[Deanne]

Synopsis: The love for two passions are united.


It's often not enough to be happy, to have a family, a job and hobbies: to have a loving husband who would die for you, but who seems to have died for you. - why is it that one gets restless? The search for something lost, for the passion once ignited, experience, but now slowly being extinguished by the stresses of society and the striving for a comfortable existence, is not easily forgotten. This passion is needed for a good relationship, like a drug, like glue, the only thing able to hold two soles together, without it, anything can happen.

I long to feel like a woman again; to feel passion and lust burn through my body - to hold an exciting man's body in my arms and feel his lust take control of him. Its not enough to be made love to; to for fill an urge, then lie there waiting for some kind of feeling to make it all seem all right - all so complacent and deadly boring.

The path forward is dangerous filled with intrigue and danger - many lies to be told along the way and quite a couple of commandments to be broken - but the body leads the mind and together they will follow into the future to find passion - maybe to places not yet explored, but also just maybe they will lead to the truth, to the end where my soul can find peace and rest - where the restless uneasy passions will finally lie down their disturbing heads and sleep forever - freeing me to become a happy person.

I ride - allowing the muscular movements of the horse underneath me to absorb my thoughts to distract my mind. She moves with precision, turning on the slightest movement of my legs, responsive and soft to my hands through the leather reins, holding her head proud bent like a Lipizano stallion, moving her body underneath me like a spring. The tension builds up; she contains it allowing it to give her the power to move like a dancer, smoothly and beautifully across the sands. Her emotions, more in check than mine. I feel her aching to break the perfect pace and rhythm, but dreading the reprimand and the anger she has learnt follows such an outburst. She would love to go for a unrestrained gallop over the sea sands, mane flying, head tossing bucking and kicking out, but it is not allowed in a dressage arena, her world.

So as she does in hers, I in mine, must restrain my wild nature, doing the circles and routines that make me what I am. What would I do with my freedom? Too dangerous to contemplate, what would be lost? I'm not sure – but the longing to just once break free and test the waters of deceit and high excitement, see just how far I can go without smashing the priceless lead crystal vainer of my life, and risking reprimand, anger and most of all disappointment, is a energy slowly demanding to be released.

We meet by accident. The riding school I run offers lessons and horse back rides to the beach. In this way I get to meet many different people, often away from their homes and looking for some excitement, familiarity, companionship, probably the original fuel for the fire now burning inside me. He asks for six lessons, I make arrangements and we begin. His movements are awkward and just a touch cautious, but he shows no fear. My school horses are well trained, they accepts their tasks without question and with patience. Slowly he gets the rhythm, his movements become more relaxed and suddenly he is riding. I have to touch him to teach him. His body is well kept, muscular and tanned. His new, white leather-inset riding breeches are perfectly clean and his dark polo shirt hangs lightly on his frame. He smells nice. After the lesson we start to chat. His adrenaline levels are still high. I have shared a potentially dangerous experience with him and have safely guided him through it.

He remains behind the barriers of correct behaviors, never stepping over the lines, never even hinting at what he might be thinking. He keeps conversation to his recently found interest in horse, wanting to know all the ins and outs involved. He keeps his other interests hidden, maybe he is also hiding behind a front of proper behavior, his real life lying somewhere far away, the restraints of which, holding him from a distance.

I imagine his passions, and try to design myself to tempt him, knowing my tactics as transparent as a first time lovers. But that energy drives me to risk everything for just the anticipation of one sexual experience - its promise burning in me like a cancer, but the fear holds me back as securely as chains. We chat then say goodbye, going home and away from the temptation does not seem to stop the feeling, just heightens the anticipation of the next meetings.

We spend time together, he learns from me. We get to know each other and I constantly test the restraints that hold both our lives apart - Like ducks testing the water before taking the plunge, waiting to see who dares first to. We talk about South African politics, a subject, I as a South African, who has lived in the country all my life, is defiantly an expert at - and he: a social giant in his profession and an international man of standing - politically strong, knowing all the right words and things to say. Hard felt passion arises and we feel it slowly changing, into what, we do not know, I do not care. The words mean very little.

What he thinks is badly hidden in his eyes, sadness even pity - Gained after many years of life he knows all too well what is being offered to him, he also knows the consequences and has guessed the reasons. He seems to know so much more that I do not - so much he could teach me, but all this knowledge is forbidden to me, and each time, he will leave and I will smile and say goodbye – wondering whether the next time will be different, whether the temptation will prove too strong and one of us will make a move.

We meet by accident. These times always uncomfortable, times when there is no horse to defuse the situations, no animal to disperse the stillness and times without words. Our worlds having very little else in common. My urgencies, so transparent, making him feel awkward. He does not want to deal with such things; he wants to learn to ride.

I phone, remind him of a booking to come and ride, he responds negatively, my excitement is crushed my heart aces, the rest of me heaves a great sigh of relief, now the temptation is gone and I can be free again, disappointment lies like a Christmas meal in my stomach. Slowly I start to forget about him, he has left the country so its no use even thinking about him, but I still wonder what it would have been like, and what had made him able to turned me down, had I pushed too hard? The answer to that question, I never want answered. He did it for my own good: protecting himself and me even when he could have got something more out of it. What could I have lost? I will never know now?

Passion left unchecked - I wonder how he dealt with it, what he felt? His bonds were able to hold him, to restrain him from taking what was being so blatantly offered. Being a man his social arena is bigger, more lenient; He probably has a selection of unattached woman, without baggage and the need for deceit. He will return to his life with an interesting story to tell of how he learnt to ride, how he broadened his horizons and experienced the exhilaration of speed from the back of a horse down a white snowy beach with aquamarine waves lapping at his horses hooves and the sound of seagulls. And maybe he will think of me? Maybe in telling his tale he will mock my childish attempts to tempt him, or maybe he will stay silent about it, remembering me, feeling some small twinge of regret? As always I can dream, live within myself allowing my imagination to make it happen as I see fit.

I look out at the sea and feel the heavy crashing of the waves. The spray reaching up to meet the sky; fragments into foam and salt water, shattered and blown away by the wind. After all these years I feel more trapped than ever. Where are my morals, what had I contemplated doing, what would have been the consequences? As usual I turn to her, she makes me feel powerful and complete, allowing me to use her legs, allowing me to control her. I saddle up and we brave the wind. We ride towards the arena where the driving sand lashes her legs and gets in my eyes, we start all the loosening up exercises. She rebels, her body itching to go free, she feels my indecision and my sadness - together we look out at the open valley with its jumps and corners yet unexplored and densely bushed, windless area where the flocks of gees dive down and land on the flooded vlei areas, they sail across the water in perfect harmony, ducking and diving, experiencing life. Discipline must prevail, they say.

The arena’s is not empty, we are not alone. I watch the other rider majestically moving through his passes on his big Bay gelding, movements controlled, horse well between his legs and tanned hands, perfectly balanced under his straight posture, the picture of perfection. I notice his long black boots - dirty, I see his white shirt - flecked with green and soaked with sweat. His hair blown wild by the wind, but under him his beautiful gelding powers forward with rhythm and collection, oblivious to the outside world, pure pride radiates from his every stride; rider and horse in perfect sink. Blond hair, long and curly, blue eyes hypnotized with the pleasure of perfection, concentration at a premium, so all his senses could feel the perfect pristine movements, powering the horse out and forward from underneath him. His shoulders squarely back, his hands gentle, keeping the contact, in perfect rhythm with the big bay's rocking movement.

My mare feels my loss of concentration, she bucks and shies and falls out of the circle, tripping on the cement barriers, he looks up, his concentration and rhythm broken. Guilt and embarrassment make me react and I struggle to gain some control. I feel scrutinized. She moves slowly, tripping on her forehand, throwing her head up, avoiding the bit, fighting the contact and refusing to be steadied, disobedience and rebellion in every step. I can feel his critically appraisal of every movement, finding fault in every step and stumble. To look at him would mean defeat.

My body cringes; I know who he is, I know what he is. A well-known character in the Valley, reputation coating him with electrical vibrancy and riding prestige crowing him the king of horsemanship. In the same social circles, I have carefully avoided him, recognizing him to be a predator, never a gentleman. My accidental conversations always ending in stumbled words, awkward comments, and nights of dreading the recollections of my stupidity. Too dangerous, totally out of my league. He does not say the usual things, he does not do the usual things, and he knows, and responds!

I have watched his body language at social occasions, watched his movements and the way he fits so neatly into the jesting of those around him; playing along, enjoying the underlined tension, playing the game of words and silent physical suggestions - daring the players to go further. Totally ignoring the well defined social standards. Responding to the bubbly, smiling, teasing advertisements. Always searching for the adventures spirit that lives inside the unsmiling eyes above the smiling painted lips, tempting the devil to show himself.

Back in the arena, I look up and smile; I have lost the battle for control. The schooling arena becomes smaller and the passion for riding is lost. Halt at X, salute and leave arena at free walk, ends my test, sadly failed.
I feel his eyes mocking me, daring me to give up and let my mare go free. He is sitting still on his big Bay, both boldly watching us.

They block our exit, I look up at him and I know what he has seen. He is smiling, but it has not reached his eyes, their edges lined from squinting in the bright sunlight of the white dressage arena’s. They tell me his thoughts; they reflect my own, screaming the same soul messages. We ride out into the vlei together.
I would have liked to hesitate, to have shown some small token gesture of resistance, to have said something that would have broken the spell, but I did not! Together we will release each other’s tension and explore a passion that starts and ends in riding.

[Ambrose]

Very, very detailed characterization. I love and I hate first person narrator-focused pieces. They're hard to digest. You have to read them more carefully, and in doing so, reading is no longer leisurely. But sometimes it's worth it and this is one of those times.

One thing I feel inclined to point out is the absence of dialog. Conversations are mentioned and summarized and it feels as smooth as if you had written out the conversations. Dialog is not needed, and it's great.

What makes this ultimately a pleasure to read is how into the character you get (and probably that I could identify with her at times). I love how you share all her insecure thoughts with us, her interpretations of people. It's like a story in and of itself. It also helped that it all flowed naturally, with the air of nonfiction and didn't feel at all conjured.

I don't know a thing about horses except that they bite. However, I feel as though I've undergone a training lesson myself. You really put the reader on the horse, make the reader feel the horse, feel the action. Your own experience really lends itself here. Simply wonderful.

Some minor grammatical things mar what is an otherwise riveting piece of writing. I'm really impressed with this one. Ride on!

[RENA HANDS]

Shouldn’t it be…for the passion once ignited, (experienced,)?

Are your tenses correct, is it appropriate for the progression and flashback of your story?

For what you have the ‘timing’ of action is appropriate, if you had add more especially in the area of his first (or few) training session, it would have been better.

I think you mean…He keeps conversation to his recently found interests in (horse(s),)

Why would capitalize ‘like’ when previously, the words following the hyphen were not capitalized?

Is this the proper execution of ‘know,’ here…Gained after many years of life he knows all too well that is being offered to him, he also knows the consequences and has guessed the reasons. (In both instances actually?)

Maybe say…but all this knowledge is forbidden to me, and each time, he (leaves) and I smile and say goodbye-

Maybe…These times (are) always uncomfortable, times when there (are) no horses to defuse the situations,

I think…and what had made him able to (turn) me down, had I pushed too hard?

I think this is a statement rather than a question…I will never know now.

I think the ‘he,’ here doesn’t need capitalization…more lenient; (he) probably has a selection of unattached (women)

Is this not a possessive…waves lapping at his (horse’s) hooves and the sound of seagulls?

I think your sentences could be shortened.

Maybe say…I look out at the sea and feel the (heaviness) of the crashing waves.

What is ‘gees,’ did you mean ‘geese?’

What is ‘vlei?’

This is incorrect, The arena’s is not empty. I think…The arenas’ (if more than one OR) The arena is empty,

Your sentences, stretched out thoughts, imageries, and emotions expressed could be shortened. Also, I think…Bay should be capitalized at the end of this paragraph…in perfect rhythm with the big Bays rocking movement.

…avoiding the bit, What is the ‘bit’ here?

I think…I can feel his (critical) appraisal of every movement,

The last few paragraphs/sentences, you need proper spacing here.
A very interesting story/romantic write you have posted here. For its originality and execution, I will rate 3/5.