Here I share my erotic fantasy art, photos, music, and video. Just scroll or search on keywords or postings.
A steampunk jalopy fit for a sporty witch. Featuring the sultry Olinka Lickova wearing nothing but a black cape casually draped over her shoulders revealing a lovely breast and long shapely legs.
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Sunning Nude on a Big Boulder. Model: Jemstarlight Moon
Beauty and Epistemology. Model: Eva
In the dance of shadows and light, Epistemology finds its flight,
In the whisper of a breeze’s sigh, Beauty’s truth begins to vie.
For what is known, what we perceive, In beauty’s embrace, we believe,
Through every curve and line, we seek, A deeper truth, a wisdom unique.
In the bloom of a rose, the sweep of a plain, Epistemology’s quest begins its refrain,
For beauty’s essence, elusive, profound, In its mystery, meaning is found.
Through the eyes of the beholder, it lies, Epistemology and beauty’s ties,
In the search for understanding, we roam, In the heart of beauty, we find home.
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.
