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I was filling out my horse-imprinted check and I couldn’t remember if Steve charged 65 or 75 dollars. “It’s seventy-five, right?” I called out casually, not wanting to look cheap.
“Well, actually,” he said, “Eighty-five this year. I’m cutting back a little.”
Okay, I thought, and really, I understood. Steve was probably fifty years old; horse shoeing could take a lot out of your back.
I’ve accepted that Laney is my money pit. It’s a matter of priorities. As a kid, my parents never let me have a horse, and I vowed it would be my first purchase in “the real world.” Laney is my buckskin baby, an American Quarter Horse who I trained and is now my primary source of relaxation.
Still, eighty-five bucks is a lot for cold shoeing, so two months later, when Laney’s toes were looking long again, I asked my friend Christina about her farrier. Money is never a concern of Christina’s (her parents subsidize her three show horses) but she was always raving about her guy and how she’d never trust anyone else. I got his number and made an appointment for Wednesday afternoon.
I was brushing beautiful Laney when a dirty old Ford drove up. As he got out, I noted a typical cowboy: black hat, plaid Western shirt, dark blue Wranglers.
As I live in Colorado, this is not an unusual sight. Hell, during the summer, when I work as a trail guide, even I dress the part. I’m in thousands of tourists’ photo albums, the token cowgirl, when really I wouldn’t know a Hereford from an Angus if one came up and bit me.
“Rebecca?” he asked warmly, extending his hand. “I’m Kurt Peterson.”
Oh, my god! I caught my breath and smiled. His hand was large and soft. He held mine for just the right amount of time and let it go with a tiny squeeze. Why didn’t Christina tell me he was hot?!
I pushed a stray piece of hair behind my ear, and wished I had grabbed something nicer than the ratty college sweatshirt I was wearing.
Kurt was tall, well over six foot. He had dark eyes, Tom Cruise brows, and a long oval face that was perfectly tanned even though we were just beginning April.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said genuinely and my heart flopped.
“Hi” was all I could reply, “This is Laney.” I hid behind my horse, feeling a tingling blush spread across my face.
He extended that sensuous hand to my mare’s neck, “Nice looking horse” he commented after scanning her quickly.
“Thanks,” I smiled, a proud horse mama, “She’s my pride and joy.”
“You want to bring her over here?” he turned away, “I’ve got to unload some stuff.”
Oh yum, I swallowed, a dry empty taste in my mouth as I watched his perfect ass, accentuated by the not too tight, not too loose jeans.
I’ve dated cowboys before, but never seriously. I spend a lot more time watching them fawn over Christina in the country clubs; she’s got the pocket-less jeans and the lacey camisole tops.
How dare she fail to mention that Kurt was a hunk? No wonder she’d been so complimentary of his skills. I strained to see if he was wearing a wedding ring.
He opened the truck’s tailgate and started organizing tools. I just watched him work, tingly giddy feelings drifting up between my legs and swirling around in my chest.
“So, are you new around here?” He asked hanging up his hat in the truck’s cab.
Hmmm, salt and pepper hair, real short, almost shaved in the back. I wanted to touch it. He turned, and caught me looking.
“Oh no,” I said quickly, “As a kid I came camping with my parents. I fell in love with a trail ride horse in Rocky Mountain and decided it was the ideal summer job.”
His eye contact was breathtaking. Some times I ramble when I’m nervous, but he seemed to actually be listening to me.
“So, you’re in school?” he asked as he picked up the leather apron.
“Actually now, I teach.” I wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that he thought I was young. “It’s my fourth year at Bennett Elementary.”
“How’s that?” he asked, and I chattered on.
Good horse shoers are like a good hair stylists: they get you going about yourself so they don’t have to talk while they work. This is also part of my job as a trail guide, so I appreciate when people have the talent, but I also knew it was possible that he wasn’t really interested.
I tried to keep my eyes up as he bucked the leather apron around his legs. I couldn’t help but notice that his jeans were filled out just as nicely in front as behind. Again, perfect fit: a little definition (nice size) yet nothing looked squished. And YES!: no ring.
Strange, I thought. He looked like a settled man, definitely a good catch. He must have a girlfriend. I resolved to ask Christina as soon as possible.
“Is business good out here?” I asked trying to get the conversation back to him.
“I get by,” he said and smiled at me before bending down to pick up Laney’s left hind hoof.
Holy shit, my heart was in my throat. Air . . . air . . . I felt like a fish out of water with the delicious realization pendik escort that I could stand there and watch his backside without being inappropriate at all. Be good baby, I silently willed Laney and scratched her on the neck. She stood like an angel and let me ogle to my heart’s content.
Kurt’s ass was smooth and round: just filling out his jeans and leaving a little slack below the cheeks. He had a nice body: solid but toned, not at all chubby, and good god, due to his height, right there in front of my face. I noted the worn wallet creases and lack of chew can ring: so much better for kissing, in my opinion.
“So what do you ride?” I asked eagerly. Could this fantasy get any better? He told me about his two cutting horses, and I made my first bold move.
“Do you have any competitions coming up?” I tried to sound nonchalant. “I’d love to see you ride. I don’t know the first thing about working stock.” Luckily he was facing the opposite direction, because I know my mouth was hanging open as I waited for his reaction. He filed a few strokes before answering.
“Nah, we’re not ready yet, but we practice up at Adams Arena. You know where that is? North on 249?”
“Yeah, I think so,” I lied. I would be finding out immediately.
Right in stride he asked, “What do you do with this girl here?” He patted her on the butt as he reached for a shoe. . . . Ooo, ooo, . . . me too. . . cried my tush. My mind was in the gutter. I rolled my eyes at myself.
Kurt held the shoe to Laney’s hoof then took it to the anvil and shaped it a little. I held my answer and breath as I listened to the familiar clang of metal on metal.
With ease and precision he wielded the hammer. He was classic, the perfect western man. I could imagine him in bronze or sketched in pencil, like the art in my horse magazines.
I was guessing he was in his late thirties, not too old for me. I like mature men, I thought, and my body ached in agreement.
A half hour whipped by. We talked and were silent. Comfortable, I hoped, but I was anything but. I couldn’t believe my inner monologue. I hadn’t been this attracted to a man in some time, and the imagery was so easy. Pound me . . . nail me . . . ride me off into the sunset.
I pulled my sweatshirt over my head after tying Laney to the rail by her pen. I was flushed and could feel my nipples hard under my t-shirt.
Look at my breasts, it was a last ditch effort. Come on baby, I urged him silently. Want me like I want you.
“What do I owe ya?” I asked as I opened my car door to get my purse. I knew he was watching, and I felt time slow down as I leaned across the front seat slowly.
God, I was wet. I felt my pussy lips slide across each other. As much as I wanted him to stay, I couldn’t wait to get Laney’s saddle on. I needed something between my legs, and soon.
“Seventy-five dollars,” he said. What a deal! Thank you, Steve.
Kurt took my check and handed me a card. “That’s my home phone and cell.” I slid my finger over the embossed logo. “Call me anytime.”
His voice was syrupy. My brain was mush. Was that an offer? Did I detect some attraction, or was he just being a good businessman? I wanted to give him mine, but felt I had definitely been forward enough for one day.
“Thanks a lot.” I said. “Don’t leave” is what I meant.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, and put on his hat.
“You too,” and my cheeks hurt from smiling.
“See you later,” and he was off. I stood and watched his truck go, as Laney stretched her lead rope to the end, trying to nibble some of the fresh spring grass.
I hoped Laney’s feet wouldn’t be sore, but I needed to ride. It was a gorgeous afternoon. I loved Colorado. I loved life.
My fingers were still trembling as I grabbed hold of the reins. I didn’t even put my feet in the stirrups as I squeezed Laney to walk on. I closed my eyes, rolled my neck, and relaxed deep into the saddle.
There is nothing more sexual than a woman on a horse, I thought to myself. Except, maybe, a mouthful of cock. Jesus Christ, did I really just think that?
I was imagining Kurt leaning against his truck. I’m undoing his belt buckle and down on my knees. All my sensations focused on my mouth. My tongue felt thick, engorged, as if it too were a sexual organ.
Hmmm, I thought and brought one hand to my face. I was so hot. I squeezed Laney to trot and reveled the sensation of grinding my crotch deep into her back.
It’s so like sex, always a reoccurring thought, as I slowed her pace by riding just a little behind her stride. It’s called a half halt, and god, it feels good: thrusting the front of your body down, relaxing your hip joints and setting the speed of a thousand pound creature by using your weight.
The seam of my jeans bumped my clit with each step. It was this incredibly innocent masturbation, and I imagined Kurt’s hands on my breasts, kneading them, pinching them, kissing me deeply. Hmmm, that mouth craving again.
I urged Laney maltepe escort to lope and felt the wind on my skin as I rode faster and smoother. I let my legs hang loose and rubbed my free forearm across my chest. No one was watching, I convinced myself, even though my eyes were still closed.
I resolved to visit Laney everyday and coat her hooves with special conditioner. I would get them to grow as fast as they could. I needed to see Kurt again soon.
“Christina, I’m in love.” I said into the phone. “How dare you not warn me?
“Rebecca?” She was startled. “Are you okay?”
“No. I’m not okay, Chris. I’m dying here. Kurt just shoed Laney, and I wanted to jump him on the spot.”
“Seriously?” She asked.
“Dead serious,” I said. “I mean BAD.”
“You know he lives in a trailer?” and that was Christina for you. It was a sad day when I realized my friend always figured a man’s money into her attraction.
“But don’t you think he’s sexy? His eyes? And that butt?!”
“I don’t know,” she responded. “I guess so. He’s a little old isn’t he? He cleans stalls for the Richmonds during the winter.”
Christina is twenty-four and still in college. That changes a lot, but I knew his age wasn’t really a factor. She and her parent’s money lived in a different world. It was actually a good thing that Christina and I had different tastes in men. Besides our horses, we didn’t have a lot in common, but we did have a good time.
“I didn’t say I wanted to marry him, Chris. I just want to fuck him.”
“Jesus Bec. You are wound up. So ask him out, or just screw him in a stall.”
“Yeah, I was thinking about that,” I said and collapsed into giggles. Christina was fun. She was a good friend. “Find out if he has a girlfriend, okay?” Christina has the connections. She’s up with the gossip. I knew she’d come through.
That night I lay in bed dreaming of Kurt while I was both asleep and awake, and for the next three days too. Then came the call.
It was Saturday, about 10:00am. I was sitting at the kitchen table wearing yellow bikini underwear and an oversized t-shirt just reading the mail accumulated over the week. “Is Rebecca Reynolds there?” and my heart puffed up.
I knew it was him; I almost dropped the phone. I must have said something but the sensation of blood pounding through my brain is all I remember.
He reintroduced himself, unknowing that he had been dominating my idle thoughts for seventy-two hours.
“Uh, I was wondering. . . well, how are you?” he asked. It was cute: he was shy, out of his element. Gone was the suave, hand-shaking shoer.
“Great,” I said sensing he needed reassurance. “I’m glad it’s the weekend. The weather is supposed to be awesome.”
As he said, “Yep,” I heard the confidence return to his voice. “I was thinking of doing a little trail riding tomorrow, and was wondering if you and Laney would like to join me?”
Hallelujah! Thank you, God! “I’d love to.” I said, in violation of my years of game-playing practice and consistent coaching from Christina on not looking too eager or desperate.
I didn’t care; I was ecstatic. He CALLED! He called. I’m in love with my horse shoer!
I crossed my legs Indian-style in the hard wood chair and dropped my left hand into my lap. “Can you pick us up?” I asked. “I don’t have a trailer.” My voice amazed me, impressively calm despite my immediate schoolgirl fantasy: our horses nickering at each other across the partition of a two-horse trailer. Oh course, Kurt’s was the black stallion. Laney would be in love too.
“No problem,” said Kurt, and he began to tell details of the location, the scenery, and the trail.
I slid my hand into my panties, unsurprised to find a warm, slick puddle between my lips. I imagined a checkered picnic blanket . . . kissing . . . caressing. Our clothes disappeared.
“Do you want me to bring some lunch or something?” I asked, still semi-present in the conversation.
“Taken care of,” he said, “this is my treat.” We confirmed additional details as I continued to tease myself with my flickering fingertip.
I could not wait. I had work to do.
I made sure my best jeans were clean and went to the mall. I usually wore a sports bra when riding, definitely not tomorrow.
I stood in the dressing room, touching my breasts, remembering Kurt’s hands: shaking mine, petting my horse, pounding the steel, inserting the nails, one at a time. I tried on, I modeled, I pinched and then checked in the mirror.
I was proud of my 36C’s: just a little too big for my own handful, the milky white excess creating perfect cleavage as I pushed them up, massaged vigorously, and closed my eyes, indulging again.
My nipples were hard, like little brown pebbles. I imagined Kurt’s lips, sucking each one. Twisting the tips seemed to draw any remaining strength from my legs and I rested my flushed cheek against the smooth, cold dressing-room mirror.
My skin felt too tight: everything kartal escort tingled. I relaxed my arms, rolled back my head and leaned all my weight forward to streak my hot tits across the glass. The final straw was his hands: hypothetically grabbing my hips and forcefully taking me from behind.
I didn’t care who was in the dressing room next to mine. I unzipped my jeans, sat on the painted white bench, and behind only a curtain, I made myself cum with a powerful quake.
Sunday morning I got up early to pamper myself. I laughed at the irony since riding my horse is usually something I do in my grubbies.
After a long bath, I covered myself in lilac lotion, filed my nails, dried my hair, put on a little make-up, and got dressed in my brand-new purchases. I had decided on black: smooth, understated, yet still very sexy. Then clothes, and my boots, a jean jacket and little silver horse-head earrings. I was ready.
I gave Laney a good grooming trying not to get myself too dirty, hoping to do that after Kurt arrived. Oh, I’m so bad, I thought to myself.
As he walked around the truck, my eyes went straight to those kissable lips. He was as hot as I’d remembered, and his clean pressed clothes, smooth shave and warm smile were clues that the anticipation was mutual.
I wanted to wrap my arms around him, but instead I casually waved. He introduced us to Cashmere, his sorrel gelding. He wasn’t quite Black Beauty, but a nice enough horse; this trip was for me, anyway. Sorry Lane, I thought lightly and walked her in to the trailer.
After I threw my stuff in the tack compartment, he opened the cab door for me and I stepped up into the truck, loving every moment. Polyester seat covers disguised cracked vinyl but the dashboard was clean and cab free of crap (something that can never be said of Christina’s truck).
I felt like a princess ascending her throne; it was so much higher than my little car. I rejoiced at the absence of seat belts; I could sit somewhere in the middle, not too close, about halfway.
We drove on, making small talk. I reveled in the dirt road vibrations and imagined how maybe, I’d suck him off on the drive home, or at least rest my head on his shoulder.
I was so horny, at the moment, those two options seemed equally appealing.
We stopped at an unmarked turn-off. Laney was antsy: she’s a young horse whose never been anywhere beside my stable and the park where we work. I cooed calming words to her and stroked her neck, all the while feeling my heart accelerate knowing Kurt’s eyes were on me.
We saddled-up in silence and I paused before putting on my chaps. I always wear them when I ride and have endured enough sexual harassment on the job to know that guys like them. I take a little pride since I’ve worn the same ones since high school, but I suppose leather can stretch if you want to be objectionable.
On the trail we rode single file but chatted easily: horses, his dog, our jobs, then movies, music and friends. Kurt kept his eyes forward as we rode, just raising his voice slightly. When I work at the trail ride operation, I’m constantly turning around to check on my dudes.
I wished I could see Kurt’s face, but memorized his neck, narrowing in on the little indent where his jaw met his ear. As soon as the opportunity arose, I was determined to mark that spot: a kiss, a suckle, just one tiny blood vessel to pop.
I watched his butt in the saddle and imagined riding immediately behind: arms wrapped around him, tits pressed into the contours of his back, face on his shoulder blades and that glorious ass between my thighs.
He was funny and smart, and totally together with his horse. I never saw Kurt steer, and Cashmere fearlessly navigated the trail, at home in the woods. All at once Kurt cued him up to a fantastic gallop.
Instinctively, Laney followed behind, and I loosened my reins to let her run free. Heart pounding, hair flying, I closed my eyes into the wind. We were in Snowy River, just like my dreams. As we slowed to a walk, nothing needed to be said.
I didn’t see Kurt get down, but in a second he had Laney’s reins, the way we hold the horses as customers dismount.
My horsewoman ego was gone; I gave in to romance. I was a lady; he was my prince. Usually, I hop down, but just then I lingered.
As soon as my toes touched the ground, his left arm enveloped me. His hungry mouth met mine, graciously accepting its part in my fantasies so far. He tasted fresh and strong and perfect and smooth.
“Just a minute,” he said, letting me go, but still holding my horse.
“No,” cried my senses, and I caught a chill in the split second it took him to slip off Laney’s bridle and hook it over the saddle horn. Both horses had their noses down, munching contently in the grass. Any concern for my beloved pet vanished as Kurt turned back. With one arm under my butt, he lifted me up, nuzzled his face across my chest, and effortlessly twirled me 180 degrees.
My belt buckle hooked over top of his as I slid down his body, not wanting to separate from the delicious contact. This pulled my jeans up, slicing my sex. The pain was quick, but electric. I was so hot. I could only imagine that my jeans must have then been sopped like a sponge.
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