Letter 43 – Salacious Sounding Hooves, Pony Girl Boots, Leather Muzzles, and Pony Walks at Dawn in the Park
I’m writing this letter at 3/18/2012 at 9:42 P.M.
“Every novelist must start with empathy and with a great curiosity about people. In many ways, those qualities are even more important than language – important as language is. Henry was fascinated with people – with the nuts, the clowns, the destitute refuse of life.” –Erica Jong on Henry Miller, The Devil at Large
When I begin each letter, I often daydream of you, still living in Big Sur, getting your large stack of mail, filtering through it, and imagining your eyes light up with surprise and elation when you see an envelope from me. And, I fantasize that you are genuinely excited to read one of my letters.
We had a long day, yesterday. For a majority of this morning and early afternoon, my stepdaughter and I rested, watching a movie on cable, to recharge after performing magic in our very first vaudeville show. The Illusionettes had a great time! I have always wanted to do that. I love the history of vaudeville. The theater was in an edgy, yet historic part of St. Paul. We definitely weren’t on Summit Avenue where Scott Fitzgerald once lived. We were at the Mounds Theater, where people of all walks of life, gathered outside in the run down, older neighborhood. I saw clowns inside the theater and “nuts” outside of it. I observed a sneaky, quiet, prostitution deal occur right outside the theater, a big burly guy puking up green beer in the street, and people dressed head to toe in green attire, hooting, and cheering, laughing and drinking green beer a half a block down from the theater. It was St. Patty’s Day. St. Paul is full of Irish people and they love to celebrate it! Occasionally, someone would pass by and say to those of us sitting on a short, cement wall, just outside the theater, having a cigarette, “Hey, you know… that theater is haunted.” I already knew this from previously performing at this theater, and welcomed the haunting. But, I never witnessed any ghostly evidence to make me believe this theater is haunted.
I arrived to my artist loft, late this afternoon and began painting, soon after I unlocked my door. I’m behind schedule because I took two days off to rehearse and perform magic. But, spending time with family and friends was worth it. It’s very hot and humid today, almost reaching 80 degrees. The loft felt hot and sticky. I’m uncomfortably warm painting in overalls and a white tank top. It seems we have instantly gone from winter to summer. I had to turn the air conditioner on at the loft. I’ve never done that during the month of March in Minnesota, EVER!
“Never think you know it all — I can guarantee that you never will, no matter how far you go, because there’s always someone out there doing something new that you haven’t seen, yet.” –Robert Dante, excerpt from Bullwhip Magic
One of the performers I was in the show with was the great Robert Dante and his lovely assistant Mary Andersen. Robert Dante is well known whip master and whip tease artist. He’s brilliant, talented and amazing. He’s a three time Guinness World Record Holder, for the most whip cracking in a 60 seconds. He’s also the author of “Let’s Get Cracking” and “Whiporama.” He’s been featured in Playboy, HBO’s Real Sex, and performs at many shows, conventions, conferences, and gives lessons and teaches seminars worldwide. I have always admired his agility, skill and amazing talent. Seeing him again, at this Vaudeville show, makes me recall one of the first times I saw him perform in person. It was almost a decade ago, and there was a large, fetish event hosted at a convention center attached to the Mermaid Bar and Bowling Alley in Mounds View, Minnesota. I had agreed to perform as a submissive. I was excited because I knew that Robert Dante would be performing at this event as well. He had recently come into the nightclub when MJ and I were being really naughty on the stage together. In between MJ’s excited squeals, when she observed Robert Dante enter the nightclub, she whispered to me about this legendary man’s talent with a whip and his world wide reputation. In my mind, until I befriended Robert, many months after this fetish event, I thought that he was a big time, legendary man, and his presence was a bit intimidating to me, because of his well known reputation and talent. For months, I stumbled upon my words whenever I tried to converse with him, because I was so nervous. After many years of performing with Robert Dante in burlesque shows, I’m not as intimidated as I initially was. He’s a very nice, humble man. I love to work with him and his assistants. I’ve truly enjoyed getting to know him over the years.
The above portrait is done by me, based on my favorite pony boy, Charger.
On this evening, the night of the fetish event, I was to play the part of a pony girl in a pony girl performance with other pony girls, pony boys and pony trainers. I absolutely love being a pony girl! I have no clue as to why or when this fetish of mine became active. It’s something that I find great pleasure playing the role of. Maybe it’s the Anne Rice Beauty Trilogy that initially spun my curiosity and passion to be a pony girl. Maybe it’s because I wanted a pony when I was a little girl. Maybe it is just because I’m freaky, theatrical, and kinky. Maybe there is no one particular reason and I just like being a pony girl.
Early in the afternoon, I observed many of us standing or sitting on hotel beds inside an important member of our Twin Cities Fetish scene’s hotel room. She is a powerful woman who happens to be a very infamous Dominatrix from Minneapolis, who I will name Mistress Intensity, because I’ve heard rumors that she can be very harsh and extreme during private BDSM scenes. There were so many kinds of people in her hotel room, getting dressed and ready for this fetish event which would be starting in a few hours. Some were male and female slaves, some were cross dressers, some were pony girls and boys and some were very beautiful, profound Mistress’ in the Minneapolis and surrounding areas. I knew several of the other pony girls, from pony rehearsals at MJ’s beautiful home a few days prior. They were fun to work with and really cute. I have a huge crush on one of them.
“Within the ring, maybe half a dozen girls, bridled up and tailed like me, were going through various paces, supervised by a few guys in jeans with riding crops in their hands.” –Molly Weatherfield, Carrie’s Story
“Ponies, can I have your attention,” Mistress Intensity silenced the chatter in her hotel room, calling to the people performing as ponies in this evening’s show. “Here are your pony boots,” she said, holding them up high with one hand,” They’ve just been delivered from L.A….They are on loan, so please be very kind to them. I want them returned to me, after your performance, looking just as good as you got them.”
My eyes immediately sparked with joy, and then sparkled with thrill and curiosity. I rushed with enthusiasm, eagerly retrieving a pair of boots, and put them on. After I finished lacing the knee high, black leather boots, I stood up, teetering upon in a pair of strange but wonderful fetish, foot apparel. It took me a few moments to become accustomed to walking in this pair of new kinky foot wear that possessed real metal hooves and did not have a heel, heading towards the bathroom. I could hardly wait to hear how the metal hooves would sound upon the porcelain tiled floor.
“Mia,” I heard MJ say with a stern, motherly tone, “Where are you going?”
“To the bathroom, Mistress,” I replied, quietly, my face burning with embarrassment that she was paying attention to what I was doing. “I really want to hear what these hooves sound like.” I gave her a pleading look, hoping that she was too busy with other things to get ready for the event, to object.
MJ knows that I take great pleasure in being a pony girl, and knew that I was as excited like a little kid on Christmas, so she indulged me, permitting me to walk upon the porcelain tiles. It was music to my ears! The hooves click clacked like keys on a piano, making the most delicious sounds to my ears. I loved it!
“Mia,” I heard MJ speak sternly to me, from outside the bathroom, near a hotel bed. She was now helping another slave get dressed into a tight, rubber outfit. “I don’t want you to tap those hooves too hard, you might break the tile.”
“Yes, Mistress, “I replied, quickly toning down my over zealousness, walking as softly as I could out of the bathroom, and took a seat in a hotel chair, grinning to myself, satisfied to have just walked with hooves on a porcelain tiled floor. Just hearing such delicate, delicious sounds, made me to feel like a little girl in a new pair of tap shoes. I knew that I would not be able to maintain my excitement if I remained in the bathroom much longer, taking the chance on breaking a tile and getting my ass smacked hard by MJ’s paddle or whip. Or, worse yet, I’d be zapped by one of MJ’s wicked, electrical devices, which is designed to inflict major pain – the kind of agony that makes me go pale in the face.
I did the best I could to remain still and quiet, observing all the buzzing activity in the crowded hotel room. There was a very pretty slave girl, sitting among several other slave girls and boys, quietly upon the hotel bed, topless, wearing only a small pair of black panties. Her breasts were small, pretty, and perky. I thought that she had beautiful peachy – brown nipples. My excitement dampened the silky crotch of my panties. I was feeling extremely turned on, when I observed Mistress Intensity often approach this pretty slave girl, and play with her breasts, softly stroking the soft, supple skin around her nipples, and then taking her luscious nipples in between her long fingers, twisting, pinching, pulling, and stretching them. I fantasized about sitting very closely, next to that very pretty slave girl; our naked torso’s touching each other, as Mistress Intensity played with the two of us, tormenting our nipples, together.
“Whoa,” he yelled, “Whoa, Stephanie.” And she dug in her heels and stopped, almost on a dime, I thought, pulling up so close to us that I could see that her eyes were a violet blue.” –Molly Weatherfield, Carrie’s Story
It’s getting late Henry. I must stop this letter for now. Good night.
I’m resuming this letter on 3/19/2012 at 11:10 a.m.
“Women, like men, come in all flavors – gay, straight and indifferent. Women, to be free, must embrace diversity, not conformity.” –Erica Jong, The Devil at Large
Hi Henry! I’ve been painting most of the morning, and rehearsing a new burlesque act. I’ve been awake since 6 a.m. I plan on working until later this evening. Mr. B is coming over tonight. His wife is in NYC. We have two nights together. I’m looking forward to being fucked like a needy, greedy, dirty slut. I’m feeling very submissive today, and I’m looking forward to releasing all of my cares and worries and just letting go, experiencing complete surrender.
I apologize for not having much time to write to you today. I must end this letter for now, and return to my painting. I have many more hours ahead of me. I’m so grateful for audio books! I finished the Stieg Larsson Trilogy on Sunday night. I truly miss the daring, dangerous, edgy character, Lisabeth Salandar. I’m currently listening to another Detective Eve Dallas audio book, Fantasy in Death. I feel as if the characters in this series of books are much like family to me, because I listen to J.D. Robb’s audio books repetitively, for long hours while I’m painting. When my mind slips away, deep into this Sci-fi world, it helps dilute the agony of standing for long periods of time. The intriguing story line makes me forget about the ache in my wrists, the fatigue in my legs, the pain in my feet, and the cramps in my fingers. It is my dream to someday paint all of the characters in the J.D. Robb’s, In Death, series. On some days, I don’t think I could get through the difficulties and obstacles of life without the inspiration and courage of Lieutenant Eve Dallas, her husband Roarke, and all of her amazing friends who she has bonded with along the way. I love Peabody, Eve’s sidekick the most. She funny and totally magalicious! Mavis, Lieutenant Eve Dallas’ best friend and famous rock star, is vivacious, edgy and iced. She would be fun to create on canvas with acrylic paints. And I would have so much fun illustrating Peabody’s boyfriend, the E.D. geek, Mc Nab dressed in vivid colors.
I will write to tell you more about the pony girl story, tomorrow morning, before I start painting. Mr. B will arrive shortly. Good night Henry.
I’m resuming this letter on 3/20/2012 at 7:05 a.m.
Good morning Henry! Wow, we got a lot of rain last night. We normally see a heavy snowfall at this time of year. Mr. B fucked me so hard last night! It felt so Goddamn good! I love sex! I love sex! I love sex! I had so many orgasms that I fell asleep instantly. My mind, body and soul in complete synch again, after a good fucking. I was peaceful and content – all was good in my world. There was not a worry that pestered me before I drifted off into a dark, black void – a dreamscape without vivid pictures and a weird, delusional storyline. I woke up moments before Mr. B did, around six this morning. I had to shuffle through my thick sea of foggy thoughts, to figure out which husband I was sleeping next to, before I recalled the major fucking I did with Mr. B prior to passing out from orgasmic exhaustion last night. It was still dark outside, huge rain drops stuck to my large, bedroom window, causing the dim and gloomy, outdoor scenes and images to become blurry to my eyes. I desperately wanted to go back to sleep, but I knew that I had too much to do today, and forced myself to wake up. It was agony as I crawled out of bed shortly after Mr. B kissed me goodbye, determined to make some major progress on my paintings today.
I’m currently working on part of the mural project, painting with acrylics on canvas, two, very endearing people, who are local celebrities. It seems to be taking forever to get the blonde strands of hair just right for the female celebrity. I have been working on this portrait for many months. I love this couple. They have spunk, spirit, Minnesota charm and down to earth charisma. I hope that I can make them proud with this portrait. They are inspiring to me and important acquaintances in my life. My world lights up whenever I get to see them at the offices where a majority of the mural project resides. I haven’t been there to paint for many weeks. I hope to return soon.
Back to the pony story…
“Frank,” he now yelled, to one of the guys in the ring, “take this new one, name’s Carrie, down to the stable. Put her next to Cathy, feed her, and give her a nap. We’ll start training this afternoon.” –Molly Weatherfield, Carrie’s Story
It was almost show time. MJ covered a majority of my face with a large, reddish-brown, leather muzzle. It even had blinders. At first I didn’t really care for it. I felt claustrophobic and hidden, as if I was wearing a tight fitting Halloween mask. I didn’t like my sight being restricted. I moved my head like an agitated horse, attempting to find my comfort zone in it. My breath felt hot and moist inside the leather muzzle, from my anxiety and my quickened, breath rate. One positive to this muzzle is that I didn’t have an uncomfortable bit to wear between my teeth, and soon I learned that I could make some really kick ass horsey sounds. I would have felt weird about doing it, if my face wasn’t almost fully covered by the confining muzzle. This way, I knew that no one could see how silly I might have looked when I vibrated both my lips together, exhaling out puffs of breath, to sound like a frisky, naughty pony.
I was enthralled in my role, walking in line near the evening’s convention center’s stage. MJ and another pony trainer were instructing us softly, reminding us of our cues and our tricks, as we waited to go on stage to perform. I attempted to pay attention, but the other pretty pony girls, swaying their hips sexily as they trotted nearby me, the mesmerizing sounds of my click clacking hooves, and my ability to make cool pony sounds distracted me, until I felt MJ’s stern stare burn deep into my skin. Immediately, I stopped fidgeting and paid attention. I was determined to make MJ and the other pony trainer proud.
I loved playing on stage with the other pony girls and boys. We performed simple circus tricks and pranced in graceful circles, and I neighed loudly beneath my muzzle, as we all click clacked our hooves on the stage, careful not to tip over in our awkward, pony boots. I was in pony girl subspace. It appeared as if the other pony girls or boys were as well. Everyone looked very cute in colorful, frilly, feathery, show, pony girl costumes, or, virile and majestic in their pony boy gear. Since this was a public event, the pony girls did not have a tail inserted into “uncomfortable” places. I was extremely grateful for that. After we finished performing, we were barraged with the grateful sounds of a loud applause. The large crowd appeared to enjoy our performance. I was pleased. I was high. I love to perform on stage.
I was asked by Mistress Intensity to perform as her submissive on that night, a few weeks prior to this evening’s event. MJ had been traveling, busy with posing for fetish magazines and shooting fetish flicks. I didn’t know how to reach her to find out if this was okay. I did not know if Mistress Intensity had cleared this with MJ first. I’m unsure if Mistress Intensity had the need to. I’m unsure how the hierarchy works in this fetish scene. Because I did not clearly understand all of the rules in this unfamiliar circle, and I was a free spirit who enjoyed experiencing life, I told Mistress Intensity, yes. To submit to her frightened me, because of the rumors I had heard of her being severe with her punishment. Yet, it is something that dared me, it tempted my soul and tugged hard at my kinky curiosity.
This big fetish event occurred on a Saturday evening. At this time in my life, I always performed and danced at the nightclub on Saturday evenings. I had taken the evening off from Go-Go Dancing, to accommodate Mistress Intensity’s request to be her performance submissive, later in the evening in a private dungeon area in the hotel. The unfolding events of the evening became a bit confusing for me after I finished performing as a pony girl and other talent, such as Robert Dante and his lovely assistant, performed on stage.
“Miss Mia,” MJ said to me, “Go now, the club needs you. You need to go and dance. Have fun. Thank you for performing.” And then she motioned me off, blowing me a quick kiss in the air. So, I went, confused. “Wasn’t I supposed to submit to Mistress Intensity?” I thought to myself, “What am I suppose to tell this important Mistress? Do I just leave?” I did not want to displease MJ, she was my Mistress, so, naturally and submissively, I did as she asked. Maybe she didn’t like the fact that both of us were gone from the nightclub on the same night. She was very responsible about making sure the club was taken care of. Maybe she didn’t want me to submit to Mistress Intensity. Was Mistress Intensity going to think I was a flake because I did as MJ asked? Should I waste my time worrying about it? No, I had no time to worry about things like that, as I zipped from this fetish event in the suburbs to the nightclub in the cities. I had a crowd of people to dance for. I was looking forward to drifting deep in the zone, and falling in love with dancing, my body hypnotically moving to the passionate music. I was still high from the pony girl performance, which fueled my energy to dance even harder on that night. But, I still was curious as to what it would have been like to submit myself in front of many observing eyes, to Mistress Intensity, if I would have stayed at the fetish event.
The next time I had the opportunity to be a pony girl it was at sunrise on a warm summer day, many years ago, soon after our fetish event. Mistress Intensity wanted to experience a sunrise, pony walk at the Minneapolis Greenway, a park with beautiful bike and running trails that resides below parts of Uptown – a busy place in Minneapolis, where busy professionals, writers and artists like to be. This part of the city has the hippest stores and trendy restaurants, reminding me a bit of a very miniature sized piece of New York City. Until now, I didn’t know that this park, a place of respite and recharge existed, below the trendy businesses of Uptown. It’s hidden to the eyes of travelers who pass through Uptown in cars, because it exists below street level. It’s one of Minneapolis’ best kept secrets.
I must start painting. I have a deadline on March 29. I have to remain on task or I won’t make the deadline. I will try and write soon.
I’m resuming this letter on 3/21/2012 at 7:30 a.m.
Good Morning Henry. Every inch of me aches from painting and standing for long hours yesterday. I’m attempting to find my energy for the day and begin to paint soon. I still have much to complete before my upcoming deadline. But, I’m making progress and the portraits are looking great! I’m really happy about this new series, which is based on music. I have the opportunity to exhibit it at a very nice art center in the suburbs. A reputable art magazine is hosting the art show. I want to make sure that I exhibit impressive work.
Back to the ponies in the park…
I had to arrive at Greenway Park on a Saturday morning at 4:30 a.m. The walk would start at 5 a.m. This means that I had to wake up at 3 a.m. just to take myself ready – shower, put on make-up, decide on costumes, find my black, patent leather fetish boots, short petticoats, nylons, etc. I also wanted to style my hair in decorative ribbons, artistically intertwined with my braids, which took up a majority of my time. I was grateful that Mr. C didn’t mind accompanying me to this event, so early in the morning.
I love the hours between 3 a.m. and 6 a.m. when the new day is starting, and the sun eloquently inches its way upward upon the fresh horizon. The smell of the early summer air revived me as Mr. C and I arrived to Greenway Park, with a large, cup of coffee with steamed milk from Caribou Coffee in my hand. I must have appeared out of place so early in the morning, in the city, as we walked quickly across a quiet intersection in Uptown, to get to the park, carefully walking down many steps in high heels. The ends of my red ribbons tied to the ends of my two, long braids, fluttered in the light, summer wind. My legs wobbled and my body teetered upon very high heeled, fetish boots once we hit the paved trails. Mr. C held out his arm, for me to grab onto with my hand, to balance myself.
I inhaled short, quick breaths of air – little, shallow breaths as we walked fast to our meeting destination, where the other ponies, Dominatrix’, Dom’s, and pony handlers, would be, because of my black corset, which squeezed extremely tight upon my diaphragm. Mr. C made sure my corset was tied very tight before we left home. A fresh morning breeze snuck its way under my many layers of black and red petticoats, tickling my ass cheeks, which were covered by tiny, red, frilly butt panties and black, fishnet stockings, which possessed a few holes in them. My mind was anxious to begin, my thoughts zipping with caffeine, wondering who would be my pony handler. I did my best to focus on my breath and calm myself. Mr. C had many important phone calls to make for work on this morning, and could not participate. He has to talk a private investigator through a case. Just because it’s Saturday, doesn’t mean his work week stops.
We were a very colorful bunch of eclectic people, gathering at Greenway Park, huddled together, getting acquainted with new faces or greeting familiar friends and known acquaintances, some of us sipping steaming, aromatic coffee or hot tea. The sun continued to slowly creep upward upon the skyline, bright streaming rays of light shining warmly down upon us. It was a perfect, beautiful morning. Big, fat, furry squirrels raced quickly past us, chattering loudly, small birds fluttered above us, landing on sturdy branches in large trees, chirping peacefully as I admired the fetish glamour so early in the morning. Mistress Intensity looked very alluring and domineering in highly attractive, red and black Fetish attire. MJ appeared so gorgeous wearing a beautiful new rubber outfit, which she had just received from a European designer. Male slaves were spraying gloss on her outfit and obediently slicking her down with small white rags and their hands, when I arrived. She appeared so regal and stoic. My heart beat fast with the love I have for my Mistress. I adore her like a faithful submissive. She somehow casts a hypnotizing spell over me which cannot be broken, at least, not at this time in my life.
When she was done, she asked me to come to her. I did so, standing still before her, not capable of looking into her beautiful blue eyes, when she placed a black leather pony girl harness around my head and thin leather bit in my mouth. My eyes glinted with delight in the morning sunlight when I saw a red feather which was mounted on top of the harness, and matched my red ribbons and petticoats. My spirit was being lulled into a land of make believe as I surrendered myself to become a pony girl, in a highly public place.
“You would think it would be a piece of cake, and I actually thought I was doing very well, but damned if Frank’s riding crop didn’t keep falling on my calves, or my ass or shoulders, almost every time I passed him. “Head up!” He’d shout. “Tits out! Knees higher!” –Molly Weatherfield, Carrie’s Story
Because we were in a highly public place in Minneapolis, my walk in the park as a pretty pony girl isn’t as kinky or as extreme as Molly Weatherfield describes in her book, Carrie’s Story. I do actually fantasize about feeling a real experience of being an actual pony girl in a more strict setting, when the timing is right in my life. But, for now, this walk in the park is the closest thing that I have to a true pony girl experience in the real world, where freaks like us genuinely do not belong.
I stared, standing by myself, observing the peculiar, fascinating scene of all the handsome pony boys and pretty pony girls, primping and preparing for their walk in the park. A majority of the pony boys were being harnessed and attached to a beautiful cart. The other pony girls were with their Masters and well known pony handlers. I still didn’t have a pony handler assigned to me as of yet. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mr. C dealing with a work issue, talking on his cell phone, a long distance away, standing near some tall trees and a park bench. He looked so handsome, placing me in a lovesick trance.
“Mia,” I heard MJ speak, interrupting my gazing at frills, feathers, leather, hooves and my lovesick trance, which had me admiring my handsome husband, “This is Mistress Sugar. She will be your handler today. Make me proud. Do not embarrass me, understand?”
“Yes, Mistress,” I said, giving her a look, which said that I would do as she asked.
I immediately lowered my eyes, when Mistress Sugar took the leather reigns which were attached to my harness and she began to lead me to a very green, lush area where I was several feet away from the group, and out of the way of runners and pedestrians who I glanced at quickly from the top of my eyes, as they stared awkwardly at as, almost breaking their stride. This Mistress was very beautiful. I stole glances at her from time to time, admiring her kind, beautiful eyes, and the sensuality which she strongly projected.
“You sure are a pretty pony,” she quietly complimented me, stroking the side of my face with the back of her firm, yet soft hand, after finishing the last buckle on a long leather restraint, which was used to constrain my arms and hands tightly behind my back. I was immediately calmed by her nurturing touch and the soft whisper of her praising words. I felt wobbly and unbalanced at first, when I no longer had the use of my arms. It took me a few moments to find my equilibrium. My muscles softened and my face felt hot and flushed, blushing from her compliment. I was falling into a world of surrender and imagination, minute by minute, blocking out of my mind that we were in a high profile place in the city, grateful that a majority of Minneapolis was still sleeping.
As I stood, quietly, occasionally stamping my feet lightly like a horse would, because I felt nervous and fidgety, waiting for Mistress Sugar’s command to trot, I continued to observe a majority of the pony boys being fastened to the decorative cart, which they would soon be pulling Mistress Intensity and MJ in. I was to be walked and trained, in the warm, early sunshine, by the beautiful handler who held my leather reign, proudly.
“One was jumping hurdles. A few others were practicing various gaits, walking, trotting, and a kind of slow run – a canter? Two were harnessed together, trotting in what looked to me like perfect precision. Another one was goose-stepping. Yet another was marching, her knees very high.” –Molly Weatherfield, Carrie’s Story
“Trot for me, pretty girl.” Mistress Sugar finally ordered, tugging on my reign, directing me back upon the path normally used for joggers and bicyclists. Immediately my body responded, I balanced eloquently in high heels with my arms bound behind my back. My spine elegantly curving into an S – shape, my breasts are up and my chest is out, my shoulders are poised back, and my head and chin are up. I begin my trot, with my knees eloquently raising high to my waist level, with each stride. I was disappointed that I couldn’t hear the sweet sounding click-clacking of hooves on pavement. My shiny, black, patent leather fetish boots don’t make such sounds.
“Faster,” Mistress Sugar commands, “legs higher.” I graciously comply, and submit to Mistress Sugar’s demands, my knees rising higher as we trot further down a beautiful park trail. Pants of hot breath puff out of my mouth from my exertion, drool is dripping down the sides of my chin, caused by the leather bit in my mouth and my inability to fully close it. I was vulnerable, unable to wipe the drool from my chin myself, due to my arms being restrained in a tight leather restraint behind my back. It was a helpless sensation which frustrated me. Somehow I find my calm center, which resides deep within, and continued on, following Mistress Sugar’s demands.
“Faster,” again she ordered. I craved to feel a whip on my ass, pushing me faster. But that wasn’t going to happen in a public place. So, I surrendered all that I had in me, and fell into a quick, yet, graceful groove. We went on our walk for what seemed forever. My eyes taking in the beautiful green scenery. My legs were aching, my muscles were tight, my mind was lost deep inside my pony girl head space. I loved this serene sensation. My eyes glinted with happiness, knowing that this might be the closest pony girl experience I will ever get to acknowledge in my life. It just might be the closest event that makes me feel as if I had just escaped deeply into the erotic pages of Anne Rice’s Beauty Trilogy series.
“Whoa,” I heard Mistress Sugar call out, pulling on my reigns, signaling for me to stop.
“Good girl.” Mistress Sugar complimented me, stroking the sweaty skin upon my back and lightly massaging my upper shoulders. My legs continued to march in tiny steps in one place, to keep my legs from cramping. My lips softly vibrating, exhaling soft pony sounds. I felt a rush of warmth deep within my gut and impassioned fire between my thighs. I fell deeper into the realms of submission.
Soon, Mistress Sugar was making a loud clicking sound with her tongue, snapped my reigns, signaling for me to continue onward with our morning exercise. I raised my head higher with each stride, taking pride in her recent praise, trotting with my knees high, my muscles firm yet, nimble, and my body eloquently poised. I wanted to trot like a thoroughbred.
For the passing individuals who are clueless to the fetish world, or live safely inside a vanilla box, it must have been an awkward sight to see pony girls and boys guiding carts, or being trained by their handlers on the trails beneath Uptown. There was the light sound of early morning traffic, and the sight of a few dedicated runners and bicyclists who were attempting to catch that last bit of solitude, as the night was ending and a new day was beginning. I blocked out my thoughts of how others might perceive me. I had to. Otherwise, I would never have been so daring to be a pony girl in a public park. I never could have found my eloquent groove and balance, if I did not ignore how I am perceived by others who are unfamiliar with my lifestyle.
My eyes squinted, attempting to protect them from the rising, vivid sun. The blinding gleams made me wish that I had sunglasses on or blinders around my eyes. I was snapped out of my wishful thoughts when I felt a tug on my reign, “Slow down,” Mistress Sugar commanded. Immediately by body responded, grateful to slow my pace and to catch my breath. The work out felt great! My endorphins were charging and rushing quickly in my blood stream. I was still panting puffs of hot air between the leather bit, which was still wedged between my teeth, drool still dripping down my chin, swirls of warm wind drying it off – evaporating my spit.
My mind continued to float deep inside my pony-girl head space. My lips vibrated as I puffed out hot breath, sounding like a horse, like I did for my performance at the fetish event, grateful that I could still do it with a small leather bit in my mouth. My feet were trotting more slowly, every once in awhile I would stamp one of my legs to shake the muscle cramps out of it, emulating the actions of a horse. I followed Mistress Sugar as if I was caught deep in a trance. I was aware of my surroundings, but totally lost in a world of fantasy. Soon, we gathered near the group of other ponies at our designated meeting place. Other pony handlers were stroking their ponies, wiping the sweat off them with dry towels, massaging their leg muscles, feeding them an apple, carrots, or granola, giving them water to drink, or praising them for their good work on the trails.
“Wait here,” Mistress Sugar commanded softly, yet firmly. She left me to get me some water and hopefully a treat. I felt hungry and very thirsty. My tongue and lips were parched. I continued to stomp my feet like a pony, from time to time, to shake the continuing muscle cramps out of my legs. Sometimes I would extend one leg out in front of me and stretch my tight muscles in my thighs and calves, attempting to loosen them. Runners, pedestrians and bicyclists continued to pass by, some of them staring at me with curiosity or shock in their eyes. Suddenly, I felt very naughty. I wet my lips, using that last bit of saliva in my mouth, before I puffed out a breath, vibrating my lips together, making a loud horsey sound, just as the next runner who stared awkwardly at me passed me by. I could not help myself. I pranced like a pretty pony into this individual’s personal space, and made the horsey sound again, rubbing the tip of my soft, red feather on top of my head harness, upon his arm as he passed by. This made him run faster and quickly away from me. I could not contain my amusement. A deep, silent laugh burst in the pits of my belly. Immediately, I felt remorseful, hoping that Mistress Sugar, MJ, or Mistress Intensity didn’t see this. Or, my ass might have been whipped in private.
I felt relieved when I saw Mistress Sugar approach me with a cool bottle of water and a long straw, and witnessed Mistress Intensity and MJ still being pulled by pony boys on a path in the far distance. My arms were still bound tightly behind my back. I don’t think any of them observed how naughty I was. Although, it was difficult for me to contain my mischievous grin, and silent belly laugh, as Mistress Sugar approached. She said nothing about my naughty behavior. My body quickly relaxed, hearing Mistress Sugar’s soothing voice. “I brought some treats, pretty girl. You are such a good pony.” Her cooing praise melted me, turning every inch of me into Mia mush. I knew then, she didn’t see me be naughty to that frightened jogger, moments ago.
I found it very nurturing to be so vulnerable and permit others to take care of me, in a fashion that may seem weird to others. I was being gently attended to by an unfamiliar, beautiful woman. She stroked my soft skin as I drank the cold, refreshing bottled water she offered through a long, white straw. She spoke praise to me as she took off my bit, and fed me several pieces of an apple afterwards. How often do we ever get to feel this kind of connection with someone you don’t even know? This is one of the reasons I like to live my life outside of the safe, vanilla box. I never know who I will meet, and what our encounter might do to enrich my soul, expand my knowledge and push my personal boundaries in life.
“Sir Harold, I could see, was surprised at how well I was doing. He hadn’t expected me to be able to get beyond my intellect as well as I had. What he didn’t understand was that at that moment the weirdness of my situation had simply undone me. I would have been happy to forget my surroundings, knit my brown, and meditate on what in the world was happening to me, so I let it go, half believing that I’d never lived anywhere but in a stable.” –Molly Weatherfield, Carrie’s Story
When I am playing the role of a submissive…when I relinquish myself to each minute of each day…I’m experiencing life, I’m welcoming the unknown, and I’m embarking upon erotic adventures – unconventional journeys in life I might not have traveled, because my mind would have been full of nervous chatter and thoughts of doubt, fear and worry, instead of trust. In the past, I wouldn’t have been able to hear my inner voice. I would have been too frightened to experience the unknown.
I am hoping that I will get the chance to experience pony play on a much deeper, private level, someday in my life. Maybe I’ll get to visit a pony training facility in San Francisco for a few days. A kinky girl like me, who is thirsty for life experience, can only hope. The fetish world to me is like being a kid again and getting the opportunity to play as an adult. My life would seem dull and unfulfilled without adventures like this, without the ability to play in a world full of kinky imagination.
I must end this letter Henry. I have a long day of painting a head of me. I’m still at the loft. I generally enjoy my solitude. But, I miss home and my family. I must remain strong and dedicated, until I get these portraits finished.
“Fling yourself in the flow. Don’t be afraid. The whole logic of the universe is contained in daring.” –Henry Miller, excerpt from Erica Jong’s book on Henry Miller, The Devil at Large