I am fortunate enough to have been in the company of horses for a large part of my life, first when I grew up on a farm in Texas to, most recently, my mother’s stables in Slaughterville. I adore those moments when I run my warm hands up and down their tight, taut musculature, holding them closely as I breathe in the musk on their neck, their mouth chomping at my lush hair like it was darkened hay.
It might read like a line from a Peter Shaffer play, but, I promise you, it’s really not that erotic.