GEYSERLAND GUILD OF WOODWORKERS
A short story by Bob Collins (Stumpy)
“Come on girl, C’mon move a little, you know I won’t hurt you, don’t be difficult”.
She liked the touch of his fingers, he was always gentle to her, they were so close, her nostrils were saturated by the male smell of him, but she liked that too, yet she still held back. He would not be denied. His fingers were never still, his hot breath was on her cheek, his whisper continued softly..
“C’mon pretty thing, its no time to fool around now, we haven’t got all afternoon, darkness is falling, I have to get home sometime, c’mon”.
She was surrendering, she knew, why continue to resist him, he was gentle and patient now, but soon he will become angry and rough, besides she liked him, liked his touch, liked the softness of his voice but still she hesitated. His hand on her neck was moving further now. His palm rubbed from ear to shoulder and further. Once it followed the line of her spine until it found the swell of her firm rounded rump, gave her a light playful slap before retracing its path.
With infinite patience and persuasiveness he continued to whisper.
“C’mon, c’mon, pretty girl, pretty Matha, please me c’mon now”.
His hand traced the firm line of her jaw down the side of her throat to briefly rest on the softness below. She wondered, “Why hold back any longer, she had shown she had a will of her Own. But men always won in the end, forced their will upon you, so why resist any longer, better bow to the inevitable, besides she liked and trusted the man, his gentle touch, his smell, his voice.
Surrendering, she veiled her beautiful eyes, lowered her proud head, then she stepped into the horse float. She was a pretty docile little mare, just nervous, that’s all.