The shaman I love was descended from a long, long line of gay shamans. Through discipline, spirituality and good lives, they had somehow developed such gentle spirits that their bodies willingly changed to please the superior faculties of their souls. Apparently it was something anyone could do, but it took a purity of heart, a generosity of spirit and an experience of the gay shaman's powerful natural yearning and craving for the beauty of the male body. That's what I gathered from what he told me, anyway, because he knew of few other shamans such as he, who could transform others as well as themselves.

He was beautiful, that's for sure. He could heal with a touch or a smile. I don't think two hands or two warm, loving arms could handle all the love he could express; that's probably why he had four. They weren't for him; I could sense that. Some guys might want four arms to make themselves extra sexy, but not him. His four arms did indeed make him very sexy—I can come just picturing him—but they weren't for him. They were for those he loved.

He said his fathers before him could change to please a male lover or male spouse. Some of his fathers bid their bodies sprout a stallion's proud body at the waist, and in doing so became centaurs, bearing their male loves away on their powerful horsebacks, pounding the earth with their four hooved legs. Others of his fathers walked the earth with four beautiful human legs, the earth pleasured by the constant touch of their four gentle, beautiful feet. Their loves were pleasured to ecstacy by the gentle, erotic beauty of their four-legged shaman-husbands, and were transformed to multiple limbed stature as well.

I had fallen in love with him on sight, hopelessly caught in the ether of his sweetness and peace. I told him I ached to come, from the sight of his four arms, the four beautiful, long-fingered, gentle, strong hands. And in his smile I knew that the four arms were mine, and they were mine as they gently held me, holding my waist to his as his hands combed through my hair and caressed my face and body. He gladly gave them to me; they were for me to love and enjoy, he told me happily.

He could not soothe the ache of my love, he told me, but his four hands would give me more with which to love him. I begged to be like him, to have more arms to give him. He smiled and held me to him with his four beautiful arms; his warmth surrounded and infused me, and as we embraced I felt my hands resting on his broad, quadruple shoulders, and also holding the handsome, smooth sides of his torso. It was that easy, that wonderful. I laughed gently, my four hands relaxing and resting on him.

His body was at home in the gentle male warmth of my four hands, and both of us seemed to feel our love causing huge growth in our heavy sexual organs. His four hands gently pulled at my hugely enlarged, thoroughly aroused sexual organ, and the magic touch of his hands swelled, lengthened and beautified it.

As two of his hands rested comfortably on my newly broadened, muscular shoulders, his second pair of hands held my newly enlarged penis and gently ran the thumbs along the middle of my shaft. I felt my giant, aroused penis tingle deeply as it split silently into two huge twins. I could not suppress a deep sigh of amazement and desire, which he shared by a loving look and a deep, reassuring kiss. He held each of my penises gently with a pair of his hands, expertly prodding and pushing my two new penises apart, allowing the ballsacs to hang warmly against each other.

I enveloped him in the passion of my four arms, the most wonderful hug I have given. I kissed him, and I felt my huge twin guns urgently spurt my love onto him, burning and endlessly pumping thick, firey, molten come.

He rested his fine head and neck on my broadened shoulders as his four beautiful hands worked smoothly and so erotically, to spread my come onto his own—two!—penises. Did my come have the power to make them grow as they did? Yes, he said.

And we would be four-legged as his fathers were, he suggested. I looked with love into his eyes, and met his love. I would stand proudly on my four legs with him on his. And so it was—joyfully encumbered with new double genitalia with our double pairs of legs. We ate and drank endlessly of each other's love.

I would radiate his love as he radiated mine, and it was an outward, welcoming love. I could never be the shaman he was, but I did not aspire to be any more than what I was—madly in love with him, body and soul.

Perhaps his love created other shamans such as he, among the beautiful young men who naturally gravitated to us. They grew in number, perhaps recreating among themselves the shaman's love. I feel my four legs tingle and my four arms ache to hold them, the bodies of the beautiful young men made multi-limbed by love.

Please visit us and the beautiful young men who have become multiple-limbed as part of our family. When you see their beautiful four-legged bodies and the beauty of their four arms, know that they are for the loved, not the lover. We would hope that you would be transformed by your love as well.