I have never been accused of creating didactic works. Providing euphemisms for and instruction of morality to adults is no plight of mine. No, my mind rests mischievously in the shadows and the scent of lilac, must, sweat, and pheromones seep through my pores. A Cheshire cat smile through pouty lips are the sole indicator of my presence.
As women we are encouraged to please. Give others what they desire. Entice them. THEM THEM THEM. Well as a straight shooting woman in a mans world I'm taking charge of my needs, desires, and satisfaction. No apologies. Women are a serious force to be reckoned with. Ultimately we hold the key to our satisfaction and sexuality, not men.
Men should be viewed as prey when sex is involved. Sneak attacks shouldn't be ruled out. I live as if a ship in the night. Approaching from what appears to be nowhere. Painstaking observation my strength; passionate outbursts of humiliated foam, my weakness, and a plenitude of wandering souls, my ankh. Quivering in submissive tones elude me; are a rarity, for chess matches are won by out maneuvering with luminescence: with clarity. Does this shame me? No of course not.
Though satisfaction lay within, I desire to lose a match, and be forced to release breathy alliterations while euphoric visions manifest in bountiful bouquets of lavender lilies and orchids throughout the corridor of my subconscious.
Brambly romps that poke, scratch, and break skin dominate my arena.
Leaving silk filament stained with crimson, the air smelling of salt, and the corporeal form happily exhausted from triumphantly maneuvering through another sweat soaked battle.
Concession is rarely an option. Whether devilishly and tantalizingly prickly thorns, or long and smooth stems.
Oh how I ache from aching, though have no qualms with my plight. Whether stormy, dark, sparkly, or light.....Triumphant satisfaction shall be mine.