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Subject: {ASSM} My father and the Great Horse
Date: Thu, 17 Feb 2000 17:10:07 -0500
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>From the Book of Herrig, a Novel (1990)
The Art of Autobiography in the Novel:
By Sean Farragher
Copyright (c) 2000 Sean Farragher. All Rights Reserved
from Taxi Murders Sextet: Hyperfiction Novel
http://www.taximurders.com
31 August 1879: Margaret's Note Book:
Eighteen year old Margaret Jean Connelly, Maggie, as she called her self,
was deflowered by the younger brother of her Governess, the horse breeder
and groom, Adam Sterling, then 29. Adam was an expert at most things, living
that open life, his hard lean body pressed up to the woman child as his dear
sister, holding the child, calming her, excited, I wasn't scared, Maggie
said. You forget I have ridden horses and have watched them.
What did you see. The mare's eyes struggled with the weight but she pushed
back, and the horse rising up crushed her back. I felt weak when it
happened. I was eight, curious, and lucky, knowing that I was not shunned
away by my father. He loved horses, and I enjoyed the wooden fence I
threatened with a dark force, as I looked at what happened.
Later, what I remember, more, was how long the Arabian stay with the dark
mare. Later, that night, in front of my mirror, naked, I stared my mirror
down, become the weapon that long spear, as it fell out, leaking and the
dark mare, screaming her flanks away, marking the dust, and I felt my belly
fold in on itself, and I actually felt that horse.
The next morning, when the grooms were away, running the horses. The Arabian
was kept in his stall. The mare in another barn, also alone, ears up, I
brushed her shoulder, feeling her flank, walking under and towards the rear,
I clean her withers, then quickly brush the white silk scarf against her
cunt, speaking to the horse in German, using that English word in my mind,
my scarf stained, I quickly leave, cross the yard to the Arabian, who, as
soon as I enter, restless in his stall, agitated, I wear the scarf, let him
smell my neck, patting his foreleg, calming his drive, his ears are
straight, and his cock extends, almost falling out as I rub it with my scarf
through the space in the stall, the stallion rises up, pulling at the
restraints, banging hard, and then suddenly calm, allows my hands to rub it,
as I saw a groom do once. Using both hands, my scarf soaked. I step back,
let go, suddenly he let it go, all at once, at least a liter of semen which
is Latin for seed of the male but sticky like a lake I watched myself, hands
covered, the stud looked back, twisted, screamed, as if human and not an
animal, or was that my voice, and back in my room, I rubbed my flanks and
cunny with that ambrosia, refusing to wash, or leave my room, I wanted to
know how it felt, as it passed inside, so taking a large radish, cleaning
it, peeling the skin, I felt it pass into my lips, mouth, cunny, like the
stallion I stank, and on my knees, my head up, I plunged through the wall,
shivering, my belly heaving, out of breath, my back straight, I fainted,
waking moments later, my cunny sore, and the radish, wrapped with silk,
having fallen clear, bled, I felt my mouth, and held the cold vegetable
warn, and falling back asleep I rose early, and when my maid complained of a
terrible animal stink, I said, it was the dog, but she smiled, helping me
into the warm tub, I soaked, healed, thinking how that horse and burst, as a
shower of pollen, wet, like a deep musk, and for a week I ached for
something more, when suddenly, father and I left the farm, returning to our
beds, and father was drunk, asked if I was sore. The old groom told me what
you did. You are a terror, darling, he laughed patting my legs. You take
too many chances. Must not, dear. That stallion could have crushed you, in
an instant. I would have said something sooner, but nothing happened, and I
realized I could never have stopped you in any case, and having been a
curious young man, I realized that curiosity could never be confined to one
gender. That would not make sense.
As my father talked, I saw the stallion, held back, muzzled, as I made that
horse only shout in a human voice. I felt that radish plunge. I held my
father's hand as he slept, as we rode the carriage home, letting it go,
cuddled, I was bound, reaching up to the terror in the mare's eyes. Not
fear, no, I realized at once that the edges of passion are terror, or terror
is a cliff, falling down from the flanks of the stallion, reaching up for
the mane, riding bare back, not cross saddle, father taught me to ride as a
boy and a girl, so you are prepared for all company and opportunity, he
said, and as he woke, I felt him caress the inside of my upper thigh, having
pulled up my dress, letting him feel the skin while he slept. arranging my
mirrors inside, I was out of breath, when we fell out of the carriage home
from the farm, mother waved, and I turned my back.
Looking back at the sky, I walked around the carriage, patting the read
quarter of the outside horse, I felt the brush of his tail, switching on and
off the flies gathering around the manure, almost bound, I touched nose,
jumped fence with the beast, all in my mind, as I felt my legs as they had
closed around my father's hand, knowing he took liberties, father said he
was sorry, and I said, please Papa, I am bad and need to be punished. Not
yet, Papa smiled, making someday, and he laughed out loud, my heart racing,
as he twitched away, his ass tight in horse pants, coat, tie, and full,
rustled with military bearing,
I wanted Adam. My horse's name. I wanted father, Adam's semen, as a flood of
sour honey, scalding my countenance, turning my sexual taste into a
terrified but agitated freak. Am I bad, dear father, for loving the horse,
riding the summit, letting my self fall down into the valley wanting to
expire, holding my papa's hand, watching him kiss mother, turn away, so
fickle, the scoundrel. Just like Adam and Eve and daughter. Lilith. I am not
sure what's there.
Love to hear from readers
seanfarragher@msn.com
http://www.taximurders.com
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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