One day Joan’s boyfriend Jeff took her to the museum. Joan liked most of the paintings and sculptures well enough, but she absolutely fell head over heels in love with Miro’s “Circus Horse.”

“I don’t know,” she told her boyfriend. “There’s something about him that just gets to me.”

“Probably because your dress is the same color as his shadow, or whatever that is,” Jeff speculated.

“Whatever, I need to have him,” Joan declared.

“What do you mean have him?” Jeff asked.

“I mean take him home with me.”

“Just be careful he doesn’t toss you.”

“Ha ha. I just want to ride him, not fuck him.”

Jeff smirked. “Good luck. The security here is supposedly out of this world.”

“I have my tricks,” Joan said.

As it turned out, Joan did fuck the circus horse, mostly for his sake. She could come just fine from the rub of his slender back against her seam as they rode here there and everywhere.

Sometimes Joan took Circus Horse to the museum so he could visit his old haunts, say hello to some old friends. He was especially interested in the painting that hung in his old corner. “Isn’t that what’s his name? Jeff? The guy you were with that day?”

Joan shrugged. “I guess there is a bit of a resemblance. It looks like he’s happy. More or less. Shall we be off now?”

“You read my mind,” said Circus Horse. And off they flew.