Slowly, so as not to alarm her virginal thighs, he ducked his head way up in there, under his lady’s skirts. Licking lovely the thighs of the purring princess. And of course he could smell her. Because under her skirts, this lass is as full of scent and wonder as can be. But it is dark in there. Under a woman’s skirts. It took his eyes a moment to adjust. As he peered into her shadows. In the fond and center of her being. Remember, she shed her panties long ago. So the sight is the birthplace of creation itself.
But all he sees is dark, dark shadows in there. Like she is the birth of mystery itself. He has to strain and bulge his eyes to make out, in her darkest shadows, a thick black jungle. A shrubbery, a thicket of dense, dark tangles, there between her legs, of overgrowth and undergrowth. A forest of desire. Of course, he realized. This is a jungle woman. So she has a true, pure jungle between her legs. He will have to slowly kiss his way further up her luscious thighs, afore he can see into her tangled lair.
~
Her Fault Line
So inch by inch, he kept kissing and licking his way up, while obliquely taking little peeks into her shadows. He knew, that somewhere in there, there had to be the jewel he sought.
As he moved in closer, his head eased her thighs naturally apart. But it's still way, way too dark to see. Only smell. (Though when it comes to women's treasure, a man is perhaps best guided by his nose.)
He is looking into the dark center of time. His eyes strained, until he could, barely, make out in the murky penumbra of her tangled shrubbery, — a thin line, snaking down her middle. A little fissure, like a crack in the otherwise smooth porcelain of her china-cup skin.
The proof she is 'girl'.
Every girl, no matter how prim and proper and perfect, how perfect and dainty her 'tea ceremonies' are, — has a crack in her china, hidden somewhere.
Every girl has a crack in her road, and so no wonder, as a little girl, she played hopscotch and jump games over the cracks in the city's sidewalks, afraid to step on any one.
Her fault line.
It was quiet now, demure and unassuming, but he knew the power of an earthquake rumbled under its surface.
The birthing source of all things.
~
How Venecia Feels it
Venecia, in her deep trance state, hypnotized and under his spell, and thoroughly stoned, felt that she was indeed a flower. She was the queen lotus of the jungle pond, lying back on her lilypad, while her long, multicolored dress was simply her colorful petals sprawled out all around her, as she kicked her legs in the air like a flower's stamens, blowing in the wind.
She felt like dreamlike. Felt the warm, warm sun on her, felt shafts of sunbeams pouring right down into her. Her leg petals fluttered around, increasingly hot and heavy, in this sun.
It felt like it was the Sun-God who was kissing its way up her legs. Caressing her legs with the warmth of sun, licking her, making for feel as wet and sweaty, making her legs feel soft and buttery. The Sun-God was licking her with its long, long tongue....