User:Erastus/Power Play

{{#ifeq: User |User| Power Play | Power Play}}[[Title::{{#ifeq: User |User| Power Play | Power Play}}| ]]
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     Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}}| ]]
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     Author: {{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus Centaur | Erastus Centaur}} |
     Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus Centaur | Erastus Centaur}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus Centaur | Erastus Centaur}}| ]]
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   {{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}} | | Authors: ' | 
     Authors: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}}]] 
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   {{#ifeq: {{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}} | |
     Authors: {{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus Centaur | Erastus Centaur}} |
     Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus | Erastus}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| Erastus Centaur | Erastus Centaur}}]] 
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}} {{#if:| — see [[:Category:{{{category}}}|other works by this author]]}}

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Please don't start with all that morality junk. As a member of the Oldest Profession I've heard it all before. So just … don't. I know my business card uses the phrase Male Escort, but nobody is fooled. My duties rarely include accompanying someone as they go somewhere. What I do is provide companionship. Intimate companionship.

That same business card says my name is Colt. Nobody is fooled by that either.

It's a job. One might think a job that involves a lot of sex would be fantastic. Sometimes it is. Sometimes, when my client is a toad, it can be hard work. Not all gay men are fabulous. And sometimes when I'm in the arms of a client I'm lonely.

I'm relieved that it has been a good long time since I've been sent to a female client. Those just never worked and the staff knows it.

As is everyone else in the profession I'm quite aware of client fetishes. I've participated in several where it is obvious no one will sustain injury. I even have a few of my own. They are well catalogued by the staff so that the client's fetishes are matched with those of the escort whenever possible.

Our dispatcher Jeanette called me about a certain job after checking that catalog. One of my fetishes is rich male voices. My preference is for the low ones, but a strong tenor, which Jeanette has, is still a turn-on. Don't give me that look, transgender people don't hide anymore. Since her surgery you wouldn't mistake Jeanette for a man. But they didn't touch her voice. She's good at keeping it soft, but it is still rich and full.

"Got a job for a guy with a horse fetish," said Jeanette when I answered. "The client wants someone who has seen the Old Spice centaur commercials and is turned on by them."

"It sounds like a job I would enjoy," I replied." I'd be happy to take it."

"Good," she said. "That's a relief. I had no idea who else I might be able to call. The client is willing to pay for five hours, hints at a large bonus and repeat business. I would certainly want this one to be a regular." We may be a high-class service, but we can't afford to turn down money.

"I think I may even know how to make this one very happy."

She gave me the name -- Rocky -- along with the address and appointment time for later that day. It was quite a ways out of the city.

My method to get a large bonus from clients with a horse fetish was easy, though with a sizeable initial investment. There really are enough clients out there with such a fetish to make the investment worthwhile, especially once word-of-mouth has a chance to work. I show up at the door wearing my horse pants. The garment began as leggings for a male dancer, those wondrously tight things that show off every muscle. On top of that is short brown fur from the waistband to below the knee and long white fur below that. This isn't the cheap stuff from a neighborhood fabric store, nor the kind of covering one sees on stuffed animal toys. Nope, this is the high quality fake fur used by Hollywood. The waistband is carefully turned under so that it looks like bare skin blends into fur. To the back is attached a bushy white horse tail and the front enhances the family jewels. The ensemble is completed with pony shoes, that look like a horse's hooves. When I wear them I look like I have the legs of a stallion Clydesdale.

I drove out to the house late on a Friday afternoon. The driveway to Rocky's house was a narrow gap in the trees. Even though leaves were just budding that time of spring I could not see the house from the road. Once through the grove I entered a field that was surrounded by equally thick woods. The house was well sheltered from prying eyes. With the amount of land I expected a grand manse, but that's not what I saw. The house was modest. Rocky clearly valued land and privacy but wasn't rich.

But on driving up to the house I saw the scale seemed off. It had only one storey, but was tall enough for a storey and a half. It was low to the ground with a ramp to the main door instead of steps. The door seemed exceptionally tall and wide. When I got to that door the handle was much higher that I expected.

It didn't take Rocky long to answer the bell. He opened the door, appraised me wearing those pants and nothing else, and flung himself at me in a passionate kiss.

When he came up for air, his arms still holding me tight, he said, "You've definitely earned the first part of your tip."

"Only the first part?"

"With this beginning you should have no trouble earning the rest. This should be a fun day."

I expected Rocky to drag me to the bedroom (or stable) for the opening round of action, but he didn't. He released me and said, "I've got something to show you before we tire ourselves out. Come over here." He took my hand, turned, and started across the room. I could see the glint in his eye when he turned back to smile at me.

One does what the client wants. Tips depend on it. The whisper of his sock covered feet contrasted with soft clop of my pony shoes on the floor. It took me a moment to realize the floor covering was cork. I looked around the interior. A large part of it was one room with the kitchen on one side and the living area on the other. I looked at the kitchen and got the sense the scale was for someone quite a bit larger than Rocky. I assumed the large doors led to bedroom and bath.

The place was a typical man-space, neutral walls, heavy wood furniture in dark colors, filing cabinets, and shelves of books and DVDs, but not many places to sit. All of the furniture was along the walls, leaving most of the room open. Along one side was a prominent desk with a computer and monitor on it. Both seemed to be recent models and I could see a camera perched on top of the monitor.

I was puzzled by two things in the room. The first was a horizontal bar hung from the ceiling in the center of the room. It looked to be low enough that Rocky could reach up to grab it while standing on the floor. His shoulder muscles didn't seem to bulge enough for him to be doing chin-ups while waiting for his computer to boot. The second was a floor to ceiling mirror on the wall beside the desk. Men rarely wanted mirrors that large unless they fancied themselves expert lovers and the mirror was in the bedroom.

Rocky bumped the mouse and turned on the monitor. He sat and indicated the second chair was for me. The screen came to life showing a nude Rocky on the left and a white stallion on the right. Rocky was definitely not a toad. He had a pleasant face and a reasonably in-shape body, not muscular but also far from fat. His hair was a pleasant dark blond. At least it will be enjoyable for me as well as him.

"Ever hear of morphing programs?" The question caught me off guard, so I only looked at him. "These are programs that combine two images by producing a blend of the two or they show a series of images of how one image is transformed into the other. This kind of thing gets used in commercials all the time -- like the one that shows the stallion being transformed into a Ford Mustang."

I smiled. "Yeah, that's a cool commercial. But I don't think you're paying my rates to watch a morphing program do its thing."

"Ah, but this is a special morphing program!" He clicked the mouse and the monitor bumped his image to full screen then slowly morphed it into the horse I had just seen. Pretty cool and the sight tickled my groin. "That's what a normal program would do. But its power is that it works on actual objects, not just their images."

I just looked at him. But he ignored me and went on.

"I was able to morph myself into a horse." He displayed an image of the mighty fine stallion which I first saw, this time it appeared to be in this room -- which proved nothing. "But that didn't seem to be quite right, so I created an image of a human-horse hybrid -- human torso and arms, horse legs, head, and tail with all of it covered in fur." He displayed such a creature and the photo looked amazingly realistic. Again, my groin took notice.

"That doesn't prove it is you."

"I'm well aware of that." He smiled. "I wouldn't believe it either with this evidence. You'll get your definitive proof soon. My favorite, though, is the centaur." With a flourish he displayed another photo. It was again amazingly realistic and the human part was clearly Rocky.

"Great Photoshopping --"

"-- but not proof. Yeah, I know. This will take a moment to set up."

He returned to the original image of the white stallion on the right. He quickly added a mask over the body, legs, and tail and deleted the head and neck. He then stripped off all his clothes and had the camera to take his picture. "Gotta use a fresh human image every time," he said. His image appeared on the left. He sat in the chair, duplicated his image, masked it from the abs upward, and deleted the legs. Another couple clicks put his torso where the horse's neck had been. A couple more clicks and the joint was smoothed out.

"Compared to Photoshop," I said, "that was amazingly fast. But --"

"-- now the real fun begins." He smiled broadly. "I find a five minute transformation to be best. Push your chair back and watch."

I did so. He did one final click, stood, and reached up to grab the hanging bar. "It helps to have something to hang onto while the forelegs grow."

I noticed changes almost immediately. His legs began to lighten in color in what I realized was fur beginning to form. Those legs and feet began to stretch in strange directions. His toes clumped together.

The area around his hips stretched and two bulges appeared below his abs. I could see Rocky was now pulling himself upward on the bar. The bulges grew outward. The stretching in various directions continued. A tail appeared. The new forelegs were recognizable as such as joints appeared. Rocky lifted one foot at a time to take a big step back and settle each one properly on the hoof. The barrel filled out.

At the end of the five minutes the front hooves had touched the floor and Rocky the centaur stood before me. He released the bar, which was now at his eye level. He said, "How do I look?"

I was so stunned that it took a moment to say something, which was, of course, inane. "You'd look so much better if you matched hair and fur color."

He laughed. "This is only one of the forms I like. The others have better color coordination." He motioned for me to step close. "Come on over here and touch me. That's the only way you'll really believe."

I approached tentatively, first touching the blend, the line where human meets horse. But once my hand rubbed over the line I couldn't touch enough. This was much better than that Old Spice centaur and one of my fantasies was right under my fingers. I worked my hands along his flanks, down his tail, and reached between his hind legs.

"Not yet," he said.

"What?" I said. "Isn't that what you're paying me for?"

"I've got something better in mind."

"Better?" was all I could get out.

"See that stack of bills on the shelf?" He pointed and I walked over to it. "If you'll allow me to turn you into a centaur too I'll give you all of it as a tip."

I rifled through the stack, set it down and stepped back. I felt stunned. The amount of money was ten times the standard fee for my hours with him. To offer me my other great fantasy and to pay me to do it took a moment to absorb. I was ready to jump at the opportunity but didn't want to be too eager and jeopardize the tip.

While I stood there with my back to Rocky a comment I made as a teen, only a few years before, came to mind. I had said, "I'd give anything to be a centaur."

My grandfather overheard me. He knew about my interest in centaurs -- one look at my bedroom walls at the time would have told him that -- so he didn't tell me how ridiculous my wish was. I was thankful for such a kindness. Instead, he said, "Open ended wishes like that can be dangerous. Be very careful of the strings attached. At my age I've wished many times for a younger body, one that didn't creak and hurt so much. I'd love to have a young body like yours, but I wouldn't give just anything for it, even if it were possible. I wouldn't want it if it separated me from my wife, your father, or even you. I wouldn't want it if it meant I had to relearn all of the life lessons I learned in the last fifty years. I'm rather fond of who I am now." He chuckled and winked. "However, if a young body was possible and the only string was money I'd consider giving up a great deal of my retirement savings."

Point taken, Granddad. Hmm. If this morphing program could change Rocky from human to horse, could it change Granddad into a young man?

I turned to face Rocky. "How does the program work?"

"I appreciate that you're a careful customer, but I have no idea." I'm sure he saw the determination in my face. "Does the operating manual of your car explain how an internal combustion engine works? Yet, I saw you drive up in one."

"How did you get this program?"

"Friend of a friend, who said it was in beta testing. I found its ability to morph real objects by accident and it was mighty hard to get it to undo once I became a horse that first time. It's tricky to use a mouse with only a mouth."

I started walking towards to the computer. "Let's see what the Help-About says."

"Careful!" he shouted as he stepped in front of me. "Let me do it. I haven't saved my human data yet."

I raised my arm indicating after you. Rocky stepped over to the computer, moved the chair aside, and folded his legs under him. A moment later the About box was displayed and I came close to look. It gave an author name, but no company and no contact information. Rocky said, "I've done a websearch on that name and came up empty."

I pointed to the author's name. "If it is in beta the author would want feedback. Don't you find that mighty curious?"

"I sure do, but that hasn't stopped me from using the program."

I had lots of questions, so found my chair and sat. Rocky stayed in his position in front of the computer. He looked comfortable. I asked, "How long have you been using it?"

"Perhaps nine months. Once I figured out I could reliably shift from human to centaur and back again with no ill effects I sold my home, bought this secluded land, and had this centaur scale house built. That's why it's so small. It was finished only a month ago. I now come home from work and immediately shift to centaur until it is time to get ready for work the next day."

"Have you ever encountered glitches in the program?"

"Never. This has been the most trouble free program I've ever encountered. The interface is amazingly easy to use. It's capabilities weren't originally apparent -- that bit about being surprised when it turned me into a horse -- but I'm not sure it's the program's fault."

"Why do you need to have it take a fresh image of you every time?"

"The program was designed with some important preventions. If the destination image is to include anything human it must be me as I exist now. Believe me, I tried. Once I thought about it I understood why. The program won't let you masquerade as me and commit crimes using my face and fingerprints. It won't even allow me to become my younger self. I'm sure the underlying technology can do those things, but not with this program.

"That said I'm sure I'll age more slowly than you. When I shift to human on Monday morning it is to the state my body was in Friday evening. I took a ball in the thigh during a company softball game and the bruise seemed to take forever to heal. It hurt so much I spent as much time in centaur form as possible, not realizing at the time I was only postponing the pain. The next week I took a business trip and stayed human all week. I limped for two days of that trip, but then the healing was noticeable."

"What happens to your brain while you're in another body?"

"As far as I can tell, other than being able to control the new body, nothing. I'm sure that's another important program prevention. When I was a horse I could still think my name, could still read, and could still think about how to operate the computer. I can remember all my experiences once back in human form. Just as important, controlling the six limbs and tail as a centaur requires no more thought than managing the arms and legs as a human." He flicked his tail to demonstrate.

"What happens to your brain when you shift to a small animal like a cat or mouse?"

"Don't know. I've never tried. I've only shifted to horses and horse-human blends. I guess you could say I'm a species bigot." He smiled at his lame joke.

"In centaur form what do you eat?"

"I'm now vegan. I ate meat once in centaur form and had a very upset system overnight. I suppose I could eat meat in human form, but I haven't."

When I had been quiet for several moment, unable to think of more questions, Rocky said, "Are you in?"

I paused so as not to appear too eager, then said, "Yeah. Let's do it."

"Cool!" He looked me over, still wearing my horse pants. "Let me guess… Clydesdale."

"No mind reading necessary for that one," I said.

He laughed, then began working the mouse. A moment later a marvelous Clydesdale stallion with chocolate and white fur filled the right half of the screen. " I think the fur color of this one will match your hair." He winked. "Will it do?"

I laughed. "Oh, yeah."

"We need to get you in front of the camera, and as much as I like those pants, it is time to strip." He got to his hooves and stepped aside. I took off the shoes and peeled the pants off then stood where he had been, arms at my side and facing the camera. He touched the mouse and a moment later my image was on the left side of the screen.

"May I?" he said. I quickly stepped aside and he folded himself in front of the computer again. "I've done this on myself so many times I have a standard template. But for you we'll start fresh."

He clicked again and my image began to rotate. When the back was visible I was surprised to see a mole below my left shoulder blade. "What's that doing there?"

"Because you have a mole there?"

"I do?"

"Turn around and let me look." I did. "Yes, you do." He touched it with his finger.

"But my back was to the camera." I faced him again. "What kind of camera is it?"

"Standard." He saw my expression. "As I said, I don't know how any of this stuff works."

I shrugged.

He copied my image as he had done for himself. "As you see with me I think it looks best to run the blend over the buttocks in back yet low under the abs in front." He traced the route with the cursor and a line showed up on one image. "That work for you?"

"Sure."

A few clicks later he made my legs disappear. It was quite disconcerting to see that image. A few more clicks and the horse's head and neck were likewise gone. Moments later the image showed my torso well blended to the horse's body. Rocky slowly rotated the image for my inspection. "This look good?" I nodded. "Ready for your new body?"

The reality of the moment washed over me. I swallowed. "Yes," I said with confidence I suddenly didn't feel.

Rocky rose to his hooves and moved to the side. "Reach up and grab the bar. You don't need any tension in your arms. The bar is there to keep you from falling over."

"Did you ever not use the bar?"

"Oh sure," he said. "The first time I fell flat on my face when my balance shifted and I had a hard time getting onto my hooves. I've also tried transforming while laying on the floor, and though I was better at getting up I found it much easier to not have to do that."

I grasped the bar. He clicked the mouse. "Here we go!" he said.

I looked down. I watched my legs darken as chocolate fur began to grow. I became fascinated in watching my balls fur over and enlarge, my little soldier grow, then slide back into the sheath that grew around it. Then all that was obscured by growing forelegs, which kept my attention. My feet felt all bunched up until Rocky told me to step backward and I could stand on new hooves. My balance seemed to go all wrong and I was glad I had the bar to hold onto. Things steadied when new forelegs with beautiful feathering touched the floor.

I waited a moment after the clock on the computer said the change was complete. I was a bit fearful of letting go of the bar. Then Rocky said, "Let go and step over here so you can see yourself in the mirror." He was right -- though I was afraid of trying, I did know how to move four legs.

Then I caught my reflection.

I felt the universe realign. I was shocked by what I saw, not because it was horrible or disgusting, but because it looked so completely right. I lifted one leg at a time, noticing how natural it felt. I ran my hands down my torso and onto my barrel, front and back, to feel again and again the lovely sensation of going from skin to fur. I enjoyed the sensation of the fur bending in its follicles as my hand went over it. I swished my lovely tail to revel in that I could do it. I was grinning as wide as I could. This is me, who I really am.

"Welcome to the world of the centaur," said Rocky. He clicked the mouse and a photo of me as a centaur started printing. "A little souvenir. Now the fun begins. The house is too small for the games I have in mind." Of course, I knew what kind of games he meant. I am an escort, after all.

As we reached the door the handle now looked to be in the right position. I saw the whole house was indeed scaled for a centaur. The design, from high ceilings to kitchen counters to cork flooring, seemed to be well thought out from my new vantage point.

Rocky led me down the ramp, allowed me to catch up, and said, "I always start off with a good gallop. But with you along we better go through the various gaits. You've already been using the walk, lets speed it up to a trot, moving diagonal legs together."

And off we went, from the trot to the canter to a full gallop. It was exhilarating!

But we did only once circuit of the yard. Rock stopped along the trees that provided some shade. "Stop here." I did. He stepped forward a bit, turned around and drew up beside me facing the other way. He then bent over, reached under me, and started stroking. My body responded and I knew that whatever a client does to an escort is usually what the client wants done in return. I was impressed with the size of the equipment that appeared and felt my own was as big. We spent a fantastic couple of hours in which I found my capacity was impressive and the sensations were off the charts.

We went in the house where Rocky created a delicious and ample vegan dinner. After the dishes were done he showed me the bedroom with its huge bi-level futons. They allowed a centaur to rest the barrel on the lower level and the torso on the upper. From there he showed me the bathroom with a human toilet and a huge multi-head shower, including one head on the end of a wand.

"I haven't designed a centaur toilet yet, so I relieve myself in what I call the garden," said Rocky. "And in the shower I had to compensate for not being able to touch all areas of my body. The nozzle on the wand has a soap setting. But with two of us it should be pretty easy."

It was easy. The shower was great, the futons were comfortable, and we had more action under the stars. I was well satisfied, exultant even -- until Rocky returned me to human the next morning. Then a gray funk settled over me.

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On the way home I stopped in the office to talk to Jeanette. While I kept the whole tip Jeanette made sure we filled out the proper forms so the tax man was satisfied and proper withholding would be done. Her eyebrows went up when she saw the size of the tip. I was still wearing my horse pants, though I had put on a shirt. The pants seemed to mock me now.

Jeanette has worked hard to take advantage of the physical assets she has to highlight her femininity. One would no longer mistake her for a man. She had told me before that one mental difference of her transition is that she has become much better reading facial expressions. Which she did in short order on seeing my face.

"Oh, honey! It looks like the world has shifted under your feet and left you gasping. Come, sit down. I'll make you some tea." One does not want to refuse Jeanette's tea. "Tell me about it. Was Rocky mean to you?" She easily remembered who our recent clients were.

I sat as she got up to prepare her herbal concoction. "Rocky was fine. I'll definitely tell you about it, but I want to hear about your life before and after your transition."

She turned and looked at me for a moment. "Oh, honey, this is serious! I didn't take you for a transgender." She turned on her pot and glanced my way again. "No, that's not it. Being gay and male isn't the issue." She sighed. "Your story, when we get to it, will definitely be a doozy." She filled a pair of infuser balls and set them in matching mugs, then leaned against the counter.

"So you want to hear my story. Throughout my childhood I had battles with my parents, especially my dad, because I liked girl stuff and not boy stuff. All their attempts to interest me in what was appropriate didn't work. I had a hard time getting potty trained because the equipment seemed all wrong." She poured the steaming water and set the mugs on the table between us, then sat. "We remember the strangest stuff. I frequently got my willie caught in my zipper because it didn't seem like it should be there. I went into full crisis mode when my chest grew hair and not boobs. I felt like I was in the wrong body. Mom hauled me off to a therapist who referred me to a transgender counselor. He talked to me about the difference between body and body image and the conflict that happens when the mental map of a body doesn't match the physical body. He then suggested I try living as a woman and prescribed hormone treatments. Though I had to switch schools I felt so much better. That change in mood was obvious to everyone who knew me. Three years later my dad, bless his heart, paid for the reconstruction surgery. When I first saw my chest and groin after surgery I finally felt at home in my body. This is me, who I really am."

She pulled the infuser ball from her mug, a sign that I should do the same with mine. She said, "I can't wait to hear what my story has to do with your latest client."

"Rocky fulfilled my wildest fantasies by turning me into a centaur for the evening." I showed her the photo Rocky had printed.

She glanced from me to the photo. "Great Photoshop work." I was about to protest when she looked at me again. "Oh, honey. You wouldn't have that expression if this was only Photoshop. You actually became a centaur! How?"

"I don't know. Even he doesn't know how it works. He has a morphing program on his computer and he just knows how to use it. He says he turns himself into a centaur every night after work and stays that way until he gets ready for work the next morning. He used the system on me, paying me that huge tip to take part."

"And…" she prompted.

"And I loved it. I'm sure I used the same words as you did -- this is who I am. Is it possible to feel my human body is the wrong body when the right one is a mythical creature?"

"I wouldn't worry about what's possible. It obviously happened. And the question now is what you do about it. You're obviously disappointed to be back in human form and wondering how you might live if you stayed a centaur."

"You can read all that from my face?"

"Like a book."

"But it is so much easier for you to pass as female than for me to live as a centaur in a human world."

"Prejudice is such a bitch." She thought for a moment and tapped the photo. "This has me wondering. Could this technology make the transition between genders easier? My surgery was a bitch and it has left me sterile. Allowing my fellow transgenders to avoid the pain would be a blessing."

"I would imagine the technology would allow such a change. Alas, this particular program has locks to prevent transformations from one human form to another."

"Bummer," was all she said.

"So, back to centaurs. What do I do?"

"Oh, honey, I have no idea. You'll have to think about that one over time. If you ever decide to stay a centaur I'm sure Sam and his horse trailer could come get you and board you in his barn. In the meantime, don't fall in love with your client."

She always said that.

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I was with another client when Rocky called again four days later. That was long enough for me to shake off my funk and get on with life. But his call brought back a sweet anticipation.

Jeanette said Rocky was miffed when he heard I wasn't available. She scheduled me for the next evening and I waited eagerly for more time in my centaur form.

When I arrived at the door Rocky was already a centaur, this time with body fur that closely matched his blond hair. I didn't know the breed, which seems an odd thing coming from a guy fascinated with centaurs.

He hurried me to the area in front of the camera. "I have it all set up, we only need to capture your image to get the evening underway."

I stripped off my horse pants, which he had scarcely noticed, and faced the camera. My image appeared onscreen and he quickly masked my torso and deleted my legs. Only then did he bring up the destination image. "Zebra?" I asked.

"Something exotic this time," he replied. "Besides, you weren't available yesterday so I get to choose."

One of those clients, the kind that like power plays. Fine. I've been in the business long enough to know that one simply acquiesces to the client. A zebra centaur didn't sound quite as good as one based on a Clydesdale, but it sounded much better than human.

Rocky said, "Ready?" I nodded and grabbed the bar. Five minutes later I was admiring my stripes.

Though my image in the mirror wasn't quite as pleasing as it had been the first time I still enjoyed the sensations of the body. Our fun and games were as thrilling. My funk on being returned to human was as bad.

Since Rocky knew I was a willing participant my tip was never as large as the first visit, though it was still a generous double of the standard fee.

When I was able to meet Rocky the day he called -- and he seemed to call at the last moment and never on any kind of schedule -- I was rewarded with the Clydesdale body. Those days were the best. If I already had a client I was subject to Rocky's whims. One time I might be part thoroughbred and could easily outrun Rocky on laps around the field. Another time I would have the smaller frame of a mustang. The Appaloosa was pretty good. The donkey, like the zebra, was merely OK. The Shetland was too small, even if Rocky matched me.

Occasionally a client paid me to escort him on a business trip and I would be gone for a week The first time that happened Rocky was mighty pissed when I next visited him. "This body has needs!" he growled. I was given horse ears, that stood up from the crown of my head. I endured it with good grace -- mustn't jeopardize the tip or repeat business -- though I had a hard time telling which direction sounds came from.

After the second such business trip Rocky gave me the body of a mule deer, complete with antlers atop my head. Though that lent a peculiar wild sexiness to my visage, I was glad when the night was over.

After the third business trip Rocky got creative with the paint program on the destination image, giving me fur with swirling rainbow patterns. It would have been hideous if Rocky didn't have an artistic flair. Instead, it was merely ugly. Green and blue fur just doesn't work. I avoided looking in the mirror and concentrated on doing my job to make Rocky happy. At least he tipped beyond his usual amount.

My funk, especially after Clydesdale nights deepened. I hadn't fallen in love with my client, but I had fallen in love with what he could do for me. Jeanette noticed and sometimes gave me a stern pep-talk before sending me out with a client. At least my bank account grew. After six months I began to consider a way out of my torment of living most of my life as a human with only occasional evenings in what I considered my real body. I now had enough of a down payment for property of my own and began to look for a place that was secluded and might be adapted to my centaur size.

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One evening I brought it up with Rocky. I was free when he called so had been rewarded with the Clydesdale form, which made me feel relaxed and serene, able to think beyond the end of the job. I had satisfied Rocky, which made him look as serene as I felt. He had returned to human, and was getting the computer ready for my turn. I asked my big question.

"I was wondering if perhaps I might get a copy of your morphing program so I could spend all of my free time as a centaur as you do."

"No!" he shouted. "It's mine!" The venom in his response made me flinch.

"I will still be happy to visit you any time you wanted."

"It's mine!" he repeated.

That's when I realized this was a major power play, even if his reaction was so quick that he wasn't quite conscious of his motivation. He knew I dearly loved my centaur form and that I had to come to him to get it. He had control over me, like a dealer and a junkie, and he wouldn't give it up without punishing me.

"I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to ask." Apologizing to the client even when it's the client who is behaving badly is an important business tactic.

"Oh, my," he said. "I'm so sorry." I could hear the sarcasm drip from each word. "I don't know how that could have happened. My fingers can be so klutzy." OK, out with it! I wanted to shout. "I seem to have deleted your human data."

My stomach lurched. "You saved it to disk didn't you?"

"Oh, yes. I wouldn't want a power outage to trap us as centaurs. But that file is gone now."

"How about an older data file?"

"Ah, no. That won't work. The program doesn't allow returning you to a previous human image. It can't be used to make you younger. I tried that once. Didn't work. So I don't keep old files."

I was beginning to panic. Yeah, I loved my centaur form, but there were things I could only do as a human -- like go out in public and tend to the rest of my clients and get paid. "There's nothing you can do?"

"I'm so sorry," he said again. "I'm afraid you're stuck."

Client etiquette be damned, my anger boiled over. He wasn't sorry at all. "You idiot!"

"Sorry." He mumbled, throwing his hands up.

I was now thoroughly fed up with his power plays, fed up with stripes, horse ears, and antlers. My life had been ruined. And I knew what to do.

I slowly stepped towards where he sat at the computer. Both the expression on my face and the way I towered over him had the intended effect. He pushed his chair away from the desk and rolled across the room.

"I hope you backed up your little morphing program," I taunted. I put one foreleg on the desk, pushed myself up, and used the other to give a swift kick to the computer box. My big Clydesdale hoof put a big dent in the side and it's collision with the wall finished it off. The monitor, now a bit askew, went blank and I could hear a fan spinning to a stop.

I looked over to where Rocky sat. His face registered such complete shock that I knew I was right. He hadn't backed up the program and was now stuck as human.

I gathered up my horse pants, which I no longer needed, and let myself out.

My little red car wasn't going to get me very far. I opened it up, dumped my pants, and grabbed my phone.

"Jeanette, this is Colt. A decision was forced on me. You'll have to send Sam and his horse trailer and a second person to drive my car."

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I admired the fall color of the surrounding trees, ambling around the house, while I waited. I had perhaps an hour before Sam would arrive. I was sure Rocky would want nothing more of me and wouldn't show his face. He may be into power, but he wasn't violent.

I think better while in motion so I circled the field. I would hear Sam arrive. I was able to sort through my thoughts as I walked. My dad had taught me that when I'm angry it is useful to determine exactly what I was angry about. I concluded I was angry at Rocky for being a prick, for taking some of the control I had over my life, and for forcing me to find a new home and job. But for being stuck as a centaur I was actually pleased. Life was about to become more difficult, but I would be facing it in the body I had longed for and the funk of being caught between human and centaur was now gone. That did not mean I was going to knock on Rocky's door and thank him.

I had shown Sam a picture of myself as centaur. He, of course, thought it fake in spite of my protestations, not being nearly so good at reading expressions. So he wasn't startled -- much -- when he drove up with his horse trailer and saw me. Cameron, who stepped out of the passenger seat, was another matter. He just stared open-mouthed, even as I pressed the car keys into his hand and asked him to follow us.

I reluctantly walked up the ramp into the trailer. This way of traveling didn't offer a lot of dignity. I would have a view out the side, but the wall in front of me was pretty solid. We'd have to change that if I wanted to go anywhere, though I wasn't sure I did.

Sam's barn was roomy but boring. Bedding was improvised from straw with sheets and blankets thrown over it. Sam brought meals from The New Leaf, a local vegetarian restaurant, which were delicious. Dobby and Maddy, Sam's horses, were some company, though Dobby didn't know what to make of me and Maddy was a bit too friendly for my liking. I enjoyed being included every time Sam took either one out for a ride.

Sam and Cameron and a couple other escorts emptied my apartment and brought my stuff to the barn for storage. I sorted through it and realized I no longer had any use for most of it, though the sweaters and coats were becoming important as the weather cooled. Sam held a yard sale while I stayed in the barn.

I used the money to pay Sam to buy a laptop with a wi-fi card which could access his house network. Without that I'm sure I would have gone crazy.

While Sam was glad to groom me when he groomed Dobby and Maddy, I really needed a shower. A bit of web browsing and I bought a solar-heated shower, which I connected to the barn's spigot. This late in the year it never did get all that warm. Even so, it felt good.

A week later Jeanette told me Rocky's house was for sale. So I had crushed the hard drive beyond the ability to extract data and he hadn't backed up the morphing program. Since the house's fixtures were centaur-size I doubted it would sell quickly, not that I felt bad at Rocky's plight. I considered buying the place. However, it didn't solve the problem of how I would earn money. I had enough for a generous down payment, but not for the whole thing. I also didn't want to live the life of a hermit.

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I lived in Sam's barn for a month, pondering what to make of my future and then making plans. As a gay man I knew what crazies did with those that were too different. I decided the best strategy was to hide in plain sight. That meant a setting known for its illusions where I would seem to be part of the make-believe. I joined the circus. It had the advantage that circus people were themselves freakish and quite tolerant and accepting of other unusual souls. It took a couple weeks to find an outfit that could use my talents. I had a very strange internet chat with Mr. Pelletier, the manager.

It was a surreal cross country trip to join my new employer on the road. Sam helped me buy a used van and get it fitted with hand controls and to remove all the seats except the one for the front passenger. I filled the back with a bi-level futon so I could avoid hotels. I could fold my legs under me and look like a human driver. Even so, I frequently left the freeways to stretch my legs in a field adjacent to the road.

Yep, my new job is to say, "Ladeeees and Gentlemen!" I'm the Master of Ceremonies. I'm not on display much and the lighting guys are great at making people a bit unsure of what they are seeing. However, I greet a few devoted centaur fans after each show.

The costume department was startled by me -- and not much startles them -- but they created a ruffled white shirt and red tuxedo style jacket that came to just below my blend. A (thankfully) standard black top hat and white gloves completed my work ensemble. I vetoed holding a riding crop and a cane looked way too small so we settled on a walking staff with a cross of African and Mongolian decorations.

The stable boys were another matter. They were spooked by a charge that talked back and told them when their ministrations were painful rather than helpful. We settled into an uneasy truce.

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I had been working with the circus perhaps six months when after a late spring show a young man tentatively approached me. He had an expression that was both dazed and in awe. I may not be as good with expressions as Jeanette, but I knew this one. I'm sure it was on my face the first day I spent with Rocky a year before. It was a look that said, "You're the fulfillment of my wildest fantasies."

I had my legs folded under me so I wasn't so imposing to the handful in the audience who wanted to meet me. I finished signing my autograph on a program for a girl who I judged to be about 11 years old, one of those girls who was horse crazy and proclaimed such on her t-shirt. She left, but the young man held back until she was out of earshot and no one else was around. Seated as I was I had to look up to his eyes.

"You really are a centaur," he finally said.

"Oh, yes."

He was rather plain looking with a face that full of character.

"May I touch you?"

I unbuttoned my jacket and shirt and held them open. He knelt to put himself at eye level and reached out, then hesitated. "It's OK," I said. He touched my side just above the blend and ran his fingers from there into my fur. His touch tickled a bit and I flinched.

"Sorry," he said.

"Don't be so tentative and it won't tickle."

He laid his whole palm against my fur then firmly moved it from fur to skin and back again several times. "This isn't an illusion, then." He glanced at my eyes.

"No. I'm as much centaur as you are human. The real deal."

"Were you born that way?"

One might be insulted by such a question, but I understood what he wanted to know. "No, I wasn't. I was born as human as you are. I'm happy with the way I am now. And, no, I have no way to make you into a centaur."

He looked crushed. His eyes wandered around the arena for perhaps a minute. I waited while he digested the news.

He stood and jammed his hands in his pockets, then glanced at me. "Could I …" He glanced away, then back and I could see him draw on his resolve. "Could I be your groom?" He glanced at his shoes and back up. "Or whatever you call the person who takes care of you." The words rushed out now and he glanced away. "I've always wanted to be a centaur or be around centaurs, so I've thought a lot about how one might live and know a centaur couldn't wash every part of himself." His gaze on me steadied. "I'd like to do that for you."

Someone willing to take that on? There would be no power plays from this one. "I'm sure that's not all you want to do."

His face lit up with a smile, though he glanced to the side. "It would be so cool for a centaur to lie on his back and let me crawl between his legs." He looked at me again with an enthusiastic expression. "Especially if his …" His face flushed red and he inspected his shoes again.

Actually, that sounded pretty good to me too. I hadn't lost my appreciation for the male human form and his was pretty good. But I made the mistake of staying quiet a moment too long.

He cleared his throat, "Sorry. I had hoped you might be gay too, in spite of the odds. I'll go now." He took a step.

I laid a hand on his shoulder. "Please stay. As it happens, I am gay. Your suggestion may have been a bit forward, but not unwelcome. What's your name?"

"Logan." I could see him relax.

"Pleased to meet you Logan. I'm known as Colt." He grinned at the name as we formally shook hands. "And what do you do?"

"Uh, I'm a student here in town. I graduate in a couple weeks. My roommate and I came tonight as a last break before we settle in to study for finals."

"What's your major?"

"English, with a minor in accounting. My dad said he didn't think I was all that cut out to be an English teacher and it might take a while for a writing career to get started, so he suggested a backup plan and that's why I added accounting."

"I like sensible," I said. "When do you have to be back on campus."

He caught my meaning and his smile returned. I was beginning to like that smile. "Oh, not until tomorrow afternoon."

"Well, tomorrow morning will be soon enough to talk to Mr. Pelletier about a job. He may need an accountant soon and the stable boys would be glad to turn me over to someone else. I'll tell you now Pelletier will want you to graduate and join us about a month from now in Omaha. Between now and tomorrow morning let's see what we can do about that fantasy of yours."

I really liked that smile.