I’m allergic to horse hair. I discovered this many years ago when a friend took me to her stable and I had a very embarrassing swollen-eyed, streaming-nosed asthma attack. This was unfortunate. I love animals, and to find myself limited as to which species I could befriend was devastating.
Still, get me a saddle and bridle and I can make do with human equivalents. About a year ago, I slipped into a pair of jodhpurs, took up my riding crop and spent a pleasant afternoon trotting round the dungeon on a pony boy. He may not have been as lovely as a real horse but at least he posed no danger of anaphylactic shock.
Anyway, here’s part of a fascinating essay called “Horse Lust” by Gloria Mitchell, published at Nerve.com:
“…Pornography sometimes makes use of the equestrian motif: the slave is strapped into position, perhaps gagged; the master or mistress wears boots and carries a riding crop. Sometimes the reference is quite literal: a dark-haired dominatrix sits astride a muscular fellow and pulls reins attached to his headgear. All this ought to be appealing to someone with a childhood fetish for the smell and creak of leather, the metallic jingle of riding accouterments and the mystique of controlling or being controlled. And it is, sort of. But ultimately, “You are my slave, you belong to me, you must do as I tell you,” seems to lack drama. People who really engage in such activities have told me that the dynamics are not so clear — the sweet, submissive young thing relates how she persuaded her master to let her tie him up. Still, despite such self-conscious crossings of self-imposed boundaries, the participants seem to like defining the relationship in terms of symbiotic need, rather than murky, changeable desire. It strikes me that there is an unwillingness, on both sides, to take risks. Compare this to riding a horse. Riding a horse may be a kind of mastery, but the reason it is exciting is that the rider is not in complete control. Perched atop this great, strong animal, you know that you could be thrown off and trampled. You have expectations of the horse — you trust it and think you can govern it — but the horse has not signed any agreement with you. (Instead, you have signed an agreement with the stable owners releasing them from liability for your injury or death.) The bigger, faster and more active the horse is, and the wider the ground over which you can ride, the more exhilarating the experience. (That was another flaw in my real riding sessions, as I recall now. They were too restricted, and didn’t measure up to the fantasy of a graceful canter or a wild gallop over endless fields.) What you want from the experience is suspense, uncertainty, possibility. In contemplating those scenes of dominance and submission, I have to wonder: if riding a horse can be so complicated, why should sex be any less so…?”
Full article here.
