Vampires are total sexual metaphors; there's just no way around that.
(and from my thighs which shrug and pant a murdering rain leapingly reaches the upward singular deepest flower which she carries in a gesture of her hips)
So when I'm in that teddy bear suit, I'm like a creepy, sexy baby.
Sleep is an eight-hour peep show of infantile erotica.
The flower is a jumble of thighs, the sun's harem - the most oriental thing imaginable.
What I really love about the Playboy bunny outfit, is it's all about a woman's silhouette.
The throat: how strange, that there is not more erotic emphasis upon it. For here, through this compound pulsing pillar, our life makes its leap into spirit, and in the other direction gulps down what it needs of the material world.
Catholics have more extreme sex lives because they're taught that pleasure is bad for you. Who thinks it's normal to kneel down to a naked man who's nailed to a cross? It's like a bad leather bar.
