Here I share my erotic fantasy art, photos, music, and video. Just scroll or search on keywords or postings.
A wood nymph wakes up in her bed in the middle of a magical forest. She walks through the forest and gathers up her clothes to get dressed for the day. Model: Lenny Langley
Galactic Goddess. Costume created by Autumn Huse. Photographed at Muses in Wonderland. Model: Autumn Huse
Kinky Komix – Fashionista Picnic – Models: Crystal Nicole, Jenn Michelle
For this picture I put Violet on a pedestal, as a bigger-than-life statue of a goddess, in a grand atrium inspired by the uniquely creative artist M.C. Escher. Model: Violet
Just having some fun revisiting one of my favorite horror films as an adult. Thanks to Olinka Lickova for shedding her clothes and providing me with some inspirational poses (though neither of us at the time had any idea this is how they would ultimately be used). Would have been fun to see how the monster reacted to this naked hottie. (Did the good Dr. Frankenstein sew on ALL the parts when he put the creature together?)
Crystal in Congregation of Potato People. Model: Crystal A
Church of the Potato People
In the Church of the Tuber, where spuds convene,
A congregation of potato people, a sight unseen.
Their eyes, like russet orbs, fixed on the sacred ground,
As they gather in reverence, in silence profound.
Starch-filled hearts beat in unison, a tater’s devotion,
In pews of mashed delight, a tuberous emotion.
The pulpit adorned with skins, a priestly spud ascends,
Preaching the gospel of the harvest, where the potato life transcends.
But amid the devout, a stranger unknown,
A beauty in disguise, a presence all her own.
She, an outsider, a radiant yam,
In the sea of potatoes, a singular glam.
Her skin, a golden hue, not of earthly soil,
A sweet fragrance of difference, a celestial foil.
Yet, she hides among them, a secret delight,
In the congregation’s eyes, a clandestine light.
The potato people, unaware of her grace,
Continue their worship in the starchy space.
But the outsider listens, absorbing their prayer,
In the silence of tubers, a connection rare.
As the sermon concludes, and the congregation disbands,
The outsider reveals herself, a rose in the lands.
The potatoes, astonished, yet welcoming still,
In this diverse church, love trumps the thrill.
For in the Church of the Tuber, diversity blooms,
In the richness of differences, unity looms.
Potato people and yams, together they stand,
In the spud-filled sanctuary, hand in hand.
