My libido is a sleeping dragon, one eye barely slitted open, both enticed and angered by the intrusion of morning light.
It stirs.
She stirs.
Rumbles.
Threatens attack (half-heartedly, not yet ready), claws out and snarling.
The dragon snaps ferociously at the first scent of desire, gobbling it up – unawake and vicious, obtaining momentary satiation – before circling, settling, closing her eyes again.
There is treasure to be guarded here.
Treasure, flowing and golden.
But for now…
The dragon sleeps.
In hibernation, she hides.
Continue reading
