Tunnels
By Eris Vs. Eros
A Poor Porn
Production
May 14, 2004
Copyright 2004, All Rights Reserved.
“[Rain pattering, wind
blowing, thunder rolling, piano & gentle car horns]” –
The
Spelunking. There we lie in this cave. We have placed out our sleeping bags and mats on a portion of the ground that is not as hard as my member is at the moment. Little innuendos, we volley them in language back and forth. She is so innocently perverted; I love that.
The ground had erupted here a long time ago. The earth had shaken with orgasm, and the lava flowed from the phallus that had raised itself from the ground in the form of a mountain. Now we are in the tube of the trail left by the seed of the earth, we are deep within the womb of the flow. God and goddess had played to fertilize the ground with mineral, to grow the life.
The acoustics in here are great, every ooohh and ahh, as the rhythm of our bodies come together. The echoes, one can not help but sing. And our passion is a song. In and out, the ancient music is playing between us: Between her legs and mine. Between our bits, between our souls, we are touching each other in that union, like two musicians who are psychically in time playing.
Then, back away, I do. And go down upon her, in this light of flashlights that dance our shadows on the walls, and I explore her jewelry, of my dear Auzjeweii. I explore her tunnels, the three of them; I have my anatomy lesson given personally. I play like a child upon her body, and have all the joy of the initial exploration. We touch, and enjoy, in this innocence.
And while we are twisting upon each other, the click of the light, purposely, or fateually goes off, and our senses are minus the vision of each other, and we pause for a moment, silent, but still touching the heat of each other.
And above the ground, somewhere in the distance, which we are now deep within, we start to hear the pitter and patter of little drops. Small little rhythms that will some day wash away this cave, and pull all the sustenance down to the rest of our valley. Slowly, but now while we are in our mortalities, we are here.