Scott Donald Sanderlin
The wet, hot fingers of a hundred toothpick-sized jets of steamy water met the skin on her scalp so deliciously she gasps inside herself. She moves her head slowly, in ever-widening circles, languishing long in the moment. Her lips parting, she relishes a trickle pooling under her tongue, a taste like the very first drop of water. Feeling her head tilt back and slightly forward, she lingers there, her mind floating on the whisper of a moment, as the water tickles and teases that just right spot behind the crown of her skull. Enduring the decadence of the instant no longer, she rests her chin on her chest and counts her toes. It's strangely reassuring to see all ten each time.
And she is overcome with the thought, "It is possible."
All I can really say about that is that it's pretty random. It's tricky, but fun, to try and think from an entirely different gender perspective. I was trying to ellicit the genuineness of the moment. Comments? Criticism? Well, anyway, thanks for reading. Namaste.
To live is to wonder.
To wonder is to live.