The true erotic lies in the smallest and most simple of pleasures.
Fine, fresh, sun kissed sheets, of high grade linen, crisp, pure, fecund, hungry, blessed, clean and asking for filth.
When I climb into a freshly made bed naked, clean sheets, smooth, one beneath my flesh the other pulled tight across the top, I have an overwhelming desire to spread my legs, to feel the lips of my sex part in its own secret smile.
I love to pull my legs wide, bring them back, pull them wide, bring them back.
Inhale that scent.
Roll around in the hope the clean freshness will permeate me, when I know my humanity will eventually taint it.
Sometimes, if the sheets are still warm from the sun, I can feel the imprint of the expanse of the universe in them. Stretched tight across my bed with a housewife's perfection, they feel endless and enormous, not close and confining.
I receive every feeling like a Jewel on my fingers, I catch every sensation without chatter, knowing this moment can't be described and won't last.
My heart overflows with a moment of pure joy.
I am queen of my realm and the servant with a peacock feather fan at the same time.
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