Standard Disclaimers: Now, this is something really different for me. It's taken me months to build up the courage to write this. To be truthful, I got some inspiration from the movie trilogy, called "A Night In The Museum." Anyone partaking in sexual hanky panky is over 18 years of age. A bit of history, here. The song, Dream A Little Dream Of Me, was first recorded in 1931 by a band led by Ozzie Nelson. Yes, that Ozzie Nelson, of Ozzie and Harriet TV fame.
My name is Diana Hall, a nearly 30 year old curator at the Seattle Art Museum. I guess my Art History degree from the University of Washington, actually did pay off, much to the delight of my parents, who thought I was out of my fucking mind, with that as a major.
All through college, I had a minimum of success in the world of dating. Was I way too fussy? Who knows? I did date, but found very few second dates. Most of the boys, or should I say, young men, wanted in my panties, and I thought I should be a bit more selective.
Dinner and a movie didn't mean I'd jump in the sack with just anyone. I had a roommate that seemed to have a new guy every other week. It got a little repetitive, hearing about how great each of these guys were, in bed.
I tired quickly, from hearing, "oh, my God, he made me cum a dozen times" Yeah, right, I thought, silently.
I didn't think I was a prude, per se, as I did date one guy long enough to lose my virginity, but knew he wasn't "the one".
I guess I was destined to lose myself in each new art exhibit, I helped set up. Whether it was Greek or Roman Mythology, I would always look at the characters depicted, and dream that my Mr. Right was on one of those canvases, or one of the glorious statues.
I think I should interject, here, a little more about me. I just happen to be on the heavy side. Not overly heavy, but standing just about 5'5", and weighing around 160, I won't soon be mistaken for a runway model, but I really tried to dress modestly. I do have to admit that hiding my D cup breasts wasn't easy.
I was put in charge of new exhibits, featuring paintings and sculptures from mythology. Each new exhibit brought new study materials for me to pour over. I just inhaled every word and picture that accompanied the art work.
It seemed as if every classic painting, or statue was aimed directly at me. Greek Gods staring right into my eyes. Roman Gods, the same. Was my search for Mr. Right being hijacked by thousands of years of art?
One particular new addition, that was scheduled to be on exhibit for close to three months included a marble, life sized statue of a centaur. Half man, half horse.
This statue stood just over 7 feet tall. The male half had traditional Greek features. Eyes that seemed to burn into anything he looked at, and God like features over his entire body.
Each time I passed this amazing creature, I would softly run my hand across his back.
One evening, I was sitting at my desk, reading all material that accompanied the exhibit.
I felt a very light touch on my head. I looked up to see our centaur looking at me, with a very curious expression.
Shocked, I pushed my chair back, gasping, knowing centaurs were known for violence against women.
"Please don't hurt me!" I whispered.
"Do not fear, Madame," he said in a voice that made me think of James Earl Jones, or Barry White.
I blinked a few times, but didn't say a word.
"Please, Madame, do not fear me."
"But your species has a history of violence," I mumbled, shaking in my seat.
Slowly, this magnificent creature backed up a few paces, and held his hands up, in a very non threatening manner.
"I want to learn about what you are doing, here."
"I'm in charge of the exhibit you're part of," I stammered, still very much afraid of this creature.
"So, I'm on public display, for you humans to gawk at, and paw over."
"Not quite, nobody will be allowed to touch you. I must add that if you come to life, everyone will be terrified."
He leaned down with his face inches from mine, looking all over to try and detect any fear. It was all I could do to keep from passing out.
Sheepishly, I just grinned, and said, "my name is Diana."
"Oh, you're the Goddess of the hunt!"
"No, that's who I'm named after. Do you have a name?"
"No, just call me Centaur, if you would."
"Would you please move back, you're frightening me," I breathed.
As he did, I glanced down, and saw his manhood starting to grow. My eyes nearly popped out of my head, causing Centaur to back up a few more steps.