Here I share my erotic fantasy art, photos, music, and video. Just scroll or search on keywords or postings.
Olinka Lickova nude on boulder. From our first of many photoshoots.
Violet as a huntress riding a Plesiosaur and piercing a dimensional veil in her hunt for food. Model: Violet
Tesla’s young protege Violet experimenting with high voltage electrostatic washes. Model: Violet
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.
Two Nude Girls Holding Hands. Sometimes simple is best. Models: Jenn Michelle @jenn__michellle , Crystal Nichole @taurusbbbyy
We grow like snakes, shedding layers of skin that we leave behind in dried-out, lifeless husks as we get larger and larger–only these skins take on many forms in many dimensions: the cradle, the playpen, school, ignorance, fears, home, church, friends, belief systems, teams, clubs, tribes, self-image, etc.; and until we shed these once-protective, now-restrictive layers, we are confined in virtual jars that are usually transparent enough to see at least some of what is outside but prevents us from exploring all that is beyond the glass walls of whatever manifestations of super-ego we find ourselves trapped behind.
Ava May playfully posing nude with a large swath of cloth in a grand ballroom.
