Storms Beneath Her Skin

By , March 23, 2012 2:41 pm

My body is a weather system, complete with bright spring growth, warm summer days, pounding autumn rains, and frigid winters’ nights. An entire world, enough to give climatologists years of data, dissertations worth of study. Yet my seasons have nothing to do with a changing calendar, they are unheralded by the phase of the moon or the tilt of the earth. I am not a closed system, but one whose course is altered by mood and emotion, shifting slowly over years or changing drastically within a single, brief instant.

Spring causes my roots begin to flex and contract. I sprout flowers from the tips of my fingers. The grass that is my skin begins comes to life once again. I am alight with budding leaves and the constant sound of birdsong. The cute waitress flirting with me causes my hair to stand on end and cool ice-melt streams to run down the crevasses of my body. A friend’s laughter causes burrowing animals to stick their heads above ground. Every fibre of my being grows toward the rising sun.

Summer is flush with life, my blood pumping and lungs full of air. My body is made of chlorophyl, converting every moment into pure joy. The wind plays through my hair, and my toes dig into the living earth. My face is a flower, turning toward love and happiness as if following the sun. The days of my body are long in summer, insatiably hungary for sensation, to touch and to feel. I ache for sex, for skin on skin. I cum like lightening cracking in a summer storm, and the rain pours down. Continue reading 'Storms Beneath Her Skin'»

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