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My wife Alyssa is a successful real estate agent and avid equestrienne. We are quite the couple, Brad Stevens and Alyssa Langston. My wife uses her maiden name professionally. I stand two meters tall and carry one hundred five kilos. Alyssa weighs half that and stands 1.6 meters tall. Her income pays for our country house and our small stable and allows me to pursue my passion and paint. She keeps her beloved stallion Thunder in the stable behind our house. I set up my studio in the sunroom.
Each evening, Alyssa comes home and trades her stylish business attire for her more casual riding gear. Whatever else we do, she makes certain to ride each weekend morning; sometimes morning and afternoon. She hired a neighborhood girl, Mackenzie Jones to groom her handsome steel gray mount four nights a week, usually Wednesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday night. Reins in her left hand, whip in her right hand and her boots with their shiny spurs in the stirrups, she looks so good in the saddle. She was totally the master of the powerful creature under her saddle.
Then Thunder took ill. Doctor Johnson came out once to examine him. I heard nothing of Dr. Johnson’s discussion with Alyssa. I knew that Alyssa came away frowning and dinner was very quiet that night. Thunder did not improve and two days later Dr. Johnson returned with a trailer. Alyssa and Mackenzie led the uncertain stallion into the unfamiliar trailer and Dr. Johnson drove away.
Alyssa was heartbroken. Mackenzie cried.
“I love you, Alyssa,” I told her. “We both love Thunder and he’ll get better – for sure.”
That earned half a smile.
“What can I do to make you happy?”
She just stared into space. “I miss my rides with Thunder.”
“I’ll be your pony,” I said. The words just jumped out.
“Really?” she asked.
I nodded yes. “Just until Thunder gets better,” I qualified.
At first, I just took off my shirt and pulled on my running shoes. I just carried her on my back, supporting her bottom with my arms. She gripped my hair in her fists, and we circled the paddock at a walk.
“Is it all right? she asked.
“Yes, I answered. “I can do this!”
“Can you go any faster?”
I trotted. I ran as long as I was able. I would not disappoint her.
Thankfully, she called, “Whoa, stop.” I stopped and she slid off my back. “You’re a fine pony, Brad.” she gushed. “Let’s do that again.
She held my hand when we walked back to the house. She made dinner and I took a welcome shower. When I dressed and came to the table, she was still smiling. “Enjoy, my love. I’m not certain this is optimal nutrition for my new pony but enjoy.”
Her dinner was delicious. I had succeeded so far. I wasn’t quite in the shape I thought that I was. I promised myself to work out each morning. I could paint in the afternoon.
We retired for the night. I turned and kissed her goodnight.
“I’ll get a pony ride tomorrow?”
“Yes,” I smiled. She lifted her head to kiss me, and I felt her hand slip between my thighs. She knew exactly was I liked, and we had quite the night.
The next day, she dressed and set off for work. I completed a few sets in the weight room and jogged three miles. I imagined carrying Alyssa on my back. I painted in the afternoon, and I was ready for her when she returned. She changed quickly into her riding garb, and we spent a full hour circling the paddock.
I showered and she made dinner, the same routine, every night for a week. My thirty-something year old body responded. Between my exercise sessions and evening rides, I was getting stronger, and my endurance was increasing.