The Vertical Moment [sibling incest, copyright: 2005 (except quotations)]

   I hate dressage.  It's a discipline only a Jesuit could love, a Jesuit
or, apparently, a woman.  Women have always had me beat at dressage, and
there are days when I swear every human without a penis is laughing shrilly
behind me.

   It is absolutely necessary that all keen riders learn...
   "dressage".  All too often beginners are allowed to start
   jumping before they have learnt the basic aids of elemen-
   tary riding, and the sooner they realize that dressage is
   neither difficult, not boring, and should be tackled en-
   thusiastically from the start, the sooner they will rise 
   to the dizzy heights of...." 
   --Carol Green.  Dressage Explained.

   I imagine some matronly grande dame rapping my knuckles with a ruler,
glowering down as though she would smother me in the folds of her fat if I
didn't learn my times tables....

   Fuck it!  I throw my whip across the stable like the spoiled brat I
obviously am.  Stop it.  I think further for I am better than this, I know
I am.  Like so many things I try, my desire for success is a hindrance. 
The crumpled score sheet is still crushed into my goat-skin glove.  I can
just read a corner that sticks out between my thumb and forefinger. 
"failed to transition to rising trot at A...and then...not
demonstrate...loss of impulsion...canter...wrong lead..."

   There are a grand total of three male members of the coed riding club-a
club boasting a membership total of nearly 80.  Colin shambled along with
me, desperate to meet girls.  That was ok with me.  Perhaps if he spent
more time around them he would relax.  But Colin does not concern me.  The
riding club is just another excuse for me to cross the river.  Crossing the
river...it's become one of our euphemisms of choice, denoting an
opportunity for actual physical contact.  The thing is I want to be
competitive.  I know I'm never going to be the best; I can cope with that.
But I hate the feeling I always get, that I'm breaking the rules; that I've
forced myself, through a kind of Title Nine in reverse, into a world that
ought, rightly, to remain a woman's domain.

   I've come so close.  The cross country round was orgasmic, like piloting
an x-wing into the death star trench, like spiking the redline through
signpost corner on the Isle of Man.  Every obstacle, surging forward until
Polynikes, generally without any prompting slowed just a fraction, allowing
his muscles to coil up.  Then, as my breath caught in my throat, he would
launch himself into the air like a Saturn 5-seemingly too heavy for flight,
but with ever-increasing power rising higher and higher, until the g-forces
made me nauseous, and without realizing it, we would be galloping on to the
next station....  With only one slight time-fault, my result was good
enough for second place.  The show-jumping round was even better.  Double
Clear.  Anything decent in the dressage round should have kept me in the
top three.  Instead, I would not even place, confirming what I felt every
woman in the world must know.  Men can't really ride.  Not like us.  They
can't communicate like we can.  Like gymnastics and ice skating, they have
no business in our world and those that do come here are either gay, or are
just trying to hook up.  Men are incapable of understanding.

   Julia walks past me with her snowy-blonde hair in a perfect French
braid. The Harry Hall show breeches are impossibly white for the indoor
events.  She rotates her ample hips and buttocks, making sure I understand
that she is naked beneath them, seeming to flirt with me, but also to tease
me You don't even have the right physical shape for this game.  Give it up.
Faggot.  Or do you fancy this?  Well fancy all you want if that's what gets
you off, but you'll never be invited here....

   "Your flat-work is an embarrassment."

   "I know."

   "Then why," she hissed, "are you still here?"

   I just sit there on an upturned muck-bucket, staring at the wall.  Why
can't she go off and talk about me behind my back instead of coming in
here? My eyes stay scrunched up, willing Julia to leave me in peace. 
Finally after a long, long, silence I spit: "Because I just want to piss
you off, you snotty cunt!"

   Familiar laughter brings me round to my senses, and I see you standing
there with your arms folded across you ample chest, smiling a little out of
the corner of your mouth.

   "Uncharacteristic eloquence brother!"

   I smirk at myself, realizing what a dork I must look talking to myself.
Julia is nowhere to be seen.  But neither my own dorkishness, nor Julia's
bitchiness, remains in my mind as I gaze on the only person in the world I
really love, and whose love, it seems, must be forever secret.  I smirk
again.  No wonder so many people think I'm gay!  If only they could see me
with you.  They might well despise me even more, but the gay-rumor would
definitely be put paid to....

   And then my face is buried in the sweat scent of your blouse, fresh out
of field hockey.  It's too much, and tears sting my eyes, and I hate that I
am weak in front of you, yet I am helpless once you are holding me, you
command my emotional honesty.  And I remember why I really put up with the
Julia's of the club and the world.  Because if I didn't I wouldn't be here
with you right now.  This is not the place.  But for this moment I am
yours; I can do nothing but obey, and your body is now pressing into mind,
with a most-unmistakable command.  Take me.  Here.  Now.

   There are people in the corridors.  Polynikes' box stall is a modular
unit, with a four foot window for him to see out of.  The sun is almost
down and the shadows grow by the minute.  I press you back against the wall
driving my tongue into you.  Only if someone were to actually look through
the door they would be able to see us, but with the light off they might
not immediately be able to tell it was us.  Still, we are taking a
monstrous risk.

   Risk is easily, if temporarily, washed aside where we are concerned
though.  The older we get, the more we burn for each other.  What should
perhaps, have been a quirky stage of adolescence, has bloomed into a
passionate, consuming love affair that neither of us can hope to end.

   Who needs rosettes?  I think to myself happily, as your left hand
fumbles with the zipper on my breeches.  I am trying not to rip the buttons
from your hockey blouse, and settle for running my hand clumsily under it,
and your spandex sports-bra.  I feel your teeth on my ear lobe.

   Fuck me....  I feel your breath in my ear as you whisper-spit these
words at me.  Ordering me, to stand to, to service you....  Against every
angel of our better, or at least our more sensible, natures, we hurry to
complete our incestuous union, my cock is practically torn out of my jock
strap and you frantically yank my breeches and jock down over my ass.  Your
ass is planted on a stack of square-bales, making it relatively easy for
you to wrap your legs around me.  I feel you finger nails digging hungrily
into the meat of my ass, as you try and pull me in.  I try to pull back so
that I can remove your panties, but your impatience is too much, and you
simply pull the gusset aside, your skirt bunched up around your waist. 
Waiting.  The head of my cock, the very tip, is kissing the super-heated
oily surface of your vulva, and your mouth clamps onto mine.  As you suck
my tongue into your mouth, you suddenly arch your back, thrusting and
rotating your hips forward (in a motion that would make a Level Four
instructor proud) to drive yourself onto my stiffened meat.  I groan a
little too loudly, remembering how much you mean to me, and how perfectly
we fit together.  Polynikes ignores us, nosily tucking into his trough.

   I'm so hard, so desperate with need for you.  You are all the comforts
in the world...you restore every once of confidence lost, your glazed
expression, your need for me, the goddess of birth and rebirth, Isis,
Astarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inanna, and once again I am your
Lord of the Hunt, virile, and powerful, and our circle of love is complete.
You restore my power and I love you for it, every time I am slain, every
time I am ripped apart, you are there, to rebuild me, to resurrect me, and
to take my seed that will breed the whole world....  Thank you Wendy, the
source of my power, inside you I feel my heart swell to bursting, and in my
ear I hear your strangled cries of encouragement, driving me on like a
brace of spooked Shires gone mad.  I grit my teeth and my muscles tense
beyond the laws of physics as I drive my shaft into you.  Totally engorged
with blood it's a wonder I haven't passed out, and I imagine the purple
head pressed hard against your cervix, exploding finally, shooting a gout
of semen and blood in one last total orgasm, before I finally die in your
arms bleeding to death inside you....  Our eyes are fixed together, in a
need so powerful that nothing else matters.  Don't...ever...leave...me....

   Never!  Beyond life and death and heaven and hell!  And then there is
nothing more to say...your body shudders and bucks against me burying my
cock to the very hilt as every muscle group from my knees to my ribcage
cramps up into an impossible explosive knot of total orgasm...you feel the
first long pulse hitting your insides hard as our world spins away....

   Something in your face...the kind of grim determination you show during
a particularly nasty session of field hockey, the one that says that you
are byfuckingchrist going to take someone's teeth out.  I've seen you do
it. It's a massive turn on especially when I know your going to fight for
me.  This time though, it's just a little more complicated than that.... 
You look right past me.  I slowly turn, slipping out of you as I do, and my
chest goes tight.

   Julia.  There's no point trying to hide it.  My shaft is still high and
hard, a trickle of thick creme, oozing down my turgid shaft.  There is no
hiding what has happened.  No way.  No how.  Her face is frozen.  She steps
back weakly, feeling for the door for support, and as soon as her brain is
unlocked, she is gone.

   Your legs and arms are still wrapped around me, and you lips caress my
ear.  "Remember your promise."

   I turn to face you, so that I can look into your eyes as I swear the one
true oath of my life.  "Beyond life and death...beyond heaven and hell...."
I smile, with the confidence only you can bring me.

   Nothing will ever be the same, but how can I really care?  I'd rather be
thought a man by you, than a god by the whole bloody world....