Wildchild.


She abandoned all attempts at propriety. Her long skirt now an ocean of soft velvet fabric at her feet, exposing an expanse of softness that begins from the satin curves of her hips, her supple thighs, down to her ankles and disappears just above the discarded fabric covering the daintiness of her ballerina feet .“Wildchild”, he calls her. And her provocative surrender is rewarded by a strong hand caressing the arch of her back and fingers gently probing the moistness between her thighs that up until about two minutes ago remained pressed together. Oh but how beautifully she opened.

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Untitled.


Perhaps I am, just as I have suspected, a woman of insatiable caprices. My sensual stirrings, pointed in many directions, have freed me from the shackles of Hallmark-romance that I am now only capable of sensual love. And no more than that. I realised I have ceased to gravitate towards the whirlwind of romance and instead, abandon myself completely to the consuming frenzy – or is it cruelty – of passion. As the last fallen leaves of my childish love floated away in the afternoon wind, I came out of my chrysalis, transformed into a woman of instincts and unshakable emotional detachment.

Secret.


Inhale. Shhh, I have a secret. Exhale.

As far back as I can remember I have coveted relationships. Nay, just ONE loving relationship in an ocean of unpredictability, randomness and failed romances. Just as I quiver in anticipation for a new pair of high-heeled shoes every week, I go to bed every night praying for magic, butterflies in the stomach, the proverbial prince and fairy tale ending. And then HE happened. The stress, anger and frustration over past heartaches unleashed by men who shall forever remain nameless, faceless and devoid of form ebbed away. Finally, I am found. By Love.

Ebony, Ivory.


Why the obsession with white skin? One night in a friend’s bathroom I did a double take. The bottle of Vaseline sitting on top of her sink said “healthy white.” I groaned and wondered how many more women got suckered into the Caucasian version of fair and lovely. There now seems to be a clamour for women to get fairer. Whatever happened to celebrating natural beauty and loving the skin you were born with?

Must we now equate being dark with being unhealthy apart from being ugly? I shudder at the thought of what the young girls’ response would be.

Love Symbiosis


I have a serious fascination with the symbiosis between and among lovers. I find it thoroughly charming when different personalities collide and try to accommodate each other’s uniqueness…giving birth to the exponential possibilities for richness, latitude and intensity of love. When lovers are not only different in many ways possible but they come from polarized scenes as well, that’s when I am most interested, more intrigued. When everything about them make it seem as though they should be in opposition with one another, every voyeuristic nerve in me twitches in anticipation to see how they will go about their quest for a powerful union. How they feed, for example, in both ways: feeding each other and feeding off each other.

100: Mouth


Her mouth had, from the very beginning, already seduced him. The voluptuous flesh of it appeared to him like a rich promise of a generous womanhood. And the beads of moistness planted by the occasional running of her playful tongue along the curve of her lips cause him to burn in feverish arousal. Always, always, he wants to lose himself in her mouth. Ravaging it until his tongue is exhausted in its assault, and his lips swollen like the waves in a storm. In that tantalising crevice on her beautiful face is where he always wants to find his release.

100: Fat Girl


She pushes her feet in to her shiny black Maryjanes. She walks from the bed to her door, and back a few times, like she had seen models do it on TV, attempting to get her feet acquainted with the sharp pains she is sure to suffer in just a few hours. But what pain? Vanity, after all, prohibits one from feeling such. Facing the mirror, she carefully applies cream on her ageing face. Noticing, again, her developing double-chin. Ugh. She couldn’t wait for tomorrow when finally she’d start losing those damned pounds. Then she pops Godiva in her mouth.