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
Here I share my erotic fantasy art, photos, music, and video. Just scroll or search on keywords or postings.
A nightmarish experience of being trapped in a dark empty void based on an actual nightmare. Featuring Jemstarlight Moon.
Picnic by the Pond. A perfect afternoon for a picnic! The beauty all around was too much to resist and soon became a feast of sensual delights.
Stills from a video shoot in a public park one lovely summer morning. There was only one person hanging out by the falls when we started but we asked him if he minded the girls getting naked and of course he didn’t. We invited him to watch as long as he stayed out of the shot, for which he was happy to oblige. A few more people passed by during the course of the shoot but they all respectfully kept their distance so as not to interrupt the shooting. A wonderful time was had by all! Models: Astrid, Jane, Starla
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.
