I’m on wandering in a vast and desolate desert. The night has come and moon and star light are glimmering on the sands, illuminating the magic of Earth’s beauty. On the open plain I stumble upon an abnormality in the sand—a solidity and hollow thump beneath my step. I dig in the sand and uncover a trap door in the earth. I dust it off and the intricacies of the door are revealed—exquisite flower blossoms carved in metal and adorned with blue sapphire and lapis lazuli. I pull up on the metal ring and the door opens. As I adjust my eyes, I can see a rickety old staircase that descends into darkness. Allured by my curiosity and amazement, I climb down the twisted and dilapidated staircase. It is clear that no one had been down this way in ages, with spiderwebs thickly dangling from every stair and railing. I feel at any moment it could collapse and send me plunging into the darkness below.
The air is heavy and stale. As I begin to near the bottom of the staircase, a smell starts to overwhelm me. The deeper I go, the stronger the pungency gets, until I am nearly choking. At long last, I find myself standing on cold firm ground. I look around and see that there is a corridor leading to a chamber—a prison cell. I am compelled, once again, to keep going as my curiosity presses me on. I open the cell door, barely on its hinges anymore, and the smell nearly brings me to my knees. Decomposition. Rotten flesh. The smell of Death makes the damp air unbearably heavy. In the far corner of the cell I see a figure. My eyes start to make out the shape—it’s a woman sitting on the ground, chained to the wall. I gasp in horror. She is naked and emaciated, bones protruding under her sagging and weathered skin. At first glance I presume she is dead until she opens her drooping eyelids and looks at me with her yellowing eyes, causing my hair to stand on end—chilling me to the marrow. She has a bald head but for a few scraggly strands of long white hair. Where her breasts had once been are scars—deadened flesh of one who had been terribly maimed. I immediately understand where the awful stench is coming from as I see that her legs are chained and spread apart. The lips of her vulva have several small clasps attached to them, with metal wire forcing her yoni open. Where the clasps have dug into her flesh are putrid, seething wounds.
The sight of her is nearly too much to bear. Simultaneous feelings of terror and allurement overwhelm me and, once again, I am compelled and slowly begin to approach her. Standing in front of her, my first instinct is to bend down and kiss her bald head. Without thought, I lean down and with my kiss, her head begins to sprout golden hair that flows and spills down over her shoulders in lavish, silky, curls. I marvel at her, awed by the beauty of her locks, jeweled and sparkling like the sands in sunlight.
I ask her what she needs, and she motions down with a nod of her head towards the clasps on her vulva. I bend down and slowly, carefully begin to remove the metal clasps and she shutters with pain. Then, out of sheer compassion, I bend down to the seething and putrid wounds and kiss them, one by one. Magically, as I kiss them, they transform into blossoming flowers, bursting with fragrances of plumeria, jasmine, and orange blossom. The flowers spill out there sweet nectar across my lips and I begin to drink them it in. I am filled with the elixir of life. I kiss and lick her yoni flowers, drinking her in and making love to her. Whenever I kiss her body, she blossoms more and fecund landscapes emerge from her. Rolling hills of sweet grasses, forests, mountains—all of the beauty of the wild Earth. When I kiss the bleeding scars upon her breast. Her chest swells and her breasts become full. They flow into my mouth and I drink in her honey-milk. She is the Creatrix. She is the Earth embodied in a Woman’s form. She is Infinite Beauty. She is Nourishment. She is Love.
We make love a long time, my senses so fully entwined in her beauty. My entire being enters her and I swirl around in her silky-dark womb until I am birthed from her anew. As I look into the bottomless Venus Pools of her eyes, I ask her what her name is. She tells me that her name is Flower Pussy. I ask Flower Pussy if she would climb the rickety stairs and leave the dungeons with me. She says, “Yes,” and takes my hand. We climb up the great, weathered staircase and out the trap door. She has been with me ever since and my life has been utterly transformed…
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