Ecdysiast
by Jonathan Quince
Monday, March 1, 2004 05:12:50
Rhythmic swaying of a lithe body captures my attention and holds me tight. Standing over me, dancing with a titillating playfulness, she gives me glimpsed promises to whet my appetites. With the slow burn of her smile, she taunts me with my dreams; her eyes, solemn in passion and twinkling with humor, incite me and cajole me.
Powerful is her art, the art of the tease. As the music’s beat echoes my heart, she plays my fancies to every advantage. Magic it is, the smooth, charming flow of her antics, lulling my senses yet exciting my instincts. Each skilled movement seems capricious, each planned motion impulsive, as carefully yet carefree, she stokes the heat of my desires into a bottled-up frenzy.
The silent rustle of a silky garment sounds like thunder in my mind as it hits the couch beside me. The faintest scent of her skin tickles my senses, sending an electric tingling up my spine. As her hair bounces softly across her naked shoulders, I can feel it brush against my skin across the space between us. A glimpse here, a curve there, a seductive smile and an inviting wink all come together to hold my imagination prisoner to the promises of her eroticism. Alluring and endearing, she gently strokes my every want and need, sending half-seen visions of uncontrollable lust washing over my mind’s eye.
Such are the wiles of the ecdysiast, such the potency of her ways. Capturing my awareness, she weaves an illusion built of illusions to harness one of Nature’s most powerful forces. For an age-old trick held over the mind of the common man, few wonders are as desirable as those left wanted by the perceiver. And even in the perfect world of my visions, nary a harm may be done by tarrying with a beauteous illusion to sharpen my lusts and build my desires for later consummation.