whatcha doin'?”

I was instantly on alert. “What's the matter, Diana?”

“Are you up for another road trip?”

The search for my own horse is becoming a greater chore than finding new transportation; at least with my car search, Brad delivered the cars to me. We, or more accurately, Diana, since she is doing the majority of the search, travel to the horses' barns. On Mondays and Thursdays, Diana spends all day on the computer and phone, checking for new horses on the market. Tuesdays and Wednesdays Diana does day trips to inspect possibles. We've been all over Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Louisiana meeting horses together two weekends out of every three.

The tack room has been moved to the horse trailer for the duration. Riders' equipment, horse supplies, and feed are stored in the locking compartments; the only thing that hasn’t been in the trailer recently is a horse. Diana keeps reassuring me the right one will come along eventually.

One is so obviously lame even I can see it when she walks out of the barn; another had 'bad x-rays' according to Diana and would be broken down inside a season. Another is beautiful but crazy; apparently, he does not like an audience as he dumped his regular rider. We've looked at eight horses; two more sold before we got to see them.

I've managed two or three lessons a week with Alcie, Diana's coach, when I'm in town; she says I'm progressing well for the sporadic nature of my riding. I'm now on my third horse with her. Each horse I have ridden has taught me different lessons. Lefty gave me a sense of confidence on horseback; he's so willing to do anything I've asked of him. Peabody required my aids to be more correct before he would willingly strike off. Sugar has her moods and taught me to handle a buck. She also taught me soft hands. Max rode with me that day and suggested I try my newly attained dexterous skills on Diana who was most pleased with the results.

Diana has me doing yoga at home to limber me up. I keep telling her there are more pleasurable ways to have me in the same contortions. She also tucks the Rider Workout exercise DVD into my kit whenever I leave town; I must admit, I am spending far less time in hotel bars these days.

“I don't have the watch this weekend. Where are we going?”

“Farther afield so you'll need to be out of the office the rest of the week, but I have a really good feeling about this one. East emailed about a horse in his barn.”

East Driscoll.

“Are you still there? You don't have to go if you don't want to or if it's too much of a hassle rearranging work. You could always fly into Dulles and skip the drive.”

“Not a problem at all.” It bloody well would not be a problem. East Driscoll.

DIANA
One day to get Truck looked over for a 2600-mile trip, banking arrangements made in case this is the right horse for Terry, and to make sure all the critters around the place have enough food on hand so Nancy and Bill don't have to make a feed store run. Piece of piss.

Truck is packed with the trailer hitched up before Terry gets home.

“Boomer, you don't need to shave for a week if you don't want.” I'm trying to hurry us both; it's 5:50 AM, and I want to be on the road in ten minutes. We're both in the bathroom starkers, just out of the shower. I have one foot on the vanity, slathering body lotion on my leg. Most people's skin dries out on airplanes; I dry out on long car rides.

I catch Terry's eyes watching me in the mirror, his razor poised above his chin. I drop my foot. “You perve.”

“You exhibitionist.” He continues shaving with a laugh, and it is my turn to perve. His dick softens from mildly interested to lying supported by his sturdy balls. I should know by now that both of us in the bathroom – naked – at the same time is not a good idea if I have us on timetable.

He rinses his razor and answers my initial statement. “Oh, but I do need to shave. As heavy as my beard is and as rapidly as it grows, I'd look like a bear by the time we got back and act like one as well when it came time for me to shave again.”

“I wouldn't like that.”

“It's more efficient for me to shave every day than fight it every few.” He adeptly rolls a styptic pencil over the two cuts he gave himself watching me before I caught him. “Let's get you in your knickers before I cut my bloody throat.”

Terry finally quits griping about not driving when we get to 30 at Greenville. I'd fiddled with the trailer brakes several times on the way before I was satisfied; he'd used the flashlight from the glove box to find where the mechanism was located and grudgingly admitted I was the better candidate to set Truck up for its long trip.

“Does the trailer have a name? 'Pain in the Arse' comes to mind,” Terry asks me during one of my adjustments.

“No, at least not that it’s told me.”

Traffic finally lightens, and I put the cruise control on somewhere close to the Grand Saline turnoff. Terry hands me my second cup of coffee for the morning and one of my pre-made bacon and egg sandwiches from the cooler in the back. With the sandwich, I may escape a bad case of the caffeine shakes by 10 AM. He tucks into his second sandwich of the day.

Terry hasn't seen much of East Texas, at least not this far north. I've driven this route going to Lexington, KY, so much, I give him a running travelogue. I prepare him to see the blur the buffalo are as we whiz by the exotic animal farm at 70, and we are in the slow lane. I'm grateful for the six bales of hay in the trailer; the 300 pounds of weight helps the trailer stay on the ground the few times I have to hustle around a slow moving truck. Most of our time is spent in companionable silence listening to the small town radio stations along the way.

Near the ammunition depot close to the state line, we give up on the radio, and Terry pops a CD into the player. Whoever rides shotgun physically runs the radio, but the driver has veto rights.

We cross into the green tunnel Arkansas on 30 is and stop to stretch our legs and swap drivers. I've been behind the wheel three hours, and I noticed Terry squirming in his seat for the last 10 miles, but to his credit, he doesn't ask how far it is to our first stop. As soon as I roll to a stop, he makes a break for the large convenience store ostensibly to pay for the gas he leaves me to pump. I pull over to the truck parking and go to the ladies’ room, passing Terry at the register. When I emerge, he is leaning on Truck watching for me. I'm stretching my back to get the kinks out when I reach him.

“Let me do that for you.” He picks me up under my armpits and lets me dangle; we laugh as we hear each vertebrae pop.

“Thank you. That's a much better way to get rid of driver fatigue than rolling my shoulders in front of all these truckers.” He lets me slide down his body to the ground, and I demonstrate my shoulder rolling technique.

“From now on, let me do this.” He turns me in his arms and works on my neck and shoulders with firm, steady strokes. I am never making another road trip without this man; his hands are that good.

Driving away from the large gas stop, Terry pointedly brakes with a concerned look on his face and adjusts the trailer brakes. “Ah, much better.” He has moved the setting back and forth to return it to its original place.

I smile. “Yes, much better.” I direct him to the onramp, and we are off again. A few miles down the road, Terry has settled in to the drive. I am still concerned about his handling Truck with the trailer attached. His question startles me.

“You and Reags haven't taken many road trips together, have you?”

“No, we haven't. Down to Austin a couple of times. Most of the time we've flown wherever we were going.”

He nods sagely at my answer. “She'd never survive too many trips with you. Her mouse bladder and your camel characteristics don't seem like suitable traveling companions.”

“There are only two rest stops between Dallas and Texarkana. They're both so close to where I normally stop for gas, I don't bother stopping until I fill up.” I reach over and rub his neck. “I didn't hit the coffee as hard as you. The rest stops are more equally spaced from here on. I promise, when I'm driving, I'll ask if we need to stop at every rest stop.” His chagrined smile tells me all I need to know.

What's a road trip without food? I had packed all my favorites – pretzels, Cheetos, chocolate covered doughnuts, a package of shortbread cookies with thick Swiss chocolate on top. Total junk food heaven.

Terry gnaws on one of the long, thick pretzels I've gotten out; I'm munching away on the chocolate covered doughnuts. “I've always imagined Arkansas is the most populous state when I've driven through here before – that they had millions of people living in high rises beyond the trees on either side of the interstate.”

“You're a rational woman most of the time.” I smiled at his jab. “Why would you think that?”

“You have to admit, it is awfully boring driving along here. I had to imagine something.” On either side of us was every shade of green imaginable as all the varied vegetation started emerging from its winter hibernation punctuated periodically by a stand of dogwoods with their white blossoms. “This stretch of road taught my eyes the difference between kelly and emerald green.”

When given the exact same scenery on both sides of a road, it's most natural for a driver to look to the left to see. Terry doesn't. His head turns to the right; his eyes glance past me to the trees lining the road and then come to rest on mine. He glances in the outside mirror, out the windshield, and then back to me. He places his hand on the console between us, scritching it with his nail. I snug my hand under his. He is satisfied with this contact and looks back out the front.

“This stretch of road has all the colors of your eyes. The greens they turn when I'm making love to you,” he leans forward to look into the sky while still driving safely on this mostly deserted stretch of road, “and the blue when you wear pale blue close to your face. I don't think this stretch of road is boring at all.” He even makes love to me with his voice.

“I'll never make this drive again without thinking of you and how much you love me.”

TERRY
Arkansas west of Little Rock is beautifully natural. Trees line the roadway shielding the fields and towns beyond from view. Diana wasn’t wrong when she described this part of the journey as 'one long, green tunnel'.

Diana goes back to the business of horse buying. On the odd chance the big buckskin gelding is the right horse for me, Diana begins programming large animal veterinarian numbers into her phone from the Traveling with Horses book she has brought along; if we drag Buck home with us, she wants to have almost instantaneous access to a vet wherever we are in the country.

Buck is almost 17 hands. Diana's main concern is the depth of his barrel and where my leg will hang on him. East has assured her Buck fits his leg well. East has gone so far as to have already had the pre-purchase vet check done with x-rays for Diana to go over with the vet. I am more than pleased she will be huddled with the vet for some period of time going over the results; it leaves less time to be exposed to his Aussie charm.

That's the funny thing about Diana. When I turn on the charm, she mocks me; when I speak from my heart, she melts in my hands. I won't tell the bastard not to turn on his smarminess.

Diana has been in deep thought for many miles. “You know what's weird?”

“There are many things in the world I think bizarre; care to give me a category? I'll come up with a few.”

“Your heights. Jack has a couple of inches on you. Jeff Wigand is several inches shorter than you, East, and Max. I'd think you'd all be the same height.”

“Do you want to round up the rest and compare …heights?”

“No, I think it's probably better ….” She had been in such deep thought pondering our strange beginnings she is slower on the uptake than usual. I am ready for her playful punch in the arm. “Terry!”

“Easy there. Car alert.” I've seen brake lights in the distance.

“We're getting close to one of the Hot Springs turnoffs. Traffic always start slowing down here.”

At the top of the hill laid out below us is one of the prettier, green, broad meadows I have ever seen. A medium wide stream in a deeply cut channel meanders through with the highway making a large sweeping curve to the creek giving way to a straight elevated roadway cutting straight across the creek and meadow and up the next set of hills.

Diana has leant forward drinking in the beauty.

I insist on driving into Memphis. Diana's stint behind the wheel has been much longer than mine; I need the practice of driving the truck/trailer combo; we don't need the bother of adjusting the seat and mirrors again; I'm not tired. She concurs with all my stated reasons.

The eastern half of Arkansas is the boring drive. Diana agrees; she has only ever driven it at night when her imagination can run wild.

Diana has begun singing. Her rendition of “The Wild Colonial Boy” is tailored for an Australian expatriate in America and would bring tears to the eyes of an Irishman.

“There was a wild colonial boy, Terry Thorne was his name
“He was born and raised in Australia in a place called Bondi Beach
“He was his father's only son, his mother's pride and joy
“And dearly did his sweetheart love the wild colonial boy.”

“You do know there are several factual errors in your transcription even using my life.”

“I know. But there are some facts in there as well. One I know for dead certain.”

“Go on then.”

“It's all I remember. When I learned it in LA, hanging around Irish bars, we were normally in our cups by the time we started singing. Sorry.”

There was a car transport coming toward us, and I smiled as it got closer. It was loaded with Porsches …Boxsters, 911s, Carreras. Diana saw it and leant forward.

“Wonder if yours is on it …no, there’s no yellow 911 on it.”

“I ordered a blue one. You will be glad to know that I got the Tiptronic.”

“You made me learn to drive a stick when you knew you were buying one with an automatic option on it?”

“I hadn’t seen the speed reports on the Tiptronic until I sat down with the salesman and started talking money.”

“Why didn’t you ask me? I could have told you it was half-a-second faster than the standard.”

“You needed to learn to drive a standard, Diana.”

“Oh. That’s another of those things I got to add to my list of things to do before I die and cross it off at the same time. I’ll use the automatic mode, and you can drive it with the standard.”

“Bonzer!”

We can smell the Mississippi River long before we can see it, and by that time, Diana has taught me all the folk songs she learnt in Girl Guides, and she could be passably called a 'rowdy' in a footy stadium from the songs I've taught her. Diana pulls a CD from her magic, green bag, and Paul Simon's 'Graceland' cranks from the speakers.

“I've always wanted to have that on as I come across the bridge. The truck traffic is always so bad with the two interstates merging and all the freight terminals, I never had a chance.”

She is most certainly making full use now. I lay my hand on my glass; I believe it is vibrating from the bass. I run all four windows down a bit; I'd hate to be stuck in Memphis looking for auto repair shops when Buck awaits us in Virginia.

Somewhere over Mud Island, Diana turns it off to direct me through the nasty 40/240 interchange.

“You need to be in the left lane, Terry.” Her concern is apparent in her voice. “I thought you saw the signs.”

I turn on the truck's turn indicator but not for the direction she wants. The action is enough for her; she doesn't notice which way the flashing green light points.

“Oh, you were waiting for traffic to clear. Maybe some fellow traveler will let you in.” Diana is peering into the driver side outer mirror; I'm craning around her to check for bridge clearance.

I begin slowing to exit. “Terry, speed up. You can get over after this truck; it's clear.”

She feels the truck shift to the right. “Why are you getting off on Riverside? Do you want me to drive through the downtown traffic?” Her voice announces she is not keen to do that.

“No, Diana, I do not want you to drive in downtown Memphis. I want you to start looking for Union Ave. on the left. It should be the fourth street.”

Diana reads the street signs as we creep down Riverside. “Jefferson, Court, Monroe. This should be it. Yep, Union.”

I wait for the intersection to clear to make my left turn onto Union; it may be a long wait. From the looks we receive, not too many horse trailers travel in downtown Memphis. I swing wide, remembering Diana's admonition about the trailer's clearance. My first left turn in the rig is successful, but the trailer is blocking one lane of Riverside until the traffic moves on Union. I check Diana as she's not said a word since her street recitation. Her lips are a straight line; I believe she is too frightened of my inexperienced driving in such heavy traffic to give me an ear-bashing.

At 1235 we arrive at the Peabody Hotel's valet parking stand. There is an advantage to staying at a city's finest; no request is too unusual.

One of the valet parking attendants is promptly at my door. “Mr. Thorne?”

“Yes.”

“I'll park your rig for you and have your bags sent up to your room. Don't worry. I've driven livestock trailers all my life.”

“Reassure her, Mate.” Diana has listened to our exchange open mouthed; at least her fury is spent in shock.

Diana leans across me with her sharp elbow in my solar plexus. “I'm sure you'll do a fine job. Thank you. I'm sorry for the bother.”

“Glad to do it, Ma’am. I'll take good care of 'er.”

I'm still trying to breathe when Diana joins me on the curb. She wraps her arms round my waist, effectively ending my attempt at re-oxygenation.

“Terry, you are an amazing man. Thank you.”

DIANA
Terry owns any room he walks into no matter how he or his companion is dressed. Time to suck it up and be his queen in Levis and t-shirt.

The Peabody is old-style, Southern chic, read that stuck-up. I banish the thoughts about how the other guests in the lobby may react to two very casually dressed people without luggage strolling through like we own the joint. I look up at him, and no one else in the world matters.

Terry has everyone eating out of his hand from the farm boy parking valet who took the truck to the bellman who escorts us to our room on the concierge floor and discreetly leaves with us standing together in the middle of our sumptuous surroundings, his hands on my shoulders, my arms around his waist. I memorize his face again for the twentieth time today; each time it has been different.

He breaks our gaze and giggles. “Look.” I turn towards where Terry's chin indicates. “The 'Do Not Disturb' sign is gone.”

“Good.” He kisses me slowly, softly, asking for what we both want. I run my hands over his forearms and up his arms.

“I thought I was being so circumspect registering and in the lift.”

“You were. Please get your shoes off. I'll take care of the rest.” His t-shirt is off before I finished talking. His body twists against me as he toes off his shoes. The line of clothes leading to the tall, four-poster bed shows the stutter steps we take.

Terry lays me delicately on the bed and nudges me over; I sprawl open for him to see my readiness for him. He kneels between my thighs and watches his fingers running along my lips – outside, between, inside. He closes his eyes and brings my lips together almost as if he is making love to me with only his fingertips, as if he wants to burn the sensation into them. He draws my inner lips together and closes my outer lips over them almost wrapping a precious gift.

I watch him open his eyes and look as he opens my lips with his cock, distributing my moisture between my lips, inside my inner slit, over the length of his shaft. His cockhead grazes my clit, and I reach for his shoulders as my arousal hits quickly. I rub myself lightly on his corona, and I come, surprising both of us with its suddenness, my head drilling into the pillow. He gathers me in his arms, lying on me, his cock resting in my slit as I lift my hips to slide on his hardness. He slides lower and is at my entrance. The friction as he enters sends the heat of my orgasm away and the coolness of a higher awakening filtering down my legs. My lips wrap around his head as thrusts only to his ridge in and out with complete sensation for both of us. Finally it is too much and, he pushes into me fully.

“Oh, God. Diana!” comes from his mouth into mine as my hand goes to my belly to feel him inside me. His pleasure groan rumbles through us. His arm comes from holding me to my hand on my stomach and covers my hand with his. He changes his angle coming into me, and I soar again. The change and the added pressure has his cock kissing my g-spot with every stroke. I lift against his chest and pull him tighter to me.

“More, please, more.” My breath catches, and I can't exhale.

I vaguely hear Terry somewhere in the distance. I understand the meaning though the words are lost on me now; his sounds are raw, rough. Only my sense of touch is functioning, and it is on overdrive. I feel the crease of his butt under my calves, and they rise and fall with him. I am no longer tied to the earth; Terry holds me suspended. My second orgasm shudders through me, shaking him as well. He slows and twitches within me.

His hand rubs ours over my belly, always on his ridge, and he moves more quickly. I am spent and can only hang onto his neck for support. My hand moves back and forth over his ridge, no longer following his movement but opposing it. He hitches and groans. Our mouths no longer locked, his head drops to my shoulder, and he pushes deep within and pauses. His hips jerk erratically twice, three times more, and he stills.

I feel when he lowers us to the bed. The cool comforter is below my back, and my hot, sweaty man covers me. He leans down and teases my nipple with his lips.

“I love feeling your heartbeat slow around me. Your lips throb in time with your heart.” He takes our hands to where his cock disappears into me, separates my lips with my finger, and holds us there to feel. He abandons my breast and lays his cheek over my heart. I can feel when he drops off to sleep; his head becomes heavier on my chest as I drift off as well.

Sometime in our 15-minute nap Terry has softened and slipped from me. He has also rolled us to the side away from the wet spot. The knock on the door breaks us from our drowsy state.

“Stay there. You're fine.” Terry gets up, pulls the bedspread over me kissing my forehead, finds his pants, and pulls them on to answer the door. He doesn't even bother to run his hand through his disheveled hair, but he does kick our discarded clothing around the wall that hides the bed from the door.

I hear him talking to the someone at the door, the door close, his heavier footfalls, not his soft naked pad, and a thump as two unknown bundles land on tile. His 501s rustle as they fall to the floor. He throws the bedspread off me when he climbs back onto the bed beside me. He trails his fingers down my arm, circles my wrist leading it behind my back to expose my breast to his touch.

“Will you open your eyes?” He's refreshed from his quickie and nap.

“I don't think I can.” I try. “My lids are too heavy. They won't open.”

“We've missed our Graceland tour.” For that I can almost get one eyelid cracked. Terry's head is back on my chest, and his lips are tickling my right breast with his words. “So much for stopping early to do some sightseeing in Memphis. We'll have to come back when we won't spend the day in bed. Not that I would've missed your hair trigger today for all the stately mansions in the world.”

“I wouldn't have traded Graceland for this afternoon either. But tomorrow will be a long drive.”

“You'd always said you'd only ever seen St. Jude's as you flew past it, and you wanted to see the duck march. I won't let you miss the ducks.”

“Is that why we're staying here? So I can see the ducks?”

“Too right, and they have High Tea. After tea, we can go to the bar, watch their fat, little duck arses march off to their coop, have Memphis barbecue for dinner though I don't have any hopes it will be as good as yours, and spend some time on Beale.” His recited tour description brings a sleepy smile to my face.

“This is a different horse road trip than I've ever been on.” I open my eyes to see his shining in delight. “What time is tea?”

TERRY
I teach Diana the games we played as kids on road trips. We play the ones she'd only heard about from her friends; she'd read books, followed their progress on maps, and watched the scenery go by on her family vacations. Once we reach Nashville, it is new territory for us both. To reach Lexington, she turns north at Nashville; our journey takes us west to Knoxville before following the Shenandoah Valley to Buck's. Diana follows the route on my laptop's new map software. Bloody good thing I replaced the battery and brought the power cord along; Diana's had it on most the day.

Diana laughs nervously at my label for our destination. “Why are you so worried about seeing East again?”

“I'm not.” My statement wasn't technically a lie. I'm not worried about seeing East; I'm worried about Diana seeing East.

“Something's bothering you, and it has to do with East. You can't even say his name. Come on, Boomer. You promised me you'd tell me what was bothering you, or you wouldn't let it concern you. That was our deal.” I sigh in defeat.

“You and East have so much in common. He has been known to go after someone else's wife.” Of course, so have I. “I ….”

“…Have nothing to worry about. East rides well; he knows horses. That's all we have in common. I think we've already had this convo.” Diana slides as close to me as the big console between us and her seat restraint will allow. “What do I need to do to convince you that you are the only man in the world for me?”

The phrase, “Marry me,” crosses my mind but goes unuttered.

We'd eaten so much on the way to and in Memphis, our stomachs are out of sync with regular meal times. We stop for a late lunch in Roanoke at a local diner.

Diana reaches for my hand. “This isn't meant to insult you or your riding abilities, but I need to know something. Do you want to ride Buck tomorrow?”

I’ve come prepared to ride. Breeches, boots, helmet. I hadn't considered I had an option. I didn't fancy demonstrating my rudimentary skills to East. Diana's freeze framed his position for shoulder in so often, the first time Alcie asked me to try it, I was pretty much letter perfect for a stride or so.

“Since he'll be my horse, it would be a good idea.”

“I didn't ride my first horse until I got him home. I was too scared. My coach before Alice rode him, and I bought him on her say-so.”

“Let's play it by ear. When you get on him, if you don't think I'm ready for him but can soon, I'll buy on your word.”

A small, secret smile plays across her mouth. She kisses me lightly. “Don't get on him if you don't want, but do work with him on the ground after you watch how his regular groom handles him. Thank you for trusting me.” I think she included East as well as Buck in what she said.

We pull into East's yard at 1900 with me driving. Diana had 'needed' the ladies' when we got to 81's exit to Upperville and suggested I drive the rest of the way to East's; she didn't fool me a bit. For all her protestations to the contrary, Diana does understand the fragile male ego. She may choose to ridicule it upon occasion, but she does understand it. Men driving into another man's territory is a machismo trait; she wouldn't shame me by driving even if I destroyed the trailer trying to back it into a space.

East walks from the barn when the truck headlights shine down the long aisleway. I know that rolling gait from Alcie's; it means he recently got off a horse, and his goolies have not yet rearranged themselves into their natural hang. He smiles and waves me to an open spot adjoining a tidy, large caravan. A dozen or more seemingly new horse trailers are parked across from the caravan.

“That's probably his home. Very nice for a farm manager.” I'm starting to rethink agreeing to stay with East and cancelling our reservation at the Red Fox Inn in Middleburg. I've no idea how Diana will react to our lack of privacy, and I felt more and more territorial about her the closer we got to East, no matter her reassurances. It's a primal instinct; I need to sink myself deep within her, affirming our union.

East begins walking to the truck when Diana leans across the console, kissing me deeply, obviously. “Remember, I love you. I don't want to be with anyone else in the world.”

I unlock the doors, and East helps Diana from the truck with a hug. “Glad you could make it. How was the trip?” He has his arm round Diana as he extends his hand to me. I grip his hand only slightly harder than a polite handshake, and my point made, he drops his hand from her waist.

“It was fine. Better than fine,” I answer.

“No problems at all.” Diana addresses her answer to me with a raised eyebrow East cannot see.

“Would you like a tour of the barn or a cuppa first?”

Diana, of course, wants to see the barn first; she's been having fur withdrawal since our romantic stroll along the river back to the hotel last night. She was bitterly disappointed no dogs were out for a walk at midnight. “We've been sitting all day. A tour would be welcome.”

“You can see the paddocks and arenas in the morning.” He flips on the aisleway lights and several noble, sleepy heads appear over stall doors. From the far end of the barn, we can hear chairs scraping on a wooden floor, and three men and a cat come through an open door. East introduces us to his hands – Sergio, Tony, and Junior. Sergio and Tony are obviously brothers, both slightly built and short. Junior is a big bloke from the West Indies.

Diana spends the minimally socially acceptable time with the men before crouching to talk to the cat, a big grey and white fella.

Junior speaks up. “His name is Junior. He's a good ratter but loves ….” He doesn't bother finishing his statement. Junior, the cat, has hopped onto Diana's denim-clad thighs and is kneading them. She cups his ballsy bum to straighten and carry him, but the cat climbs her chest to balance on her shoulders. She winced once as he dug in on one of the girls, but she laughed. Oh, yes, I'll be sure she has lots of TLC on that one tonight.

Diana begins making the rounds of the stalls. When I catch up to her, I am rewarded with a white tipped grey tail in my face. Junior, the cat, butts my chest with his head as I stand close behind the two new best friends. I whisper in her ear, “Promise me, we aren't going home with a yowling cat.”

“I promise, but we may be coming back to pick up one of his kittens if he has a mate. It's not good form to steal a barn cat, particularly a good ratter.” Junior finds an interesting piece of sawdust and leaps from Diana's shoulder to a stall floor and makes himself comfortable in a back corner.

We work our way down the line as the barn hands return to their dinner. Diana oohs and aaws appropriately, loud enough for East to hear, noting some outstanding feature on each horse. From my limited knowledge of horses, these all look significantly better bred than our herd, but I wouldn't trade our lot for these. Gillie's sweet, slow nature, Honey's crankiness, Rabbit's elder statesman demeanour.

Significantly, there is nothing I would call a Buckskin color in the barn. They are all chestnuts, bays, or black with a couple of greys thrown in.

“Where's Buck?” Diana asks East.

“He's in the other barn. In case you like him, I've isolated him from his mates.” Diana nods. Not unkindly, he explains more to me. “If he hasn't seen his mates in a while, he should load more easily. It also eliminates the possibility of any airborne illnesses being transmitted. Some of this lot were gone last weekend and may have been exposed.” I may have to revise my qualms about East.

He continues, “Let's go up to the house. Are you hungry? Ready for dinner?”

Diana and I both groan at the thought. “We had barbecue for dinner last night. Terry had ribs, and the platter was huge.”

Diana and I are settled in East's master suite, at his insistence. She's sitting on my arse, working her magic on my tight shoulders and back.

“We need you nice and relaxed for your ride tomorrow.” She applies the heel of her hand to one particularly deep knot and kisses the released muscle before stretching out on me, her face beside mine; she is so much better than a blanket. We have twelve whole hours before Buck's owner is due to arrive.

“Do you believe East's stories about the harpies on the show circuit?”

“Hell, yes. I think he cleaned them up for your benefit. We had three show barns in Dallas go out of business one year because of the hanky panky between the trainer and the boarders when the stable owners, who were also being screwed, literally and figuratively, found out. It doesn't even take sex for show relationships to go sour. One horse/rider combination was short-listed for the Olympics, and the owner sold the horse out from under her three months before the Games; they had a real shot for a medal, but the money was too good.”

I slide from beneath her to lie on my side facing her and begin running my fingers through her bush, coaxing her legs apart. “Seems like I'll have to keep my owner happy.” Whenever we lie like this Diana's hand goes to my cock and begins stroking. I'm not disappointed this evening. My fingers slide through her wetness as we idly lie there half-heartedly trying to finish our discussion.

“East told you? I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“While you were doing the dishes. I started asking him about how the finances would work. He didn't know how to answer and told me you had taken care of everything.”

“Your name will be on all the papers. You'll be the owner, not me. The right horse is my gift to you.”

“Does that mean I'll have to wank myself?”

“Not on your life.” She looks down to her hands and shakes her head. “I do that unconsciously. I can't keep my hands off your dick if you're naked.”

“You sound sorry; don't be.” I lean towards her with a sharp 'ssssssh' in; she'd started working me into a serious hard-on. “You do it even when I'm clothed, but it's far more satisfying ….” I meant to tell her about …but she's asked me with her hands to love her. We'll have lots of time to talk on the ride home.

I roll onto her and intertwine our fingers with our hands beside her head. Her legs open, and my cock finds its home there. I'm content for the moment to slide between her folds and use my shaft on her clit. Her smile tells me she is as well.

Junior did sink his claws into her breast; I kiss the puncture wound there. “I'm sorry he hurt you.”

“I think he got me lower as well.” I examine the pale pink of her aureole and take it into my mouth feeling it pebble and her nipple harden in my mouth. “Here?”

I move and kiss the top of her shoulder. “Perhaps here as well?”

Diana moves her hips and shakes her hand from mine, taking my cock and placing it at her opening. With a small downward motion, she takes me in with a sigh. With a serene smile, she watches my eyes close and undulates her hips taking me all in. When my eyes open again, she has the same serene smile, and her hand comes to my cheek.

“I feel so small under you. I love the way you cover me; I feel so protected. Like I don't have to fight alone any more.”

I'm humbled. “You aren't alone, Lady,” and I cover her face with light kisses. She slides up, asking for kisses on her neck. I love her long, slender neck and begin kissing it at the hollow of her throat. Her channel contracts down on my head, and I'm lost.

I move deeper into her again and set a slow, steady rhythm until she looks into my eyes again and smiles. I take her smile with my mouth; she welcomes my tongue with hers under mine and lets me feel her teeth on it, lightly biting down rhythmically.

Her hips rise and fall and circle. She breaks our amazing kiss. “The bed's too soft. Help me.” I put my hands under her bum and hold her off the bed. She wraps her legs about my waist and fucks herself on my cock. I sit back on my heels and bring her up with me. She holds my eyes with hers as she grinds onto me. My breathing shortens; I am so close.

Diana leans back in my arms and puts her hand between us guiding me where she needs me to be. Her eyes close, and I feel her fingers on my cock. I slow my penetration to lay her back on the bed. She needs more from me. I pull back so only my head is inside her, take her hand from stroking my shaft, and lightly stroke her clit quickly with my finger. In moments, she stiffens and stops moving on me. I wrap my hands in her hair, and shortly after her, I find my release in her.

EAST
Terry and Diana stroll into the kitchen arm in arm, all smiles, dressed to ride. I slept badly last night.

Renee Beckline, the woman from whom I lease my stable, comes in for her morning coffee with me. Why couldn't she have been here last night? Propriety. I can't afford to marry her so I won't ask; we simply live our life together.

Introductions complete, we take our coffee to the holding barn to meet Buck. He's a big warm-blood cross; he can't be registered anywhere, but for American Sporthorse Registry, and that didn't suit Joanna Gilchrist, his current owner. Instead of selling him to a good home, she stopped riding him, never came to barn any more, but she didn't want to sell him without some persuading; she finally decided she didn't want him sold in the DC area. In truth, she trifled with being a horsewoman because it is the thing to do in this area. He’s too good a horse to leave idle. I began to ride and show him and remembered what Diana had mentioned at the wedding about Terry needing a horse. Once I had a better feel for the horse's suitability, she was the first person I called.

Buck's smart, focused, strong, safe, and honest as the day is long. Junior, the man, walked him out with Junior, the cat, sitting on his hindquarters; if that one thing doesn't convince Diana of Buck's nature, nothing will. Both Juniors know the horse inspection drill, and I leave them to it, walking Renee away from the inspection.

Renee touches my hand. “I missed you last night.”

“And I missed you. Only one more night if they like Buck. If not, come down tonight.”

“They'll like Buck all right. You've done a splendid job with him.”

I see the blur of Diana's blonde hair flipping back to watch Buck trot. It's not a light, airy trot, but it’s easy to sit.

“Time for me to go back to work.”

Terry walks with the Juniors back into the barn; Terry leads Buck correctly, walking at the horse's shoulder, two hands on the line, the extra cotton cord looped over itself and held in his left hand. That's a good sign.

Diana returns from her trailer with a Stübben over her arm, the saddle pad covering it, her gloves tucked in her belt. “Terry seems to have forgotten Buck's a gelding.”

“Was that a tough sell?”

“As soon as I said the word, he went into a defensive posture. You'd think I was talking about castrating him!”

“What made him change his mind?”

“I reminded him my old guy was a gelding. Rabbit doesn't have the overall bulk Buck has, but he does have attitude.” We laughed at the mistaken myths non-horse people have about geldings. “What kind of bit do you have him wearing?”

“I have him in a thick, slow twist snaffle, but he seems to like it. He's still a bit strong.”

Junior, with Terry walking beside him, leads Buck back out, and they head to the lunging round pen. Buck's head is up, and he's calling to his missing friends, but he walks quietly. When he whinnied, Terry looked to Diana; she gave him a single shoulder shrug and a quick head shake, letting him know it was a normal reaction.

When they meet at the round pen, Terry takes the saddle from Diana and slings it over his forearm with practiced ease. Maybe he’s more of a rider than wearing the clothes. They stand away from the pen, and I start Buck with a walk. I flick the long lash at his hindquarters to ask him to use his hindquarters more and step up; he complies. Diana watches intently, talking softly to Terry. Diana frowns when I ask Buck to trot; this is his weakest gait but nothing that can't be improved with some dressage work. He'll be fine for what they want. Diana smiles when Buck canters. It is the classic rocking chair gait. After ten minutes of lunging, Buck is warmed up, and Diana needs to see him under saddle.

We move to the big arena. Sergio has him quickly saddled, and I mount. Diana and Terry sit in the bleachers; the next time I come by them, Diana has her saddle propped in front of her on the pommel, and Terry is missing. When I cross the diagonal in front of them, Buck's extended walk is big and bold; if I were judging his dressage test, I'd give him a six or seven on it. Terry's back with a plastic mounting block; they’ve been on the horse buying circuit and know to bring everything they want with them. We do some lateral work; his crosses aren't great, but his chest is so broad, it's hard for him. I canter him round the arena on a loose rein, and he holds his frame. I thought it might impress Diana, and it does. We pop over some two-foot fences; he goes smoothly and clean. When we finish, he is barely breathing hard.

“He's nice, East. His trot needs some work, but it's fixable. You got him in a little close on the green and white.” Diana's impressed. I'm impressed with her; she doesn't hold anything against Buck that's not his fault.

“Ready to try him?”

“I am.” Junior helps her swap out saddles.

“You may need a wider tree for his regular saddle.” Her skinny tree sits atop Buck's broad back not on it, and her stirrup length looks like a jockey's on him.

Terry answers, “I haven't bought saddles yet; I ride in school ones. This one's Diana's jumping saddle for Jack.”
Buck's back shouldn't get sore from the saddle in her test ride; she'll ride better in her own saddle even though it doesn't fit the horse. If Terry rides him, I'll insist on one that fits Buck since Terry's not used to the feel of a single saddle yet.

Diana puts on her helmet and gloves, rechecks the girth, and drops her stirrups two holes. They're still short enough so she can ride defensively if they get into trouble, but long enough to influence how he moves. Terry hands her the portable mounting block, and she stands at the top, shortening the reins. She puts one foot in the stirrup, takes it out, rechecks the girth, and fiddles with the reins again. Terry comes to her and weights her off stirrup whilst she stands in the left for ten seconds. Buck never moves but to look at her as if she's crazy and nuzzles Terry's shirt pocket for treats.

I shout from the stands, “He ground ties, too!” Diana has given Buck his first test of the day. Horses need to be patient and wait for the rider to mount, no matter how long it takes. She shrugs and laughs.

I see the most amazing thing; Diana flops hard onto Buck's back. She leans forward and talks to Buck; he's still waiting for her to be ready to ride. She lifts both legs off his sides and clomps down to get him to move. She's moving all over the saddle; she leans back over the cantle and forward over the pommel. Her heels are up close to her butt, then her toes are by his shoulder.

What in God's name was I thinking? She talks a good game, but she can't ride a horse. I'm glad Terry’s not sitting with me. I'm not sure I could contain myself. Without an obvious aid, Buck breaks into a trot. She's bouncing hard on his back on the wrong diagonal; when she finally notices it, she changes twice and is still unbalancing Buck. They approach the corner of the arena; they will be lucky if Buck doesn't fall over on his side. She sits two strides, and Buck breaks into his beautiful canter. For Christ's sake, she's leaning over his inside shoulder. Buck must have had enough because he begins to walk, a nice big march, but he broke the canter, something he never does. His neck flexes to the left, and he canters from the walk. That's odd; I've never asked that of him. Christ, she's back to being draped over his mane.

They circle in front of us, a very precise 20-metre circle, and then I notice her head, legs, and arms. They are perfect. Her arms give on each canter stride; she never once in her ride grabbed his mouth. Her legs are rock solid. Her head has always pointed in the direction she wants to go even when she was hanging off his butt.

Terry is laughing at her heartily and shouts at her when she comes into hearing. “I don't ride that badly.”

She smiles and waves at him. A transformation occurs before my eyes. Diana's back lengthens; her shoulders square; and she becomes a picture of how a rider ought to look. Buck settles into a decent trot, then walks. They make a wide circle and stop facing us.

Diana asks me, “How square is he?”

“Pretty square. As square as he usually is.”

She leans over his neck and strokes it, real regret in her voice. “I'm sorry, Big Boy. I needed to see how you'd react to sloppy riding. I promise I'll give your back a good massage when this is all over.” She sits up again and addresses me. “All righty, then. How do you have stadium set up? Show me the course. Oh, and tell me the distances since I can't walk it.”

I point to the fences in order whilst Diana shortens her stirrups one hole. “OK. Let me do a quick dressage test. He needs to learn to respect me again, and I need to get my form back.” If she got that kind of response from sloppy riding, I may ship my prospects to her for some training.

What Diana does with Buck is not a scripted dressage test. She drops her stirrups and crosses them as she walks off. Buck's ears flick back and forth, listening to what her body is telling him to do. She begins a movement, gets a few strides of improvement, and goes on to the next. I do notice she does not sit the trot more than two strides; I don't doubt she is sore the way Thorne was going at her last night. It dawns on me; Diana has worked a horse at posting trot without stirrups.

She rides back over to us. “He needs a drink. Got a bucket around here?” Her tongue is hanging to her knees, and her first thought is for Buck's welfare. Junior brings Buck his drink, and Terry hands Diana a bottle of water. She's standing in her stirrups and off Buck's kidneys. He stretches and pisses. Obviously, Buck is comfortable with his rider. I can only hope he and Terry hit it off as well.

Terry and Junior walk out of the ring together talking amiably. Diana and Buck walk off together. When the hell did I become a bloody spectator at my own barn?

When Diana dismounts, she and Terry unsaddle Buck together, she gives each of them a quick kiss on the cheek, tugs Terry's helmet strap, and leaves with a smile, her saddle on her arm. Terry walks beside Buck for a bit, cooling him down long before he and Junior tack Buck up again. Junior is helping Terry with a saddle that fits Buck better. There’s no better man for the job; he's worked as groom for yonks, long before he came to me. He has a quiet way with horses and people. It's a shame I can't afford to keep him.

I feel a tug on my boots and hear a whispered, “Don't look down.” Diana waits beneath the stands, my legs hiding her. “Is he on yet?”

“No. Terry walked him out for a long time before he let Buck have another drink. They're saddling him now. Why are you down there, and why are we whispering?”

“I've never seen Terry ride before. He's banished me from any of his lessons.”

“Doesn't Alice video lessons?”

“Nope. Even if she did, I'm sure Terry wouldn't want me to see them.”

I venture a glance down. Diana is saddleless; she can deny she's been here. She's shifted slightly; she's watching the saddling as if she's watching her horse in the paddock for the Derby.

“Nice flying change on the course.”

“Thanks. He seemed a little confused about it.”

“He probably was; it's the first one he's ever done.”

“Oopsie poopsie. At least he was pretty balanced.”

We stop talking. Diana stops breathing. Terry mounts and sits on Buck for a tic and then moves off at a nice walk.

“East, may I ask a favor of you?” At least I know she's breathing again.

“Sure, Love.”

“Will you give me your hand?”

“Try not to break my little fingers. I have to work a horse in double bridle when we're done here.”

“I'll try.” Her palms are sweaty, but she gives as Buck takes each step. Analysing Terry's riding style, I can see they’ve come from the same coach. They both ride very correctly but with an amazing amount of feel.

“Terry, go ahead and ask for a trot.” They trot, and Terry smiles. His chin drops once and comes back up. Diana kisses my hand. I believe I have sold a horse.

NOTES

Aids	The means by which a rider communicates with a horse. Weight, legs, arms are 'natural aids' and spurs and whips are 'artificial aids'.
Soft hands	The pressure of a rider's hands when holding the reins should be no more than a warm, friendly handshake. Tension in the rider's arms, hands, back, and shoulders can make the bit very uncomfortable for the horse. The rider's arms should remain supple at all times to flow with the horse's movement or 'give' with the horse.
Pre-purchase vet check	The pre-purchase vet examination is a general health check up for the horse. If a horse will be used for jumping, x-rays will show the how healthy the joints are. Since Buck will be crossing state lines to return to Texas, a signed form showing his inoculations will be required.
Horse evaluation	Horse buying has a formal ritual of its own. The horse is brought from his stall by his regular groom, handled and cleaned up by his regular groom, walked, trotted and jogged by his normal handler before his regular rider mounts and demonstrates the horse under saddle. All those steps are done in front of the prospective buyers. If the buyer is still interested, he or she mounts and rides before the buyer returns the horse to his stall and grooms him. The buyer or seller can stop the process at any time. Only then does the negotiation on price begin.
Thick, slow twist snaffle	Bits, the device that lies in the horses mouth, who has a natural space between two molars called a bar, come in all styles. A snaffle has two pieces, often metal, joined together in the horse's mouth; it is the mildest bit. The thicker the pieces inside the horse's mouth are in circumference, the milder it is. The sizes are called fat or thick, medium, and thin. The pieces inside the horses mouth may be machined in a corkscrew fashion; the tighter the twist, the more severe the bit. The twist provides more incentive for the horse to cooperate with the rider's wishes.
Saddle parts	Pommel - The raised front of a saddle. English saddles do not have a horn. Cantle – The raised back of a saddle. Tree – The foundation of a saddle originally made from wood may now be made from plastic or metal. The tree needs to fit the horse's back well. Stirrup leathers – A buckled leather strip that attaches the device the rider's foot rests in, the stirrup, to the saddle by sliding around a metal bar attached to the tree.
Lateral work	Movements where the horse is asked to move sideways as well as forward. This flexes the horse through his torso.
Holding his frame	The rider should be able to ask a horse to hold his head, neck, and body in a certain position while carrying his rider. When the horse continues to hold that position after the rider has requested it, he is 'holding his frame'.
In close to a jump	The horse and rider arrive at a take off spot in front of an obstacle, and the rider cues the horse to jump. Sometimes the rider misjudges the distance to the obstacle and asks the horse to jump when they are very close to it.
Diagonal	Arena – The line from one corner of an arena to the non-adjacent corner. Trotting – The rider balances the horse by using the rider's body weight. When a horse trots, he has two diagonal feet off the ground with each stride. When posting to the trot, the horse lifts the rider from the saddle with the movement of his hindquarters. When riding in an arena, the rider should be out of the saddle when the inside, front leg is on the ground.
Square halt	When a horse stops, he should be in a straight line, have a leg firmly placed on the ground under each corner of his body. Some horses will swing their hindquarters to the side.
Flying change	When a horse canters, he is supported by a front foot alone during part of the stride; that leg is considered to lead. In arena riding, it is advantageous for the horse's balance for the leading front foot to be on the inside of any corner.
Double bridle	An advanced method of controlling a horse. The horse wears two bits in his mouth; one is severe, and one is less. A set of reins is attached to each bit so the rider has two pieces of leather threaded through her fingers on each hand. It allows the rider to communicate her wishes to the horse in a much subtler fashion.

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