It was time. My Inner Goddess would not bear to wait another throbbing second. I tried to remain serene as I disrobed. My fingers shook as they hastily removed the lace pasted to my trembling body, divulging my true state and my lack of a tranquil demeanor.

Still, I roared with a fury that surprised even myself. Vulcan rotated between steady penetrating thrusts that blessed my inner gate to remaining motionless as he crooned encouragement.

There was nothing to hold him back; there were no fears, apprehension, or even caution. He understood me far too well for all that.

It has been six long, arduous weeks since I visited my gallery, and FIVE new portraits are dying to be unveiled. Each is a unique work of beauty. Some display clean lines, the figures sharp, and the details crisp. Others share a familiarity with the Impressionist style of Monet or Renoir.

“You smell so good.” His words were soft and romantic, with just a hint of a growl.

Despite being spellbound, my Inner Goddess took mercy on the tortured god. My fingers seductively slid across the underside of my flawless breast, palms cupping the weight of each creamy orb, pushing them closer to my upraised head.

“Two of them and one of me. Who will tap out first?” My rapacious Inner Goddess mused.

In my youth and early adulthood, I thought love was growing up together, marrying, buying that dream house, having babies, yardwork on Saturday, and church on Sunday. Commitment and vows held supreme value and gravitas.

The Rose lifted on tiptoe, relishing their contrasting size as she pressed her body against his stalwart frame, discovering against her thigh the magnificence straining behind the course material of his jeans. Mindlessly, The Rose tilted her head to the left as the Knight’s lips left faint prints on her bared flesh. She sighed at…

One tends to think that with the passing of time, our bodies become less controllable, yet as I reflect, it appears that no matter the age, our bodies do not always respond according to the will of our minds.