She blooms. Blooms as she touches. Blooms as she touches herself. Blooms bouquets of fleshy scarlet-streaked lilies. Blooms deep-hued violets and whispers of honey-suckle as she meets fingers with secret skin. Blooms eloquent roses in tints of cockleshell, and the tenderest of pinks. She blooms.
She dares to hold a mirror to herself, and sees her fingers are like rays of sunlight, enlivening her ecstatic petals, opening her to receive. She sighs into that sunlight, lets it caress her, unfurl her, penetrate her with warmth. She blooms.
Fascinated, she sees the petalled folds breathing in and out with her pleasure. Rippling curiously under her touch, watching them flush crimson with shyness as they hide again. Shyness like a maiden, yearning truly to be seen … and as she continues to touch in wonderment, knowing for the first time what her lover sees, there rushes a flood of nectar from her depths, glazing her folds with honey. Breathing deep now, her posy of scents is wildflower and shaded forest floor; moss and night-blooming jasmine. Showering in scatters of pale gardenia amidst dark tendrils of hair curled like fern-fronds, it seems she can hear her sex sigh with rapture. And she sends her fingers a-gliding, a-hiding, reappearing in her little mirror’s reflection glossed and bedewed.
She tastes herself, fingers syrupy in her mouth, and she is sweetly sharp like the cries erupting from her. She is swirls of desire (and oh the undulating patterns her sex makes in this dervish of pleasure, how magnificent her cunt is to harness so much power in movement.)
The mirror is her lover’s eye, the mirror is her proof of self-acceptance, and as she opens in release, floods in earthy ecstasy, she is both sunlight and rain nourishing herself. She blooms.
Almost without her noticing, she feels the tired brown husks of no-longer-needed shame drop away, drift silently away.
She falls back, spent, languorous, imprinting, in her mind’s eye, the image of her sex in all its carnal delicacy. She blooms.
She knows she need not fear herself any longer.
This piece is dedicated to all women who are engaged at any stage in the journey of leaving behind body-shame and moving towards deeper self-love.
Submitted for Marie Rebelle’s Wicked Wednesday Prompt #188
“Believe in Yourself!”
Touch is also now part of author / speaker Molly Moore’s Pussy Pride Project, and you can read other contributions and get involved by clicking the link below. I love the idea of this project, and am delighted to be a contributor.