Chapter 1: Two years before the main story

At the age of 15, I encountered an experience that profoundly shaped my life, one that still echoes in my memories today. Initially, I envisioned sharing this pivotal moment in a memoir style, capturing the raw essence of my journey. However, I realized that weaving in dialogues could offer a more vivid and relatable perspective, bringing the characters and emotions to life.

Today, life has come full circle, as I find myself married to the person who owns the ranch where I spent my formative teenage years - the well-known Smith Ranch. This isn’t just a coincidence; it’s a testament to the deep connections and unexpected friendship between my father and the owner, Thomas Smith. As you delve into the pages of my story, the significance of these events will unfold, offering a clearer understanding of the intricate tapestry of my past.

I’ve always been aware of ponygirls; it’s hard not to be, given their centuries-old existence and their public emergence over the past two decades, thanks to new laws. This aspect of our culture, once whispered about in hushed tones by those individuals who have been involved in this secret lifestyle, has been an inevitable part of my reality.

The Thirteenth Amendment abolished “involuntary” slavery, but didn’t put an end to the practice entirely. In the shadows, both voluntary and involuntary forms of slavery persist, under the control of the wealthy and powerful. At school, we were taught that this secretive lifestyle included both men and women. However, recent legislation has legalized only female ponies, sparking considerable controversy.

Initially, there was a significant uproar. Some people protested the gender discrimination inherent in the laws, while others condemned what they saw as the indecency of public nudity. But the outcry faded quickly, especially after the predominantly male government expressed a clear preference against the public display of male nudity. In this world, societal norms and power dynamics have shaped a unique and complex reality, one that I’ve been exposed to from a young age and have come to understand in all its intricacy.

Growing up in a world where ponygirls transitioned from a hushed secret to a widely recognized phenomenon, I witnessed the evolution of this unique culture firsthand. Initially, the idea of women, dressed and behaving as human ponies, roaming freely in public, was a concept hard for many to grasp. It was a jarring shift from the shadows of secrecy to the glaring spotlight of societal acceptance.

As time passed, the initial shock and discomfort eased. The public’s perception shifted gradually. What was once seen as taboo began to gain a foothold in mainstream culture. This change was most evident in the media. Television started broadcasting races and other ponygirl events, marking a significant step in normalizing this lifestyle. The intrigue and excitement surrounding these events helped in softening the public’s stance.

The integration of ponygirls into everyday life didn’t stop there. Much like the evolution of any service industry, it branched out into practical applications. Short-range taxi services emerged, where ponygirls offered transportation in a novel and intriguing fashion. This concept further expanded with the advent of an Uber™-like service. Women registered as self-employed or self-owned ponies, embracing their role in this unique societal niche.

These self-owned ponies navigated the same bureaucratic waters as any other business. They obtained licenses, adhered to regulations, and paid taxes. This formalization lent credibility and a sense of legitimacy to their work. It was a remarkable journey from being a hidden subculture to becoming a regulated and recognized profession. The journey wasn’t without its challenges and controversies, but it marked a significant shift in societal norms and acceptance.

In this unique world, where the role of a ponygirl intertwines both a chosen lifestyle and a formal occupation, the dynamics are intricate and multifaceted. When a woman enters into this profession, signing a contract that places her under the ownership of an individual or a company, her life transforms in several profound ways.

Living on company property, these ponygirls are cared for with a level of attention and dedication akin to that of a cherished pet or a normal horse. This care extends beyond basic needs; it includes comprehensive provisions for their well-being. Owners are responsible for ensuring not only room and board but also comprehensive medical care, reflecting a deep commitment to the health and safety of their ponygirls.

Moreover, in a poignant display of responsibility, an owner is also accountable for funeral and burial expenses, should a ponygirl tragically pass away while under contract. This aspect of the arrangement underscores the seriousness and permanence of the bond between the ponygirl and her owner.

Despite the structured nature of this lifestyle, ponygirls are afforded periods of free time, offering a glimpse of autonomy within the confines of their unique roles. However, echoes of traditional slavery still resonate in certain practices and norms that govern their lives. These remnants of an archaic system blend with modern contractual agreements, creating a complex tapestry of rights, responsibilities, and societal norms in this reality.

Some of the aspects of slavery that still existed were:

• Ponygirls were required to be housed by their owners. (owners of their contract)

• Ponygirls ate a simulated hay (extruded vegetable matter) instead of real human food.

• Ponygirls were kept naked 24/7 for the duration of their contract.

• A contract could be from 5-30 years, except for children born while the mother was under contract. For those children, the term is for life. A woman under contract is essentially a slave and her body no longer belongs to her so neither would her baby. She can be bred at any time at her owner’s discretion.

• With parental permission, a girl could sign a ponygirl contract as early as 14 but was encouraged to wait until she was 18 and had graduated high school.

• There was no retirement age for lifetime ponies. Show and racing ponies were typically sold to a working farm or ranch until they were too old to keep working. Some were kept as pets or used for other less physical tasks.

In the intriguing world where ponygirls exist, those who are self-owned navigate a unique and somewhat confusing status. The debate among people is whether to consider these women Free In Name Only (FINO) or Slave In Name Only (SINO). Despite the label, these self-owned ponygirls operate with a degree of independence, setting their own working hours and managing their activities.

Each self-owned ponygirl typically employs at least one assistant, often a groom trained to help with various tasks. This necessity arises from certain restrictions they still face. For example, they are not permitted to bathe themselves or handle their own tack, a challenge compounded by the fact that their hands are often locked behind their back, limiting their ability to perform basic self-care.

Another unique aspect of their lifestyle is the requirement to eat specialized pony feed, irrespective of their self-owned status. However, being self-owned does come with significant perks. These women enjoy the freedom to move about as they please outside of work hours, a liberty that allows for personal pursuits like dating or even marriage.

The choices of these women also impact their offspring. Their daughters are not automatically designated as ponygirls for life; they are born free. However, if a self-owned woman transfers the ownership of her contract to her husband, her status changes, aligning more with that of traditional ponygirls. In such cases, she becomes subject to the whims of her new owner, including potential punishment or sale. Moreover, any child born after this transfer of contract inherits the ponygirl status for life, adhering to the same laws as other ponygirl offspring under contract. This fascinating social structure presents a blend of autonomy and tradition, offering a glimpse into a complex and thought-provoking world. This law does not affect male children; whether they are born while under contract or not they are considered free.

FINO/SINO individuals have the option to wear clothes, provided they adhere to specific guidelines. Their clothing choices must be carefully considered to ensure that their ponygirl markings, especially those on their thighs, remain concealed. This restriction influences their fashion significantly. For instance, they opt for shorts, skirts, and dresses that extend beyond knee length. Such clothing choices not only comply with the societal norms of this world but also offer a semblance of personal freedom and individuality within the constraints of their roles.

The ability to wear clothes in public, while concealing their markings, allows FINO/SINO ponygirls a certain degree of normalcy and integration into society. This aspect of their lifestyle reflects the delicate balance they maintain between their public persona and their private identity as ponygirls. It’s a nuanced aspect of their existence, revealing the complexities of living within a system that blends traditional roles with modern expressions of identity.

Typically taken during junior high, in either 6th, 7th, or 8th grade, the course is structured to align with the age-appropriate norms, where girls under fourteen are required to wear clothing. The curriculum, however, offers an immersive experience into the ponygirl lifestyle. Each week, five girls are randomly selected to don a harness and bridle (sans boots) for the entire week. This rotation ensures that all girls participating in the course experience this aspect of the lifestyle.

During their week in the harness, the girls are expected to emulate the high-stepping gait characteristic of dressage training and are led around by a male classmate. This experience is not just a practical exercise but a graded component of the course, underscoring its importance in the educational journey. During their week girls are fed the pony hay during their lunch period and are expected to eat it without the use of their hands. They are encouraged to eat the hay at home but it is understood that most don’t.

An interesting logistical decision in the course structure is the exclusion of boots. This choice is rooted in practicality, considering the cost and the need for a diverse range of sizes to accommodate each individual’s unique foot shape. It’s a decision that reflects the balance between immersive education and logistical feasibility.

At the culmination of the course, students are required to reflect on their experience through a report. This exercise encourages them to introspectively consider how the course and their encounters with the ponygirl lifestyle have influenced their perspectives and understanding.

Ponygirl events are recognized and integrated into the sports culture, they occupy a unique but not dominant position in the sporting culture. Despite their distinctiveness and the novelty of featuring naked ponygirls, these events haven’t reached the same level of popularity as mainstream sports like football and basketball.

This disparity in popularity might be attributed to various factors, one of which I humorously suggest: the lack of traditional sports elements, such as balls, which are central to many popular sports and often associated with male interests. This witticism highlights a cultural perspective on sports preferences, suggesting that the appeal of traditional sports like football and basketball, with their dynamic gameplay and familiar elements, continues to overshadow more unconventional sports like ponygirl events.

The difference in popularity also sheds light on societal preferences and norms, indicating that even in a world where ponygirl events are normalized, they remain a niche interest compared to the deeply entrenched and widely followed mainstream sports. It’s a reflection of how certain sports and activities resonate more profoundly with the public, maintaining a stronghold in the world of entertainment and competition.

My story really began when I was ten years old, a seemingly mundane start, but crucial for what was to come. We lived in a modest yet comfortable house, one that boasted three bedrooms and two bathrooms. My parents had their own sanctuary, complete with an en-suite bath, while I, being the only child, had a bathroom that I shared with the spare bedroom. This spare room stood ready for any guests who might visit.

The arrangement meant that, except for the occasional visitor, I had the luxury of a bathroom all to myself. This small detail of my childhood, the privacy and autonomy over a space in the house, was something I cherished. It was in these simple, everyday comforts and routines that the early chapters of my life were written, setting the stage for the experiences and stories that were to follow.

My childhood was marked by a yearning for freedom, one that clashed with my parents’ conservative values. Even though it was illegal for children under fourteen to be naked in public, my parents took their prudishness to an extreme. They simply couldn’t fathom my carefree attitude towards nudity, a concept they met with enforced modesty.

This clash of views was most evident in the rules they imposed on me. For instance, when taking a shower, I was always required to wrap myself in at least a towel. And when we had guests over, the rules became even stricter: I had to either don an uncomfortably hot, ankle-length bathrobe or get fully dressed in the bathroom.

This conservative approach at home was a stark contrast to the evolving societal norms outside. In the 21st century, despite progress in many areas, society still harbored prudish views about public nudity. The passing of the ponygirl laws, which introduced the concept of naked ponies in public, was a seismic event. It stirred a whirlwind of controversy and uproar, a testament to the deep-seated reservations and cultural taboos that still lingered in the public consciousness. My family’s conservatism seemed to mirror society’s struggle with these changing norms, encapsulating the tension between tradition and progress.

Twenty years since the introduction of ponygirls into the public eye, society has undergone a paradigm shift. The initial shock and controversy that once accompanied the sight of naked girls in public spaces and on television have largely subsided. This gradual change in societal attitude reflects a deeper acclimatization to this once-unthinkable norm.

However, remnants of the old uproar still linger. It’s not uncommon to witness people making disparaging remarks toward or about ponygirls. These comments, steeped in residual resistance to the change, serve as echoes of a more conservative past. Despite the progress, these instances highlight that not all aspects of society have fully embraced this cultural shift. We will see how societal views change as the older conservative generations pass away.

Interestingly, there’s a tacit understanding in society: as long as these dissenting voices merely express their opinions without crossing into actionable offenses, they are largely ignored. This approach demonstrates a balance between upholding freedom of expression and maintaining the new social order. It’s a delicate equilibrium, highlighting how society navigates the complexities of integrating such a radical change while still allowing room for diverse viewpoints.

Usually, it was my mom who took on the responsibility of driving me to school. The building was situated two miles away from our home — a distance considered too great for a young girl to traverse alone. I shared her concerns; at nine years old, I was keenly aware that our neighborhood wasn’t the safest. Crime was not unheard of in our area, adding an extra layer of caution to our daily routine.

However, as my tenth birthday approached, I found myself nurturing a plan. This wasn’t just any plan, but one that brimmed with the kind of independence and adventure that a turning of age brings. My upcoming birthday was more than a celebration; it symbolized a threshold, a point where I could start asserting a bit more independence, perhaps even challenge the usual norms of my daily commute to school. In my mind, this plan was a small but significant step towards growing up, a way to test the waters of autonomy and responsibility.

“Mom, you know my birthday is coming up next month,” I started, choosing the moment just as we pulled up to the school, a place that symbolized the heart of my request. “What do you think about getting me a bike? Walmart has a really nice street bike that would be perfect for riding to school. I can show you which one — it’s not too expensive.”

I was eager, yet tentative, knowing that this request was about more than just a birthday gift; it was a plea for a new level of independence. “I’ve got $100 saved up from previous birthdays,” I added, hoping to demonstrate my commitment and readiness for this step. “Maybe that could help with the cost?”

It was a strategic move, asking at that moment. The school, a place of learning and growth, served as a subtle reminder of my own development. I waited, my heart beating with the hope and anticipation of a child on the cusp of a new chapter of freedom and responsibility.

“We’ll see, sweetheart,” my mom responded, her tone carrying that familiar blend of caution and consideration. “Let me talk to your father and see what he thinks.” There was a pause, a moment where my anticipation hung in the balance, before she continued. “Maybe we can get the other families to contribute towards the bike instead of buying separate gifts. That way, you can keep your money.”

Her suggestion offered a glimmer of hope, a compromise that acknowledged both my growing need for independence and the practicalities of family decision-making. The idea of pooling resources from other families in lieu of traditional birthday presents seemed like a thoughtful solution, one that could potentially make my wish for a bike a reality. It also hinted at a communal spirit, the kind of shared support often seen in tight-knit communities.

As we sat there in the car, outside the school, her words lingered with me, a mix of possibility and patience. The conversation had opened a door, albeit slightly, towards a new avenue of freedom and self-reliance, marking a significant moment in my journey towards adolescence.

“Okay, Momma. I’ll wait.” My voice carried a mix of understanding and eagerness. Inside, my desire for that bike was like a steady flame, fueled by thoughts of independence and a step away from childhood. The very idea of riding to school on my own bike made me feel more grown-up, less like the little kid who needed her mom’s guidance to and from school each day.

In my mind, I kept playing over the idea of no longer being seen as just a little kid heading to elementary school. It was about more than just transportation; it was a symbol of growing up, of stepping into a larger world with more freedom. Yet, the reality was there, gently reminding me of my current place in life. Technically, I was still in elementary school, still a little kid by most standards. Junior high, the gateway to those teenage years, was still a year away.

The wait for the bike felt like a bridge between these two worlds — the safety and simplicity of childhood and the exciting, unknown realm of adolescence. It wasn’t just about the bike itself, but what it represented: a small, yet significant step towards independence, and a taste of the bigger changes that lay just on the horizon.

The conversation about the bike and my birthday faded into silence, leaving a lingering sense of uncertainty. I found myself caught in a web of hopeful anticipation and the fear of disappointment. Not wanting to dwell on the possibility of not receiving the bike, I made a conscious decision to let go of my anxious thoughts.

I resolved to wait and see what would unfold on my birthday, embracing a sense of patience that wasn’t easy for a child my age. This waiting game was a small lesson in itself, a practice in managing expectations and holding onto hope without letting it consume me.

In the quiet that followed our conversation, my mind occasionally wandered back to the image of the bike, but I gently steered my thoughts away, choosing instead to focus on the present. This approach was my way of guarding against potential disappointment while still nurturing a quiet hope for a positive outcome. It was a balancing act, one that mirrored the broader journey from childhood towards the more complex emotional landscape of growing up.

As the days turned into weeks, the routine of my mom driving me to school continued. Our mornings were marked by the familiar journey in her hybrid car, a conscious choice she made as her contribution to the environment. Around us, the world seemed to move at a different pace, especially in the context of school transportation.

Most of my classmates who lived within a five-mile radius of the school had embraced a different mode of transport — they traveled by sulky. This was a direct reflection of the prevalent ponygirl lifestyle in our society, a norm my parents adamantly refused to accept. To them, utilizing the carts pulled by ponygirls was synonymous with endorsing a lifestyle they couldn’t bring themselves to agree with.

The sulkies functioned much like a taxi or Uber™, a regular and accepted part of daily life for many students. Each ponygirl had identifying numbers printed on their thighs and the name of their company displayed on their chest. This mode of branding and identification was intriguing, albeit somewhat unsettling to me.

I remember once having the opportunity to see a ponygirl up close. What caught my attention was the collar they wore, from which a medallion dangled. Engraved on it was a name, which I learned was their pony name. This detail was both fascinating and a little sad, considering that their ability to speak was hindered by the bits in their mouths. It was a stark reminder that such sights had become normalized, yet still remained a topic of contention and debate in families like mine.

The much-anticipated day of my birthday finally dawned, a joyful Saturday that brought with it a flurry of excitement and activity. The house, already decked out in festive decorations that Mom and I had put up the day before, buzzed with the energy of celebration.

My heart leaped with excitement when Danica Smith, my best friend, walked through the door. Our reaction was instant and exuberant; we screamed like the little girls we were at heart, rushing into each other’s arms for a tight hug. Her dad followed her in, and I couldn’t help but notice his strong, handsome presence, a detail that didn’t escape my young, observant eyes.

As more friends and their moms arrived, the party truly kicked into gear. We kids claimed the spare room for ourselves — a space usually relegated to storage but which Mom and I had transformed into a perfect party zone. The room, now cleared and inviting, echoed with our laughter and chatter as we delved into various games.

Meanwhile, the living room became the adults’ domain, where the parents settled in, comfortably distanced from the boisterous energy of our youthful festivities. The house was filled with a harmonious blend of laughter and conversation, marking the celebration of another year in my life. It was a day of simple joys and cherished friendships, a snapshot of childhood bliss.

A couple of hours into the party, the atmosphere was buzzing with the high spirits of youthful celebration. At that point, a few of the moms entered the room, their hands busy with setting up tables for the next phase of the festivities. It was time for the eagerly awaited cake and ice cream — a highlight of any birthday party.

We gathered around the tables, our eyes lighting up with anticipation as the moms served generous portions of cake alongside scoops of creamy ice cream. The combination of sweet, sugary cake and the cold, melting ice cream was a delight to our taste buds, a perfect treat for a group of active ten-year-olds.

But with the sugar rush inevitably kicking in, our moms, wise to the ways of managing a group of energetic children, had a plan. They decided it was best to channel our newfound energy in an open space. Thus, we were ushered outside, where we could run, play, and expend our boundless energy in the fresh air. It was a smart move, turning what could have been a chaotic indoor sugar high into an opportunity for outdoor fun and games. The party continued under the open sky, filled with laughter, playful shouts, and the carefree joy that comes with being young and surrounded by friends on a special day.

The outdoor play was perfectly timed with the moody, overcast sky above us. We were fully immersed in the simple joys of childhood games, chasing each other and tossing a beach ball back and forth, when a loud crack of thunder momentarily paused our activities. But without any lightning to accompany it, we quickly shrugged off the interruption and plunged back into our games, our laughter and shouts filling the air.

Some of the mothers kept a watchful eye on us from the safety of the covered patio, their presence a comforting backdrop to our unrestrained fun. Then, almost without warning, the skies opened up, unleashing a torrential downpour that seemed to pour buckets of water directly over us.

Our moms, concerned and trying to be responsible, called out for us to come inside, away from the deluge. But in the spirit of adventure and a bit of playful rebellion, we ignored their calls. We continued our games in the rain, relishing in the excitement of the moment, challenging our moms to brave the downpour if they wanted us back inside.

The rain transformed our play into an exhilarating experience, with the raindrops adding a wild, natural element to our fun. We were drenched, yet undeterred, fully embracing the unexpected turn our birthday celebration had taken. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated joy, where the ordinary rules were washed away by the rain, leaving us free to simply enjoy the here and now.

Dressed in my simple choice of a bandeau and spandex biking shorts, the minimum Mom would allow for the party, I felt free and unencumbered as we played in the rain. At home, I always preferred to go barefoot, a habit my friends knew and respected, always shedding their shoes at the door. So there we were, a group of kids reveling in the rain, all of us barefoot and clothed in whatever we had been wearing for the party.

The rain didn’t take long to soak us completely, but that didn’t dampen our spirits. Instead, it added an element of wild, carefree excitement to our game. There’s something liberating about playing in the rain, especially as a child. It feels rebellious, almost magical, as if you’re part of a world where the usual rules don’t apply.

Our laughter and screams of delight were muffled by the sound of heavy raindrops hitting the ground, creating a symphony of nature that accompanied our play. We darted and splashed around, each of us soaked to the skin, but none of us cared. We were in a world of our own, a world where the rain was a playmate, not a deterrent, and where the joy of the moment was all that mattered. It was a celebration of friendship, of childhood, and of the sheer joy of being alive and together.

Time seemed to lose its meaning as we continued to play in the rain. We didn’t just get wet; we ended up covered in mud and grass, wearing the marks of our carefree adventure. As the day progressed and the evening began to hint its arrival, there was still the important matter of opening my birthday presents, a tradition eagerly awaited by all.

Realizing the time, our moms decided it was time to wrap up our outdoor escapades. Before we could set foot back inside, my mom, ever practical, took matters into her own hands. She used the garden hose to spray us off, an efficient if not chilly solution to our mud-caked clothes and skin. This impromptu rinse-off brought forth squeals and giggles, adding yet another layer of fun to our already memorable day.

After the hose-down, Mom had thoughtfully brought some of my clothes to the kitchen. We made our way there, dripping and laughing, to dry off and change into the clean, dry clothes. It was a moment of calm after the wild joy of playing in the rain, a chance to transition back from our muddy adventure to the cozy warmth of indoor celebrations.

The energy in the room shifted as we changed into dry clothes, a sense of anticipation building up for the next part of the birthday festivities. The opening of the presents was not just a ritual; it was a shared experience, a moment of delight and surprise that we all looked forward to. The day, marked by its spontaneous and joyful play, was about to offer yet another cherished memory in the form of birthday gifts and the shared happiness they bring. A couple of the moms gathered the wet clothes and took them to the laundry room to be washed allowing my friends to change back into their clothes before leaving.