From Anxiety (2012-2013)
The Blue Pond in Hokkaido Changes Colors Depending on the Weather
“The Most Beautiful Pond In The World!”
According to the photographer Ken Shiraishi, who made a pilgrimage up to Northern Japan last month to take these shots, the water contains a high degree of aluminum hydroxide, which reflects blue light – a phenomenon responsible for our lovely blue skies. Shiraishi spent several days up there photographing the pond in various light.
2035. The Blue Pond. Can’t believe this is real. Looks like a painting!
Being eaten out feels like the top of a swirling slushy machine is being gently applied to the fibers of your very core. You experience tingles and twirls and swirls and lush and lust, all slithering from the top of your clit to the bottom of your spine.
Being eaten out feels like a split personality of sexuality and susceptibility. Every lingering kiss that inches closer to your protruding hips and every feathering finger that slides inside, creating a hurricane of burning pleasure, is a reminder of vulnerable closeness. Of detached togetherness. Of fucking love.
Being eaten out feels like The Weeknd – Wicked Games is being played on the bottom of your rib cage. Every vibration hums and murmurs and purrs and buzzes until the top or your clit quivers in scintillated sound.
Being eaten out feels like Medusa let her hair down between your legs. You’ve always preferred a man to a woman but the snakes weave fingers in and out and in and out, searching looking finding feeding rubbing twirling circling in, around, down and you are left wondering why Perseus would ever cut her head off.
Being eaten out feels like your hair is shivering with ravishment. Strands of culmination crawl to the edges of the bed, lingering at the palms of your clawing hands and aching with felicitous ecstasy and sprawling across passionate sheets just yearning for a taste.
Being eaten out feels like a lump or orgasm is stuck in your throat, slowly sliding down to your chest, then your tits, then your stomach, then your hips, then that birthmark, then your pussy, then your clit lips tongue until he licks it out of you, never lacing your mouth with his. He awakens a slumbering luxury that was previously resting on the top of every sleeping nerve you’ve become so accustomed to hiding under passion-painted skin.
Being eaten out feels like melting. Your skin is steaming chai tea and your legs are boiling noodles and your chest is sinking sand. The core of the earth resides between your legs, boiling and swelling and swirling in a clit that he rubs with the tentacles of his lust for you.
Being eaten out simply feels.
Being eaten out simply makes you feel.
And you’re left wondering if you’ve ever felt anything like this before.
- from Thought Catalogue