You're Never Too Old for Horseplay
#53 of Miscellany
This will be one of the last publicly offered stories. Just saying.
The glow from the streetlight
outside our bedroom window cast a soft aura around her features. Her face had
changed over the years, no real surprise, for so had mine. Raising five foals;
three stallions and two fillies; had rather aged us, as nature intended I
guess. We both didn't quite look our ages, but on me the grey was filling in
around my muzzle. There was no mistaking me for a young colt anymore, and that
was fine by me. I deserved every grey hair that I generously been handed.
My mare, now she was blessed with a
rusty, rustic coat, and her mane of vibrant red locks still made her stand out
like a flame in a papermill. She was part Icelandic on her father's side, and
Cannemara on her mother's. Me, I'm all
Arabian, and at the time of our marriage, there was quite a stink over it. Over
time, everyone got over it. Funny thing how everyone gets so worked up over the
stupid things in life.
But that's a horse of a different
color.
I was contemplating something else.
We had met in college. At the time,
I was a randy stallion looking to nail anything and everything, and that's no
exaggeration. It was a wonder I didn't catch an STD as active as I was. Then I
met her. She was as wild as I was, only she had the brains to keep it contained
with cool reserve. She caught my eye, for why wouldn't she, and in turn I
caught her heart.
Again, why shouldn't it have been
that way?
That was thirty years ago. I look
back on those heady years, sometimes with envy and sometimes with envy. No, I'm
not getting senile. I'm envious for more than one reason is all. Back then I
had the stamina of, well, of a horse. And she, my little pony of a girl, she
could match me move for move. She still can, but that's not saying much. My
moves have faded with time. Her's haven't.
I'd love to blame it on any number
of things, but the fact is that I'm tired. Not the sleepy kind of tired, but
the life-has-worn-me-thin kind of tired. She doesn't see it, and if I look in
mirror, I sort of miss it too. But deep in my bones I feel it.
So, what else am I envious of from
my past? Well, for one, the easy way we accepted each other. I know there was
defiance in some of what we did. Me being an Arabian and her being a mix meant
a lot of other equines felt that we were blending impure blood into clean bloodlines.
Folks tended to treat that like some sort of religion. I thought it was stupid.
I still do. I might not like someone my kids decided to partner with, but in
the end, they must live with their choices, not me.
I had my own to live with.
Raysha; that being my wife's name;
she was a hoofful to deal with and I loved every minute of it. When it came to
sex, I had never had anyone willing to take as many loads as I could give in a
night of frolicking, hence part of the reason for my wanton promiscuity. There
were a lot of girls who were willing to tackled what I had to offer, but they
usually did it only once. Outside of my own clan, that of the equines, there
are few out there who have the anatomy to take what I have to offer. I dallied
with a bovine lass once - a Herford - and I milked that relationship for all it
was worth. She moved on to her own kind, but the word through the grapevine was
that she constantly complained that she couldn't tell if they were in or not.
Makes me sort of proud to be a horse.
Raysha, now she was an entirely
different story. Unlike my physique, which was svelte and smooth and polished
to the point of over refinement, she was small, tough, hardy and more than a
match for any male. The first time we met, she had her lovely green eyes on me
like I was fresh carrots. She called me pretty boy. I was a pretty boy. And she was drop dead gorgeous. She wasn't built
like a cheerleader, or a gymnast, or any of those things you think of when you
think of a hot, sexy female.
She was wild and untamed is what
she was. She had muscle where the others had thin legs and dainty fetlocks.
That was all well and good, but there was something about her that got the old
hormones raging. She was lovely without the aid of cosmetics. Her coat and her
mane were all natural, in a color that most envied, and one that store-bought
dyes couldn't duplicate.
It's still that color, though maybe
a little darker now. At the moment, part of it is draped across my chest, and
the light falling on it seems to give it an unearthly glow. It's something to
see when she flings it about in wild abandon, and it's impressive whether it's
completely dry, or when she's just broken the surface of the water and sends it
cascading outward, spreading water droplets in all directions. She did that on
more than one moonlit night during our courtship, and plenty more afterwards.
Then again, rain does much the same thing.
Thirty years. She still has it
after all that time. I don't. Oh, I can still get it up, but not nearly as
often as when I was young, impetuous and carefree. I could put it in her five
times in a night, six on occasion, and once even managed to empty my balls
eight times. Now, once a night does me in. It's hell getting old.
Oh, I can deal with the dampened
libido. After all, a cock the size of mine takes a lot of blood to get it
engorged, and I've quipped more than once that maybe I've donated too much of
it over the years. Raising a family is hard work. You know, sweat and tears.
And blood. I'm trying to be funny but I believe I'm simply digressing.
It's the dead feeling in my heart
that truly gets me. It's something I don't talk about and if I did, with whom
would I discuss it? I don't always know how to even describe it, other than to
say it's a bit like my old libido; what was once raging is now merely a
whimper. It hurts because she deserves better then someone who only has half
the feelings; less even, than he did three decades ago. I know she loves me
with all of her heart, and I do my best to show her I still care too.
But I think it's a lie.
But a good lie.
I buy flowers for her quite often
and it's a rare span of days where the vase sits empty. If she wants to do
something, we do it. Am I happy? I simply can't say. I'm not miserable, but
then again, I don't look forward to getting up in the morning, If that
condition has a name I'd be interested in knowing it. It might be depression
and it might not. I'm not sure naming it will make me feel any better.
It doesn't matter I guess. I will,
without hesitation, hit the SOB who asks me about my long face. Over time that
little annoyance rarely pops up in conversation. But it is a mask I wear these
days, and not the prettiest one at that. The horseplay is gone from my soul,
and I think that it's time to be put out to pasture.
Take tonight for example. She knows
just how to get the blood stirring in the places she wants it, but I was
content to lay there and allow her to do all the work. What kind of male does
that make me? I remember bending her over anything that was handy, from a log
in the woods to the kitchen table. I drove it home, and once it was home I
mixed up between using the front door or the back. She loved it either way.
Now, I let her do her own thing, and while I would be hard pressed to say I'm
complacent, I don't know that there's another more accurate word for the way I
feel.
I make it worse than it is by
trying to analyze my feelings, usually in the middle of our love making.
Nothing will kill your already diminished mood than trying to figure out why
you don't get aroused like you once did. Every once in a while, after a few
good strong oatmeal stouts or wheat beers, my mind will thankfully forget it
has a load of useless questions and I can function normally. That's almost
worse. How do you explain to your partner that you can go for two hours one
night, and barely twenty minutes another?
Tonight's activities went well
enough. She still rides me like a tall ship weathering out a storm. The
moisture sprays everywhere, and while she's anchored in one spot, she still
rises and falls with wave after wave of pure, unadulterated lust. God how I
wish I had that back. It makes me feel small when I can't return to her what
she gives to me. I just want to slink away and hide my face so she doesn't see
the tears welling up.
When did I lose being who I was?
I've thought about having an
affair. Not for the sake of being unfaithful, but to see if maybe something new
might trigger my system into being more responsive. But I never have gone
through with it. Is that because I'm a heck of a nice guy? Hardly. I didn't
want to chance failing. At least at home I won't get ridiculed. She's that good
to me. Nary a once has she called me out when I could perform. She just curls
up and cuddles and tweaks my chest hairs and tells me what a great stallion I
am.
Sometimes her words make me sick to
my stomach.
When I was young, I was full of invincibility.
I used it all up apparently, for now I feel fragile; like a porcelain figurine
you buy in a souvenir shop.
It's funny how I can still do most
of the other things I did when I was younger. I may not be as fast or as agile as
I once was, but I can still give the younger stallions a run for their money
when it comes to keeping pace. Sometimes I think that my problem is just a poor
self-image; a lack of confidence where I need it the most.
Maybe I'm just afraid of letting
her down and in worrying about it, make it come true. I think that's called a
self-fulfilling prophecy. But I have no idea why I would sabotage myself in
such a manner. Is it because I finally came to the realization that I don't
deserve her? That I never did?
I let out a sigh, in part because I'm
feeling sorry for myself, and in part because thinking of all of our past
flings was making me a little horny again. I wasn't going to wake her just to
have my third leg give out half way through. I wasn't that cruel.
But I felt her fingers dig into my
chest a little, meaning she was, at the very least, marginally awake. Her
breathing shifted and I felt her head move.
She was awake.
She snorted into my hair and
without looking up said,
"You're awake."
It wasn't difficult to tell when I
was. I was tense as hell.
"Yeah. I didn't mean to wake you."
"That's alright. What's it this
time?"
I told lies. Mixed up the excuses
so as to not seem overbearing in my misery. The truth would hurt too much.
"Nothing."
It was the mildest form of lie I
had to give anymore.
"I doubt it," she said quietly,
massaging my chest. "If it were nothing you'd be asleep."
"Maybe I should be. Sometimes, I
guess, I stay awake thinking about life."
"Thinking? That'll always get you
into trouble," she answered with a grin.
"I know."
She sat up a little, looking
sidelong into my face.
"There is something wrong, isn't
there?"
"I don't feel..."
"Feel what?"
"That's just it; I don't feel. It's
like my insides have rotted out."
She snorted a little derisively,
which made me a bit angry,
"I'm not joking."
"I'm sure you're not. Your just
feeling old and tired. All the spark is gone from your life."
I was ready to argue with her in
the harshest of terms when her words sank in. She was right.
"How the fuck can you say that?" I
asked with total incredulity.
"With my mouth stupid."
Now I was angry.
"Don't sass me!
"I'll do as I please. I always have
because you let me get away with whatever I want."
Again, I was prepared to argue. But
she was right in a way I couldn't counter.
I grew even angrier.
"What the hell is wrong with you!"
"Nothing. We were talking about
you!"
"Damn it mare, when did you
suddenly get to be psychic?"
She smiled, showing those fine
white teeth.
"Honey, you've been slowing down
for a while now. And you do a ton of things for me that you don't need to do.
You're sweet and you're kind but you don't think of yourself all that much. You
know, if you wanted to run off and play, I wouldn't mind."
Now I was furious.
"You think I want to go have a
fling with some random filly? Is that what you think?"
"Maybe. I think you miss the old
days. Back when everything was simpler and easier."
She was right on the money. Even
now, with an empty house that was nearly paid for, our relationship seemed
almost too stable. It was predictable; good mind you, but boring. I was bored.
Mind numbingly so.
I sighed.
"That makes me sound like a
terrible horse."
She laughed.
"No it doesn't. How many did you
screw before we met?"
"I don't know. Eighty or so."
I figured there wasn't much point
in lying. We had never discussed it before, and the way I was feeling, if this
was a deal breaker then so be it."
"All those girls and you could keep
going and going and going until you literally dropped."
"How the hell would you know?"
Her hand reached down and began to
stroke my cock, which had already begun to firm up...for whatever reason.
"Do you still think I was so naïve
back then? I knew your reputation. That's why I was attracted to you in the
first place. I come from a hardy line of equine. Yours is a little more
refined, leastwise that's what your relatives always told me, but in you I
could see the wild side everyone tries to drive out of a colt when they are
young."
I thought back to those days. It
was easy. My cock was out of my trousers more than it was in. She may have
heard some of the stories, but I knew she hadn't heard them all. Like Miss
Lopez, the Spanish professor from Chile. Llama. Everyone commented on how her
walk had changed. I taught her the meaning of mincing. Her hole was gaping
after each and every round of sex and I think her pelvis spread by an inch.
Which got me thinking about what
she might be doing these days. Retired of course. Wonder if she ever got
married. Then I shook my head. Why did I care? I had to deal with the here and
now.
"At the time I did. Those big green
expressive eyes of yours looked pretty innocent at the time."
She leaned back and made that face
of hers, still perfectly executed after all of these passing years.
"Me innocent? I took on half the
stallions in my school before I graduated. None of them had what you had
through, and you just assumed that I was...innocent."
That got me thinking. The first
time I had nailed her was after a party off-campus. She had on a green dress
the matched her eyes, and no underwear. I was drunk enough at the time to
dismiss that as accidental. I was seeing that it wasn't.
"So this whole time we've been
living a lie?"
She pinched my cock hard enough to
make me wince. Strangely, it got a little harder.
"Try not to be too stupid, will ya?
You merely assumed. I assumed a few things about you too. Has life been so
bad?"
I gave it some thought. I didn't
have to give it much, for life had been good. That was part of the reason I was
feeling so out of sorts. I really didn't
have a reason to feel the way I did. I should have been happy, but I was
feeling angry and upset for no good reason.
"No. So that first night, outside
in the backyard, with you bent over the picnic table; that wasn't your first
time?"
"Sure it was," she replied with a
touch of humor in her voice. "It was my first time with you. Does knowing that
I wasn't all pristine and prim somehow diminish the act in your eyes."
I could still see it clearly, even
thought my eyes were a bit blurry at the time. We had gone out to talk, for the
house having the party was noisy and crowded, and she had led me to the back
where the light barely reached. We sat down at the table and began talking. Now
that I don't quite remember. All my senses could detect was her scent, and her
features, and those eyes. I swear to God they glowed from within.
Anyways, she got up at one point
and stood there looking at me. Then catching the faint echoes of a popular
dance song she began moving and swaying in time to it. I was mesmerized by the
innate grace she had, even though some called her stocky. Thin and leggy was
fine, but a lot of those sorority girls got a dose of me and chewed the pillow
until I was finished. While there was something ego boosting about that, in the
long run I got tired of it. I had needed someone who was a match; someone I
could look to as an equal.
She was shorter than a lot of those
high society fillies, but the way she carried herself you would never have
known it. Insults slid off her back like rainwater. I mention that in
particular because damn if a storm didn't hit while we were out there. I was
all set to run for the house, but she remained where she was, dancing to her
own rhythm, ignorant of what was going on around her. And as she moved, and the
rain came down, that dress plastered itself against her hide. The water drew it
against her hide, and let me tell you there were some serious curves showing
through. My cock went hard just looking at her.
My cock was hard now just thinking
about her back then. The I recalled I should probably answer her question.
"No. I don't recall even making it
a consideration. But I could barely get inside you!"
She laughed again.
"You are stupid. All of your pretty
little mares had all kinds of tricks for catching a male's eye, but none for
keeping them. How many of them do you think got divorced after only being
married a year or so? How many couldn't even deal with tightening up what they
had to offer so that any following lovers didn't feel like they were about to
fall into a well?"
"A lot?" I said lamely. I didn't
think about those things.
"Most of them. I still read the old
alma mater newsletters, even if you don't. Macey has been married four times
compared to our one."
Ahh Macey. She was from the big
city. I showed her things that she had never seen there. She too was a pillow
biter. And a screamer. Got the cops called on me that night.
God I was getting horny!
She was still playing with my cock,
an obscenely long thing that was a pain in the ass to hide in my pants on a
good day. Then again, it had been a pain in the ass in other ways too. If they
didn't scream from the front hole, they did with the back. No, I wasn't always
nice back then. I'll admit it. But Raysha took it anyway I was willing to give
it.
That night in the rain, she danced
and spun through the raindrops until the dress clung to her like a second skin.
She danced right up to me, rubbed her rump across my crotch in an open
invitation to do something much more daring. I didn't need to be asked twice.
Nor even have it suggested that there was more to her than she was offering. I
was under the distinct impression she wanted me. And I knew I wanted her too.
She bent over the table as I
struggled to get out of my wet clothes. I don't know if you've ever tried to
get undressed when your jeans and tee shirt are caked against your hide, but it
takes time and finesse and patience and that night I had none of those.
The
shirt ended up in tatters. The jeans were good enough to be worn home before
finding their way into the trash with a busted zipper.
Needless
to say I got them off...eventually.
Needless
to say I got off...eventually.
But
here I am saying it.
But
that's because it's worth saying.
She had
the finest rump I had ever seen. It was solidly built; not fat, not rotund, but
a muscular piece of meat that could stand up to me and everything I could throw
at it. It was lucky for her it was pouring down rain, for it helped with the
initial penetration. She was wet inside and out, but even her natural
lubrication was hard pressed to accommodate my ungodly cock. This innocent
little thing was about to get a rude awakening.
I
fought with her dress to get it out of the way, in the end leaving it balled up
in either fist and using it to restrain/control her. Now don't get upset with my
words for I don't mean it that way. I used it to hold her in place and to keep
her from hitting the ground, or slipping and hitting her head on the table. By
this time, it was a monsoon level storm that had overtaken the region and raining
was coming down sideways.
We failed to notice.
I have stuck my cock in a lot of
females. I mentioned that. A lot of them had been tight little whores, errr,
ladies and so I had to take my time shoving it all inside. But by the time I
was done, I had ruined a good many of them for anyone else. I was under the
assumption that Raysha would be the same. Good for one solid fuck and then
disappointment from there on out.
She was having none of that. I
didn't even know a mare could squeeze the way she did. I buried my cock to the
hilt, itself a minor miracle, but the way she clamped down on it and didn't let
go was mind boggling! I had never had a gal who could do that. It made me
think.
That
was then and this was now. She broke my train of thought.
"Listen
stud. Do you hear that?"
I
hadn't been paying attention. My thoughts were elsewhere.
"I do."
"Are
you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"God I
hope so."
She
slipped out of bed, put on an old dress she had relegated to the donation pile
and slipped out the bedroom door. I didn't bother putting on anything. There
simply wasn't a point to it.
I was
going to bring up the matter of what the neighbors might think, but it quickly
dawned on me that I didn't give a shit. This was my house and my property and I
could do what I wanted in it. And I knew what I wanted tonight. I might not get
a second chance.
She was
already soaked from the downpour by the time she made it to the wooden table
out back. I stood there for a moment in the doorway, recalling that first time
with a vividness that overlapped what my eyes were seeing here and now. What
was gone in my life wasn't love; it wasn't even romance; it was that
spontaneity of doing something crazy just for the joy of it. It was breaking
thirty years of routine and going back to doing the things before we had grown
up and had to "know better."
So like
that first time, I was out in the rain, feeling the rivulets of water running
down my face and neck, over my chest and back, and finally across my butt and
my belly. None ran down my cock because that piece of meat was sticking
straight up in the air as tall and as proud as could be. In much the same way, her
tail was up, held aloft by two strong hands reaching back to grip it hard.
Again, I
was going to say something and thought better of it. Words were great, but at a
time like this, it was best to save them when it was over. That thought seemed
to snap something inside of my head, for suddenly I felt young again; not too
young mind you, but a weight had been lifted from my conscience. It wasn't her
I was disappointed in, nor even myself; it was that life had grown bland. It
was time to reach into the spice rack and liven things up again. It was time to
make this marriage palatable again.
This
time, as I pushed that obscene thing I call a cock inside of her, I watched it
disappear, inch by inch. It seemed to go on forever, and she took every bit of
it as she always did. I once commented that her pink hole was a black hole,
which got me punched in the arm. But it was uncanny to watch it slowly be
engulfed. The comfortable constriction at her opening was a firm grip that
never once faded over the years in snugness or tautness. It was enough to make
you believe in miracles.
As the
rain poured down, it washed away my worries and my fears. It took a few years
with it too. The grey remained, but the attitude changed. I was only as old as
I felt.
And I
felt good for the first time in a long time!
Her old
dress ended up going in the trash the next morning. As before, I had a fistful
balled up in each hand and by its presence alone kept her from sprawling on the
ground. It might have been easier just dropping the two of us down into the
muddy grass, but I got the idea that this was supposed to be a reminder where
we had started and thus deserved a modicum of respect. I could deal with that.
I
pounded that mare forever. While I'm exaggerating of course, it's only a slight
one. I tickled her insides until her body shook, and in with reaction that I
knew was all too real, she let loose a garbled cry as I triggered an orgasm in
her unlike any she had had in a good long while. And I didn't let up. I had
blown a wad earlier, and thus I had the edge taken off my libido, but it was
still revving much faster than it had in a year or more.
I could
hear the material of the dress ripping as I slammed her back into my body with
enough force to bruise a rhino. She managed to keep her hands on the table, but
only barely. Water poured down from the sky and despite the volume of it, it
was unable to quench the newly relit fire inside of me.
If the
neighbors heard they didn't let on and to be honest I just didn't care. Let
them see what we had together. I slammed it home until I thought my legs where
going to give out, and my arms grew fatigued and sore from the effort of
holding her in place. I was just despairing at being able to blow another round
when I felt my balls tighten up, and this time they did so almost painfully.
The load rose from deep down below, passed thought my cock with enough force to
make my toes curl, and then out and into her body. I swear it was as if I had
launched a torpedo. It exploded inside her, sending shock waves through her
that I could feel through my connection to her via her dress.
Then
the material gave up the ghost and tore, sending me careening backwards and her
to slide off to the side and into a puddle. I splashed to my feet and went to
her, stopping to stare at her wet form on the ground. While I hadn't ripped her
dress on that first day, she had still ended up kissing the grass...just like she
was now. I thought about it. I didn't know if I had it in me to relive that
moment.
Oh,
what the hell.
I
dropped on her, yanked that fine tail up and over her back and sank into her
ass with savage lust. I hadn't bothered doing her anally in months, and even
then my performance had been lackluster. Time to show her I still had it.
Her
fingernails dug furrows in the wet ground as I pushed everything I had into her
in one massive thrust. I heard her gasp as I pushed the hilt of it into her
until there simply wasn't anymore of me to give.
"Ffffffuck!"
she said through gritted teeth.
"You
got it," I said happily.
Five minutes into it we were both
covered in grass and mud. I didn't notice. I was too intent on showing her that
I did remember what it was like. It was fun. I didn't think it was possible to
reclaim this much gratification from an act repeated hundreds upon hundreds of
times over three decades. But I was back with a vengeance. I wasn't twenty
anymore, and she wasn't eighteen. And I didn't care. I didn't want to be that
young and stupid again. I just wanted to live life like I was, with at least a
portion of the stamina I once had. There was something liberating about letting
go.
And I
let go.
Skipping
the gory details, I'll tell you this. I screwed that poor mare until she
finally cried uncle. I was wiser now than I was back then so I eased up when I
felt it was getting to be too much for her. In the end (her end - the end of
his story, whichever you prefer) I pulled out and was content to be done. But
she wasn't about to call it quits. She flipped over, sat up and stroked my cock
until that motion and the rain washed it clean.
Then
she sucked me off until I thought my balls were going to come up through the
head of my cock. She sucked and sucked
and never let up until I came. If the previous one had been painful, this one
was the pinnacle of combined sadistic pleasure and luxurious misery. She
gripped by sack, milking the boys until the flow started and then refused to
stop. She nearly choked on the volume, barely managing to swallow fast enough as
the stuff gushed forth like a fire hose. Even then, traces of it erupted out
the sides of the mouth as her cheeks ballooned from the amount I was producing.
I felt
a little sheepish. The rest of the feeling was relief and pride.
We lay
there in the rain for an hour before we could manage to muster the strength to
get on our feet again. Once inside, we headed straight to the shower (I know,
but wouldn't have you) rinsed off, dried off and contemplated what we had done.
I grabbed a beer for each of us, went to the living room and sat down on the
couch. She sat opposite me.
"Still
feeling bad for yourself?"
"Fuck
no! How did we manage to lose that?"
"Speak
for yourself mister. I've always loved you."
"I love
you too, but I just got lost in everything else I guess."
She
smiled around the lip of the bottle.
"I hear
it happens. Found your way back I see."
"Oh God
yes! I can't wait to do it again!"
She
took one hand away from the bottle and lifted her butt off the couch, rubbing
it gingerly.
"That
hole isn't seeing any action for a while. I was ready to open my mouth and see
the tip come out."
I
chuckled. "Yeah, I might have gotten a little carried away,"
"I'll
forgive you. Better to be overboard than over the hill."
"Oh,
I'll pay for this in the morning I'm sure," I said ruefully, flexing my joints.
"Lucky
you. I'm paying for it now."
"Is it
that bad?"
"Bad
enough. This ole girl is out of practice."
"Then I
can suggest two things."
She
lifted the beer to her lips before asking;
"And
those are?"
"More
practice..."
"And?"
I
finished my beer, dropped to my knees in front of the couch and buried my
muzzle in her crotch. She was about to complain but a well-placed tongue lashed
out and stopped her. She still found words, but they didn't come across as a
complaint. She shifted, leaned back and spread'em wide.
"Now
this is the sort of horse play I missed. Wanna go back outside?"
I pulled my face out long enough to
answer.
"No thanks. It's plenty wet right in
here."
She hit me in the head, but only
lightly. She didn't want me unconscious before she had a chance to be. And who knew; maybe just maybe I might just
coax another round out of my cock. It had been a long while since that had
happened, but what the hell? A guy didn't know until he tried. In the meantime,
it was my intent to soak the couch with as much of her lubrication as I could
possible procure. Sure she'd be mad. But that would be tomorrow. And we needed
a new one anyways. This reason would as good as any. I smiled as I went back to
work.
Life was looking up.