We frolic in the woods, my lover and I, rolling in the grass, making
wild and passionate love. The primal eroticism of wild forest
surrounds us, imbueing us with animal passion and me with the
needs of the hunt. The venir of civilization forgotten, we are left only
with our lusts.
That raw impulse of sex, its link inextricably with death and rebirth
felt. We feel the earth, our origin from it, our destiny in it. In
her, my lover, I see our creation, that warm depth from which we
come. In me she sees her danger, that driving force which will make
or break the universe. Together our union is sacred, the parts
complete, the world made whole.
Yet my need drives me, my hunger feeds me, I must have more. I
take her in my teeth and claws and rend her with my loins. The
guttural purr of her passion and pain ravages my restraint. I
abandon it!
I rake my fingers to arch her back and claim her breasts for my
mouth. I bite not lightly to wrench her scream from her lips then
rush to claim that too. Our heated pants mingle with tears and
sweat runs with sex. Her heaving breasts in sinc with my breath we
embrace in a lock with life and death and are consumed by it.
I fill her to my limit yet must fill her more. The emptiness in her belly
beacons its yearn. I cry out my frustration as I strive to thrust
deeper. Her belly needs me as I need it, to return to its source and
conquer its mystery. With my loins, with my hands, with the whole of
my being, I enter her, and drive deep, deep, yet not deep enough.
We cry out our frustration with howls of anguished unsatiated desire
and loose ourselves with it. The world is silent from the horror we
cry as our rage against restraint that limits our union erupts. Blood
tang tastes our lips as we snarl in each others flesh.
Instinct overwhelms as I grab a tool and with it plumb her depths.
Her spasm rocks the earth as she is laid open and the mystery of
her belly revealed. Her hollow filled, we are filled with her agony
and our lust. I reach inside to grasp that source of our pleasure and
need and squeeze to knead every shread of sensation from her.
Her gasps of anguish indistingished from orgasm we arch in a
mighty surge of completion and silently scream with attainment and
loss.
We are fulfilled.
Peter