AND BECAUSE I LOVE RIDERS RIGHTERS WRITERS THURSDAY THIRSTY THURSDI
(names changed like in the weekly)
Clip-Clop Clip-Clop Clip-clop
“well looki what we got here” grins Jimmy a greasy little hoodlum who I now wish
I didn’t show this fishing hole (and why I am now tying only lead and no hook to the end of his line and mine) so that we do NOT catch anything.
Stupid fucker isn’t paying any attention anyway. Even BEFORE he could hear her horse striding down the tree-lined path.
Dammit! I can't believe I forgot it was wednesday
They (the trees) arch over forming a golden orange tunnel. The color you would color flesh and skin as a child with only a 12 pack of blunted crayons (right before fall at this time of year).
“look at this look at this!” he whispers though obviously excited
Her Painted Horse is Walking A Slow pace with his head bobbing reeaalllly far in and out and in and out like an exaggerated arm of an spoofed Egyptian dance.
She is a gorgeous Strawberry blonde that I have seen once a week (every Wednesday) ride down this trail
for the past 4 summers (and 2 horses)
We stay hidden and quiet because it's too late and she obviously thinks she is alone in the meadow.
Starting to moan loud and audible as she is really laying into the saddle
"oh OH! whoaaoo.... UH! OH! ooohhhh!"
she is almost screaming now as she daringly takes her feet out of the stirrups and is rhythmically grinding the saddle as her feet dangle and slightly twitch as she suddenly gets quiet .... and slumps..... *almost* sliding off the saddle as she catches herself and foots the stirrup, rights herself and pats the horse's neck gently
"goooood booyy "
he doesn't break stride
head bobbing keeping pace and time
Clip-Clop Clit-Clop Clip-Clop
(years later, today she told me, the horses name was Lucky, she only called it cause she knew I was always at that fishing hole at that time of day)
fuckin aye I can be oblivious
sweet fleshy flowers sweet and sweaty nectar
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