The young man was still a virgin when the centaur girl trotted into the village, breathtakingly bare-breasted and wild. Even though he knew it was considered shameful to rut with such creatures, her fierce spirit, evident within the smoldering coals of her brown eyes, the defiant toss of her braided mane, and the whipping of her tail across her muscular equine buttocks, battered down his meager defenses until all it took to forsake his dignity was a pointed finger and a curled lip as she bid him to approach and mate with her. His face burned as he let his trousers fall around his feet, and though he’d always considered his girth impressive, she snorted in derision even as she presented her hindquarters for him to mount. He plunged into her honeyed depth, feeling as though he’d been sucked into her, and clung to her velvet flanks as he thrust into her, performing the act of copulation with a centaur in broad daylight, surrounded by nature. All throughout the deed she insulted him, belittling his lack of strength, potency, and endurance in comparison to the males of her kind, and mocked even the sounds he made in his passion as he shuddered and emptied his seed into her hungering womb. The curse laid upon him for violating such a taboo was not immediately apparent, but in the months and years that followed, it manifested as surely as the seeds planted in the spring soil blossom and ripen by harvest. The local maids began to titter and gossip whenever he slunk past along the river’s edge or walked the avenue from the village green with shifty glances, never daring to lift his gaze and meet their eyes. It was whispered among the village girls that once a fortnight, the lad - who had in years previous, if one could believe it, been thought of as a promising candidate for marriage - would lurk about the stables, waiting for the solitude of nightfall to enter unseen, take down his trousers, and copulate with one of the mares, doomed to seek in vain the sensual, bestial satisfaction of rutting with a centaur girl, to which he had in the sacrificing of his virginity become hopelessly addicted for life. This tale was also swapped by the young men of the village when they would gather in secret to indulge their onanistic habits. Even these young men, who would have been ridiculed for their furtive self-abuse were they to be caught in the act, looked down upon the Horsefucker, and related his sorry story as a cautionary tale: a warning to never mate with a centaur.