The threads of time

By Josh Dugan 
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The fresh sea air filled our lungs as the wind whipped our hair. No longer did the occasional rolling pitch of the cruise ship affect me, because after several weeks on board I finally had my sea legs, all four of them. The captain, also a centaur (everyone aboard the Centaur Cruises gay luxury liner was a gay centaur), had cheerfully told me that I would get over my initial aversion to the shifting pitch of the floors, and I had hoped he would be right.

Happily, that had finally occurred, and I and the other passengers could now get our hooves planted firmly on the tilting decks of the ship without a second thought, even going up and down stairs. Needless to say, the going had been a bit rough at first, and I have to tell you that there is nothing more grim than the sight of a bunch of seasick, droopy-tailed centaurs clinging to the railing of a pitching ship.

But now all was well with all of us, and we were all healthy and well-fed, as well as well-exercised. The designers of the Centaur Cruises ships, gay centaurs themselves, had built in every amenity for us — open decks with seeming miles of varied terrain for every kind of outdoor running, from cantering to galloping. The libraries were vast and well lit, and, like the rest of the ship, outfitted with furniture well-suited for the comfort of centaurs. Of course, there were archery games. The mirrored bars and restaurants and gyms multiplied the opportunities for star gazing and for eye contact. And the socials were continuously arousing, one of the ongoing delights aboard ship, with a chance to meet, dance with and enjoy hundreds of other gay centaurs. There were nearly two thousand gay centaur guests aboard, not to mention the eight hundred centaur staff, all beautiful, all achingly gay. Treatment was absolutely first class, and we were made to feel like well-hung royalty, which of course, as centaurs, we are.

One of the benefits of the several stops we made along the many continents we visited was the chance to meet gay centaurs in other countries at our ports of call. I mention this because on the cruise I had struck up an immediate friendship with a very handsome Hextaur, Eddie Wong, who invited me to join him at one of our ports of call, where he had been invited to help seed the hextaur gene pool.

I had heard of hextaurs, centaurs who have an extra set of hindquarters, with a full complement of six legs, each pair well endowed with a prodigious and easily-aroused centaur sex organ, but Eddie was the first hextaurI had ever met. He was used to being stared at, he told me, but that was just a part of being a rare species.

Hextaurs had evolved from the poorest centaur classes, probably before time began, and had managed to survive although they were exclusively male and gay, because their additional workload capacity made them indispensable to the larger centaur world, and because they had evolved an all-male reproductive ability. A small community of them thrived in China, where they were mainly involved in taxi work, specializing in shuttling large groups of people at once. As such, they were no threat in an economic sense to rickshaw operators, who could take only one or two passengers maximum and were no competition for the hextaur jitneys. In fact, many gay rickshaw operators formed lifetime alliances with the hextaurs, as their daily lives and mutual sexual attraction were continuously intertwined.

The hextaurs had designed their jitneys, which were elaborate taxi coaches, as Eddie illustrated for me. They mounted to the hextaur like a wagon, but rode up over the hextaur’s four hind legs. They reminded me somewhat of the elephants we had seen in India, with their little passenger pagodas high atop the elephants that rocked and tipped as the huge beasts lumbered along.

But Eddie’s gay hextaurs had designed far nicer carriages, with plenty of room and visibility all the way around. They were especially suited to tourists and sightseers, and could hold nearly a dozen people, Eddie said, or a couple of centaurs. Naturally, the gay centaurs formed a major part of their business.

“What an amazing species,” I told Eddie, truly amazed and aroused at the tale of the hextaurs. He beamed with pleasure, and promised he would take me on a ride in one of the hextaur carriages. His gay hextaur friends and relatives were from some of the region’s tallest and most attractive hextaurs in the gay hextaur gene pool, if not the richest. In addition, they were accorded a special honor among hextaurs.

“Why was that?” I asked Eddie.

It was, he explained, because one branch of the family was unique even among hextaurs. It was not unlike a royal branch, except that this was more of a priestly caste, and they had produced a gay breeder hextaur, true leader, once in a generation, a rare and fertile type of hextaur who was specially endowed with great wisdom, insight, beauty and sexual prowess. It was these rarest of all centaurs—beyond hextaurs—who served as the pinnacle of centaurdom, acting as leader, priest, poet and prophet, and at the ceremonial and reproductive center of the entire hextaur community.

“How were they beyond hextaurs?” I asked, already trying to deal as a centaur with the natural envy I felt for my six-legged friend.

“The priestly caste were legendary,” Eddie explained. “Their origins were shrouded in myth, but they were believed to have been the founders of time itself. It was they who had first divided the endless continuum of existence into the span of years. All had been endless and undivided from the birth of the universe, but the priestly caste that founded the hextaur race had stormed forth into the universe, chasing all from their path, and popping the very threads of time with loud explosions as they tore the fabric of the continuum with their yearly tirades.

“Thus had the years and the centuries been marked from time immemorial. We were about to see the reenactment of the ritual of the birth of time, and the annual seeding of the hextaur gene pool,” Eddie told me.

I had not expected to find anything of such incredible interest on this cruise, but I had to admit I was fascinated with the history of Eddie and his hextaur family. It was with great excitement that we came to Eddie’s port. Sure enough, among the crowds greeting the Centaur Cruises ship were several hextaurs in splendid attire. “Those aren’t my relatives,” Eddie said. “The Wongs are a worker class. See over there.” And sure enough, waving at us with broad smiles, were Eddie’s bare-torsoed cousins, sweating but happy, pulling their exotic Hextaur carriages, burdened with their loads of tourists.

One of the Hextaur carriages came our way. It was bedecked with a single silken ribbon that cordoned off its gate, which I later learned meant the carriage was reserved and not available for hire. Eddie and his fellow hextaur cousin exchanged greetings, a deep kiss and a hug as their formidable hextaur organs began to engorge and arouse; and then the hextaur, breathing a little heavily, smiled at both of us and bid us climb into the carriage.

It was no easy matter for me to get up into the carriage, which although it would hold twelve people, was just barely big enough for two centaurs, much less one centaur and one hextaur. I was a little clumsy in my aroused state after seeing two beautiful gay hextaurs kiss. But my newly earned sea legs helped me steady myself and with a pull or two from Eddie, I was soon up and comfortably positioned beside Eddie.

It was odd to be moving while we were lying on our horse stomachs, our horselegs folded beneath us. And yes, the carriage did pitch and yaw a little bit, but being so high up, the wide-open view made up for everything. Just below and in front of us were the broad, sweating muscular shoulders of the taxi hextaur, making his way among the crowds. Eddie spoke with him, and translated for me, pointing out many historic points and handsome hextaurs in the colorful port city.

After an hour’s ride, we disembarked. Again, it felt odd to feel the earth solid and stable beneath my four hooves, so rock steady after the continuous motion of the ship and the pitching of the hextaur taxi. But we were soon lost in the swirl of life in Eddie’s gay hextaur village, where lanterns were being lit in anticipation of the Chinese New Year’s celebration.

Though the village was not overly crowded, it was full. But it sounded like it had a million centaurs galloping through it at all times. Eddie laughed when I mentioned that. “Pure physics,” he said, slapping my shoulder. “You’re used to centaur towns, where everyone has four legs. Here, we all have two extra. That’s a lot of extra hooves making noise!” I smiled, looking around. The elegant six-legged gait of the hextaurs was indeed noisier by half than that of the humble centaurs such as I.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Eddie smiled slyly. “Wait until you see the New Year’s Dragon.”

The sky darkened pink and then purple and finally grey, then black. Handsome hextaurs were everywhere, excited and aroused, many with arms around each other. The town was alive with the arousing tang of the handsome hextaur bodies and the glow of lanterns. I could sense as well as see the obvious sexual excitement of the hextaurs as they readied into position for the New Years celebration.

Then it began. Rockets and firecrackers split the air, making a cacophanous racket as young hextaurs galloped about, lighting off the massive strings of firecrackers. “The popping of the threads of time—that’s just what it would have sounded like,” Eddie said. I had never thought of it like that. It was deafening, for sure.

And then came screams of fright and delight, with the clatter of dozens of hextaur hooves as young hextaurs, many clumsy with the strong hextaur wine, ran about and sexually taunted the giant New Years dragon—a huge papier-mâché head fearsomely shaking and wagging at the youngsters, and long, snakelike dragon body undulating this way and that on dozens of hooves, amid the racket of firecrackers.

The air flashed and blinded as firecrackers exploded and smoke filled the air with the sweet, acrid bite of firecracker smoke, and the great dragon charged all the young hextaurs, who scrambled away on their six hooves, laughing and daring the dragon anew, flaunting their bodies and their massive, dripping hextaur sex organs.

The great parade continued to gather aroused young males, as new crowds of aroused hextaurs screamed and ran before the firecrackers, the streets echoing with the clatter of their hooves as well as the dozens of hooves beneath the snaking body of the dancing dragon.

“You have just seen the origin of the Chinese New Year celebration,” Eddie told me, beaming with pride. “What happens now is that everyone goes to the great temple where the high priest puts on his special robe to open the doors to the New Year.”

We followed the crowd through the lantern-lit streets, with dancing flames of torchlights waving and fluttering in the hands of the aroused young hextaurs.

“We will have a special view,” Eddie smiled, nudging me over to the waiting Hextaur taxi. The smiling taxi hextaur motioned us up into the carriage, and soon after, we settled our centaur bodies comfortably, with Eddie taking a moment longer to arrange his six legs.

The hextaur taxi headed forward, pitching and yawing. We were soon at an excellent spot near the temple doors, surrounded by hundreds of aroused gay male hextaurs, many of them mounting each other. At the appointed moment, firecrackers went off by the dozens and torches blazed higher. The great dragon danced and bobbed up the temple steps to the doors, bedevilled by dozens of firecracker-lighting hextaurs.

Then a great gong sounded, and the young hextaurs galloped down the steps, replaced by several dozen tall, aroused hextaur attendants in royal robes, who stepped up to the now-still dragon, removing the papier-mâché head and the long, snaking costume of the dragon body.

I was at first confused and then amazed by what I saw. “I told you you hadn’t seen anything yet!” Eddie smiled, looking proud and triumphant. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

As the attendants removed the giant papier-mache dragon head, the high priest of the hextaurs stepped out from underneath it, glistening in the firelight and still breathing hard from his exertions of running around under the huge dragon head. He was an extremely tall and noble-looking hextaur, and attendants dried his sweat-glistened torso with thick towels, also drying off his hextaur equine portions and dabbing at the precum-slick protuberances of his enormously huge aroused penises.

But wait! The royal-robed hextaur attendants rolled back the dragon costume, gently peeling away the costume of the long snake-like dragon body, revealing the rest of the dozens of horse legs — but they were all joined together! They were all the legs of the priestly hextaur, a long line of dozens of aroused and extremely well-hung hindquarters, joined by a seemingly endless equine body.

The fireworks crescendoed and the attendants held a magnificent robe above the four long, upraised arms of the priestly hextaur, lowering it majestically onto him.

Now suitably robed and regal, he took a few steps up to the temple doors, his dozens of horselegs moving up a few steps in turn as his huge, heavy penises bobbed and swayed, and shouted a loud proclamation, which the crowd echoed. “It means that the threads of time are now broken and a new year has been created,” Eddie explained to me.

The noble hextaur pulled the great temple doors open and entered, and the sexually aroused crowd went wild with cheering and the explosions of firecrackers. The train of penis-encumbered legs followed regally up the steps for quite some time, until all were up the steps, with the last pair marked by the great, brushed tail of the priestly hextaur, garnished with a massive ribbon of red and gold.

“See, I told you this was the origin of time,” Eddie affirmed.

“Wow,” I said. “That’s quite a leader you have there.”

“He is a very rare creature,” Eddie nodded. “Of all the royal family he will sire, there may be none like him for many generations. That is why there have been so few like him since time began. Other than here, you would never see one like him doing the dragon dance. It takes dozens of people to imitate that. Centaurs and hextaurs can do it in some towns, but it takes a lot of people to make up the rest of the dragon body anyway. You saw the real thing, just as it was when time started.”

He smiled in awe at the amazing leader. “Such is his potency that the lucky young males that make love to him may bear a gay hextaur offspring, and with his many legs, he may bear several hextaurs himself. It would be very rare that a hextaur or a high priest would bear a multi-legged priestly-case leader such as himself. But all want to make love to him, and all want to bear his child or have him bear theirs. I myself will have an audience and a dalliance with him. Our hope is that my genes may refresh the hextaur gene pool and create thousands of new hextaurs, and possibly a new leader such as you have seen here tonight.”

And Eddie Wong took his leave of me, only for the time it would take to make love to the high priest and to be impregnated by as many of the high priest’s potent, vilrile penises as possible, to perpetuate the gay hextaur race.

My ears rang all the way back to the hotel, and the next day as we returned back to the ship. But no wonder—they had never been prepared for anything such as this. It takes a while to recover from the popping of the threads of time. I made love to the taxi hextaur who had driven us about, and, with Eddie, we formed a triangle of endless and satisfying, maddening centaur/hextaur love.


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