As we drove up the long driveway to the stable, I could feel my girl squirming eagerly in the back seat, craning her head, looking for her cart. Today she would be Apple, a work pony, and she could hardly wait.

 

My boy was driving carefully, as he always does when I am in the car. He was less obviously excited than she was, but I could still see the bulge in his pants. He knew I had worn the pantyhose that he loves, and that soon he would be spending part of the afternoon with my luscious bottom and nylon-clad legs riding on his shoulders.

 

As my boy got out to open my door, I could see his thinking persona deserting him. I knew that opening my door would be the last human thing he would be expected to do for hours, that he was shedding his personal responsibilities and letting his equine self take over.

 

Just before he opened the door, I pulled out of my leather satchel a small plastic bag, filled with pieces of apples and carrots, and two bridles.

 

He handed me out and then stood mutely in front of me, shifting his weight from foot to foot. I watched him intently as he finally blew his breath out between his lips and tossed his head back, shaking his hair from his face.

 

I smiled then; I knew that my stallion had arrived.

 

I pulled a piece of carrot out of the bag and placed it on my flattened hand. He lipped it up into his mouth and crunched its sweetness. I stroked his hair back from his face, rubbed the bridge of his nose with the backs of my fingers. “Good boy. Good Racer, good boy.” 

 

I took the larger of the two bridles and slipped the harness over his head and the bit into his mouth. He champed the bit into place as I adjusted the straps of the crown piece, smoothing the leather over and around his head, making sure the fit was secure but comfortable. I handed Racer’s reins to the groom, who had come running at the sound of the car. 

 

Through the glass, I could see my girl looking at me beseechingly from the backseat. I opened the door and leaned in to put her harness on. She had a tendency toward high spirits, and I wanted the lead on her before she got out of the car.

 

I slipped the leather straps of the bridle over her head, easing the bit into her mouth. My boy had braided her hair earlier, so it was easy to fit the bridle on her dainty head. She came willingly as I guided her out of the car. I stroked her nose. “What a sweet girl, Apple.” She nuzzled me and then tossed her head playfully.

 

I took Racer’s reins from the groom and walked them both through the great doors into the stable.