Four-legged blues

By Josh Dugan 
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I grew up with my best friend from next door, Rusty. His family was all centaurs, and Rusty was just a centaur colt when first met him, back when we attended the same grade school. We lived quite a ways from school, and sometimes when I didn't feel up to the long walk to and from school, Rusty would let me ride on his horseback. In return, I would help Rusty with his homework. Even then, I used to get a pleasant thrill riding on him—he liked me, and it was so nice to feel so much of him all around me—under my hands as I held his shoulders, and under my legs, as his gentle horse-body carried me along while we talked about this or that.

By the time we were grown up, Rusty was something else—a very tall centaur, with a good-looking, broad-shouldered, long-armed torso, springing beautifully from an exceptionally sleek and glossy stallion's body. His face remained boyishly handsome, although the lengthening jawline, the hollowed cheeks and the full, sensitive lips broadcasted his deep virility.

I loved to walk alongside him to and from school more than ever—I had also enjoyed becoming tall and rather leggy in an athletic way, so sometimes I would run alongside him as he cantered along, although he could always outrun me, just as any horse could. But when I was out of breath and stumbling from trying to keep up his incredible pace, he'd laugh and scoop me up onto his back and give me a ride home. You'd think it would have been hot and unpleasant to be tired and stinging with sweat and then to mount a horseback foaming with perspiration and hold onto a tall, broad back glistening with sweat—but it wasn't. In fact, it was wonderful. I would take my t-shirt off and let my workout-developed chest and stomach press and slide against his strong spine and feel his wide shoulder blades as they worked against my pectorals, and I am sure I never felt anything more sexy and arousing than his wonderful young centaur body in all its power and beauty.

It was kind of understood that we belonged to each other, between us and among our friends, although I was kind of the envy of the school to be Rusty's special friend. But he mixed it up with the other students, and even though he was the only centaur in our school, such was his demeanor, and, I am certain, his beauty, that he was welcomed and accepted by everyone.

He had gotten an exception to be allowed to play on our school's polo team, since all the other players were guys who rode horses, as polo is normally played. Naturally, Rusty enjoyed a tremendous advantage over the other players, but he was a good enough sport and a fair enough player that he was a valued and respected member of the polo team. In fact, guys always wanted to have him help them learn the game, since he could explain and demonstrate, using his horse body as well as his human intelligence.

And it was a beautiful thing to see when his team won. The victory celebration always included as many teammates as could fit on his horseback clambering onto Rusty, usually with someone astride Rusty's human shoulders as well; they would ride Rusty back to the showers, holding onto him and onto each other.

And Rusty was always there for me at my team's basketball games. In fact, he gladly allowed himself to be roped into an unofficial mascot role. Our games were always a lot of fun, starting with the team introductions, when Rusty would ride as many of the starting lineup out onto the court as he could, then cantering back for a second and third load of basketball players. No one seemed to notice the special squeeze he would give my hand as I dismounted from him with the other starting players to join the lineup. But if they did notice, it was OK.

We were lucky that people picked up on and celebrated our special love for each other. We had our picture taken together for the yearbook, with me astride my handsome centaur friend; I was Rusty's date for the dances and outings, or he was mine. I even rode him as he good-naturedly pulled a bunch of us on a hayride in the country, and part of the joy of it was that everyone found us a turn-on.

And we had fun with Rusty's equineness in other ways—for instance, around campfires, I would entertain the others with the amazing feat of having taught Rusty to count. He could, with proper bribing with carrots and a lot of broad hints, stomp out the right answer to simple math problems with his right front hoof, while folding his arms and holding his chin in a show of high effort and concentration.

Our love bloomed in that special world of academia and campus life. And our love life grew along with us. While I huge by human standards, through the good luck of a well-endowed lineage, Rusty was, of course, every inch the stallion horse. And the only thing we spent more time doing than studying was love-making. Just the thought of bringing that beautiful boy-man-horse down was enough to arouse me several times over in one evening, and he was likewise wild about me. While I envied him his magnificent horse-body and his prodigious centaur sexual organ, he envied me my male humanness—he especially liked my legs, and I guess he envied the fact that I fit in to the real world so much better than he.

This came to light more and more as the real world began to loom closer in the final months of our academic lives.

And when it came time to graduate, Rusty was, naturally, concerned about his career and future, as his centaur body posed a challenge. Outside of the ivory tower of our priveleged world of higher education, many people had never heard of centaurs, much less seen or hired one. How would he find a job, Rusty fretted, as we held each other through the remaining evenings of our academic lives. How would he get into buildings for job interviews, past guards, up and down steps, onto busses, into taxis.

I held him as the new-found fears surfaced. I kissed away the tears as the honesty and realization of his bodily predicament dawned on him.

Graduation day only served to sound the gong of warning, even as fellow students flocked around Rusty and hugged him goodbye before scattering to the various excitements and challenges that awaited them far away in the real world.

“Perhaps your parents or other family members can help you on this one,” I said to Rusty, as I rode him home from the graduation ceremony. He still wore his cap, out of pride, although I carried the gown in a box with mine, to be returned to the rental company. “Your dad always found good jobs that were especially suited to centaurs.”

“True,” Rusty said, “but I feel that I would be wasted following his career.

He was always a security officer, and later on became a member of the mounted police—and since he was a centaur, he was the only member with a partner, because his partner could ride him on patrol. I wish I could get a regular human job, and it's hard to find one because I am a centaur. If only I could become human!”

A thought occurred to me. “What about Professor Perkins?” I asked Rusty. “He has done a lot of research on transmutations. If anyone can make you human, he can. He works from your genetic code.” I could feel the spring return to Rusty's canter beneath me as I rode him.

“Good idea!” he said.

A couple weeks later, Rusty was strapped into some complicated—looking machinery that the professor had cobbled together just for Rusty's transformation. “I can't guarantee you'll end up human,” the professor had warned Rusty, “but you'll definitely have human legs. No doubt about it.”

The professor was confident indeed, mainly because I had volunteered to have my genes mapped, so that Rusty's body would have the proper architecture for human legs. Rusty's centaur body had more than enough mass to work from, but no “map;” thus as Rusty's friend I submitted to the hours of scans and sample withdrawals.

“We'll be twins from the waist down,” I joked with Rusty, as he gamely held a thermometer in his mouth while the professor attached the final connections to Rusty's magnificent equine portion. He smiled his appreciation of my joke.

And indeed we would be twins below the torso, since his new human legs would essentially be clones of my own. Not bad, considering I was a runner and a swimmer, and one of the tallest members of the basketball team, so the legs he would be getting copies of were probably the best in the state.

“Funny,” he said to me, taking the thermometer from between his lips as I held his strong, gentle hand. “I've always been kinda wild about your legs.

Now they'll be mine!”

The thought did something to me. “Wow,” I said, feeling a little turned on at the thought of Rusty having my legs. “You've always liked it when I wrapped my legs around you. Now I'll know for myself what that's like.”

Rusty smiled and said, “I am sorry in a way to be changing to human. Being four-legged does have its advantages. Remember me carrying you home from that beer bash last quarter? If I hadn't had four legs, we both would have fallen over!” I laughed with the memory—Rusty was right. I couldnt have remained standing at the time, and it was all I could do to hang onto Rusty's broad, muscular shoulders as he stumbled for home—with his four horse legs for balance.

But my reverie was broken as the professor switched on the transformation equipment. “Stand by!” he shouted. Lights dimmed, electrical connections sizzled and the instruments on the control panels blinked and flashed, as the transformation took place. “Oh!” Rusty shouted, more startled than hurt. But when the smoke cleared, it was the Professor who shouted “Oh!”

“My god!” Rusty and I said, in unison. “Oh no!” the professor said. “And we can't attempt a second transformation—it would be too dangerous!”

Rusty turned his handsome face to me and smiled at me ironically, then laughed. “What?” I said, as if I didn't already know. He was no longer a centaur with the body of a horse. He now had perfect clones of my legs—four of them! Rusty wiggled the toes of all four feet, and let the long, muscular human legs relax in a foursome, resting on one another.

“Maybe I can get a job stomping grapes at the local winery,” Rusty said wryly, idly massaging his four handsome new human legs. “At least I can still give you a ride home from our next beer bash.”

“We'll find you a job you can do at home, using your wonderful brain; I think I want to keep you all to myself,” I said, holding Rusty in an aroused, loving embrace while I eyed those four long-muscled beauties. I was kind of glad about what had happened to my handsome guy—he was totally hot with four legs! “I can't wait to get those four guys wrapped around me!”

“Mmmm, sounds nice!” Rusty smiled. “I hope you will also enjoy my copy of your huge penis—or should I say both of them!”

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