Practice Pony

By Lawrence Schimel

I couldn't help thinking about the sign I'd torn down from the post office door:




The yellow xeroxed sheet with this information was riding in my back pocket, folded into a tiny square, as I crossed campus. I imagined myself astride a horse, the feel of withers pressing up against my asshole, rubbing back and forth.... I was getting so hard I was sure that everyone walking past must notice my erection, and I swung my books loosely in front of my crotch, feeling like I was in high school again. Nostalgia 101.

I'd grown up on horseback, riding competitively in dressage and hunterchases until I hit high school and decided it wasn't masculine enough. Even then, I knew I was gay, but I was afraid people would find out. In high school, it's just not accepted. So I did everything I could to pretend that I wasn't. In college, things were different, but I still wasn't comfortable being completely out. There were these football players who lived on my floor, who I had to share a bathroom with, and I was afraid of what they might do to me if they knew I was gay and thought I'd been watching them in the showers all this time, desiring them.

But the idea of polo was sexy--and very, very masculine. Despite the wording of their sign: Put a beast between your legs. Did they know what that sounded like? Could they mean...? I was afraid to finish the thought, lest I jinx myself. I glanced at my watch, then thrust my hand into my pocket. Just eleven hours until I can find out, I told myself, hopefully, as I squeezed my hard cock in my jeans and walked into my anthro class.


I'd gone to the meeting for the Yale Equestrian Club during the first few weeks of my Freshman year, but when I walked into a room full of women I just pretended I had stumbled into the wrong meeting and fled. My heart pounded in my chest as I hurried back to Old Campus and my dorm; no way was I going to be the only boy on an all-women team! That would've been like running through the streets shouting, "I'm a faggot! I'm a faggot!" and I wasn't ready for that. I'm still not, although I'm much farther out of the closet than I was last year.

I didn't think the Polo Team would be anything like the Equestrian Team. It didn't seem like a women's thing, so I was surprised to see four or five girls in the Davenport Lounge when I walked in a little before 9 p.m. But there were also a dozen guys sitting about, half of them in riding pants or chaps and boots. There was one man--and he was a young man, not a boy like most of the people in the room--who seemed to dominate the whole room. His skin spoke of some exotic clime: Brazil or Argentina, someplace Latin, someplace where heat and passion are a way of life. He had liquid black eyes and lips that curled in a small pout when he stopped talking. Obviously tall, even though he was sitting on a couch, his long legs were casually spread wide....

I quickly looked away. Great first impression, I berated myself, drooling all over the men.

But as I scanned the room and my eyes fell on him again, talking with a group of three very frosh-looking guys in jeans who stood facing him, I knew that I'd be joining the team if he was on it.

I struck up a conversation with someone I recognized from one of my Poli Sci classes, and after a moment Mr. Drop-Dead Gorgeous stood up and called the room to order. He was even more attractive when standing, I thought, as my eyes traveled up and down his tall frame. The bulge in his crotch seemed even more enormous on his thin waist.

Turns out he wasn't just on the team, he was Captain. Which meant I'd suddenly developed a new hobby.


The smell of wood shavings always brings back the memory of the first time I sucked another man's cock: it was a hot summer afternoon when one of the stablehands took me into one of the back stalls and dropped his pants. I'd been so enthralled by that huge, veined piece of flesh that swelled between his legs. It reeked of his sweat as I knelt down to examine it more closely; the whole barn reeked of strong scents: cedar from the shavings, the stale bite of the horse's urine, steaming mounds of manure baking in the heat. Precum was leaking from the tip, and I reached out to wipe it away; my fingers burned as they brushed against the swollen, throbbing glans, but rather than pulling back I grabbed hold of his cock with my fist. It was easily twice as thick as my own, I marveled, and half again as long. I'd hardly imagined cocks could be that size. "Suck on it," the stablehand commanded, pulling my head toward his crotch. There was no way I could take it, I thought, but as I opened my mouth to protest his cock pushed in and--

I shifted uncomfortably in my jeans, suddenly very aware of my surroundings in the Yale Armory. My cock was stiff as a polo mallet, and feeling far too confined in the jockey shorts I was wearing instead of boxers. I'd want the support, I knew, once I was on horseback; I hadn't made allowances for getting such a raging hard-on. And staring at the Captain's tight ass in his riding chaps as we followed him to the arena wasn't helping it go away!

There were eleven of us left, after listening to the requirements for being on the team and the commitment we'd have to make if we joined. We were now about to try getting up on horseback. Many had never ridden before, so it was a chance for them to see what it was like, to get used to being astride a living creature. There were only four horses saddled up in the arena, so we took turns getting on and walking around. To keep us humble, as if simply staying astride weren't battle enough, we had to walk forward and try to hit a ball. Just holding onto the mallet was tricky. I rode English, but you had to keep the reins bunched in one hand and neck rein like in Western styles, so that your right hand was free to hold the mallet. It looked so easy when the team did it, but when I tried to hit the ball I must've missed by four feet!

I kept guiding my horse around again, in tight circles, again and again, trying to hit that damned ball. But I never did. The mallet struck too high or too low or too far to one side. I was really impressing the Captain like this, I told myself each time, trying hard to fight the blush of shame and embarrassment that colored my cheeks.

To my surprise, as I dismounted the Captain said, "You've got a good seat and you ride well. But you can't hit the ball for shit. Meet me in the practice room at the gym tomorrow at six-thirty."

My heart was beating so hard and loud that I couldn't hear my own reply. I must've mumbled something. He hadn't offered anyone else a private lesson, so he must actually see something in me. My cock felt pinched in my jockeys again. I wanted to climb up into the hayloft and jerk off, but I didn't know how to get up there yet. I went into the bathroom instead. My hand was covered with grime and horsehair but I didn't care; I fisted my stiff cock until I came, whispering "Alberto" as I shot my load against the white ceramic of the sink.


Classes were done for the day, so the gym was crowded not only with sports teams practicing, but also a large number of people who were there simply to work out or jog or swim. I wished I had an excuse to cruise through the locker rooms and get an eyeful of the sweaty jocks going into the showers, but I was fully dressed in my riding gear, even though I wasn't about to be on horseback, just the wooden practice horse. I thought it would make a better impression on the Captain, however, to show him I was seriously interested. Which I was--in him more than the sport!

I wandered down corridors, following the directions the guard downstairs had given me. Past the squash courts... there, on the end. A normal-sized door with a small window at eye level. I peered in. It was empty, save for the large wooden horse in the center of the floor. I tried the handle and the door swung in. The air was stale; the room hadn't been used in a while. Mallets lined one wall, along with a few old balls that had lost their firmness.

I walked over to the horse, a simple wooden frame with stirrups on leather straps dangling from either side. I swung up onto it and just sat there for a moment, enjoying the feel of such a wide body between my legs. I put my hands on the wooden withers and rubbed back and forth, scratching my asshole through the fabric of my jeans and underwear. I imagined Alberto licking my ass, working my hole with his tongue to prepare the way for his cock....

I checked my watch, wondering where he was. I was still fifteen minutes early. In my excitement to see him, I'd made certain I wasn't late!

I ran my hand up the inside of my thigh, rubbing the side of my swollen cock, which had poked free from the confines of my briefs. I wondered how soon he'd show up; did I have time to go jerk off? It would let me concentrate on the lesson at hand. But even if there was time, where could I do it? I looked over my shoulder at the tiny window in the door. Even though not many people came all the way down to the end of the corridor, it would be just my luck that someone would.

I dismounted and walked over to the wall to select a mallet. I would practice my swing to take my mind off my aching cock. If I didn't lose this erection by the time Alberto showed up there'd be no way he couldn't notice it. I chose the longest mallet and climbed back on the wooden horse. I stood up in the stirrups like they'd shown us yesterday and took swing at an imaginary ball. The mallet cracked against the side of the horse and I winced at the sound. I was glad no one else was here, and also that I wasn't on a real horse! I took another swing and this time managed to avoid hitting the horse, although I still couldn't direct the mallet where I wanted it.

Again and again I swung, trying to get accustomed to the heavy weight at the tip of that long stick, its arc as it traveled toward the imaginary ball.

"Your mallet is too long."

I was on the follow-through of a swing and I almost swung myself right over the side of the horse.

I turned around. My heart was beating from fear, and it wanted to stop completely as I stared at him. He was so hot! He was a tall shadow in the dusty light; dark hair, dark skin, and those liquid dark eyes....

So much for having forgotten my erection, I thought, as I twisted back to resume my proper seat and break eye contact. "I didn't realize you were there."

He walked toward me; I could feel his presence behind me, just beside the horse. He exuded an energy, something sensual that sent an electrical charge through my body. My swollen cock thumped against my leg each time he spoke, vibrating to the timbre of his voice.

"I told you six-thirty. That was ten minutes ago."

My eyes flicked to meet his; he'd been watching me for ten minutes! I couldn't read anything from his expression, so I looked away, down at my hands in my lap, the reins bunched between them and the mallet jutting off to one side like a giant erection. I let the tip of the mallet dip; it helped to hide my real erection.

Alberto took hold of the mallet and handed me another one. "This is a better size for you." The new stick was half a foot shorter. I leaned over the side of the horse and stretched so far toward the floor that I almost slid off.

Alberto laughed, a short quiet burst of sound. "Much better." I turned to look at him, and he met my stare. I couldn't read him at all, which was part of what I found so sexy about him. He was a cipher.

"You've got to stand up in your seat when you swing."

He offered no more explanation, so I went ahead and tried it, assuming that's what he wanted me to do. I stood up and leaned forward to take a swing, and it was much easier to keep the head of the mallet focused where I wanted it to go. I wasn't entirely convinced it was the length of the mallet, although shorter mallet was lighter. However, I'd just spent a good twenty minutes swinging that first mallet, so I felt some of my skill was simply the result of my own practice.

I took another swing with the new mallet, and then another. Alberto didn't say anything, just watched me from beneath those dark, brooding eyes. I kept practicing. Occasionally he would comment, in the form of an instruction. "Slow down the swing." "Lift your arm higher."

"Take off your jeans."

I looked at him, surprised. Had I heard him correctly? My heart was beating so fast I could hear nothing else. At last, this was the moment I'd been hoping for! Why was I hesitating?

I dismounted and looked up at him. He hadn't moved. He was watching me, casually, almost disinterestedly, waiting. But he was watching me.

I stripped down for him, peeling off my chaps slowly, giving him a bit of a show. I undid the buttons of my jeans and remembered suddenly that I'd shaved off all my pubic hair the other week. What would he think? I worried, as I stripped off my underwear with my pants. As I bent over to step out of each leg my erection was pointing straight at him, so hard it was throbbing like a discotheque. I couldn't believe what I was doing; this was a public gym! What if someone walked past and looked in? But right then, I couldn't care about anything but Alberto and what he wanted from me.

Naked from the waist down, I climbed back atop the practice horse and stood up in the stirrups, my ass up in the air as it had been when he asked me to take off my pants. My sphincter twitched, anticipating the feel of him sliding into me. I thought of him using his crop as a dildo, thrusting the long black leather whip into me.... A bead of precum dripped onto the saddle.

Pain flashed across my buttcheeks!

I spun around, almost falling to the floor before I realized where I was and caught my balance in the stirrups. I sat down and gripped with my knees to keep my seat. My ass burned against the wooden horse, a strip of heat-pain.

He'd whipped me!

"I didn't tell you to take your chaps off," he said.

I dismounted again. He was standing much nearer to me this time. I could feel the closeness of his body, making my own respond strongly. He saw all of me, naked before him, so obviously desiring him, but he made no move toward me. I had to wonder what he planned to do with me, or to me. Whatever it was, my body wanted it and was ready for him.

I bent down to pick up my chaps and couldn't help looking at his basket, which always bulged so prominently that I couldn't even tell if he was hard now or not. I climbed back into my leathers, pulling them over my legs. My ass and cock were left bare, and it felt as if a sudden draft snuck through the tiny window, deliciously cold and making me even harder.

I climbed back onto the practice horse and resumed my position in the stirrups, leaning forward over the neck, my ass thrust into the air.

He tapped the inside of my leg with the crop and I tried not to flinch. Slowly, he tapped his way up my inner thigh, sending goosebumps across my skin.

He tapped my balls, on either side, making them swing.

He didn't say anything about the stubble.

Suddenly the crop was gone. I wanted to turn around and see what he was doing, but I stayed where I was. I strained to hear what he was doing, listening for a rustle of fabric, a footstep, anything, but there was no sound of any sort--I couldn't even hear if he was in the room with me.

There was a rush of movement behind me, and I sat down to turn about -- I sat right onto his cock. I cried out, unprepared for this impaling. Heat flared through my gut. I hadn't even heard him move, not to unzip his pants, or unroll the condom he was wearing, nothing. His cock was long and thin, like his body; I could feel it inside me, well above my navel, it seemed.

"Grip with your knees."

I did so, pulling myself up off his cock a few inches. I held there a moment, and then he stood up in the stirrups to slide into me once more, pushing me forward with a grunt. I leaned into the wooden neck again, wrapped myself around it and held on for dear life.

He laced his fingers through my hair and jerked my head back, so his hot mouth could more easily find mine and force it open. My jaw ached as his long tongue snaked its way down my throat. He reached under my shirt and seized a nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

I arched my back with the sudden pain. Alberto thrust into me, grinding forward. My cock slapped painfully against the polished wood. I reached down and grabbed the reins; I looped the leather cords over my balls so every forward thrust made them tug my cock.

His breath was hot in my ear, pulsing rapidly in horse-like bursts from his nostrils. I couldn't hold back; I'd been so excited thinking about him for so long, I shot my load onto the horse's neck, letting it ooze down the wood. He didn't stop thrusting into me, riding my ass relentlessly, thrusting into me deeper and deeper. My insides felt like they were being torn apart. But he didn't stop, and soon my cock grew hard again with his
filling me up.

At last, he too came, crying out in a short bark as his body spasmed, then silence. His long cock was still within me, upholding me and holding me up.

He dismounted, and I slid down against the wooden horse. My ass burned; it twitched against the smooth polished wood. I collapsed against the wooden neck, my cock slicked by my own cum as it slid between my stomach and the wood.

"You've got a good seat," he said. "But you've still got to practice your swing."

Reprinted from Lambda Literary Award Finalist His Tongue By Lawrence Schimel. Copyright 2002. All rights reserved.