She entered my stall first, removed mybit and bridle and slid the feed bag in place. It is a smaller versionof what is used on real horses, designed t... fit firmly over the lowerpart of the human face. The top part rests right below my nose, thebottom part under my chin, held in place by straps running above andbelow my ears and fastened in the back of my head. The bag contains aspecial "pony girl feed" mixed from dried grains, fruits and vegetables.I must use my lips and tongue and shake my. The stranger of the man listened to the sounds of the didgeridoo. The musical sound drowned out the stranger’s footsteps until he was within ten feet behind the player. He decided to let himself be known finally.“It is good to...” were the stranger’s only words when the music player dropped his instrument and slammed his fist into the dirt.“How dare you interrupt my playing!” he said as he turned his head and body to look at the man behind him.“You didn’t answer my question, old friend. How are. He shot a load into my mouth, which I spat out. It tasted awful. But that was my initiation to bestiality. I liked it and wanted to do it again, but didn't really get the chance. Until that is, I met Roger. Roger had been at the party and had remembered what I had done in my drug-fuelled exuberance.After we had got over the re-introduction stages and had learnt our way around each other's bodies and sensitivities and got married, things changed dramatically. Roger had been promising a weekend. Never again to have that. Never! Never?As a surgically-created woman, an artificial damsel, wouldn't that give me entry into that secret female world closed to men? Wouldn't it open new possibilities for meeting and, yes, even loving women? Might lesbian love be as satisfying as what I had experienced in my life as a man, holding a woman in my arms? Was I courageous -- ballsy? -- enough to find out?"Doctor, let's say we explore that option a bit further... "All told, it took six months.Jeri.