This story was written as a request from my Editor, for the purposes of anonymity will called her Alex. I have used her description, photo and personality as my inspiration for the lead character. The location and settings, and some of the characters are factual as is some of the scenarios myself and Alex find ourselves in, but a lot of the story is personalised just for Alex.
I hope you enjoy and as always please feel free to vote and pass comment either on the story or via emailing me.
Many thanks.
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Before you begin to read this may I please make you aware that this particular story is not one of my own experiences. I do prefer to write about what I have physically and emotional experienced as I personally believe that real life stories are better than imagination as although thrilling to read at times you cannot really relate to it.
I was asked to write a story for a lady who left me feedback. Although the setting location and some of the characters are people I know or have encountered in my life the lead character comes from a description and picture that was given to me by my new favourite editor. I hope I did her justice.
It was raining again and I was reluctant to go out; the rain hadn't stopped in a week and although I was enjoying my new hobby, I kicked myself for choosing something that kept me in the rain all day.
What hobby could I be referring to...?
To be honest, it may not be considered the most masculine hobby by my fellow Marines, but I have taken up horse riding. No, I'm not referring to the Western style that most Americans consider horse-riding; rounding up bulls and chasing Indians. It's what you may class as 'English style:' a much more casual affair. I have been riding for about three months now; I consider it peaceful and a very useful distraction from my working life. Even though I come back to the flat stinking of horses (and frequently horse piss, due to mucking out) I enjoy the tranquillity of riding out in the forestry around my camp. It may sound nuts but it's also good to have someone to talk to that won't judge you. My last tour of Afghanistan left me a little disillusioned with my chosen career, and for a while I found myself lost. I couldn't work out if it was the futility of what we achieved over there, the guys we had lost or whether it was just time for a change. I decided I needed some escapism, learning a new skill would provide a welcome challenge during my post-tour leave.
I'd decided to do some travelling, but saw a course advertised for basic horse riding and thought I'd try it out in the meantime, just to see what it was like. The barracks had its own stables, ideally located just across the road.
Anyway, that particular Sunday morning, as I said, I was reluctant to head out due to the rain. Thankfully I did, as it began a chain of events I would never forget. I got to the stables around 0730 and went through the usual routine, going to my locker and getting into what I would call my yard gear. I liked the chilled atmosphere and had got to know most of the people at the stables, but their horsey style failed to rub off on me; I didn't like walking around in jodhpurs and tops with horsey emblems on. My kit of preference was jeans and a t shirt with an old pair of high leg combat boots. Don't get me wrong, I'm not averse to wearing the standard horsey getup, but I only really bother with that when I'm actually riding.
Arriving at the yard, I could see that there were only two other people there that morning; Becky who was the manager and another guy called Chris. Chris was a mate who was camper than the Pink Panther in high heels at Pride. He was also a shameless perv, who regularly tried to get a look at me whilst I was getting changed, which had become something of an in-joke between a few of us.
I was in the middle of mucking out, happily listening to my iPod and not really paying attention to anything, when it hit me.
The first I knew that someone had entered the yard was when the air was cut by what can only be described as the scent of a woman. During mucking out you tend to get a variety of smells, on hot days it tends to be a humid, musty smell, with strong layer of ammonia as the horse urine evaporates in the heat. Mix with this the dust from the hay and freshly laid straw and not much else manages to penetrate the air. In the coldest and wettest months, the air is moist, damp and pungent. Everything gets so wet and the crap sticks to your boots. It's virtually impossible to sweep everything into the yard as the rain drives the horse shit into the drains, clogging them until it becomes necessary to unblock them. Not my favourite job.
This morning was different. I was bent over sweeping the stable when the smell hit my nostrils. Without sounding too crass, it's a similar reaction to when someone has farted- completely unexpected and you are unsure where it came from. I instantly stopped sweeping. I was transfixed for a moment and closed my eyes, breathing in deeply through my nostrils. At first the only explanation I had was that Becky, or to be honest, possibly even Chris, had put on some perfume. The smell cut through the smell of the stables and hung in the air for a moment. I stuck my head out of the stable and looked around. It took a split second for my eyes to adjust to the sunlight from the darkness of the stable. Still raining.
As I looked across the small yard, I saw someone walking in the direction of the changing room. In her right hand she held an umbrella to protect her from the rain. She was about 5'3", although her heels made her seem taller. I pulled a headphone from my ear and amongst the music I was listening to I heard the distinctive light click of a woman's heels on concrete. I couldn't quite see her face, her hair was long and dark she wore a thick woollen scarf around her neck, partially covering her features. The cropped brown leather jacket she wore contrasted with her dark jumper, accentuating her waist. My eyes dropped to take in her jeans, hugging her every movement. Over her right shoulder was a handbag that swung as she walked, which she kept trying to steady. This mystery girl stepped into the changing room, as she turned I saw her ass was petite, tight and perfectly formed. She disappeared into the doorway and from sight. My pulse was racing as I deliberated whether to pursue her. A very large, very cold drop of rain from the top of the stable doorway brought me back to my senses as it dripped down the back of my neck.
"Fuck!"
"What's up?" Chris said, as he came around the corner.
"Nothing, just bloody rain going down my back."
"I hate that."
"Roger that, it's a honking feeling. Hey, did you know some girl just went into the changing room?"
"Who?"
"Mate I haven't got a clue, I've never seen her before. She looked essence though." I was distracted as I spoke, trying to stop the drop of freezing water going further down my spine.
Chris walked over and peeked into the changing room.
"Oh, hiya!" I heard him say.
Chris was talking to the mystery woman from the doorway of the changing room, but I could not hear her voice. He chatted for a while, laughing occasionally before he turned and walked back to me.
