If I’d thought trotting was fun, on a horse, it turned out cantering was better. Far smoother for the rider, cantering was the closest I’d felt to...flying since leaving Earth. It reminded me somewhat of driving in a car with the windows open, and I reveled in the cool fall breeze whipping my hair back; Alistair enjoyed that less, and I soon tied it back. Galloping was even more fun, and I cackled with glee as we pelted down the road when we hit a nice, long straightaway. But we couldn’t maintain. I allowed him to touch my knee and felt him slide his hand up my thigh. then his hand moved to my blouse and fondled my breast again. I admit, dancing with all those men, the drinks, and the kissing had got me excited. Against my better judgement I allowed his hand into my blouse. We continued kissing for several minutes while he mas- saged my breast, then he succeeded in unbuttoning my blouse and unhooking my bra. Almost like magic his hands where on my breasts, the coolness of the evening. More

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