She closed her eyes and began to doze off back into sleep. Her muscles relaxed and she could feel the warm glow of unconsciousness begin to overtake.
Then she heard the high-pitched whinny of her favorite stallion pierce the hot air of the moonlit night and bolt her back awake.
Was that a dream too? Had she just heard a communicative moan come issuing out of the snorting mouth of her fantasy lover?
The memory of the dream came back now full force. The image of when she first laid eyes on his massive, erect member burned in her brain.
It was useless to sleep now. No matter what position she assumed to get comfortable two things kept haunting her: the high-pitched whine of her lovely stallion and the image of his rock-hard pole.
When she sat down to breakfast the next morning her father could not help but notice the heavy bags underneath her pretty blue eyes.
"Honey, are you all right."
"I'm fine. I just had a restless night, that's all."
"You don't look well. Perhaps I should call the doctor."
"No, please, it's not necessary. I'm fine really."
"Maybe this is a good time to discuss what you would like for your birthday."
"There is that lovely saddle I saw in town. It would look perfect on Lightning."
Franklin Barker frowned at the mention of the horse's name. He couldn't understand why a pretty young girl like Melanie was so obsessed with that animal.
Every since her mother died three years ago, Melanie had become a bit of an introvert. Boys were constantly calling on her and she was always turning them down.
"How about a lovely gold necklace. I saw the perfect one in a store on the avenue. You could wear it at your party."
"What party?"
"Why your birthday party, of course."
"Did I say I wanted a birthday party?"
"Melanie, don't be silly. It's your sweet sixteen party. It's a ritual everyone's looking forward to."
"But I don't want it."
"But I insist. It'll be a chance to socialize a bit. You've been stuck around the farm too much."
"What's wrong with horseback riding."
"Why nothing. But there are other things you know."
"Like what?"
"Like pretty things that all girls your age want, jewelry and such. Besides, the party will give you the opportunity to get to know Larry better. He was here just the other day looking for you, but you were out riding Lightning."
"I don't want to be with Larry. He bores me."
"Very well, what about Carter Marington. He's a nice young boy. He's a perfect gentleman, and believe me, a father should know."
"He doesn't like to ride horses."
"You could teach him. He could have the pick of the breed. Let him ride Lightning. He's very tame."
"No," Melanie shrieked, "that's impossible."
Franklin Barker did not know what he had said to make his daughter so upset. He had merely suggested the obvious thing.
For a person just learning to ride, Lightning was the perfect choice. He rarely bucked and took to people easily.
"Are you going to get me the saddle or not."
"There are better things for a young girl. Why not come to town with me today and pick out whatever you like."
"I can't. It's time for me and Lightning to go on our morning ride."
What was her damn obsession with that stupid horse? Her father decided to put his foot down, this was getting ridiculous.
"Melanie, you spend entirely too much time here on the farm. It's time you got out, you know, started making a few friends."
"I'm happy the way I am."
"Well, I don't think so. I'm going to do something about it."
Melanie hated when her father acted this way. It seemed like he was trying to make up for her mother's death.
He was always blaming himself for her sickness, something that he really couldn't have done anything about.
He felt it his duty to play two roles with her, one as father and the other as a surrogate mother.
She hated him when he tried to assume the role of mother. He wasn't any good at it. What man was?
"Are you going to get me the saddle for Lightning."
"I'll give you anything you want except that."
"But that's what I really want."
"You're too pre-occupied with things here on the farm. I'm throwing that party for you and you're going to enjoy yourself."
He looked at her defiant expression. When her face assumed that frowning countenance she reminded him so much of her mother.
Her pert little nose raised up and her small nostrils flared out in rebellious defiance. Her high cheekbones flamed red.
Her chin was slightly raised and she drew in her cheeks just a fraction. She seethed with a fury she could barely control.
But she did because no matter what she still respected her father. He had been good to her, though he sometimes overcompensated for things he had no control over.
When he assumed his authoritative stance she knew that it was impossible for her to argue with him. And right now he was quite adamant.
He had it up to here with that fuckin' horse. She spent too much time with that damn thing. It was getting way out of hand.
"All right, for you daddy, I'll do it."
"That's my girl."
The knowledge that something was terribly wrong with his daughter, that she was the victim of some sort of neurosis, burst into Franklin Barker's brain.
Years of assuming the role of mother had filled him with an intuitive awareness that was alien to most men.
In a strange way the death of his wife had made him realize the woman in himself. Also that the urge existed in all men as well.
Having to convince one's daughter to throw her sweet-sixteen party that was a holy ritual around this part of the South was not a good indication of normality.
The death of her mother had affected her to a greater degree than Franklin Barker had ever thought possible.
The party would be his last hope to try and bring her to her senses. After that, if she didn't snap out of it, he would have to seek out professional help for her.
The hard part would be convincing her that something was wrong to begin with. She thought it was perfectly natural for a girl her age to be riding horses all day.
If she wasn't beautiful he could understand her choice to lead a reclusive life. But that surely wasn't the case at all, not at all.
Her breasts were large and uplifted, exactly in the same manner as her mother's, and her poised look gave her a regal air. Her face never dropped its mask, not even for an instant. You could never read her real thoughts. Her guard was always up.
Her mother could convey the same air of sensuous indifference. Her glaze of irony weighed on your soul.
It was a look that said now impress me. If you can't I will impress myself with whatever whim strikes my peculiar fantasies and desires.
It was a type of independence that when a woman revealed it men were intimidated. It was taken as an unfeminine gesture.
They could not imagine a woman having the courage to make real her own aims, that is, at least, without a man to guide her.
Franklin Barker had won his wife's love by being the one man in her life who did not mind her brazen indifference to chauvinist talents.
All men had them, but few could understand that it was a part of a man's character that often got in the way of his clear perception of reality.
A woman, who was allowed to realize her ambitions by expressing herself in the manner she, and only she, saw fit, had a positive effect on the man closest to her in her life.
And Franklin Barker had been that man. She was not a submissive woman in the sense that she would settle for anything less than ultimate success in the pursuit of her dreams.
Perhaps that was what they had had more than anything else, the perfect dream life, where reality itself had lost its substance.