Short Story: Why Ride a Broom? by Angelique Fawns

Being a recently gelded Paint horse with fine black and white patches isn’t what makes me unique. What makes me unique is that I’m a man trapped in this equine body. At least, I used to be a man. Now I guess I’m what’s called a Eunuch. Date one wrong broad, and I’m condemned to prancing around in leather gear and munching on old dry grass. How was I to know Karen was a witch? I should have known better than to use the dating app Earth Mothers & Mates.

My buddy told me about it, how the ratio of men to women is completely in our favour. Using the usual on-line sites means millions of men basically begging the ladies to swipe right. He said the women were begging for men to maul them on this new dating app. So did I ever get to swiping. Now, with hooves, all I can swipe at are the shavings in this wood cell. I used to like being on top, but she wanders down to the stables whenever she wants, rides me hard, and puts me away wet.

“There’s my sweet little patchy twat,” she says while shoving an apple between my lips.

I neigh and nip at her, but she just giggles and dances away, sliding the bolt shut on my stall. I nicker desperately, willing Karen to come back. At least when she’s here, I feel safe. There is a big orange horse beside me, a chestnut mare, and she bares her teeth at me with her ears pinned flat against her head. I’m convinced she’s going to kick through my stall and trample me to death one of these nights.

I thought I had scored when I first saw Karen’s profile on Earth Mothers & Mates. Long black hair to her butt, great bod, she looked like a go-er. So how was I to know that she was super-sensitive? We had a great date. I took her to my favorite pub because the hockey game was on. I let her order any beer that was on tap. Shoved a bunch of wings down her throat and then took her back home. It was a great time.

So, when we went back to her place, she invited me in for a nightcap. Hey, we all know what that means. The lady was looking for love. There were candles and shit burning everywhere, ambiance am I right? I’m a good-looking dude. I mean when I wasn’t a black and white horse with manure stains on my rump. Tall, dark-haired … good bod from pumping the iron. We had our drinks and she only had wine, so I got a glass down, though I’m a brew guy. Then it got all romantical. She was a pretty good lay. Curvy in all the right places, know what I’m saying?

But then she wanted to know what we were doing together tomorrow night, and I had to let her know I was the “here for a good time, not a long time” kinda guy. Well, Karen didn’t like that one bit. She got a bit hot under the collar and not the way I usually like it. Telling me she’s a lady and I had to learn to be a gentleman. Then ala kazaam. I’m a horse. Then before you know it, she’s called a vet … my god, I can’t even tell you about that.

I think it’s been a week since that night? Hard to gauge time because I sleep so much. Who knew napping could be so fulfilling, and it’s not like I got to go to the office, am I right? Someone else is selling those used cars. I’ve got a favorite place in the paddock under a big oak tree. Thank goodness that red bitch of a mare is in a different field. They keep the geldings (or ball-less boys as we all are) together when we’re let out to kick our heels up for the day.

Karen has great hands. I do enjoy it when she uses her soft brush and grooms my coat. I twist my neck in the air and flap my lips when she hits the best spots. But then I remember she trapped me in this horse body, and stole my nuts. Then I lift my legto kick her, but she gives my nose a pinch and I put it down.

I’ve thought about jumping the fence of my paddock and hightailing for the hills. But where would I go? And what if the red horse followed me? I don’t ever want to be alone with the chestnut mare in the next stall. Maybe life here isn’t so bad. A truck just pulled up with a whole load of carrots, and they smell delish. I used to joke that I wished I could find a woman who was into leather and whips. Guess now I found one.

Angelique Fawns is television producer, author, and owns five horses and a farm with her family. She’s the author of three guides featuring the speculative fiction market, produces a horror fiction podcast called Read Me A Nightmare, and has sold over 30 short stories. You can find her fiction in Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, DreamForge Anvil, Scare Street, The Other Stories, and a variety of anthologies.

www.fawns.ca

https://readmeanightmare.buzzsprout.com