No Photos

I use photos, sometimes, to help illustrate the sexual emotions I'm trying to evoke in my writing. Sometimes, they add to the artistic expression. Sometimes, they detract. But, when it comes down to it, the pictures really exist inside of each one of us. Eroticism is in the mind, after all. And the photos in our minds are often more vivid and more meaningful and more fulfilling. So, here's a photograph in my mind...

The place is buzzing. It's on a dry and dusty playa. Dance music is blaring. Costumed people, half-costumed people, naked and half-naked people are grinding to the beat. The place is sweaty and dirty. It reeks of horomones and pheromones and herbal smoke. The room of dancers is below us. We watch from a balcony, rubbing our skins together. She wears a short skirt and dusty boots. My hands cup her naked breasts. The beat, the heat, the animal odor, the love...it's as thick as tapioca pudding and as warm as summer honey. When I slide the skirt off, over her gyrating hips, she allows it without a break in the movement of her sensual body. When I press my cock into her, we dance.