Donovan and ponies in the park

Books have been written about Loring Park and much is known about this beautiful, storied, dodgy and sordid place in the shadow of downtown Minneapolis. Years before I lived near the southeast edge of the park, I knew that it was home to the Twin Cities Pride Festival, the Loring Arts Festival, the Walker Art Center's movies and music In the park events, and much, much more.

I also knew that a guy could easily buy a tiny, ten dollar bag of shitty weed from Mexican dudes who rode bikes slowly on the paths through the park. I knew that it was a notorious gay cruise spot and that prostitution was common in and around the park; mostly catering to gay men. I came to know that it was better to walk around the edge of the park at night, especially on drunken stumbles home from the Loring Bar which was on the northwest corner, opposite my apartment. I knew a guy who got mugged in the park, then got arrested along with the mugger because they were both black. Bust 'em all and sort it out later, I suppose.

Yes, much is known about Loring Park, but I believe I have a story that is truly rare.

My old buddy Donavon had a curious passion. He adored pony play. In other words, he enjoyed dressing like a horse, putting himself in a horse head-space and engaging in BDSM play with others who participated in his pony fantasy. As that last sentence sinks in, allow me to elaborate. Donavon had a leather headpiece, complete with pony ears and snout. To this he added a bit and reins. Donovan had leather leggings and long leather arm sleeves that culminated in hoove-like coverings for his hands and feet. He had a pony tail attached to a butt plug. In this outfit, Donovan moved on all fours and, of course, he wore a saddle.

At a number of events, including one that I organized at First Avenue's VIP lounge, Donovan moved through crowded public scenes as a pony, while be ridden by one or another stunning woman bedecked in leather and not sparing the riding crop. Fucking fearless! And Donavon was always willing to explore new levels of fearlessness! Which brings me to the meat of the story.

Mistress Amanda was a legendary figure in the most underground of circles, locally and beyond. Among other unmentionables, she was known for cooking up truly outlandish and elaborate kink scenes. One such scene played out in Loring Park.

Mistress Amanda enlisted Mistress Jean,—a legend in her own right— Donovan and another pony-play devotee who was unknown to me.

They'd gotten their hands on a sulky, a two-wheeled cart used in harnessed horse racing. They donned amazing latex outfits. The mistresses in second-skin, cat suits. The ponies in latex as well, with parts of their outfits inflatable to better mimic a horse-body shape. The plan was to trot around the paths of Loring Park, again, not sparing the riding crop, and film the whole thing.

Since I lived on the edge of the park, I was tipped off and encouraged to observe.

As you can imagine, this type of film making is unlikely to be well received by park visitors or city officials so the scene played out at daybreak when the only people likely to be in the park would be a small handful of drunks and homeless people; folks unlikely to call the cops. I set my alarm early enough to prepare coffee and be ready at the park at the appointed time. And, though I hadn't planned my outfit, what was at hand that morning was not without a certain daring. Floppy shorts and shirt, a black cowboy hat, recently purchased at a yard sale and hung conveniently on a coat rack near the back door, and, as a last minute addition, since there was a chill in the air, my bathrobe.

At the park, it was easy to spot my friends—they were the only latex-clad dominatrixes riding a sulky pulled by human ponies. I drank my coffee, huffed my Lucky Strike cigarettes and followed the action around the park thinking that, as a connoisseur of kooky, I was privy to an extraordinary moment.

When the filming was nearly complete, the mistresses, the ponies and I had wound our way around the park near a spot where a man was sleeping on a bench. The sulky was on a path, a ways away from the sleeping man. I was off the path, staying out of the camera's view, and nearest the sleeping man.

I tried to give him some room and not wake him, but the pony's kinky hooves clippity-clopped loudly and the man stirred. He first looked towards the path and did a visible double take as he saw latex-clad dominatrixes riding a sulky pulled by human ponies. Then he turned my way. I was maybe ten feet from him. In my cowboy hat and bathrobe, I raised my coffee cup to him in a toast-like fashion and said, simply, "mornin'."

The poor guy looked like he'd hit rock bottom. I didn't linger to find out for sure. Instead I followed the mistresses and their ponies out of the park and figured that the kooky gods had just smiled on me by adding the park dude into my over-the-top morning experience.