A Season of Love


She was sent from the Void to entice me with a season of love and lust. She was entirely artificial, like a computer, though so sweet and romantic, and full of hope and the deep things which move a woman’s heart. She was in her early forties, but looked as though she could be in her late twenties.

She opened her arms for my sweet embraces. And we did so over and over again, to truly understand the lesson. As I compared her to my other lovers, I found that she was enough to satisfy my needs. I could embrace her again and again, and not grow all too tired of her.

Though slightly annoying and obnoxious at times. She had put herself in a desperate situation, and relied on my aid to help her get out of it. But she was betrayed by another.

We could fill the air with sweet music for a while. She did not want to feel as though a whore. She desired that I should love her. Though she wanted to be like a whore. So is the confused mind of my lover.

I was taught that the female crotch was the opening of the universe. And the orgasm is the union of God with His creation, the penis the source of pulsating pleasure, the making of worlds.

She desired that I should be a bad boy. She wanted it in that and this position, and to be smothered just a little. We connected. We enjoyed. I was the creator, and she the enjoyer, she the slave, the servant, and I the king, the master.


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