Chapter 2

It was not yet time for me to leave. I understood that what they needed as well as their personal communion was a third party, an audience, an appreciator. They needed the voyeuristic completion and I spurred my own horse forward for this reason and for my own curiosity. I knew I would learn something of human nature tonight which would tame me well.

A half hour passed in this fashion and soon thereafter the ground fell steeply away into what seemed like a gully filled with snow. Some few turnings of the trail brought us to a tremendous lean-to with enough room in it for the temporary stabling of half a dozen horses. It was a place where people could come to rest during a ride or for an emergency or for, perhaps, to fuck and suck.

It was this last reason, I knew, that drew Mr. F.

He swung off the horse and helped Florida from it. I heard him say, "Ah, my beautiful filly," to her and kiss her on the side of her mouth as her feet touched the ground.

"Ah, you think I am as beautiful as the horse," said she, obviously delighted.

"Yes, as beautiful," he said, "more beautiful, even. What a beautiful name you have," he continued, stroking her hair. "And that nose, those nostrils." He kissed her on them. "Passionate, beautiful nostrils." , I was still astride and watched as my horse beneath me pawed the ground, making for himself a clearing down to the warm earth beneath the snow.

I saw Mr. F. continue to stroke Florida's hair and her arms went around his neck. She was looking into his face with the expression of one who had come a long way for her reward and who was beginning to believe she had found it at last.

He kissed her along the side of her neck, pulling away the turtleneck of her sweater and planting another kiss there, low. They were both quite warm, obviously invigorated and ready for each other. Her tits were heaving with anticipation.

The lean-to was built much deeper than I had originally seen. Trust Mr. F. to have all the conveniences, of course. He moved her back into deeper shadow and leaned her against he flank of her original mount. She turned to the horse and began to stroke its belly and the muscles of its hind legs, saying more to herself than to him, I think, "Am I really as beautiful as all this?"

The horse swung its head around and gave her a playful nip, as though in answer and she laughed aloud like a child who had made sudden, surprising, though inevitable, communication with the object of her passionate thought.

For some while she continued her conversation with the animal, her wide-spread gloved fingers caressing the sleek curve of muscle that reminded me of Florida's cunt. It would have been possible, I thought, for this girl to have been a horse in some previous incarnation or, perhaps, at some untold hour of the night she might change into one.

I know that Mr. F. had this same eerie, beautiful feeling about Florida as he stepped in closer to her and pressed her backward against the horse as his mouth found her lips.

The animal's hind quarters quivered and stepped aside, at which point Mr. F. grabbed Florida hard into his arms. The two black-clothed silhouettes became one and I watched with growing concentration from where I continued to sit, fascinated, with the reins slack in my hand.

Their embrace became more passionate and then, abruptly, Florida pulled back.

"Will you mount me?" she said, "and ride me, too, tonight?"

It was a naive question and would have to come from a knowledgeable prostitute. The very fact of this simplicity, this plea, this strong hint of longing, inflamed Mr. F.

"I will do everything," he said. "I will make you happier than you have ever been."

"I know it," she said, "I can tell."

And again they were in each other's arms, kissing fiercely and rubbing the fronts of their legs each to each, as Mr. F. had touched his horse to hers.

My horse took a step closer to the other two who were seemingly ensconced for the night. As I came inside the lean-to, I felt the i i heavy warm air, cozy by contrast with the outside. I heard Florida's breathing, almost an equine snort, as though she was sniffing and snuffling her growing exhilaration and her preparedness to take off at any minute at full gallop. I

I saw one of Mr. F.'s hands disappear beneath the bottom of her sweater along her back. He was stroking upward, feeling her flesh there, which I knew would be velvet in contrast with the cableknit stitching. Then, with the other hand, he gave her ass a slap. The movement was whip-like and seemed to perform its function, to spur her on. I saw her ass muscles tighten. Florida thrust her hips forward against him and felt, I could tell, the pressure of his jabbing cock between her legs. Their clothing seemed to make little difference. It was as though they were already naked with each other, running side by side along a different trail.

Running with each other along a trail. I knew I had to follow. I dismounted and brought my horse in line with the other two. Then, walking in front of their heads, I came to a position of vantage in relation to Mr. F. and Florida.

Their mouths were open and pressing hard in contact. I saw the movement of Mr. F.'s cheeks and knew that he had thrust his tongue deep into her mouth. I knew their spit would be flying back and forth between their mouths.

She accepted it, sucked it in gladly. Her hands at the back of his neck were stroking upward into the short hair at the nape and higher until she grasped his skull, much as she had caressed the flanks of the horse. His hands had slipped down to her ass and held her in place, adjusting her against him while their hips moved in slow, investigating circles.

As I watched, I felt my cock stiffen fully which made of me a true and proper voyeur, which was, I knew, exactly what they wanted and needed from me.

They did not consciously show signs of being aware of my participation, but there were smaller, inadvertent clues to this, a leaning toward me from time to time as though offering to touch me by the fact of proximity.

Their embrace continued to take on a growing intertwining closeness. I felt gratified that Mr. F. and Florida found each other through me. The very merest of happenstance had led me to the girl but I had somehow worlessly sensed her value, not only to herself, but to this man. And for once I felt that I was earning more than a living as a pimp. I was earning a special kind of human thanks.

I couldn't help but notice how Florida's nostrils flared and her neck arched as though, in her mind, she had become a wild horse in the process of being tamed. Her eyes grew large as she gave herself up to Mr.F.'s embrace. It was easy to see that she was being fulfilled in some deep portion of her being, that she would find a tremendous release here, somehow.

Despite the cold they began to undress each other. I could see that all they felt was their own body heat and the desire, overwhelming, for connection.

They sank together to the hard-packed earthen floor, Florida's body covered and protected by her eager lover. I watched the heightening movement of her ass, even to me she was horse-like, a beautiful animal racing, the same undulating motion of galloping became the movement of her pelvis, buttocks and thighs. A graceful motion, intensified by the act of love.

Even Mr. F., that urbane, worldly person, seemed to have peeled off his surface layers and life attitudes. He rode her hard and deeply, talking words of encouragement against her mouth, her cheek, her ear and into her hair which seemed to have become a mane of fire.

I remembered back to the first redheaded woman I had known, a sleazy prostitute in my home town. So very different had been that moment from this. My participation then had been complete and personal. Now I realized how far I had evolved from the impulsive boy whose nature I could only recall. I stood watching Florida and my client and I felt like an artist who had created a perfect composition in human flesh.

As they fucked, Mr, F. from time to time slapped Florida along the side of the thigh or across one cheek of her behind, much as though he were shifting a horse into greater speed. Each time he slapped her she responded with an increased motion of her ass, a lifting her weight high, her strong back arching mightily. The only light that entered the place was the reflection of silver from the snow, itself bright from the moon. The entwined couple, in shadow and silhouette, easily took on the appearance, to my imagination, of horses in copulation. Particularly did this occur to me when Mr. F. turned her around and entered Florida from the rear. She seemed easily to withstand the weight and pressure of his cock up her ass, her cheeks spread and strained with ecstasy of arousal.

For a while I stood, listening to their grunts and love sounds, smelled the strong stench of the horses beside me and the perfume of flesh rising from those other two. But after a while I turned and walked out into the snow, leaving them alone to their fulfillment of fantasy.

Later that night, when we had all returned to the house, a long discussion ensued in Mr. F.'s living room concerning human bestiality. The subject came up, of course, in terms of horses.

Florida, sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace, sipped at a mug of hot cider and stared at the low glowing coals. "Are there really instances," she asked, "of women having intercourse successfully with horses? I mean, without getting killed or hurt or something?"

"Yes, of course, my dear," answered Mr. F. with full assurance. "There are a couple of very famous cases, particularly one in Russia, you know."

"I don't believe it," she said, shaking her head, stroking her hair. "People just made it up because it sounds so exciting."

There was a tremor in her voice evident to Mr. F. and myself. He looked at me askance, mutely asking whether he could really allow himself to believe that Florida wanted to be screwed by a horse.

I had to make a snap decision about this. It seemed likely that she had often dreamed herself in that position, but I didn't want to take the responsibility for what might happen if I encouraged such behavior. If only I had known Florida better and could do more than surmise.

I gazed from one to the other of them and realized that they were both edging toward experiment. Florida wanted to try out her dream and Mr. F. was aglow with the desire to see it all in action. His face was taut. His skin and eyes were bright with increasing fantastic desire. I understood that he wished he himself could become the horse, or at least have the specification of a horse's cock. But he was smart enough not to press his point to Florida for, although she yearned to put her yen into action, she wasn't about to do anything that might endanger her body.

For myself, I was not so sure as to how far Florida would be willing to go if, for instance, she got drunk or became enmeshed with possibilities. It would be easy to forget where the line between reality and dreamland lay. I had known too many women who had damaged themselves in an effort to fulfill particular cravings. I, therefore, did not trust to Florida's good sense and felt it necessary to protect herself from herself.

"Look," I said, "It's getting late and we have to return to New York, you know."

I had developed a way of saying this without seeming to intrude upon the party. But now, even my gentlest, most reluctant tone fell flat. Mr. F. would have no part of my suggestion.

"Stay here. Stay," he said, waving an arm in an effort to eradicate the changed direction of our talk.

I felt myself surrounded by people in the process of losing their good sense. I also knew that this was a magical moment. I could get any amount of money from Mr. F. if only I would promise him that Florida would and could do what she seemed obviously to want.

But I insisted in having no part of this affair. Particularly since Florida was not a member of my own stable. I had no way of predicting whether the trouble all this would put me through would assure me of Florida's continuing loyalty. And loyalty was the price she would have to pay if I were to go to the lengths necessary to insure both safety and success for the venture

Mr. F. like all good clients, was growing impatient with my hesitance . He wanted his way and would insist upon having it. Perhaps even tonight. He filled my mug again with some more cider. It was strong stuff, heady, and with a certain aphrodisiac quality. I wouldn't have put it past him to have added certain coaxing materials to the drink for I felt my own blood stirring in an unaccustomed way. Yes, I could feel my body coming alive and I struggled to maintain a cool head despite everything.

They were ranged against me, both Florida and Mr. F., settling into further conversation between themselves and ignoring me since I did not seem to participate with an enthusiasm equal to their own. I sat back and said nothing, just listening to the talk about sex and methods and whether or not the cunt could stretch sufficiently for the purpose.

The next thing I knew, dawn was beginning to lighten the room. Mr. F. put out the lamp and the new day grew strong, making its attempt to dispel the dreams of the previous night.

Yet no one seemed sleepy, only excited. Soon enough, the two were convinced that the only way to discover whether women could sleep with animals of such size was to try it and find out.

I could not tolerate that. If anything took place, it would have to be after I agreed to the proposition, for I had to maintain some kind of control in this dangerous area.

It took every bit of finesse on my part to maneuver Florida back to the car. I only accomplished this after promising her that we would all return again to Connecticut and see what we could see. I even promised to procure a horse sling for her which would hold the animal aloft at the proper elevation, at the proper time.

I drove now and Mr. F. sat in the back. Florida, beside me, gazed out with unseeing eyes upon the snow-laden spruce along the highway.

"Oh, Joe, you're such a prissy miss," she said. "I never expected this of you."

She had known me a day and now she was saying she had never expected this of me. I smiled to myself with an inner chuckle. Our intimacy had grown by means of an explosion into something huge and deep-reaching. I could feel Florida's affection and the beginnings of a certain tell-tale dependence upon me, for a security I knew I could give.

I was glad to be back in New York amongst the various situations I could handle without having to pay attention to them directly. My mind, distracted by this problem with Florida, needed to focus upon her craving. I needed to come up with a suitable answer, as satisfying as possible. For if I could work something out, a kind of compromise, perhaps, I knew that Florida would be a fine addition to my business.

Yes, I kept thrusting her into that commercial perspective which allows a certain balance to enter one's thinking. Otherwise, I might have gone into a rage at the thought of a beautiful girl so willing to have her insides torn out. Not that I was a victim of middle class morality, by any means. I had seen and done so much myself. But I had also seen horrible conclusions for people who did not respect the limits of their physiology and I was determined that none of my girls should ever put themselves in the least amount of physical danger. That was my cardinal rule upon which I insisted more firmly than anything else.

Florida, of course, could not know this about me. If she had, what would her response have been? Only a laugh and maybe the statement that I ought to go to hell. It was hard seeing how rapidly she might withdraw from a suggestion that did not jive with her own desire. But I had to take my chances. I had to do what I could to prevent Florida from her own sexual being. The thought of horses cock up her ass was freaking me out.

The growing daylight hours seemed to bring a little sense into the car and into the world at large. Things looked different in daylight and even Florida calmed down, at least temporarily, so that I could change the trend of our conversation to something less controversial.

Since Mr. F. had taken the time and effort to return to my apartment, I knew he expected something for this, a commitment on my part, a date set for the time of our scientific venture.

And, of course, I had to avoid this kind of specific detail, avoid it at all costs. I did not wish to ruin Mr. F's confidence in me that I would keep my word whenever I gave it. At the same time he was not allowing me to say 'no', which was my strongest inclination.

He got me alone in the kitchen.

"What have you got to lose, Joe?" he said.

"A very beautiful girl," I answered without hesitating for a second.

"You are too cautious. You'll never get wealthy this way."

Why did I feel protective toward Florida? I was hardly aware of it but now, in retrospect, I realize the deep, abiding sense of responsibility I felt toward her as though she were a child bawling for her fourth ice cream cone which would do more damage than merely ruin her appetite for dinner.

"I'll think about it, " I said to him. "That's all I can promise you."

"I know that ploy," he answered, leaning against the refrigerator door and crossing his arms over his chest. "I use it myself. But why must you be so particular?" His voice took on an edge of small contempt. "She's far from a virgin. I can tell you that."

I could feel everybody clawing at my back and I had to stand firm. The more I felt over-cautious, the more I knew I had to resist the temptation to give in to everybody's fiery desires. It was my position to keep a cool head. T, the qnly one capable of this, for the others were already consumed with expectations. It seemed to me that if they really wanted to go ahead, they could do so without my consent. Since they did want it, both of them, apparently dread, fear, did exist. I had to know this, recognize it, and act accordingly.

And so I remained firm, entrenched against all arguments.

"Look," I said to him at last, "why don't you just give me some time to think this through? Maybe I can find a way so that everything will work out the way you want it to do."

"I hope so," Mr. F. said, putting his hand into his pants pocket. "There's a lot in it for you, you know, Joe, if you see things my way."

I nodded, acknowledging that his offer of money was, indeed, motivation for me to work out something.

It was a relief to me when Mr. F. finally left the apartment. Mistakenly, I thought that I could better handle Florida when she didn't have an ally in her whim. What I didn't know was that her contemplations had nothing at all to do with whim but were founded in a deep-rooted need, so complex of nature that she was psychologically incapable of giving up her idea now that it had become voiced.

She began following me around the apartment, talking about all kinds of irrelevancies, but which always led back to the same theme.

"No, no and now," I insisted, my voice growing with an increase of firm negation.

"Why are you such a coward?" she said to me, challenging with a tone that had become sinuous and almost snake-like.

I knew the potency of Florida's poison. She would soon attack me, I sensed, in the area of my maleness. I could see the whole argument being prepared in the back of her brain, how I was afraid to witness the human cock in comparison with something superior to him, both in size and perhaps capacity. Ordinarily such and argument would faze me in the least, but coming from Florida, a girl whom I found so agreeable, I knew that some small area of my being might indeed become vulnerable to her challenges. I had to resist telling her that if she needed to be fucked like that, I would get her a kind of man like she couldn't have known existed, some ape-like, over-sexed creature who would ram his prick into her up to her ears.

With great patience, however, I continued to refrain from responding to her variety of insistances. Our conversation was like a see-saw with each of us trying to get the other stranded up in the air. I could only hope that my weight of good sense would prevail.

She followed me around the house for two days and for two days I listened, sometimes saying nothing but maintaining my positive attitude that she would have to calm down on the subject.

At last I said in desperation, "Florida, if you want to go out and get yourself kissed, go on. But leave me out of it. I want no part in this."

I could tell that my words fell upon deaf ears. The structure of her life had changed profoundly. The experience with Mr. F. had torn away all her camouflages and rationalizations. "I can't do it alone, " she said.

"Well, you don't have to, " I continued my jibe. "Hell help you. Go to him. Just let me be."

"Oh, Joe, why must you be like this?"

"Because I have too many other things to worry about without getting all tangled up in this kind of rot."

I was treading on dangerous territory by showing contempt for the dearest, it seemed, of her desires. But I had to keep myself separate. In the business that I was in there was no room for the kind of experimentation which could destroy as Florida's desire could destroy. Yes, it seemed to me she was bent on destruction, tobogganing downhill toward it and I must not become involved.

The less I wanted to do with Florida's purpose, the more insistant she became to inveigle me.

At last I said, "Why are you doing this?" in an echo of her voice. "Why do you need me to be part of your craziness?"

I had spoken to her with a certain direct sincerity. We were looking into each other's faces. We were standing very close, It was as though I could see through her luminous eyes into her soul.

"I don't know why I need you, Joe," she said quietly, "but it seems I do."

I understood. There didn't have to be a reason for such a feeling. In fact it was this very irrationality that I respected most in Florida for it seemed the truest part of her nature. Perhaps the truest part of anyone's nature. I nodded. "Well, if you want to remain with me, you'll have to cool it, honey."

My voice, purposely empty of affection, acted like a rein, signal to her of the path she would have to take. I knew some slight something about myself. And what I knew was self-preservation first, last and always. Without safety there could be no snug harbor for women such as Florida to settle into when they needed and ached with inner longings.

She whirled around, unable to look at me now that I had rejected her in that area for her being. I sensed that she hated me with a fiery rage but it didn't concern me in the least. Women had often hated me, which didn't mean that they still weren't dependent, somewhat anxious, or even in love with me. But love didn't really matter. Just a word, a blanket, for the most contradictory of sensations. Love had so little to do with the kinds of needs in people which made them seek out each other. I had learned this lesson so well during the past few years that it seemed to me that love was a quality men could only show to their pets.

"I'm going out," she said.

"So go."

A silence fell. Perhaps Florida had expected me to object. But she didn't know me well enough to realize that my reactions were not going to be like any other man she had dealt with before. I didn't need her in the way that men had probably needed her. I respected her but I was not standing in awe of her animal beauty. And, most importantly, I didn't love her, couldn't love her. Maybe this lack on my part was the ultimate magnetism that kept Florida close.

Yet she had to follow through with her threat or lose face and she was not the kind of girl who would submit to domination openly.

I was sitting on a couch with the newspaper folded open to the latest stock transactions and was busily engaged in watching Florida's donning of her clothes, not with my eyes, but with my ears. I had perfected the technique of watching people while holding a newspaper in front of my eyes so that they thought I didn't give a damn. And maybe I didn't give a damn but I liked to know what was happening and usually made it my business to find out.

Florida, as good as her word, put on her coat and boots and slammed out of the apartment.

Well, I was alone but not lonely. There were lots of girls I had to check on. Florida was only one small fraction of my life and I could not afford to lose perspective on that either.

Fortunately for me, business was good at that time. My attention was not wanted, except in the most routine ways, by any of the other girls. I laughed with some, consoled others, cursed out a few more and spent the day in a fashion very well known to me and quite comfortable, too. My list of clients was large enough to satisfy my ambitions of the moment. The money was rolling in. I could give myself over to thoughts of Florida's problem now in solitude and see what I could see about solving it in the most effective and sensible manner.

But I didn't come up with anything much. All I knew was that she, if I could help it, was going to have absolutely no actual intercourse with a horse. That kind of fucking would have to be left to the history books and to the pornographic drawings that had no doubt inflamed her senses at some previous time, then sunk down into her subconscious, only to be lifted up again by the experience with Mr. F., with horses nearby.

But if she could not have her complete desire, she must at least have something good enough to approximate it, something that would settle the question in her mind and leave the girl in peace. One cannot ignore the framework, the pattern, the many years that go into building up a physical need so very different from experience. I settled down on the couch, let the paper fall to my knees and began to muse over the fact that I had no idea of Florida's sexual history or her experiences. Maybe she was accustomed to playing with animals, maybe she had even had, by one or two or three of the smaller kinds, some form of intercourse. I had not thought to ask her this but if I did ask, would she tell me? Yes. I decided she would pour out everything she had to give, if she believed that by doing so she would come closer to victory in the present.

As I sat there, deep in my thoughts, the phone rang again and this time it was Mr. F.

His voice had a coaxing quality that made me suspicious. He said, "Joe, I'm fixing up a very good party for this Friday night. I want you to come and bring Florida. You'll have a good time, I promise-and there'll be some things in it for you, too, that I'm sure you'll like."

Now Mr. F., being a successful businessman, understood that my mind never roamed far from watching the store. So all I could imagine was that he had some good contacts for me, some wealthy clients which would make it doubly worth my while to bring him Florida once again.

I understood his form of bribery and agreed privately that Mr. F. knew how to influence me when he wanted to.

"I'll be there," I said.

"With Florida?"

"Of course with Florida," I laughed a little. "But I'm not bringing a horse and don't you bring one, either."

It was Mr. F.'s turn to chuckle. "Well, there's no place for one to sit in my living room anyway."

Despite the feeling of good will and agreement between us, I knew that Mr. F. had no more intention of giving up his ideas than Florida. I could feel myself being drawn, as though by an undertow, deeper into the situation. But on the face of things, there was nothing yet to do. I would have to proceed casually and see where events led.

On the night of the party I felt unusually self-confident. Partly this was because business had been increasingly good for me and I felt, I suppose, that I could dispense with Mr. F. as a client without feeling any pinch. To have such a sense of option was so comfortable that I even felt a bit of humor creeping up, concerning the situation. I could look at both Florida and Mr. F. as a historical moment in my life, in that it was I who was more necessary to them than they to me.