Copyright 1995, S Hartwell
(A peculiarly erotic dream [30 June 1995] with no obvious inspiration, about a sexual liaison with a mythical creature. This is purely a description of the dream with no effort to make it into a story.)

I didn't really know anyone at the party and I suppose I was a bit of a wallflower, standing near the table with my glass of Perrier and no-one to talk to. That was when the centaur introduced himself. Set onto a chestnut horse's body was the body of a brown-haired male, looking as human as any man I had ever met, never mind that he was only "human" from navel upwards and his almost seven foot height towered over my five foot five inches. Within minutes I was chatting to him, the other occupants of the room forgotten.

I have to admit that his human part was certainly desirable: chestnut brown wavy hair swept back from his beardless face. Hair grew along his spine from his neck to where it met horse's withers where it fell over the equine shoulders like a mane. But it was his character that attracted me rather than his muscular body - after all who expected to fall for a man who sported a four-legged, hoofed equine body and a ponytail that grew from haunches rather than scalp? I wondered whether he liked human women and then admonished myself for such an unseemly or perverted thought.

"Look, why don't you join me upstairs?" he eventually asked, his hazel-brown eyes kind in his sculpted face, "I live in one of the flats above."

There was a hint of something more than friendship, but my own attraction overcame the daunting prospect of being alone with the gorgeous centaur. Many women fantasised about spending the night with a member of a male strip troupe; I had just fallen for a male centaur and didn't even know whether such a relationship could be consummated!

"Okay," I agreed and took his proffered hand.

He clopped into the hallway, hoofsteps muffled by the carpet. His grip was firm, but gentle though that hand could easily have crushed the bones of most weightlifters' hands. He was strength and restraint personified.

"Hang on," I panted, laughing as I ran up the stairs with him, "I can't gallop as fast as you!" and we fell laughing through the door of his flat and into the sitting room.

Swept into an embrace by this incredible being, I took little notice of my surroundings except that it was furnished with sofa and chairs of human proportions. For his human friends, I decided, since he could just as easily settle down horse-like on the floor. He let me go and shook his human body like a horse shakes its neck. Chestnut hair floated and resettled along his backbone and withers and his face and eyes asked the question I could not refuse.

"But how?" I asked, envisioning his huge stallion's hindquarters and wondering how an ordinary woman could possible couple with that. Catherine the Great I am not!

"You've a thing or two to learn about centaurs," he laughed, "We come fully equipped" and I felt very human genitalia pressing against me, "Only we keep it all hidden away in polite company."

Since centaurs have no need of clothes, except as personal adornment or harness for carrying things, I wondered how he could have hidden anything in that glossy coat. I then realised that the human genitalia, proportionally larger than that of human men, could retract into an invisible pouch between what were the horse's chest muscles and what would have been a human groin in an ordinary man.

I was intoxicated with his presence. Whether overcome by curiosity, lust or powerful pheromones I could not say, but I allowed myself to be led into his bedroom. Again it was most humanlike with king-size bed, wardrobes, chest of drawers and sheepskin rugs on the floor, though the bed was built more sturdily than most king-size beds (not that I've done a comprehensive survey of such things).

His flesh was hot against mine, hotter than any man I've ever known, even in the heat of lust. His hands gently traced lines along my flesh and I ran my fingers through his hair, along his mane and over that glossy chestnut coat with its musky equine scent.

"I need to warn you that most women find the first time with a centaur painful and even bleed a little. I want you, but if you don't want to, if you are frightened - I will understand," he breathed. "But afterwards," he said, stamping one hind hoof and swishing his full tail, now held high in excitement, "you may find human men disappointing."

In answer, I pulled him closer, delighting in his muscular embrace, the texture of his skin and the smell of him.

"I will be gentle," he promised and we both gave in to mutual desire.

He was so hot, like liquid fire and I understood what he meant. It burned and despite my readiness and his gentleness, it tore at me and I was glad he had thought to warn me. What he had said was true, there was no way an ordinary man could compare to that experience - part ecstasy, part pain, part immolation. And afterwards he was so thoughtful and gentle. I didn't care about the obvious differences between us, in fact I no longer saw him as any different from a human lover, I knew only that I was hopelessly in love with a centaur.


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