Summer of the Centaur, part II

You can read the beginning of the story here.

It was a few days before she returned to the forest. She tried to bury herself in work, deciphering old tax forms and bank statements. But her mind refused to focus on the papers, and at night came the dreams of that supple torso, the light touch, the nicker in her ear. Finally she walked away from the pile of papers on the kitchen table, and out of the house, leaving the door open behind her.

There was a light mist in the forest, which intensified the colors. Sylvia had a feeling of being submerged in green as she walked the familiar path to her rock. She didn’t know what she expected; it seemed unlikely the centaur would be there again, just when she happened to come. But something unfamiliar was stirring in Sylvia, driving her, and she didn’t know what else to do.

She wanted to see that man. That creature. She wanted to touch him. Smell him. She wanted —she didn’t know what she wanted. What she wanted was something she’d never had.

Sylvia had played with boys a bit, kissed maybe, or explored each others’ bodies with their hands, but no boy she’d ever met seemed worthy of the most precious gift of her whole self, her whole body. They all seemed so sophomoric, so clean-cut, with their soft skin and neatly groomed hair. Shouldn’t a man be more . . . wild, maybe, less tame. No, she didn’t know what she wanted, but could it be that a centaur —with his powerful flanks, unruly hair down to the shoulders, a man so fully one with his animal nature that he was half animal —was exactly that?

There was enough sun coming through the mist and leaves to warm the big rock, so she lay on it, belly down, looking over the edge into the water at her dancing reflection. She dropped little pebbles and twigs into the pool, watching how they shattered her face into chaotic bits of light. After a while she knew that nothing was going to happen here, and just when she had decided that this pebble would be the last, and then she would get up and go back to the house, she watched her reflection resolve back to her face, with another face behind it.

Sylvia rolled slowly onto her back. He had somehow managed silently to place a hoof on the rock beside her, and now he was directly above her, so she was looking up at his abdomen and chest. His hands were on his hips again, and he smiled, a proud, confident smile.

Does a centaur flirt? Subscribe for notification of the next installment, to find out how this romance progresses.

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