Our Newest Adventure

"I want a pony." A phrase commonly heard among children of all ages, genders, social backgrounds, and demographics. Somewhere along the way we seem to lose that desire-or do we? What does it mean when, as adults, we find ourselves saying "I want a pony"?

I want to say that my experience in the BDSM lifestyle is pretty irrelevant to my eventual desire for a pony, but as even as I type this I am coming up with reasons why it may have relevance after all.

In 1997 I attended an event that included human pony players as an exhibit. While I had always known that human ponies existed, I had never thought about them much. I had my own preconceived notions of who participated in that fetish and why. That event didn't change my thoughts and ideas, but added new, intriguing thoughts. I wandered past the paddock numerous times that weekend. I remember the first time I watched a trainer working a pony around the too small area they were afforded. I was drawn in by the look of the pony. I remember the stunning tack. The look, the smell, the sound. It was all amazing visually. I was equally drawn to what I assumed at the time was an impeccable display of dominance and submission. That was what I knew; that was what I drew my perceptions from. While I was very blessed to have a submissive most only dreamed of, what I was seeing seemed beyond what I had ever witnessed or experienced. It was at this point that I recall saying, "I want a pony."

During the course of that weekend I asked questions timidly, but none of the right ones. I was ignorant, through no fault of my own, as to what this pony-trainer relationship truly was. I was afforded an opportunity to assist a trainer in a scene involving his pony. However, what he sought was my expertise in bondage and discipline. While this proved to intrigue me even further, it also left me assuming that these pony players were pretty much the same as most ordinary players in the BDSM community, only with a fetish for horse tack, not unlike the fetish for leather, rubber, or latex of so many.

How wrong I was.

Over the course of the decade that followed, I often thought about the ponies I saw that weekend, how all of my senses were so easily stimulated, how I wanted a pony, or my idea of one anyway.

I never pursued my desire to own a pony. I was happy with my submissive. I was content. I didn't seek out information; I didn't seek out pony players. My misconceptions on what pony play was made me feel that bringing a pony into my life would be like bringing in a new submissive and I really had no desire to have more than one person in service to me at that time. In the end, my desire for a pony faded like most things left un-nurtured.

It wasn't until I attended another event, where pony players were prevalent, that my interest was piqued again. Although it had been at least eleven or twelve years since my first encounter with pony players had past, the sight and sound of a team of ponies pulling a tandem cart brought all of those senses to life again. This time I said, "I want a pony," and meant it.

I sat in on a couple of pony play classes, and while they did offer information, I found myself very confused. I appreciated the pony people sharing their experiences and knowledge. I enjoyed the presentations and watching those brave enough to try some things hands on. Quietly, I sat with my submissive thinking that this was not exactly what I thought it was initially, but so much more. I wanted to find the courage to stand up and say, "OK, I'm in. Where do we start?" But I could not find the strength to wander outside of my comfort zone, and surely my submissive had no interest in being a pony. Or so I thought.

Because my submissive has also become my wife and numerous other things to me throughout the years, it was easy to bring the pony play discussion up. We spoke about how beautiful the ponies looked and recalled how wonderfully humble and down to earth all of the pony players seemed to be. We discussed the benefits from the physical aspects of pony play and joked at our perceived limitations within that community due to our age. Somewhere in the conversation my submissive, my wife, my everything, also became my pony.

Over the course of the next year, I researched. I read. I asked questions. I sought out advice on everything. I joined online groups for pony players and emailed the heck out of anyone willing to respond. I wanted to know more. I wanted to find out what this was truly about. It was apparent that my first impressions and preconceived notions about pony play were indeed partly true, but most certainly only the tip of the ice berg. It was so much more.

I decided that I would take the initiative and start putting together some tack. Should the time arise to get involved in pony play, I wanted to be ready. I didn't say anything to my girl. I figured I would try my hand at making some tack and surprise her with it in a setting conducive to this type of play. I looked at pictures, lots of them. I spent days on end browsing eBay and horse sites. I knew nothing about horses other than how to ride one in the most basic way. I didn't know what the pieces of tack were called, how they worked, and, worse, how the heck you adapt it to a human. I was lost on what I would really need. Being a perfectionist I needed to make sure my pony would have all that she needed and that it looked right. I tried to ask pony players what was needed and received the same answer time and time again: whatever you want, whatever you are comfortable with, whatever you think looks good. From what I had seen so far, it appeared that could not possibly be true. It all looked so intricate to me. It wasn't until later that I realized, it truly was the right answer, a topic I will likely cover in the near future.

I bought some basic human pony headgear off the internet and disassembled the entire thing. I didn't want something off the rack. I wanted to make it my own. I needed it to be adjustable as well, since I didn't have any way to size it properly. I bought a lot of basic tools to work with, some scrap leather, lots of snaps and hardware, and a million other things I thought I needed from the local craft store. While this was probably the most expensive way to accomplish the task at hand, I was determined to do this.

I spent a few solid months, almost every evening, setting snaps and rivets. I took buckles off of old things in the house and added then to my new project. I tried it all on again and again. My future pony had once told me that if she was ever pony, she would want her colors to be black and blue, so that is what I used. After several months of trial and error and not much more than a vision, I had created a fully adjustable headpiece complete with bit, a chest harness, and a belt. I had no clue how to refer to these pieces, but it looked complete and I was ready.

In December, we attended an event just before Christmas. I put everything I had made into a bag with a pair of flat bottomed buckle boots adorned with bells. "Merry Christmas, Honey!" She smiled. She got excited. She immediately put it all on and happily we trotted down the hotel hallway toward our newest adventure.

Monts
2009