Hay and horse-hair intoxicate some women like little else. It's an addiction that begins early in life, and often remains uncured.
Hello. My name is Charlotte, and I'm an equine addict.
Hello Charlotte.
(And from the back of the room, a muted whinny.)
It's possible to ignore the sexual connotation of a thousand pounds of semi-wild muscled horseflesh between young female thighs, but I shan't. On display for all to see is the pleasure women gain from controlling a beast ten times her weight using nothing but a bit, a bridle, reins, her heels, a crop and of course those thighs. Oh, and of course a little whispered encouragement in the nag's ear.
Sounds like sex to me. Not everyday sex I guess, because regular sex doesn't often entail jumping over planks of wood, but who am I to deny chicks in jodhpurs their fantasies?
You can smell this coming, I know, but dating a horsewoman is a losing proposition. The only exception is if you are either a cowboy, or Ted Turner - and Turner's a douche. For the rest of us, the horse is way too much competition. If you somehow find yourself married to a horsewoman - against all my advice - you end up a pauper paying for this creature to give your wife happiness, satisfaction, and orgasms. Plus she will wash and brush it down after a good session.
When was the last time a chick did that for you?
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