The mind is in a literal tailspin, urges of the female gender announce the fact that you changed but stand there as if a willing and lusting mare. You have a panging want for Samson to come back, to mount, and ram in his mighty shaft, working it and massaging away any of your remaining human ideals.
Those wild and sex driven plans of becoming a stallion have waned, and now you grasp at the sensations as would a mare in estrus.
Tail held high and to one side, you stand and would pleadingly beckon to Samson that he return with his still circumcised penis, and ram it where the thing can grant the two of you a thrill.
Down deep, you hope that your horse body is less than virile with eggs for insemination, as you long for Samson to do it, and do it often!