Even now, as he plays an old Elton John tune for me , I remember how important it was that he regain his ability to play for me again. . The leg meant nothing near as much as the hands. When he plays, it's like a singular root that binds us and and connects us, is throbbing to the beat of the base. That connection flows through me more than the riding.
When he first played for me, my senses all turned to the sound he was creating- like when a sudden blast of a horn makes you turn your head to find out where it is coming from-everything inside me turned to focus in one instant.. It was water and life. I've never been touched like that by anyone. He reached into me and found something tiny inside me, a speck, it was something long dead,but forgotten. He brought life to it.
The riding was fun and exhilarating. The feeling of having him between me legs for hours at a time captivated me, but didn't hold me so gently in its hand like the music.
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