Why I will never get back on the horse

Literally, not metaphorically.There are a few reasons. But one stands out.

Because I like my balls.

They're kind of... useful. While they are perhaps one of the more unsightly parts of the male anatomy, they serve a necessary purpose. They help me do things I like to do. And I don't particularly like the feeling that I may never be able to sit down comfortably again.

I went on a horse riding wine tour for a friend's 30th yesterday, which was admittedly an awesome idea, but I don't think I prepared myself properly.

We rocked up late, and after signing a quick statement saying we won't, yknow, sue anyone if we die, it's straight into it.

There are a handful of latecomers standing round with a nervous awkwardness. The instructor leads a horse over to me, 'parks' it, and places a milk crate on the left side. My horse's name is Lucky, and it doesn't take me long to figure out why.

It's short for "Lucky the horse knows what he's doing cause the rider has no idea."

"Okay. Climb up," she instructs.

Up until now the closest I've ever been to a horse is a paddock away.

So she's really helpful and tells me exactly how to do it. I'm waiting for the instructions about what to do once I'm up there, but there aren't any yet. It's a very 'cross that bridge when we come to it' kind of deal.

You don't realise how unsettling it is to be sitting on an animal that big until you're actually doing it. It's pretty unsettling. But I try to get used to it. The first thing that strikes me is the lack of controls. No indicators. No wipers. No radio. No seatbelt. Not even a cup holder. This shit is oldschool.

I don't know how to steer yet, and there are other people to be helped. So the girl goes to help the others and my horse just walks off, hangs out, does whatever it wants to do. A feeling of being out of control sweeps over me and I realise this horse is the boss of me. That doesn't seem like it's the way it's supposed to be.

After I learn how to steer and stop, we head off on a two hour trail. But pretty soon it becomes obvious to me that I may as well not know how to steer or stop, because my horse is pretty much doing whatever it wants regardless of how I'm pulling the reigns. As in "Lucky he's wearing a helmet, caus pretty soon he's going to fall off and get kicked in the face."

I literally have no idea what I'm doing. I mainly just try to look like I'm in control while my horse follows the one in front. Annoyingly, I'm overcome with the instense desire to speak in a deep southern American accent whenever I talk.

Nobody told me what to do if the horse starts to run. On a flat piece of the track, which has become quite wide, my horse decides to have a bit of a piss-bolt.

There's a little rope handle thing on the front of the saddle to hold on to, but to stop you have to pull on the reigns. So it's kind of one or the other. But it's hard to think about when you have half a second to decide.

Now, this thing about the ball-violation. Picture cooking a nice hot meal. Y'know that point when you're making mashed potatoes, after they're boiled but still intact and you're about to take to them with the masher? Okay... replace the potatoes, with my balls. That's kind of what went on. As in, "Lucky he doesn't like kids much anyway because after this there's no way he'll ever father any."

There are at least two other occasions when my horse decides to mix it up a little and have a few more piss-bolts, and each time I can't stop him, even by pulling on the rope as hard as I can. So I just try to hold on and wait for him to get over it.

We arrive at this winery place and have lunch. I didn't drink any wine. I swapped it for Coronas. When it's time to 'get back on the horse' (HA), I am feeling a mix of more confident from the alcohol and more nervous because I know it will hurt my ass again.

But on the way back, the horse decides to be significantly nicer to me and there is none of this canter shit going on. It's good.

Even with a smoother ride, the whole time I am on edge. There really isn't a lot of trust between Lucky and I, and while it's slightly reassuring to know I have a rope attached to his mouth, deep down I know it won't do squat because if he wants to do something, he just does it.

When my feet are back on ground, all I can think about is how sore my bum is. Without exaggerating, it feels like I've been violated. And not the good kind of violated, like the outnumbered-by-hot-girls-who-tie-you-down-and-force-you-to-sex-them violated. The bad kind of violated, like the got-force-fed-some-roofies-while-spending-a-night-in-prison-and-don't-remember-what-went-down violated.

When I'm in my car driving home, it's relieving to be able to steer and have the 'horse' do exactly what I want. When I feel my feet push the accellerator and clutch it somehow feels similar to where my feet were in those metal things. But this car slows down when I push the stop pedal. It's unheard of.

As much as I've complained, it wasn't all bad. I have a real respect for horse riders now, because it must take so long building trust with the animal. It's good to be able to say I tried it. The Winery was awesome, it was cool riding slowly through this trail, and the views at the top of the hills were insane.

Above all, it's reassuring to know that if I ever wake up with this same sore feeling and don't remember the night before, I may need to make a trip to the doctor.