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II
“Congratulations!” Beth offered with honest enthusiasm. Her open smiled illuminated her attractive features. Ethan was a natural. She had been his jockey through his second two years in high school. They had won League together twice and placed well in the District and in the Sectionals, proudly carrying Cady Stanton High School colors. Cady Stanton had a great racing program in both the sulky and saddle divisions and a proud tradition. Once upon a time, the most athletic boys vied to participate in a barbaric activity – a “game” called “football,” not even a sport. Now that violent game was outlawed and best young males channeled their athletic proclivities in other directions. Ethan had wanted this for as long as she could remember. He had always worn a Pony haircut.
Others were too often playacting poseurs, whatever their physical gifts. A jockey placed herself in almost intimate contact with her Pony. Up in the saddle, her thighs straddling his neck and her private parts pressed up against him, she could do little to protect herself. Too often boys “played” Pony, maneuvering artfully to cop a feel from an unsuspecting girl. Away from the track where she was better able to protect herself, she would find his molestations beyond repulsive.
By far, Ethan was the best of the Ponies she had ridden. He had the large frame and ample strength to carry her with ease. With no reservations, he placed that strength totally in her service, trusting her completely and holding back nothing. On the track, he was simply her Pony, with no double entendres or hidden agendas. He had the great heart to match his great physical strength and endurance.
Ethan's house was filled with racing mementos and souvenirs. His mother was a dedicated fan. Pictures of history's greatest Ponies hung on every wall. All were totally naked as required in the Open Division and their casual display of male apparatus evoked no special notice. Typically, the ring that pierced the glans of their penises was attached to a navel ring, lifting their member out form between their muscular thighs and exposing their ball sacs underneath. Often their genitals were brightly painted to show off their stables' colors. Only a few books were evident and all dealt with racing themes. Racing magazines were everywhere.
“Hey, Ethan, congratulations!” Amy, Beth's girlfriend, was quite a contrast to her smaller friend. Beth was petite. Amy was tall and long legged. She had done quite well for herself and their school on the women's track and basketball teams. Everyone called tall Amy and petite Beth the odd couple.
“I can't believe it! I've been accepted at the Bar None. They have the greatest trainers and facilities and the highest percentage of graduates who go on to the major Pony stables.”
“They only take the best – like my big bro',” added Ashley, Ethan's younger sister, with obvious pride. She was the same age as Beth. “You know other little boys want to be a fireman or a cowboy. Ethan has always wanted to be a Pony.”
“Maybe because mom gave me a saddle for my seventh birthday and I gave you Pony rides around the neighborhood.”
Beth was very happy for her much larger cohort. He had placed his great strength and great heart totally in her service and had given her whatever she had asked of him. He had carried her to some thrilling wins and breathtaking finishes, win, lose, or draw. Beth firmly believed that it wasn't whether you won or lost, the triumph was in the struggle with yourself. Victory over others was merely an added treat. In reality, her Ethan was still a growing boy. He had yet to come into his full strength.
She inspected the untarnished joy on his smiling face for some sign of doubt, of reservation. Did he really know what he was getting himself into? He wasn't a high school boy anymore. She had ridden him with a bridle but no reining rods. The Bar None would introduce him to the whole nasty kit, dowels placed securely in his ear canals. She had ridden with no more than unknotted length of rope for a quirt and no spurs. In the open division, jockeys used spurs and leather riding crops. Did he know that once he signed the papers, carefully drafted by the best legal consultants, he gave over full legal rights? They would snip his vocal cords and brand him. They would give him a new name. That was routine. He would be bought and sold, like livestock. Hell, he would be livestock. They could cut off his damned balls, if they chose, and even euthanize him, just as they saw fit. Sometimes, she thought that these practices were cruel and inhumane. However, these practices were customary and nothing unusual. She knew that Ponies signed up voluntarily and the supply was plentiful. No one was coerced, and she knew that their families received substantial checks.
You always see the glorious champions on TV and in the newspapers, but what happens to the also-rans? Would her poor Ethan spend his life giving little girls rides around the track in an amusement park or posing for birthday party pictures?
“You should see the signing bonus old Ethan earned,” Ashley boasted. “And that's just the first installment. If old Ethan does well, we get another big check when he graduates and gets his first placement.
A good jockey does more than climb up on her Pony's back and urge him to run faster. A good jockey knows exactly what her mount can do and can't do. She knows just how fast he can run and for how long. A good jockey earns her Pony's complete and total trust. Her challenge is to take him to his very limit, beyond his doubts and fears. Beth searched Ethan's beaming face and said nothing.
“Hey,” Ashley smiled. “I bet you guys have never seen old Ethan in all his Pony glory.
“Sis, what'da you mean?” Ethan asked, puzzled.
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