Passion. P.F. Kozak
orgasm shook my body. I hugged my damp pillow to myself. In my mind I held him as tightly as I could, wanting to pull him inside me, my Highwayman.
The vividness of that fantasy distressed me. It had seemed so real, I had totally lost myself in it. The morning after, I realized I had been alone too bloody long. It frightened me to think I could lose myself so completely inside my imagination. I needed a serious reality check, or perhaps I needed to check in with reality.
Both my schedule and my budget allowed me the freedom to get out of my imagination and have some jollies, something fun to shake up my isolated routine. So I decided my lifelong fascination with horses would finally become real. I would take riding lessons.
I knew my friend Gwen dated a fellow who owned a local stable. She claimed he had the best stud service around Shaftesbury, perhaps even in the whole of Dorset. When she told me that, I laughed. Of course, I had to ask if she knew that firsthand. She smiled and simply said he was the dog’s bollocks. The color in her cheeks told me she probably did know his stud service firsthand.
I really needed to do something immediately to convince myself I still had a grip on reality. I rang up Gwen to find out if I might be able to get riding lessons there. She told me that if I wanted to learn about horses, her friend Steve could help me. Horses had been in his family for generations. She said she would speak to Steve to make sure he did right by me. So I gave Gwen a little time to ring him before I did.
When I spoke to Steve I told him I wanted to learn how to ride but hadn’t really been around horses. Growing up in London I never had the opportunity to learn. I wanted someone who could teach me to ride and also teach me about horses. I asked him for an instructor who had patience and a lot of “horse sense,” one who didn’t mind answering silly questions from a novice. Steve told me he had the right teacher for me and that I could sign up for lessons that afternoon.
My stomach had butterflies as I drove to the stable. I met Steve at his house and took care of the paperwork. He agreed to let me pay lesson by lesson until I knew for sure that I wanted to continue. Then he asked me when I wanted to start. I told him right away, if possible. I had made up my mind to do this, and dash it all, I would do it now!
Steve took me into the stable to meet my new teacher. When I saw him, I almost forgot why I came. As I watched, he lifted a bale of hay and carried it into an empty stall. He took a knife out of his pocket to cut the twine and then spread the hay around the floor. I knew he had to be more than six feet tall, with long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. He had a mustache that curved in a thin line around his mouth, filling out into a goatee at his chin. When he bent over to cut the twine, I saw the tightest bum and the longest legs in recent memory.
Somewhere behind me I heard Steve yell in his direction, “Hey, Ivan. Come over here. I have a new student for you.” I noted his pronunciation, i-VAHN, with the second syllable accented. I thought his name suited him. Ivan turned around, obviously startled that we had come in. He regained his composure easily. His T-shirt, damp with sweat and covered with straw, stuck to him. Some delicious tingles fluttered inside me as he came out of the stall, brushing bits of hay from his chest as he walked.
Pulling off a crusty glove, he shook my hand and said, “So you want to learn how to ride? We’ll have to see what we can do about that.” My attraction to him was undeniable and I felt myself blush.
My summer job in a stable takes me as far away from a classroom as I can get. Even though I love teaching, I need a break from academia. When my eyes start to feel like piss holes in the snow while grading spring finals, I know I have to come up for air or burn out real damn fast.
My best friend inherited his father’s horse farm near Shaftesbury. Every summer I travel from Northamptonshire, where I live and teach, to stay at the farm and work. All I take is room and board. I grew up working there. Going back feels like going home.
Even though Steve’s father hired me as a horse groom, Steve never treated me like hired help. Since neither of us had siblings, we grew up like brothers. His father taught us how to ride together. We got hammered on ale Steve pilfered from his father’s stash. And, of course, we shared learning about women.
Steve assumed I would stay on at the farm and help him run it. But I decided to go to university on scholarship instead. Once my parents passed, Steve’s family was the only family I had to invite when I graduated. They all came, too. By the time I got my doctorate, only Steve came. His father had died and his mum had moved to London. That left Steve to run the farm alone.
After becoming a professor, I bought myself a house and some property near Thrapston, Kettering. My colleagues thought me daft for buying a house so far from Northampton, but I wanted a place where one day I might have a few horses of my own.
When I realized I actually had a growing bank account without the summer term, I figured, what the hell! I asked Steve if I might stay with him again over the summers. I knew he might not take to the idea, since he felt like I did him dirty not staying at the farm after we graduated. But, to my surprise, he welcomed me back.
When I arrived this summer, Steve made it clear he needed me to teach more. He hadn’t yet replaced an instructor who recently left. I reluctantly agreed to take on a few students if the need arose.
When he called me over to meet my first student of the season, I rather expected so see a gangly teenager waiting. Instead, there stood a short, shapely redhead, about my age, looking very apprehensive. Steve introduced her as “Pash,” a name I had never heard before. I hadn’t enjoyed a female liaison in some time. I smiled to myself, thinking, This could be an unexpected pleasure.
Steve asked Ivan if he could spare an hour now to get me started with a few basics. Ivan hesitated. Steve took him aside and spoke to him. When they came back, Ivan smiled and said, “Of course I can jump-start you today. Let’s set about it.” That began what may be the most embarrassing hour of my life.
Everything started well enough. He asked me, “Have you ever ridden before?”
“Only once. I rode a pony at Battersea Park Children’s Zoo in London. But I have read books and watched documentaries!” Realizing how utterly lame that sounded, I added, “I daresay I don’t know too much.”
Since he realized I knew absolutely naught about riding, he started from scratch. He took me around the stable, showing me a few horses. Then he opened a stall and led out a horse. “This horse, Nutmeg, has started more than a few riders on their way.”
I thought she seemed awfully big for me. He patted her neck. “She’s gentle as a lamb. I’ve put children on her and she’s absolutely fine.”
As I imagined myself trying to get on this monster, I started to walk around her. She snorted just as I stepped in front of her and it startled me. I jumped off to the side, thinking she was going to charge or something.
I tripped on God knows what and fell right into a big puddle filled with slimy mud and straw. Both knees sunk into the muck. I did manage to catch myself on my hands before I went completely down. Nevertheless, I made an unmitigated mess of myself.
Ivan helped me up, saying as he lifted me, “I am terribly sorry. Before Steve came in with you, I had been cleaning the horses. I should have warned you to mind the gap.” His apology barely hid his amusement.
“I’ve made a dog’s dinner of myself!” He didn’t seem to notice that he had mud all over himself from picking me up.
I assured him I had not hurt myself. With his arm still around my waist, Ivan dragged his boot through the puddle. “There is a drain here, but I think it is blocked with hay.”
“You are nearly as mucked up as I am. I’m terribly sorry about that.” He still held me very tightly against himself. With all the mud, we were practically sliding against each other.
“That’s quite all right, I don’t mind.” He cleared the drain with his foot. “Now let me clean you off.” He picked up the hose and turned on the water. There I stood, muddy straw all over me, with the sexiest man I had ever seen looking me over and offering to hose me down. I just wanted