A story in eyes

Thoughts indistinct.  Movement without significance. No moments this past weekend elicit a painting. I write of noise.

A weekend in Vieques. Following my last minute decision, an impulsive text was sent to the very handsome man stranger from the gym Friday morning:

Going to Vieques if u want

One wrap following a work out and two lunches is all we had shared. I had always noticed him and while we had spoken, our eyes never had.

The quick meals shared in the last two weeks unveiled intelligence and shared philosophies. A heart and a gentlemen. Something was still missing. Our eyes still failed to speak. Though, curious about his continued lunch invites. And intrigued with my combined attraction and indifference, hence the text.

What time
Calling you

“Well, we’d have to share a room, but there is a seat for you on the plane. I won’t take advantage of you,” I joked.

In my mind, I didn’t foresee a budding romance or a weekend of sex. I simply was inviting a man on a plane, to an island, to my bed and was more or less, indifferent. Sleep like siblings should I wish.


The weekend was not a catalyst for emotions of color. Highlights. Experiences. Memories. However.




Dancing with Mr. Handsome. Physically, we are the perfect pair. Such ease and sexuality, our bodies seemed as if every inch had been explored. The truth is it was their first meeting.  A couple that you couldn’t watch without imaging them fucking. A comment from my dear gay, “What a hard on everyone had watching you two.” A weekend that brought a second truth to the fact that dancing is not a perfect indicator of the horizontal same. Decent. But my thoughts shift to Caballito with who I had two left feet. I enjoy Mr. Handsome, but emotions, there are not.






2am. Our corner spot was closed. We waited for the crowds to leave. To reenter and dance after hours with just our group. The locals walked to their mode of transportation-horses (a species higher in population than people in the amazing island of Vieques). I approached. Bored. Waiting for the doors. “Quieres montar?” One said. Thinking I was just some pretty gringa , he would lead me for a little walk.

I mounted. My legs bare. Took the reigns and one kick. In a minute, the crowds were far behind. Rhythmically gliding in the saddle. My hair flying.  His friends attempted to ride alongside me. Their faces shocked, in awe. I noted my continued amazement at the fact that languages divide, riding never does. Hugs envelop me without words or touch. Their eyes, their acceptance. Applause from the crowds. The boys following me as I turned the corner, bringing the canter to a halt.


Highlights. Memories. A lesson in eyes. 



The mare and the stars *

Trust. I could see nothing. Under a blanket of stars and a half cracker moon resting on the tops of the mountain, I failed to see the many trees and sleeping vacas that surrounded me. I could hear the coquis and the sounds of the twenty horses in front of me. Flickering lights from a few of the riders were the only guide.

I wanted to wait.The lone white horse, the powerful Arabian and the man on top were somewhere behind. I pulled my reigns and my horse danced circles in the darkness.

Then, stillness. The hooves in front of me were long gone. The return path unmarked. Nature. Sounds. Thousands of acres of mountains. I strained to see movement in the hill from which I descended. Nothing. I took in the land around me, a land I didn’t know. I hope he didn’t go a different way. It must have been 10pm. No phone. No sense of direction. I exhaled into the unknown.

And then I saw him. The moon highlighted his white coat and his powerful muscles. Another horse rode alongside him. The darkness hid me until they were but a few feet a way. “Ella espero.” A smile in the friend’s words as he rode on.

The Arabian neared and He asked me to wait a minute. He dismounted and approached, the Arabian followed. Trained like a model dog. Sensitive to all. His steps were of a teachers, coming to adjust something. Perhaps, my girth? But then he grabbed my hair as if it was a mane, and pulled my face towards his. His lips enveloped mine. Soft and wet. His tongue powerful. I relaxed into him. Threw away any inner dialogue. His arms wrapped around my body and pulled me off my mare, his mouth opened mine. We stood. Pressed between the two horses my body acquainted with his. I could feel him.

His hands traveled my body and I was pleased at his mass. His arms. His strength.

My mare, one to not like other horses, nuzzled his. We stood in the v of their bodies. It was a moment beyond any I have ever imagined.

The return through the darkness. How? I wondered. “The horses can see better than us,” he assured.

The Arabian and the Mare.

WIth our reigns dropped, we held hands as we traveled back.

I looked into your eyes and I saw myself

In response to Cremolloquareterpony’s comment about  “My soul called and yours answered.” I would like to dedicate a post. 

Cremelloquarterpony says: ” Soulmates exist! I encountered a soulmate horse years ago and I had the experience you described above… I looked into that horse’s eyes and I just KNEW who/what it was. That experience helped me to understand that if I can find my soulmate horse, well the soulmate guy is going to show up sooner or later as well! We just have to allow the belief that it could happen is all.”

This is an email I wrote describing the day I met Ofeo. And while the email is about the place, beautiful Lake Como, Ofeo was responsible for making this experience reach every part of me and affect the deepest confines of my soul. This photo I will always love-  his eyes and the memories of a day where my soul ran free and why I love horses. 


An email I wrote on 7/25/07

Como was amazing. It was absolutely beautiful, relaxing– everything I wanted for my few resting days. I went horseback riding in the hills of Como with some locals and saw things that were extracted from another time. No roads and only one could guess how people even get to these houses. The lawns/flowers were magnificent- reminiscent of a mansion’s landscaping and then in lieu of an estate there would be a tiny dilapidated stone house. Some without windows. Similar to the old stone houses you will find on a hike, yet they were inhabited. The Italians sitting on the porch next to each other. A dog running around barking, a goat, a pig, a strange foreign animal I can’t place . . .

Point is, it was surreal. And then to bond with Italian girls, none of whom spoke English, over the commonality of being able to really ride a horse.  We went to this clearing and took turns galloping in circles. 2 people would go around two times and another two would follow. It was like some beautifully coordinated relay race. 

And then the feeling of galloping on a horse- one of my favorite feelings in the world. Meditative, freeing and still, yet flying. Very cool.