Trainer In Training. Pt I

"Thick fur, huh?"

I looked up as the young man asked the question. The rubber brush in my right hand paused mid-motion on my left arm.

The young man's tone had been polite, cheerful, friendly. The question was perfectly appropriate for someone who worked in a pet supply store. It was my thoughts that were out of place, not him.

I had been planning, considering - wondering if the rubber nubbed grooming brush in my hand would be the right level of sensation for pony play with the particular pony I would be meeting. In three hours, I would be trotting my first human pony on the end of a lead. My thinking was filled with leather and buckles, rings and leashes.

It was hard to bring my mind completely out. I found myself focusing on his face, that small almost shy smile, dark but bright eyes. He was smiling at me, waiting for a reply. I wondered if this was his customer service face, or a true smile. I wondered what animal he would be if he could. I wondered if he had ever tried on the leashes after hours.

He mistook my expression for confusion and gestured towards the brush in my hands. "It's good for that, thick fur." He clarified helpfully.

My nod was automatic. I briefly considered telling him the truth, that I was going to a woman's house to bind her into the leather and buckles of pony gear, and trot her around her backyard on a lead. I wondered if his face would hold distaste, or would it possibly show fasincation. Perhaps even the same surprise and fascination that mine did when I discovered that ponyplay existed.

The boy was still waiting for a reply.

"Is this all of your grooming section?"I queried in return. Some questions don't need to be answered. Some answers can wait.

15 minutes later, the red rubber brush went into a brown paper grocery bag, joining ranks with various other brushes, a package of baby carrots, apple pieces, and a copy of Rebecca Wilcox's "The Human Pony."

I learned as a young teenager that just -having- the reins and control of the bit doesn't mean anything. Not to horses, and not to people. A bio-horse that's gone the trail before knows the path to take. Just try and make a bio horse go off its usual trail, traveled a 100 times, worn down with its hooves. Just attempt to steer that horse into the brush with its rocks and snakes. Try it before you know the reins, the saddle, the feel of the trot and the canter. You can't fake it. The horse will know, and not only will be you be ignored, you may recieve a snap of horsey teeth for your trouble. So when it came for my first ponyplay session with a human pony, it seemed perfectly normal to let the very experienced pony train me before I took her reins in hand.

I had the good fortune to be working with a human pony that was particularly fond of bondage. Bondage itself was familiar. Much of what I knew and loved about binding someone up... the control, the ritual, the smell of taut leather and the gleam of the buckles... was waiting there in her box of pony gear, her 'tack.'

Now I just had to get it all onto the pony.

It seemed remarkably simple at first. Tail and harness, arm bindings and various other accoutrements went on smoothly. She stood there calmly, quietly, nearly transformed as laces tightened, fastenings fit into place. I was confident, even cocky, as I adjusted one piece, and secured another. All until I got to the bridle; a mass of tiny straps and buckles clipping in behind the carefully shaped leather muzzle.

On a bio-pony, the muzzle is capable of a great deal of expression, voicing a variety of emotions. Among its sounds is that of "blowing" or "snorting," a vibrating puff of air often associated with frustration or amusement. Human ponies can and will mimic that sound with their lips. Trainers and handlers aren't supposed to make that sound at all.

"No, dear, you have it 180 degrees wrong." She explained patiently.

"Yes, the other way."

"Ok, now bring that part across there."

I have no idea how hard it was for the pony herself to resist making that frustrated sound, but for a few minutes, I was rather tempted.

Still, everything eventually fell into place. Then it was done.

My pony showed her own excitement with a toss of her head, and a horsey sound, and suddenly I had the unique opportunity to introduce my inner child, the little girl who loved horses, to my inner Dom.

Both the girl and the Dom approved of the leather and buckles, the fit and feel of it. We both felt the same glee at the way our new pony stomped her foot and swished her tail. We were both delighted to gather up her lead and walk her out into the sunshine, to trot her in circles. We both smiled to lead her around posts, and jump her over small barriers.

We both lost complete track of time.

George Eliot once said "A good horse makes for short miles." It seems a good pony makes for short hours. A good pony also makes for a happy handler, and the start of good things to come.