Passion. P.F. Kozak
lesson. I only managed to get my arms around her once, while showing her how to adjust the stirrup. I figured it best to bide my time and not push too hard. Her anxiety about the lesson could well throw a spanner in the works.
Then the moment came to get her on the mare. I said, “Let’s see how she feels to you,” and held the stirrup iron for her foot.
Ivan really expected me to get on that damn big horse! Just like that. I looked at him like he had lost his mind, which he certainly must have. At that moment I didn’t care that he looked like Adonis and was hung like Priapus. I just wanted to leave.
He continued talking like he didn’t notice I hadn’t budged. His voice hummed in my ears as I stood there. “Grab some mane with your left hand and put your left foot in the stirrup. Hold on to the back of the saddle with your right hand. Push off with your right foot. Swing your right leg over the horse, hefting yourself into the saddle, just like this.”
With one smooth motion, he hoisted himself onto Nutmeg’s back. He continued, “Don’t plop down hard; you could startle her. Just sit down easy and take hold of the reins. Now you try it.” With that he got off her just as easily as he had got on. He held the stirrup iron for me. I still hadn’t budged.
Pash stood there, frozen to the spot. I gave her my most basic demonstration of how to mount a horse and she looked like she hadn’t understood a single word I said. I thought to myself, “Damn, Redhead, you’re going to get on this horse if I have to lift you up there myself.”
What I actually said was considerably gentler. “Let’s press on, Pash, you can do it. I’ll help you.” Thinking I needed to ease the tension somehow, I asked, “By the way, is Pash short for something? I never heard that name before.”
She blinked a couple of times, like waking up from a nap, and found her voice. “That is what most people call me. My given name is Passion.” I had to stifle a surprised whistle with that one. But she still noticed my amazement. “It is odd, isn’t it?”
Hoping I hadn’t been too obvious with my reaction, I said, “Well, it is unusual. I’ve never met anyone named Passion before.”
“That’s why I use Pash. People are more comfortable with it.”
“Well, Passion, let’s get you on this horse.”
I knew I couldn’t just stand there, with Ivan waiting for me to put my foot in that stirrup. I had already made a fool of myself in front of him once and made up my mind I wasn’t going to do it again. So, I came over to Nutmeg.
“Just take it slow, I’ll help you.”
“All right, then. Show me what to do.”
“Grab on here.” He put my left hand on Nutmeg’s mane. “Now lift your left foot and put it in the stirrup. If it’s too high, I’ll adjust it.” I put my foot in the stirrup. Before I had a chance to say, “Now, what?” he said, “Here we go,” and started lifting me off the ground.
“Hold on to the back of the saddle and straighten your left knee. Don’t worry, I have you.” And have me he did. I was practically sitting on his hands. “Now swing that right leg up and over; don’t graze her, now.”
The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the saddle. Ivan moved forward, took the reins and stroked Nutmeg’s neck, murmuring something to her I couldn’t quite hear. “We have to work on that landing, Pash. You could go riding sooner than you planned.” I realized I must have plopped down too hard. Who knew getting onto a horse was this complicated!
Her given name is Passion! Bloody hell! Do I have good karma or what? Well, Passion, you are going to learn to ride a horse, if I have anything to say about it. And that’s not all you’re going to ride, if I have my way!
I got her foot positioned correctly in the stirrup. Seeing no other way to do it, I grabbed on to that shapely arse and started steadily pushing her up into the air.
Normally I would have enjoyed that moment considerably more, except that her body weight shifted midair. I reacted instinctively. Either I had to get her on that horse straight away or risk her going backward, taking me down with her. So, onto the horse she went.
Fortunately, Nutmeg isn’t a quick reactor. While Nutmeg tried to decide if she should go or not, I grabbed the reins and whispered quietly to her, calming her. She settled right down. Another horse might have bolted. I promised her a few extra treats for supper.
Regaining my professional demeanor once again—which seemed to be a constant challenge with my new student—I continued the lesson. I showed her how to properly hold the reins and had her walk Nutmeg around the stable a couple of times. Actually, I walked around and Nutmeg followed me.
That ended class number two. I knew the scales did not tip in my favor when she said, “Ivan, perhaps this is too much for me. I don’t believe I can do this.”
“Might I ask for one more go at it? I promise the next time, things will go more smoothly.” She reluctantly agreed.
I knew I didn’t do so well with my second lesson. I felt my chance to impress Ivan as an excellent riding student slipping away. If anything, he must have thought me to be an absolute cock-up. Bugger all! I finally met someone I really responded to and I just couldn’t seem to catch on to his world.
Most of the men that cross my path turn out to be gay or married. I have more male “friends” than I can count, and none of them want to sleep with me. Now, I accidentally meet someone who curls my toes and all I can do is prove how clumsy I am.
I spent the next week trying not to think of Ivan. I distracted myself with my work, writing into the wee hours nearly every night. No matter how late I stayed up, that damn dream kept coming back to me just as I would try to sleep. I felt like such a fool! What had I been thinking, imagining that my world and his world could intersect? So I had the hots for him; that, and a pound sterling, would buy me a cup of tea.
The night before my third lesson, I couldn’t sleep. Not wanting to dwell on seeing Ivan again the next day, perhaps for the last time, I thought of my Highwayman. I snapped on the light beside my bed. Retrieving my journal from my bedside table, I started to write.
My Highwayman arrived at the inn and asked for a tray of food to be brought to his room. When I came in, he handed me a package tied with cord. I opened it to find a new red dress with a lace-up bodice.
“Since I have to look at you when I am here, I want you to wear this instead of that,” he said as he gestured to the worn dress I had on. He sat down in a chair. “Put it on for me.” He watched as I pulled my everyday dress over my head. I had on only a thin shift underneath. I hadn’t worn my corset or my pantaloons, it being a warm summer’s day. I quickly pulled the dress over my head and laced up the bodice to cover myself.
Twirling around, I made the skirt flair. When I stopped spinning, I staggered, dizzy from the excitement and the movement. As my vision cleared, I saw him sitting there, stroking himself. Flustered at the idea of him watching me like this, I smoothed my dress to dry my sweaty palms.
Taking his hand away from his organ, he said, “Look what you did to me, dancing around like a whoring wench. Here I bring you this present and you do this to me?” I could not tell from his tone if I had truly angered him. I stood, frozen to the floor, not knowing what to do to redeem myself. Finally he broke the silence. “You would leave me like this?” I approached him.
When I got close enough for him to reach me, he grabbed my hand and pulled me down onto his lap “Woman, you will pleasure me with your whoring ways.” He roughly pulled at my laced-up bodice.
Fearing he would tear my new dress, I undid the bodice that I had so carefully laced up just a few minutes before. He opened my dress and reached inside. Pulling open the drawstring on my shift, he took my breast into his hand. I knew his habits well. When he became this stirred, nothing I could say or do would stop him.
Not that I minded. Ever since the first time he lay on top of me at