The appeal of earthy women

by Brad Viking

They’ve been in some campaigns. Taken a few rounds. They are the battle-tested, highly-sexed, salt-of-the-earth women that bring you back to your senses when you’ve been living at the edge too long. Once you’ve been in the sack with them you know you’ve been well-fucked. These are high mileage women. A little scuffed up by life. But they are the kind of women willing to travel up-river… into the densest reaches of the jungle to deliver that kind of contraband… that sexual nitro-glycerin that feeds the insurrection in your soul. And you never want to go back to civilization again. They’ve got their own spark of divine fire. The pure heat of animal passion. They feel the beauty of being alive. And they make you feel it as you lie beside their glistening bodies… feel yourself consumed by their voluptuous appetite. And drenched in their sweat and gratitude… shedding all the desperate baggage of your past… satiated at long last… the majesty of some emotional truth shines in her eyes… the gratitude she expresses in her soft kisses… the absence of all reason as the echoes of her moans subside… You have made her happy. And she will do the same for you. What greater rush can there be in life? She’s a woman who has come to terms with reality. No more delusions. Life is here and now. Seize what few pleasures there are because it’ll soon be over and we’ll all be gone and there is no more. She carries herself a certain way. An absence of sexual fear that burdens so many women. She knows her body. Knows it’s hers and no one else’s. And she’ll pleasure herself as she damn well pleases. She knows hunger. She knows appetite. And she knows how to satiate it. If there’s a driving force behind her hunger then it’s that look at the back of her eyes… some feeling of loss from way back when… as if there were no remembered embrace in her infancy. And now she longs to recapture that. She has become a hot bundle of infantile passions. Of hungry kisses. And eager touch. And the joy of explosive orgasms. And sucking… the original source of nurturing. She senses all those years of erotic hunger she needs to make up for. Desperately. Passionately. With not a moment to waste. That’s the kind of woman I’m talking about… the kind of woman a man responds to… the kind of woman that keeps the world sane. If she has a motto, it’s the credo of the Rock ‘n’ Roll legacy: Too much is never enough. She senses the arithmetic of life. The closing window of time we have to make love. She is driven by this lust to feel sensation… the feeling of being alive. There is no greater excitement. She doesn’t live by hope or fear. She knows we arose from the swamp and we live a perilous existence and life is basically a long lonely train ride to nowhere. And she’s going to fill those moments with sensation. When you’re in her bed she will whisper that the goal of all life and all lovers is to be set free. Liberation through the joy of sexual release. What higher aspiration could there be? And you’re inclined to agree with her because she has just made you feel incredibly liberated and incredibly free. And when she suddenly goes to flame… another burst… and another… every joy she’s ever felt… every sadness she’s ever endured… is released upon the sky. And in each burst of perfection that explodes inside her you can see it all right there in her eyes… the brilliant collision of ecstasy and pain and cries and feeling and perfection and longing and color and light… released upon the night as pure, incandescent energy… You watch with wonder as she lies there in a mist of sweat and gratitude. Shafts of light stream into the room… caress the voluptuous curve of her breast… the glistening beads of sweat on her body. There is one last quiver of ecstasy on her lips and you cannot help but adore her… to feel a tenderness for this wonderful creature as she floats blissfully to the sky above… up there… up where the sun is rich and warm and forever…