Free Big Book Of Lesbian Horse Stories by Alisa Surkis Page A

giving her a little light exercise, taking her for short rides around the stable grounds. Often Peg, on Merrylegs, accompanied them. The two horses had become fast friends, and happy-go-lucky Merrylegs seemed to steady the nervous mare, who was prone to starting at even a falling leaf. Pat and Peg, too, had become closer than Peg had ever imagined a boy and girl could be. Pat listened sympathetically to Peg’s accounts of her troubles with her mother, the country club, the Junior Miss League. In turn, Pat told Peg his dream of going to school to become a veterinarian after graduating from Consolidated High that year, though he continued to speak little of his home or family.
    One afternoon Peg arrived at the stables as Pat was leading Garbo out to the arena. “What’s going on, Pat?” Peg queried excitedly.
    â€œThe vet came yesterday, and said Garbo’s tendon was well enough for more exercise,” Pat responded. “I’m going to start working her on the jumps—want to watch?”
    â€œOf course!” Peg affirmed. She swung astride the fence and perched there, watching Pat put Garbo through her paces. Pat had Garbo on a lunging rein, and he circled her at a walk before cracking the whip sharply to cue Garbo into a brisk trot. Then again he snapped the whip, and Garbo broke into an even, flowing canter. Peg’s throat ached with the beauty and grace of the dappled gray horse.
    â€œNow let’s try her on the jumps,” Pat said after a few more circles. Still keeping the horse on the lunging rein, he guided her over the first jump. Effortlessly, Garbo gathered her legs beneath her and cleared the hurdle with room to spare.
    Peg couldn’t help clapping her hands. “Mrs. Huntley’s going to be so pleased!”
    Pat saddled Garbo up, circled the arena, and headed for the jump. But just before the fence, Garbo came to a dead stop, nearly throwing Pat from the saddle. Pat took her back around, and again Garbo refused.
    â€œI don’t understand,” said Pat, perplexed.
    â€œMaybe something spooked her,” suggested Peg.
    â€œShe didn’t act spooked,” Pat worried. “She just didn’t want to take those jumps. I wish we knew what it was that circus clown did to her.”
    Peg thought about those clowns—the big red shoes they wore, their coarsely drawn mouths, the tiny cars they drove—and shuddered. Suddenly she had an idea. “Let me try something,” she begged.
    â€œWhat are you going to do?” Pat asked. “You’re not an experienced jumper. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
    â€œNothing ventured, nothing gained,” Peg shot back, quoting her father, and she ran to the stables. Quickly throwing a halter on Merrylegs, she led the dozing pony into the ring and tied her to the fence rail. Garbo grew visibly calmer. Peg mounted Garbo, and spurred her toward the jump. The horse took the hurdle with the same ease she had riderless and, without hesitating, turned toward the double jump. The horse and girl rode around the ring, Garbo taking all the jumps flawlessly, and then Peg slowed the horse and posted over to Pat. Pat’s eyes were shining.
    â€œI wish I’d had a stopwatch!” he declared. “I’ll bet you’d have beat the blue-ribbon winner at last year’s meet. You’re a natural jumper, Peg!”
    Laughing and blushing at Pat’s extravagant compliment, Peg slid off the horse. She stumbled slightly, and Pat steadied her, his strong hands grasping her arms. For a moment blue eyes met gray eyes, and then Peg lowered her gaze. She began to chatter nervously. “I wish dancing were as easy as jumping. I’m an awful dancer. I feel so awkward and I’m always taller than my partners.”
    â€œI know just how you feel,” Pat said with complete understanding.
    â€œReally?” Peg said, puzzled.
    â€œYes, my—my sister’s quite tall,” Pat