“The Winthrops have asked whether you can go to Lexington with Mr. Winthrop for the Dressage at Lexington competitions in July, Julio. You’d be his groom for the three days there, and if you worked out well, you could stay on helping them here at Ashlawn Farms for the rest of the summer before you go back to school.”

Fourteen-year-old Julio flared up. “I’m not going back to the technical school, Mother. I’ve told you that already. Last year didn’t work out.” But his irritation was immediately deflated by the trembling caused by what else she had said. “Mr. Winthrop has a groom,” he said. “Stuart Singleton.”

“Apparently Stuart no longer works there,” his mother said. “And we’ll talk about returning to the residential technical school later. You were doing well there. You got a job grooming the horses right off for the equestrian club there. I thought that’s what you were interested in--horse breeding. Winding up working at the technical high school horse-breeding program over in Frankfort.”

“It is,” Julio answered. “But I can work over there anyway--and go to regular high school here in Lawrenceburg.” There was no question about working. Everyone in Julio’s family started working in something, if only in the vineyards, almost as soon as they could walk. Julio had been lucky to have found work in horse stables.

“What should we say to the Winthrops? They’ve been very good to us.”

The Winthrops had, indeed, been very good to Julio’s family. His parents had a small farm and vineyard outside of Lawrenceburg, in the horse country of central Kentucky. And the Winthrops owned a large spread--a horse-breeding farm--that enveloped three sides of the family farm. Winston Winthrop could have squeezed Julio’s family out--easily--as this was an area for the ultrarich, and Julio’s family was anything but rich. Instead, Winthrop had been friendly to Julio’s family, and, knowing how difficult it was for them to make a living from their small farm, had provided seasonal employment to Julio and his father since Julio was a child. The father and son helped with the harvest of Winthrop’s vineyard and Julio worked occasionally as a subgroom at the Winthrop stables during the fox hunt season. Julio’s father, in turn, opened his land to the Lexington hunt.

Julio’s mother said he should be thrilled at the opportunity to work for Winthrop as a groom and to go with him to the dressage trials in July over at the equestrian center in Lexington. And he was thrilled. But he was apprehensive too. It had been because of Mr. Winthrop that Julio had decided not to go back to Georgia Tech. Julio had made a fool of himself there and was too embarrassed to go back. And it was all because of Winston Winthrop.

Winston Winthrop brought out disturbing and arousing emotions in Julio. It had all begun for him back during the last harvest of the Winthrop vineyards, although that was just the first time Julio realized what disturbed him about Winston Winthrop. Thinking on it thereafter, Julio realized that he’d had an affinity for the man for years.

Julio and his father had been working hard in the vineyard--stripped to the waist. And Winthrop had ridden one of his dressage horses, the eleven-year-old chestnut Hanoverian, Hochkonig, over from the practice ring to check out how the harvest was progressing. Winthrop was decked out completely in his dressage outfit--a tight black jacket over a white shirt and tight white breeches, with shiny black boots up to his knees. A black top hat, white gloves, and a white cravat, as well. He sat there, astride his sleek dressage horse, smoking a cigar and watching the men work in the vineyard. Julio noticed Winthrop watching him, in particular, and he couldn’t avoid stealing looks at Winthrop as well. The man--over forty, but in superb shape and handsome of face, with graying at his temples--looked magnificent. Julio was shocked that he felt himself going hard. He had known that he had a preference for men, sexually, but he hadn’t done anything about the urge with a man. He was only fourteen. Although hormones, desire, and the capability of and interest in getting it up were quickly developing in Julio, he’d not had the opportunity or courage to do anything about it yet other than take care of himself.

He had carried that image of Winthrop with him to his year away at residence at the technical school, and to get the older man--a family friend, so there would be nothing there for Julio--out of his mind, he nearly threw himself at an older classmate at the school who he had misjudged on signals of interest. His faux pas, very publicly revealed and mocked by the other boys, had made its way around the school rumor mill, working its way up to the faculty and administration, and now Julio couldn’t go back there. He also couldn’t tell his parents why he couldn’t go back there in September for a second year. He had done well at the stables connected with the school, though. He knew he could get a job at an agricultural research station not far from his home, which had a horse-breeding program famous for developing champion racers and show horses.

“Julio, I asked you a question. We’ve always done what we can to keep the Winthrops our friends. They’ve asked for your help.”

“Yes, Mother, I’ll go over there now to say that I would be happy to help.”

Julio hadn’t been to the Winthrop stables since that day, two weeks ago, in late May, that his interest in Winston Winthrop, despite all of his efforts, had spiked again. And Stuart, the Winthrop’s fifteen-year-old groom had been fully employed that day. And not just in grooming horses. Julio had come around the corner of the stable block only to stop in his tracks in shock and pull back around the corner. But he didn’t leave. He took surreptitious glances around the corner.

Stuart’s cheek and chest were plastered to the wall between two stall openings. His feet were set more than two feet from the wall and were spread. His arms were raised against the wall on either side, with his palms flat against the wood of the wall. He had a pained look on his face and was moaning and groaning in a deep voice. Standing between Stuart’s legs in full dressage gear, one gloved hand on Stuart’s belly and other taking a cigar to and from his mouth, his groin nearly plastered to Stuart’s bared buttocks, Winston Winthrop was slow-fucking the groom. Stuart’s jeans were draped around one of his ankles. Winthrop’s privates, balls and all, were fully exposed outside the tight white riding breeches, and Julio could tell the man was horse hung because the balls hung low and he wasn’t fucking Stuart deep. He was pulling nearly all of the way out of Stuart’s ass, to the tune of the groom’s gasps, and then sinking back in far, but not all the way, showing a good three inches of exposed cock root.

Julio pulled away as quickly as he could bring himself to do that and returned to his farm, determined not to come back to Ashlawn Farms--ever, if he could help it. It wasn’t because what he had seen had disgusted him, but because this was what he had been trying to fight against his entire first at the residential technical school--the attraction to Winston Winthrop. The melting fetish of the older man in his dressage outfit, smoking a cigar, and, now, fucking another boy.

Julio had never carried through with the urge, but he couldn’t deny that he ached to be fucked by Winston Winthrop.

What he hadn’t stayed around to watch was Winthrop guiding Stuart into the horse barn. And he didn’t see Winthrop hoist Stuart up and belly down on a saddle perched on the top of a stall divider, the boy’s arms and head hanging down on one side of the wall and his legs on the other. Nor did he see Winthrop bind the boy’s wrists and ankles to slats in the wall and force a rag into the boy’s mouth. And he didn’t see Winthrop take a hand whip and apply it to the boy’s buttocks and thighs until Winthrop was hard and throbbing again, whereupon he climbed the wall to the point where he could mount the boy’s ass and ride him like Stuart was one of Winthrop’s thoroughbred horses.

“Do you like it? It’s our hotel at the equestrian center in Lexington,” Winston Winthrop said when Julio came over to Ashlawn Farms on the morning of July 10th for the drive to Lexington. When Julio arrived, Winthrop was hooking up a truck-cab RV to a two-horse trailer. “Just bought it. It’s a twenty-nine-foot Coachman Freelander model.”

“Hotel room? But us? Both of us?” Julio could feel himself trembling. He couldn’t reveal to Winthrop what he was dreaming of--the two of them sleeping in an RV. And not just sleeping. But Winthrop was an old family friend. This just couldn’t enter into that dimension. Besides, Winthrop wouldn’t want him. He was Latino and his family could almost be called poor.

“It has a bedroom for me,” Winthrop was saying. “And see the bump over the cab? That’s a bunk for you. I want to stay as close to the horses as possible. The equestrian center has two campgrounds. It’s time to bring out the horses now and for us to get on the road.”

Julio went into the stables and took several deep breaths to bring his near hyperventilation into control. One after the other, he brought the two geldings out, the chestnut Hanoverian, Hochkonig, and the younger, seven-year-old, black Trakehner, Lowengren. Both horses were the best dressage horses that money could buy. It was the best of everything for Winthrop. Even Stuart Singleton had been a real looker. Julio couldn’t be anything that Winston Winthrop was interested in.

During the drive to Lexington, Winthrop talked easily of his love for horses and the hunt and, in particular, dressage. “Dressage is French for training, you know, Julio,” he said. “Although military training and parading of horses goes back to the Greeks.”

He talked in general terms about the sport and of his wish to enter the Grand Prix and Grand Prix Special versions of it in the summer Olympics. “There’s no disadvantage of not being young to compete in this Olympic Sport. You don’t think I’m too old, do you, Julio?”

“No, of course not,” Julio answered almost breathlessly. He didn’t think Winthrop was too old at all. He thought that Winthrop was in magnificent shape. His mind went back to what he’d seen of Winthrop languidly, but deeply, thickly, expertly fucking Stuart, the groom. Yes, he thought Winthrop was in great shape. It was him being older that was a big part of Julio’s attraction to him--that and how well he wore the dressage costume.

Winthrop spoke of the various gaits of the dressage--the Piaffe, the Passage, the Pirouette, the Trot, the Canter, the Flying Change--and of how precise they were. “The Trot and Canter you know. But the others are higher level--The Piaffe, prancing in place; the Passage, a rhythmic prance; the Pirouette, prancing side to side; and, most refined of all, the patterned changing of rhythm. I would like you to learn the gaits of the dressage, Julio.”

“I’d like that, sir.”

“Dressage is a sensual sport, Julio. It’s all about building a balanced, harmonious team--a horse and rider communicating with each other and melding into each other, attaining a delicate balance of strength, flexibility, and accuracy. It’s not just the rider lifting to the heights, but the horse as well, both becoming fully satisfied, both proud of what they attain together, as one.”

He was quiet for a few moments, letting the almost worshipful way he’d expressed his thoughts hang in the air.

“Do you know that when I’ve reached that perfect balance with Hochkonig or Lowengren, I experience an erection and sometimes even ejaculate in the saddle?”

Embarrassed, Julio turned his face toward the passenger window of the cab--but not before having seen that Winthrop was watching him closely.

“Uhh, well...”

“Now I’ve embarrassed you, haven’t I?” Winthrop said, keeping his tone light.

“No, sir, not at all,” Julio answered with a weak smile that he showed to Winthrop only briefly before looking away again. He fought not to go hard himself, but he was losing that battle.

“I don’t want to embarrass you. We’re both manly here, despite your age. I’ve watched you grow up, but I’ve watched you grow in the urges of a man too, and I think we can be straightforward with each other now. You don’t want me to be false or distant from you now that you have the feelings and needs of a man, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Julio responded in a quiet voice.

“I just want to get across the deep meaning that dressage has for me--that it has for most who engage in the sport. As I said, it has the effect on me of giving me an erection and getting me off. I know that you’re of an age to understand those sensations. I want to indoctrinate you in dressage and help you see it, feel it, as deeply as I do.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir. I understand.” Julio said this to the passenger window, not wanting Winthrop to see the conflicted expressions on his face--hoping that Winthrop couldn’t see the tightening of his jeans at his crotch. It didn’t help that Winthrop had reached one of his hands over and given Julio’s thigh a squeeze.

“Don’t fight those urges, son,” Winthrop said. “They are natural.”

“Yes, sir,” Julio answered, almost swallowing his words.

They pulled into the equestrian center at Lexington and got the horses stalled in one of the eight stables at the center, dinner at a fast-food restaurant outside the gates of the center, and the RV berthed at the southwest campgrounds late enough that, exhausted, after showers, they both went to bed--Winthrop to his queen-sized bed in the RV’s bedroom and Julio to the bunk over the cab.

Julio couldn’t help stroking himself in arousal but he was weary enough that he went to sleep quickly before he could attain release. Winthrop seemed to be saying something to him directly, but what he had said was so direct and bald that Julio was afraid that he had misjudged it--just as he had misjudged that older student at the technical school. But if he was saying something directly and with such confidence that he knew what Julio wanted, what Julio was willing to do, what Winthrop wanted him to do ... unless in his own want, Julio had misjudged what Winthrop was saying...

Winston Winthrop rode in six dressage classes the next day. Julio stood at the rails, his eyes glued to the magnificent figure of the man in his shiny black boots, tight white breeches, black jacket and white cravat, and black satin top hat. Julio’s eyes followed the white gloves, carefully watching every move the man made, every light flick of his riding whip that gave the horses their instructions, feeling the sensuality of the sport just as Winthrop had said existed. When Winthrop rose up in the saddle, Julio looked at his crotch to see if he could discern whether the man was hard, but he never could be sure. By the end of the day, Julio could distinguish between the specialty gaits. Winthrop had been right that he already knew the Trot and the Canter, but these specialty gaits were, indeed, sensual.

When the competition for the day was over, Winthrop had won the Reserve Champion honors, built from a red-ribbon second, two yellow-ribbon thirds, and a white-ribbon fourth. He was beaming when he turned the reins of Lowengren over to Julio and strode off to the campground. Before he strode off, though, Julio saw the wet spot on the front of Winthrop’s white breeches. In fact, the breeches were so tight that Julio now could follow the line of the man’s half-hard cock, unusually thick, as Julio knew it to be from having seen Winthrop fucking Stuart Singleton. It had been as the man had said in the RV en route to Lexington. Finding the balance with his horses as he had had made him come.