By Michael E. Miller
By Allie Conti
By David Villano
By Jose D. Duran
By Michael E. Miller
By Allie Conti
By Kyle Swenson
By Luther Campbell
Keiki, director of the Lifestyle Alternative Center, has come to inform Foxy and Sherifox they have only five minutes before they lose the room to the next class -- impact play with a sadistic twist.
In a flash, Lainez is cross-tied again, undressed, redressed, and set free. She walks slowly back to her seat with a dazed expression.
Temporarily stunned and unable to put the experience into words, she gives New Times a rain check and a phone number and walks off with her Colombian boyfriend, Javier.
The next day, the 35-year-old landscaper says that at first she had some difficulty breathing through the mask and was afraid because she couldn't see. But then she thought, Maybe it's better I don't see.
Because of her experiences with tantra classes (she met her boyfriend, while both were naked, at one of these) and Native American sex workshops called Chuluaqui Quodoushka, she was not embarrassed to be stripped and put into pony gear in a roomful of strangers. "Nobody was there to see somebody naked," she says. "Nobody was a pervert. I felt a lot of respect from the trainer and his wife."
Lainez plans to tell her mother and sisters she had "a beautiful experience."
"It made me think a lot," she says. "With little things like that, you can grow a lot. Your mind. Your heart. How you take your sexuality. Everything."
There may be something to be said for open-mindedness, but truth be told, Sherifox is a little tired of fetish parties. On a picturesque Ocklawaha morning, she betrays a longing for the quiet farm life.
The days here begin with an avian symphony of crowing roosters, plaintive chirps of baby turkeys, their parents' sporadic gobbling, and the high-pitch chatter of wild birds. Glancing across the yard, one can just barely make out the silhouettes of horses, their necks extended toward the dewy grass. Their bodies have been obscured by the smoke blowing in from the Georgia fires.
An hour before Foxy and Sherifox rise, nine-year-old Colt Lee emerges from his bedroom in a long red bathrobe. (Colt Lee got his name before his father ever heard of training human ponies.)
Cherubic with cerulean eyes and a head of thick, corn-blond hair, Colt Lee starts the coffeemaker, shuffles to the living room, and sinks into a khaki recliner, seeming at least four times his age. There's a sleepy melancholy about him, a world-weariness that might have something to do with his mother, Foxy's ex-girlfriend.
She's also a drug addict. Colt Lee lived with her for his first eight years, skipping school and eating anything he wanted. Like any kid feasting on unlimited ice cream, he became accustomed to his freedom. And he gained weight.
Although Colt Lee spent some weekends with his father and Sherifox, his mother always made things as difficult as possible, Foxy says.
So that her son's visits would have to be cut short, she would pack his bags with bathing suits in the winter and down jackets in the summer. "I sent him with plenty of clothes," Foxy remembers her telling the judge.
A year and a half ago, she dropped the boy off at Foxy's on her way to jail. Since then, Colt Lee has been living with Foxy and Sherifox. He goes to school every day and was accepted into the gifted program. Under Sherifox's culinary supervision, he has lost 25 pounds. They have their disagreements, mostly rooted in Colt Lee's habit of doing whatever he wants and Sherifox's dominance over the household. (She's a switch, she explains, meaning she plays the alpha female in so much of her life that during ponyplay, she longs to give up her power.)
They also have their tender moments. For Mother's Day, Colt Lee made Sherifox a card and tucked a colorful portrait of a bird and a red carnation inside. He gave it to her along with a hug. "This is beautiful," she said, opening the card gently.
In fact, for much of their daily lives, the Davises -- Foxy, Sherifox, and Colt -- could be the Cleavers of rural Central Florida.
Colt Lee likes his life at Foxy and Sherifox's, though he misses his mom and his dog. He's aware that Foxy makes leather products in the small room dominated by a nude picture of Sherifox in her twenties; he doesn't think too much about it. He's focused on bass fishing and racecars.
As for other family members who are aware of Foxy and Sherifox's off-kilter hobbies, some disapprove. Sherifox's sister and mother, who are extremely religious, no longer accept her lifestyle or her paganism, she says. Foxy's sister in Connecticut and her children no longer speak to them either. "I accept them for their differences, and it hurts that they can't accept me," Sherifox says.
Some neighbors are similarly skeptical.
"They do that right across the street from my house?" one asks after hearing a brief explanation of ponyplay over the phone. "I did not know Foxy was doing that weird stuff. I'm not kidding. I know he has horses. I knew he was doing those sex toys. But he's gotten weirder and weirder. Now he's into dressing up like a goddamn horse?"