exquisite skin

Sensuality does not wear a watch but she always gets to the essential places on time. She is adventurous and not particularly quiet. She was reprimanded in grade school because she couldn’t sit still all day long. She needs to move. She thinks with her body. Even when she goes to the library to read Emily Dickinson or Emily Bronte, she starts reading out loud and swaying with the words, and before she can figure out what is happening, she is asked to leave. As you might expect, she is a disaster at office jobs.

Sensuality has exquisite skin and she appreciates it in others as well. There are other people whose skin is soft and clear and healthy but something about Sensuality’s skin announces that she is alive. When the sun bursts forth in May, Sensuality likes to take off her shirt and feel the sweet warmth of the sun’s rays brush across her shoulder. This is not intended as a provocative gesture but other people are, as usual, upset. Sensuality does not understand why everyone else is so disturbed by her. As a young girl, she was often scolded for going barefoot.

Sensuality likes to make love at the border where time and space change places. When she is considering a potential lover, she takes him to the ocean and watches. Does he dance with the waves? Does he tell her about the time he slept on the beach when he was seventeen and woke up in the middle of the night to look at the moon? Does he laugh and cry and notice how big the sky is?

It is spring now, and Sensuality is very much in love these days. Her new friend is very sweet. Climbing into bed the first time, he confessed he was a little intimidated about making love with her. Sensuality just laughed and said, ‘But we’ve been making love for days.

—  J. Ruth Gendler, The Book of Qualities

Of exquisite skins and character, you bear unequivocal resemblance to a museum. Everyone is hungry for a piece of you.

But I am not hungry for a mere piece of you. A single slight piece of you would not do to curb my hunger. That would not be enough. I am hungry for every piece of you–the whole you. I want to explore all fragments of your humanity, even the fragments you deem unimportant or lackluster, from every angle and buried corner exclusively.


What would have happened if Jesus never showed up?

The sun begins to peek through the curtains creating a sliver of gold at the window.  Rick turns over to Michonne and props himself up on his arm.  At first He watches Michonne sleeping but can’t help but to gently kiss her lips. He peppers her lips, cheeks, hairline, chin, neck.  The kisses continue down her body. Michonne’s skin looks exquisite bathed in the golden light of the early morning sun. He takes time to appreciate every inch of Michonne’s body. As he kisses her hips, stomach and thighs, he runs his fingers over the streaks on her skins, similar to what he’s seen before. Later that night after they climb into bed, Rick and Michonne spoon with each other, cuddled up tight.  Rick whispers to Michonne, “Tell me about your children”. “What?” Rick gently rubs his hand over her hips and belly.  “I noticed your stretch marks. Lori got them during her third trimester.” Michonne takes a deep breath, but says nothing.  A few seconds later Rick can feel warm tears start to well up on the arm he has under Michonne’s head.  “His name was Andre …” 

based on a reply from @jamaicanloving (wanting Rick to notice Michonne’s stretchmarks and then have her tell him about Andre)

Hindsight: Part 4

So this is a joint birthday gift for @trina-deckers whose birthday was on Feb 5th and @repellomuggletum15 whose birthday is today. :D  I hope you enjoy this, ladies!  Happy Birthday to two of the most incredible young women I know!

If you need to catch up on the first three chapters of Hindsight, go here. Oh, and this is NSFW, just so you know.

She’s exquisitely chilled, her skin slick with the sweat of anticipation, her nakedness quivering as a slight breeze billows into their homemade cabana. He’s assured her that the sheets are drawn, that no one can see them, even if a trespasser were to stumble into this private little enclave of beach they’ve claimed as their own. Yet a thrill courses through her at the mere thought of what they’re doing.

She feels exposed, cherished, deliciously seduced, and completely wanton.

“Mrs. Locksley…”

The way he mutters her new title pulls a smile from her depths as something soft draws a slow, straight path up her right leg. A flower of some sort, she reasons as a musky, tropical scent teases her senses in more ways than one.

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