FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The Story of Ewan the Horsemaster

By: ToKu

It had been a surprisingly cool summer, the dust storms scarce, and the fields a thick luscious green when Ewan Graham was hired by my father as an extra hand and horse care taker for the summer. Normally, my father and his brothers took care of everything, grazing the cows, sheering the sheep, and raising the horses. But when my uncle Jacob got sick with the shingles, it left my father short handed for a week. When he didn't recover he had no choice but to hire outside help, a trainer of sorts; a master of his trade.

Ewan arrived the day after my thirteenth birthday. I remember it quite vividly because my father had given me my first rifle, nothing too special, just something to help while I looked after the goats in the lower fields, but it seemed like I had all the power of the world in my hands.

The goats were being quite well behaved, Tildy wasn't picking on Lala for once, and Todd wasn't trying to dart off after the white butterflies that wafted between the wild rosemary and the lilac flowers. The dirt road that wound round the ridges of our farm curved from the main road two miles down the hills, a slow incline that passed through where I would graze the goats. I sat shirtless atop a great boulder, rifle loaded and propped between my legs as I lazily watched the bearded goats chew on lemongrass. The dust rising from the road caught my attention only moments before the cart was upon me.

He was a large man, dressed more formally than a normal farm worker would, at least around these parts. The cart that carried him and the driver from town creaked and groaned as the two mules pulled them up the gradual incline to our home. His hair, from what I could see from under his dusty bowler hat was red, but unlike the fiery red orange of the Clancy's in Brownsburrow or the Finlands in Alexandria, his hair and thick handlebar mustache were a darker red brown, almost the color of iron when it rusts.

As they approached the herd of goats under my care, the large man regarded me for the briefest moment; with a nod of his head and the slightest tip of his hat. His hands were huge, his fingers like sausages and I marveled over how he was able to twirl the ends of his mustache so finely. I stood, oddly fascinated by the giant, dwarfing the driver of the cart who must have weighed a good 200 lbs. Ewan, however seemed more interested in the goats as they pranced about, excited to see a new face. I simply stood there, resting against the butt of my rifle as the cart slowly lumbered by, and eventually disappeared around the next bend.

I tended to the goats for the rest of the day, milking the females, feeding the younglings, and cleaning the hooves of them all. When the sun reached about 4 hours past noon I brought the goat milk back from the barn to the back door of our kitchen. My older sister Suzanne set about making butter while I finished up the rest of my free time with cleaning my rife. I didn't see Ewan the rest of that day but when Father came in from the fields for dinner he seemed fairly happy and full of energy. He told us about the cattle and how we had enough beef stock to last the winter and still turn a profit in spring. The horses would be ready for the races next June and the barley and soy bean ready to harvest in September.

Through all of his recounting, he didn't mention the giant, Ewan. I remember briefly wondering where he was living on the ranch. We had two guest houses on our land, one was lived in by my uncles and their wives while the other was used more for when my father would take the cattle out to the far fields. The house was smaller and far closer than making the whole four mile trek every day from our home on the hill. We had three barns, one for the horses, another for the cows, and a third for our chickens and storage but I couldn't possibly imagine Ewan sleeping in the barns as nicely dressed as he was.

I quickly forgot about Ewan the next morning as we all rode to Chesterfield for the county fair; my mom, pop, sister, two uncles and aunts, and their kids all crammed in to two horse drawn carriages, my father's prized horse Strider, the only bull not gelded, pulled the main carriage. For an uncut horse he was quite well behaved and well-tempered. A dark stallion with white legs. We spent the day with other prize winning animals from far off lands I had never heard of. Pigs, chickens, foxes and jackrabbits, sheep and even more exotic animals like llamas, alpacas, pumas, a peacock and even a porcupine. We ate strange and familiar foods until our tummys were full and drank carbonated caramel sodas. It was past midnight before we returned home but I remember opening my eyes and seeing Ewan helping my sister down from the carriage before shaking my father's hand, a beaming smile plain as if in daylight. I shook the sleepies from my eyes and was conscious only long enough to make it to my bed.

We had church the next day and my father invited Ewan to join the family in worship. He sat across from me on our journey, dressed in dark pants with a cream colored shirt and brown dress-vest. His bowler hat was dusted and tidy, his mustache greased, curled and yet somehow still bushy. He would smile as he listened to my father speak proudly of Strider and how he would win the races come next June. He would laugh deeply with an almost fearsome rumble whenever someone made a jolly joke and would hold his massive hands in his lap politely when ever he regarded the women.

He towered over everyone at church, drawing attention from everyone if not for his stature than for his loud and heavy accent. He told everyone he was raised in Scotland until he was fourteen, his father being a potato farmer, but when the crops went bad he had booked passage across the Atlantic with his pops for better farming opportunities. Once in America he began to work with horses and became an expert in uquus; from breading to raising to racing. I found out just by listening to the adults around me that he had actually been hired by my father to look after Strider while he was busy and get him ready for the races. Everyone had such high hopes for Strider but Ewan seemed confident that the house would become the next derby champion.

I was whisked off to Sunday school where our lessons revolved around Noah and his ark and how it was important to save all the animals from extinction. Though for some reason all I could think about were horses and Ewan Graham and how he had seemed like a god of all horses. I could go into more detail of my innocent little fantasies but this story is about Ewan, not about me. I actually play such a little roll in this story but since it's all from my perspective I guess there is need for some of my story, as we have seen up until now. But after that Sunday things became more and more about Ewan and I would beg that you all but forget that I am even here.

It turned out that Ewan was in fact living in the barn with the horses, or more so, the loft above the stalls. He had modestly furnished the space with his traveling trunk, a large cot big enough to accommodate him, and a small writing desk he had bought off my oldest uncle for thirty five cents. He worked hard. Every morning when I get out to gather up the goats and start them grazing, Ewan was already out with Strider, taking him for rides, running through the obstacle course with him, grooming him, feeding him and keeping his stalls mucked and clean. He did this with all the other horses as well but since Strider was the main objective, he was seen with him the most. As the summer progressed so did the heat. I would graze the goats with nothing but an old pair of britches, my boots and a large brimmed hat that used to belong to my father; my rifle strapped across my bare chest. The other ranch hands would loose their shirts halfway through the day but not Ewan, he would be out in the field with the horses, long sleeve shirt rolled up to his elbows, dress-vest undone, but never topless.

One Thursday evening I put the goats up early, chasing Tildy back into the pin with the others before locking the heavy wooden latch. Heading back to the house I washed up in the water basin out back, ate an early dinner with my mother and sister Suzane before retiring to my bedroom early.

I had my own small room on the second floor and my window looked out over the ranch to the west, past the ranch-hand bath stalls and the horse barn. My father was staying at the 'far house' for the next two weeks with my uncles and although I couldn't see it, even from my vantage, I knew the oil lamp hung on the porch probably burned brightly just beyond the farthest hill that sprawled out beyond the horse barn. The grass had grown in thicker out in the pastures and the cows were free grazing for the next fortnight and it would just be My mother, sister and I for the time being, and Ewan alone in the barn.

As the sun began to set and the sounds of work died down, evening set in with an almost quiet orange glow. I sat at my own small desk, trying to read an exciting book about about pirates in the south Caribbean but every time I tried to imagine the swash-buckling scalawags they always seemed to reform into Ewan and Strider. A warm breeze wafted in through my window and before I knew it I was asleep with my head resting between the pages my book.

I woke up suddenly in darkness, the only light coming from outside my window. Under a blanket of stars a single light shone from the horse barn, not from Ewan's loft but from the main building. I stirred sleepily and although I almost chose to slip into bed I had an odd compelling desire for a night time stroll. These were not uncommon for me at that age. I always seemed to have restless legs at night, even after miles of herding the goats, but I also thought of Ewan and how he had been on my mind a lot lately. It couldn't explain the sudden urge, at least not from the mind of a thirteen year old farm boy, so I pulled on my boots and dawned a fresh clean shirt.

Our house was dead still; the women of the family asleep and the men out working the the far fields. I crept down the stairs with unnecessary quiet, tip-toeing until I made it through the kitchen and out the back door. The air was still warm, but the breeze the pushed up the hills from the valley was cooling as it rippled through my half-done shirt. Without watching my footfalls I made my way down the winding path to the horse barn, suddenly wishing I had my rifle but knowing I wouldn't need it.

The giant wooden structure drew close and soon I could hear the whiny of the restless horses within. When I reached the east side of the building I pressed an eye to the cracks between the siding. While lit up, the interior still danced in shadows as the light from a flickering lantern danced against the inner walls. I moved further along until I reached the north end, where a small trough door led into the spaces where we fed the horses. I felt no real need to be secretive but the thrill and bump of my heart in my chest excited me for some reason. I crawled along the shoot until I came up into one of the empty stalls. It was clean and freshly bedded with hay and pine chips, the woodsy scent almost overwhelming my senses.

It was then that I heard a voice, Ewan's voice; deep and foreign but soft and kind as if he were speaking with one of the horses like he would a child. I remained crouched down, my knees against my chest, chicken-walking to the stall gate, until I could peer through the slats of the gate.

The center of the barn was lit by two lanterns hanging from posts in the center most beams. The light bathed the tidy barn floor but kept the stalls on the opposite side shrouded in darkness. Between the two posts stood Strider, strong, powerful and regal in all his glory, loosely tethered to the left post. It looked like he only just been bathed and groomed. The floor under his hooves was damp, but his coat almost seemed fuzzy and shone in the dim light, his mane hanging smooth and straight to one side. I almost began to wonder wear Ewan had diapered to when suddenly, his large form came climbing down the ladder from the loft he lived in.

He was dressed as he usually was, dark gray pants, off white shirt buttoned to his thick neck and brown vest over broad shoulders. I felt thin and scrawny just looking at him, but when he came up beside Strider, placing a large hand against the stallions muzzle, he suddenly seemed softer, and ever kinder.

“Sorry for the wait, I had to shave.” Ewan spoke with a deep chuckle, his face baby smooth except for his thick mustache, freshly oiled and primed. He pressed a cheek to the horses nose where he seemed to nibble at Ewan's skin harmlessly almost in a kiss. “Not yet, there is one thing left.”

I almost stood then, to announce my presence, I wanted to know how he kept Strider so still and calm, I wanted to know all the things he knew about horses, and quite frankly I was tired of tending to the goats. Sure I loved them, but I longed for a greater responsibility. I had all but stood, my hand on the latch to the gate when Ewan pulled away from Strider, shucking off his dress-vest in one fluid movement before hanging it on a lower post below a lantern. I paused and when he turned around, he was quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt.

The same excitement that had pounded through my chest moments ago seemed to rage into a thunderous boom. I couldn't explain the feeling at the time but my next response was to crouch back down, peering through the gate. Ewan worked the buttons free, exposing his chest and belly in turn before repeating the swift motion of disrobing.

For years now, I had seen all sorts of men in all manor of disrobe, from the ranch-hands out in the fields to my father and uncles on bathing night, but this was very different. Something inside me told me this was new, exciting, very very different. He hung his shirt on the same peg and another little something inside me told me to get closer.

As quiet as I could I moved back towards the feeding trough, ducking below the shaft and made my way further down the rows of stalls, passing by the many mares as they whinnied and blew out their breath in mild alarm. I heard Ewan's voice again but the pounding in my head muffled his words. I somehow guessed he was talking to Strider as the stallion made a mild cry of excitement. I found another empty stall, just passed where Strider stood. Approaching the gate I realized I was closer but Strider now blocked Ewan from sight. The Stallion flicked his tail back and forth, his gonads bouncing as he stomped his rear hoofs gently. When Ewan came back into view, I first saw his legs on the other side of the horse, as bare as his bare-toed feet. When he rounded Strider's flank I felt my insides lurch as he came into full view, completely naked as the day we were all born, even his bowler hat was missing and his red brown hair hung in clean curls from the top of his head while the sides were slicked back with the same grease he used in his mustache.

His muscles, normally hidden under loose fitting shirts, stood out, stout and defined. His pale skin glistened in the lamp light, beaded with a thin coat of sweat. It seemed magical, almost unreal as the ivory flesh moved over the sinewy strength below. Just one of his thighs were almost as big as my torso and I could have easily curled up and taken a nap on his hairless belly.

At the humble year of thirteen I didn't know much about body hair aside from what I'd seen upon my father and uncles; their chests normally peppered by thick wiry hairs, but Ewan's chest was smooth, as were his arms from the elbow up, but when he placed a thick hand on Strider's rump I saw a dark fiery patch of hair growing like weeds from his armpit. The same happened with his rotund but firm belly; smooth ivory skin until just passed the belly button before it quickly gave way to a dense tangle of hair that nearly hid what I knew to be his penis, but even that was different, the tip was hooded by extra skin that I had never seen on another male before. I realize now that he wasn't circumcised, a practice common in the neighboring Christian community but it was a true curiosity at the time.

My mouth hung open in awe but what happened next truly surprised me. Ewan came up behind Strider, lifting his tail with one hand while the other took hold of the massive gonads below his buttocks, turning them in his palm as he smiled.

“You're beautiful, Strider.” His mustache swishing from side to side as he spoke with his heavy Scottish accent, his hand moving up and along the leathery skin of the sac to puckered anus where he simply tapped and rubbed the flesh there with his thick fingers. “I'm glad I got to meet such a prized winner. I think we're just about ready.”

Moving beside the stallion Ewan crouched down, it was then that I finally saw his own testicles hanging heavy below the thick mound of brown orange fur, but what caught my attention then was his hand on the shaft of the flaccid horse penis, gently squeezing and stroking it, letting it flop to one side then the other as he seemed to be coaxing something from within. And there it was, Strider's equine penis, white and pink and black. I had seen my father mate Strider with one of our mares before and I knew just how long the shaft could get. Ewan seemed to know as well.

“Good boy.” He spoke to the horse getting a soft neigh in return. Then, if I wasn't surprised then, I certainly was when he ducked further under the stallion's body, opening his mustached mouth wide before taking in the entire length of flaccid horse cock. He moaned around the shaft like it was a piece of sassafras. It would flop in and out of his mouth as he worked it, not hard enough to keep it in every time he pulled back. Ewan stroked Strider's belly and side and he sucked, stroking the dark testicles and moaning the whole time. The length of cock seemed to grow larger, longer and longer until he could no longer fit the whole thing in his mouth.

Ewan came off the equine cock with his eyes watering and spit running down his chin, but he smiled broadly and chuckled warmly, wiping the saliva from his mustache with the back of his thick wrist. “Delicious and...” He spoke. “Simply beautiful.”

Strider seemed pretty excited about the current situation as well as he was no longer standing still. His hooves were stomping and his head swung about with a joyous whinny. He usually only got that riled up during a matting or before a race.

“Easy now,” Ewan spoke, straightening up. His own penis had grown as well, the shaft a good six inches with a half inch of extra skin. He took hold of it, stroking back the loose hood of flesh revealing the head that was more familiar to me. He stroked it a few times, staring at the length of horse penis as it swung back and forth beneath Strider. “I think I'm just about ready.”

Ewan spit in his cupped hand then, a healthy blob of saliva that he then applied between his smooth butt cheeks. He seemed to be rubbing it in and before long he was walking around to the other side, almost out of view. I could see that he stroked Strider's mane one more time with his other hand still working his own penis. I shifted about, trying to get a better view. Looking through the far right side, I watched as Ewan leaned forward, almost as if bending down to pick something up, but by reaching back with both arms he spread his butt cheeks apart while his digits rubbed his own anus muscles. It was bright pink against white skin, but when he stuck two fingers inside, the flesh that enveloped them was a dark wet red.

“Ready when you are, boy.” Ewan cooed like a mother would a child. Strider whinnied and pranced a bit but seemed hesitant. With a few more clicks and a another “Here boy.” The stallion suddenly jumped up on is hind legs, flared penis driving forward. I had the strangest sensation to wince, to look away, worried he might get trampled to death, but my eyes were glued as Ewan's right hand caught the length as it came towards him, expertly guiding it between his cheeks in a rather graceful movement.

I would imagine that a normal man would have been crushed by the sheer weight of such an animal, trampled, stomped on, badly injured if not killed. But Ewan was large too; a little more than half the size of the beast itself. When those strong front legs came down, his broad back seemed to support them as he was straddled and mounted. He cried out, but not in pain. It was a moan, a deep thunderous sound; a roar that boomed from his belly and out his mouth. Strider bucked, the thick length of cock, slipping in and out of Ewan's butt-hole with sporadic ferociousness and a sloppy wet noise accompanied by the heavy moans.

Strider's flank muscles rippled with a spazm, his tail whipping back and forth with a frenzy. Using his back to support the beast left his arms and shaky hands to replace the girthy length of horse penis whenever it would slip from within him to slap against his buttocks or between his legs; oozing a thick viscous liquid the whole time. Though he never stopped moaning or sighing, the noises became less sharp and eventually dissolved into sounds of pleasure. It was clear that Strider was frantic to stay inside Ewan just as much as the human wanted the horse in him. Several times Strider lost his balance and slipped off Ewan. The huge Scotsman would then straighten up, sooth the beast with a few soft words and a pat behind the ears before ducking down the take the equestrian cock into his mouth, the flared tip proving a challenge to engulf, but Ewan seemed mastered in all things equus.

When Ewan stood again, a single hand methodically stroking his own cock, he walked this time closer to where I hid. He lumbered towards a cloth covered mound a few feet from the stall I currently peered through. Pulling off the cloth, Ewan whistled for Strider to come closer. It was the fake mare dummy my father used to artificially inseminate the mares Strider refused to mate with. It was nothing more than a makeshift piece of fence with a hide of leather surrounding and insulating a buckwheat pillow. Ewan climbed onto the sturdy frame, first straddling it then leaning forward so his belly lay over the smooth leather hide, his butt open and exposed to Strider.

Ewan clicked and called for Strider, saying something I couldn't understand, it might have been in another language but it was completely unfamiliar. Almost as if commanded, the bull horse came up behind Ewan, his snout pressing up between Ewan's white smooth butt cheeks, sniffing and curling his lips in a flehmen before finally settling in as if attacking one of his salt licks. I stared miraculously as Ewan grinned wide, his toes and fingers curling, his eyelids fluttering as his ass was ate by the beast. I didn't know how he was able to get the horse to do such a thing, or even what he thing it was he was doing. It would still be quite a few years before I rediscovered such a practice but I was simply taken aback as the Scotsman ability to control the beast.

He whispered something again, something foreign; his neck arched as he glanced back at Strider, his teeth white with a massive grin. I saw quickly that the horse hadn't lost its erection and with a simple click from Ewan was suddenly on his hind legs all over again, edging forward until the flared rod pushed between his cheeks. It didn't however, sink in like it had last time. Ewan let out a sharp gasp, quickly reaching back he pulled one butt cheek apart as Strider staggered back. I could see clearly that the flared tip was too big to push through. I remember getting the strangest of feelings in the pit of my belly as I tried in vein to imagine something that big trying to force its way inside of me.

Strider pushed forward again, and Ewan seemed to be struggling to accommodate the long length of meat. He was just able to reach his hand far back enough to grab hold of the flared end, guiding the cock slowly in, even though Strider's thrust where becoming frantic. Suddenly, with a sharp gasp followed but a thunderous moan the cock broke back through, burrowing its way inside Ewan's intestines before being jerked back and forth with the horsepower driven thrusts.

Blue eyes seemed to bulge as the fair skinned giant was ravaged by the equestrian beast. Sweat poured from his pours, his mop of normally slick combed red hair was now damp and unruly. His massive arms and legs hugged the makeshift breading post while he himself was subjugated to being bread. Strider's head lashed back and forth, his glossy mane whipping around as the horse built to orgasm.

I was old enough to know what orgasm was, though my mother would deny I was ever guilty of such a thing. I was familiar with self-love and how it made one feel. I knew that my parents did it from time to time, reached an orgasm that is, as did my uncles with their wives. Even the other animals on the farm did it to make babies. But I had never witnessed it like this before, with such passion, nor with such ferocity and with a man at the receiving end of an animals wild lusts.

I couldn't tell you how long Ewan remained like that. It could have been an hour, it could have been two minutes. But I could tell that the strange words that dribbled from his gaping maw seemed to drive the bull-horse on, giving him increased stamina and prolonged orgasm. Several times I saw Ewan's face scrunch up as if something inside of him had peeked, maybe the horse penis was poking too far inside of him, but his features would only dissolve into a sweat soaked bliss as he was further rutted.

I almost felt hypnotized, fixated on the repetition, the sounds of wet sloppy matting, the smells of earth and sweat and horse. Even after Strider seemed to rear up, pulling his raging flared penis from Ewan's butt, I remained engrossed, truly amazing that something that long and that big could fit inside someone. Ewan lay there for a moment, his red distended butthole dripping a steady stream of off-white goo that puddled on the floor below. He shifted his leg, swinging his body towards me so that when the sudden gush of horse seamen spilled from his hole, I got the full view. His legs seemed wobbly as he stood but he seemed rejuvenated when Strider came up beside him to nuzzle the side of his face.

“We made quite the mess, buddy.” Ewan said staring down t the floor for a moment, likely admiring the amount of seed that had flooded from his bowels.

When he turned around I saw that his once orange pubic hair was now wet and dark and though his own penis was flaccid I could see a clear liquid occasionally dripping from his foreskin. It took me a second to put two and two together and realize that he had not only reached orgasm just from Strider breeding him, but had done so numerous times. Each time his face and scrunched up, every time he had gotten that blissful look he had erupted between the worn leather and his smooth belly.

He seemed to revel in the way Strider rubbed and kneaded against his neck and face as if it were a sensual touch from a long lost lover. He seemed to speak to him, strange words that the horse understood. Watching them I remained paralyzed with wonder. Ewan, naked and gleaming with sweat and dirt from the barn floor to Strider, gallant and handsome; his mane silky and his loins finally loosing its erection. After a moment he slowly lead the Equestrian beast across the barn to the largest stable where he was normally kept at night. Ewan took his time putting the horse away; refilling his hay feeder and his water trough all while still very much in the nude. When he finally latched the gate closed he lumbered back towards where I still hid, crouching down on my knees in prickly hay.

He set about putting the barn back in relative order, tossing the cloth back over the breeder post after first wiping up his own copious emissions. He paused then, with his hands on his hips, glancing about the barn, obviously checking for anything he might have missed. His eyes looked slightly sunken and his blonde-orange hair disheveled but with a quick swipe of his fingers almost put it back into place. He grabbed the lantern off the center pillar and quickly ascended he ladder to his loft above Strider, my last view of him being his dripping butthole and hairless legs. A heavy silence fell over the barn then and I felt a single shift of my foot would be loud enough to wake the whole farm. I felt the heavy weight of sleep take hold of me then. I slowly lowered myself to the hay and pine strewn floor, resting my head on a particularly padded pile; I was out before I took my second breath.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

I awoke the next morning in more or less the same position. I lifted my head, twigs of straw sticking my my face and tangled in my short hair. Wiping the lids of my eyes with the back of my hands I gazed about groggily. The barn was bathed in light from the open windows above the stalls and the large sliding door was open letting a surprisingly cool breeze peddle pleasantly through the whole hall. I had kicked my boots off in the night so after lacing them back up I pulled myself up and out of the stall, closing the gate behind me.

The barn was empty, Ewan must have let the horses out to graze in the fields behind the cow enclosures, the only noise coming from my subtle movements. I heard some voices far off, probably coming from the house or from workers out near the bean fields but I was truly startled when I heard the back door of the barn open up. I whirled around to find Ewan's hulking figure crossing the hall towards me. He was rubbing one of his shirts through his wet hair like a towel, the rest of him completely naked, circumcised penis swaying slightly as he walked while his feet left wet foot prints in his wake.

“Oh, howdy there, son.” He spoke with mild surprise when he finally noticed me standing by his loft ladder, his accent disagreeing with the words he spoke. “You sleep well too? Can't imagine though seeing as how that stall does not have enough bedding in it. I almost woke you but you were so sound asleep I figured I'd just leave ya till the morning.”

“What time is it?” I asked, my voice sounding meek and soft in comparison. I tried to keep my gaze elevated but it didn't help that his groin was practically eye level. My body seemed to tingle and my head rushed, a weird flutter arose in my throat and it was amazing I could even speak at all, seeing as this was the first time Ewan had acknowledged me beyond a soft nod or smile.

“A few minutes passed seven, I believe.” He smiled tossing his wet shirt over his shoulder. He came to a halt a few feet from me with a strong and stoic stance, towering over me, dwarfing me in almost every way. His pale white skin glistened with water from his bath but somehow his mustache was not a single hair out of place. “I think I heard your mother calling for you before I washed up, something about goats.”

“Oh, I-I need to take them out to the lower fields to feed.” I mumbled.

“Well, I shan't keep you then.” Ewan spoke with a smile. “I've got to take our buddy Strider for a training ride anyways. He's gonna be in top condition come June next year.”

He gave me a wink and a smile and I wanted to smile back but I simply nodded, taking one last glace at his private region, the hooded skin, vaguely recalling it dripping with semen, as if it had been a dream. At the barn door I stopped and turned back around only to see Ewan ascending his loft ladder, furry dangling testicles in full view. I finally smiled then before racing off towards the goat pins beside the cow enclosure.

Ewan Graham stayed with us for two and a half seasons. He trained and groomed Strider as well as the other horses allowing my father to focus on the fall harvests and the spring sewing without having to fuss over his prized horse. Some days I would take the goats over to the horse pastures and watch Ewan ride Strider, galloping around the length of the fence, leaping over wooden obstacles, rearing up on two legs just to show off but doing so gracefully and every fortnight there would be a light on in the barn late at night. I would slip on my boots, sneak out of the house and cross the lawns to the horse barn where I would find Ewan in the process of being breed by the beautiful beast Strider. Though I no longer had to hide in the stables to do so. I never took place in any of his practices late at night. I never felt compelled to, nor did Ewan try and groom me to do so. I was merely a spectator of a master hard at work. The whispers and moans of this strange language would reverberate thought the barn each night the special practice occurred and Strider always seemed to reply and respond to Ewan's magical words. These could all be stories for another time but nothing ever changed in his routine and recounting each time would almost be pointless, but on a personal level I cherished each moment like a strange far off fantasy mixed with childish wonder. I knew somehow, deep down the level of inappropriateness, but there also seemed a very natural level of innocence embedded in all of Ewan's purposeful practices.

Strider won the family nearly three thousand dollars at the races that following year. After that my father retired from horse racing and bestowed upon Strider his own stable with a sizable field to live out his days.

Ewan Graham left us on the first of August and I still remember him winking at me like it happened yesterday; a sparkle of bright blue that would forever resonate with me for the rest of my life. I watched the mule-drawn cart dwindle into the distance while Tildy and Lala play-fought below my feet. I never saw him again, or anyone quite like him for as long as I lived. I liked to believe he returned to Scotland where he found his own horse to live with, to train, to breed. After all, I know I eventually did.

-End