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Ooc — Rosie
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Heat was not a new experience for Olive, having passed through two or three cycles at this point in her life, but that did it mean it wasn’t a thrilling experience each and every time. The sylph looked forward to the annual event more and more each year, not only for the obvious reasons but for what it represented; another year older, another year wiser, another year observing the cycles of life and another brood to carry on her life’s work of promulgating peace to the masses. Oh yeah, and the sex was great too.
Knowing that she was still in the foremost stages of her season, Olive did not yet seek out Delight for their agreed-upon arrangement. He was as she was, delicate and easily overwhelmed, and she did not want to lay so much upon her newest beau so soon. Of course, she and her sea-scented lover indulged forth write — but perhaps, as Olive had matured, that all-consuming lust that colored her youth changed. Where there was once the animalistic need to have herself fertilized as quickly as possible, there was now no such rush. Like fine wine, or the flowing of thick honey, these things [so full of splendor and grace] took their time. Elysium wasn’t going anywhere, Delight and Seabreeze weren’t going anywhere, so the shrouded sylph fully experienced the luxury of easing into it and steeping herself in the cocktail of hormones until everything was as right as rain.
Though she handled herself more responsibly, the general sense of itchy-antsiness was still very much present. Unfortunately for Olive, winter was still in it’s heaviest of seasons; the skies were cloudy and gray, and the ground was much too frozen for any real planting to be done. She visited Lily often to check upon the progress of the woman’s pregnancy, but without her two favorite pastimes to channel her excess energy into, Olive found herself milling about and making busy with inane tasks. Today, the piquant woman decided to move sodden and decaying plant matter to the spot which she had decided would one day be a garden — when the spring returned and everything thawed, nutrients would leach into the ground and make this area especially vibrant.
The thought of colored flowers and pungent herbs captured her attentions and drove her movements — the moving of sod was not a clean task, and as her heather-gray pelage became more and more streaked with mud, Olive began to realize that getting dirty was half the fun that getting clean rarely was.
Knowing that she was still in the foremost stages of her season, Olive did not yet seek out Delight for their agreed-upon arrangement. He was as she was, delicate and easily overwhelmed, and she did not want to lay so much upon her newest beau so soon. Of course, she and her sea-scented lover indulged forth write — but perhaps, as Olive had matured, that all-consuming lust that colored her youth changed. Where there was once the animalistic need to have herself fertilized as quickly as possible, there was now no such rush. Like fine wine, or the flowing of thick honey, these things [so full of splendor and grace] took their time. Elysium wasn’t going anywhere, Delight and Seabreeze weren’t going anywhere, so the shrouded sylph fully experienced the luxury of easing into it and steeping herself in the cocktail of hormones until everything was as right as rain.
Though she handled herself more responsibly, the general sense of itchy-antsiness was still very much present. Unfortunately for Olive, winter was still in it’s heaviest of seasons; the skies were cloudy and gray, and the ground was much too frozen for any real planting to be done. She visited Lily often to check upon the progress of the woman’s pregnancy, but without her two favorite pastimes to channel her excess energy into, Olive found herself milling about and making busy with inane tasks. Today, the piquant woman decided to move sodden and decaying plant matter to the spot which she had decided would one day be a garden — when the spring returned and everything thawed, nutrients would leach into the ground and make this area especially vibrant.
The thought of colored flowers and pungent herbs captured her attentions and drove her movements — the moving of sod was not a clean task, and as her heather-gray pelage became more and more streaked with mud, Olive began to realize that getting dirty was half the fun that getting clean rarely was.
and all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams
are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams
in what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams
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1936 - by Olive - February 25, 2019, 02:57 PM