Big Book Of Lesbian Horse Stories Read Online Free Page B

the first time, for both of them . . .
    And then there was the shot, and Cracker had fallen, whinnying with pain, and there was Cathy’s father standing with a rifle in his hand, a look of hate on his face. “I missed,” was all he said. Cathy was sobbing hysterically, her hands shaking as she buttoned her blouse. She had offered no resistance when her father took her arm and led her to the car up on the road. And Jean had been left with Cracker, watching the blood pump out of the big vein on his neck, watching his eyes glaze over as death took him . . .
    The terrified whinnying echoed again in Jean’s head, and then she was back in Sheridan Square and she realized it wasn’t an echo, it was real. A troop of police horses was advancing on the rioters, and there was Midge struggling to control Chopper, who had broken ranks, whinnying in fear.
    Jean ran over and grabbed Chopper’s bridle. “Midge, what are you doing? Don’t you see what this is doing to Chopper?”
    â€œJean!” Midge gasped. “What are you doing here?”
    â€œThis is where I live, Midge, these are my people. Don’t tell me you haven’t guessed that! What are you doing here?”
    â€œI’m upholding the law,” Midge shot back. She took a deep breath. “Jean—I know it’s hard to understand—”
    â€œWhat does Tilly think of you ‘upholding the law’?” Jean asked. Midge stiffened and Jean knew that her dig had hit home.
    â€œTilly understands!” Midge shot back, “Why can’t you? Is all this”—she gestured at the line of drag queens mocking the police with high kicks—“worth risking jail for?”
    â€œYes!” shouted Jean, just as one of the drag queens was torn from the line by a policeman with billy club raised.
    Then a shout came from a retreating policeman in riot gear, “O’Brien! Get over here! Now!”
    â€œLet go of my horse,” said Midge harshly.
    â€œI won’t!” Jean cried. “Stop trying to make Chopper into something he isn’t, something he can’t be! When will you learn? When will you ever learn?”
    Just then, a rock flew from the crowd, hitting Chopper on his scarred legs. With a frightened whinny he reared, tossing Midge from the saddle. Jean tried to hang on, but the frantic horse was too much for her, and the next thing she knew the reins were yanked from her hands and she heard the distant sound of hoofbeats fading away down Christopher Street.
    Â 
    A few nights later, Jean walked into the Colony and looked around. On the surface, everything seemed the same—Dorothy, Marcie, the sad-eyed girl at the bar—but somehow, everything had changed. Dorothy and Frankie were sitting with Marcie and a long-haired man folding leaflets. The sad-eyed girl at the bar didn’t look so sad, and was in earnest discussion with a sharp-featured girl with black hair. The jukebox wasn’t playing “So Long,” but some new song about “Respect.” Only the drunk at the back table, her head lying in a pool of beer, looked like the old days.
    The bartender waved Jean over. “Could you give me a hand with that drunk in the back? These people are going to hold a meeting here.”
    â€œSure,” said Jean. She went to the back table and pulled the drunk into a sitting position, then started back in horror. “Midge!” she exclaimed.
    Midge’s head flopped forward. “Tilly . . . Jean . . . Chopper . . . nobody understands li’l Midge,” she muttered thickly. “N’body cares ‘bout my sac’fices . . . did th’ best I could . . .” She trailed off and collapsed on the table again.
    â€œYou know her?” said the bartender. “There someone we can call?”
    â€œYes,” choked out Jean. “I’ll take care of it.” She used the bar phone to call Tilly. “Midge is here at the