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graasvoel
Though the spotted mare was enchanting, and her troubles intriguing, he had not ended his encounter with her as sated as he had hoped. In fact, it seemed that way with many Helovian woman. They all wanted to talk—emotions, feelings, relationships. Meanwhile, the vulture was more interested in the ’relation’ part of relationships. The more carnal, the better.
It would be a lie to say that he did not enjoy the company of women, whether talking or pursuing a myriad of possible pleasures. But, lately, it seemed that the latter was lacking in the man’s life. So he had left the butterfly-winged woman, flying further north. And though his swarthy coat with thick, shaggy, and made for handling the cold and harsh Dorobian Plateaus, the permafrost of the Steppe on which he landed made even him intake a icy breath from the chill.
“Just when I thought my balls couldn't get any bluer,” he grumbled to himself he spoke to the puff of powdery snow that slowly settled around him. His deep, rough voice carried well in the still air—he was surprised that no wind whipped across the steppe. The Plateaus of home were nearly constantly inundated with harsh, cold winds.
The small amount of sweat that gathered on the thick muscle that tied his neck to his shoulder began to quickly ice over; no matter the temperature, the vulture would always sweat. Especially from flying, it was always hard work to raise his heavy, thick body into the skies and pump his massive wings. The wings, in question, slowly tucked loosely into his sides as he snorted away the smell his own hot, sweaty man.
It would be a lie to say that he did not enjoy the company of women, whether talking or pursuing a myriad of possible pleasures. But, lately, it seemed that the latter was lacking in the man’s life. So he had left the butterfly-winged woman, flying further north. And though his swarthy coat with thick, shaggy, and made for handling the cold and harsh Dorobian Plateaus, the permafrost of the Steppe on which he landed made even him intake a icy breath from the chill.
“Just when I thought my balls couldn't get any bluer,” he grumbled to himself he spoke to the puff of powdery snow that slowly settled around him. His deep, rough voice carried well in the still air—he was surprised that no wind whipped across the steppe. The Plateaus of home were nearly constantly inundated with harsh, cold winds.
The small amount of sweat that gathered on the thick muscle that tied his neck to his shoulder began to quickly ice over; no matter the temperature, the vulture would always sweat. Especially from flying, it was always hard work to raise his heavy, thick body into the skies and pump his massive wings. The wings, in question, slowly tucked loosely into his sides as he snorted away the smell his own hot, sweaty man.
I do not want to repeat my innocence
I want to repeat the pleasure of losing it
I want to repeat the pleasure of losing it
@Albrecht :D hehe I'm excited for this :P
Please tag Graasvoel in all posts.
