Sometimes my best, and most enjoyable, adventures are ones that are completely unplanned and happen spontaneously. Everyday, on my way as part of my commute into central London, I drive past a small riding stables and, like most of us, thought about having a go one day. Well, this Saturday was that one day, and here I am fully kitted out in Jodhpurs and Helmet, being introduced to my ride for the day, a beautiful Chestnut mare. After an hour or so of lessons and practice, the leader, myself and 5 others head out along a winding bridal path through some nearby woods.
The rest of our group, being slightly more experienced riders, slowly pulled ahead of my slow trot, which suited me just fine and gave an opportunity for me to enjoy the countryside and the motion of the horse under me.
After about ten minutes lost in my thoughts, from my lofty position I saw what was an expensive looking bicycle lying half hidden in the grass with a badly out of shape front wheel. Dismounting, I took a closer look and noticed a figure sitting by a small stream that ran alongside the bridal path. I approached asking him if he was hurt and offering some assistance. The man turned round and I saw that he was an athletic, muscular young man and soon learnt that he had hit a stone with his front wheel, catapulting him over the handlebars.
Not expecting to be a Florence Nightingale I had dressed casually for the day and only now, when I bent down to see how I could help, did I realise that the combination of a lack of bra and a loose top exposed my breasts and my patient was receiving the full benefit, if you take my meaning. His cycling shorts were badly torn revealing his manhood in all its glory so it was absolutely necessary for me to check that there was no damage to his groin. Very soon it was not just his ankle that was swollen.