by G. Saintiny
(2/21/01)

You can imagine the glamour as Tammy's pink tutu fluttered, exposing white tennis panties with yellow raindots, alongside the prairie footpath. It's easy to be intrigued by the white bucket, neatly laden with pink wooden wands sporting "match heads" of various optimistic hues, beside which Tammy stood. She agitated the shrooming aurora of a great white wand jutting from the ground at full attention.

Consider it now: An active wand, a torch, white and nearly as tall as she, radiating floating little visions of her, blonde hair trailing as she walks, or reclines in nothing but the white high-cut camisole accessorized with tutu and panties.

It's odd, to say the least, to see commerce of any kind here, and Tammy would admit that the last time she visited, she had merely rested upon a fallen log, where no one would take notice, to fondle herself after a refreshing skinny dip. Tammy had good reason to be surprised when a princess of the tomboy persuasion appeared in the distance, wearing traditional tennis panties and baby-blue suspenders.

It's obvious that Tammy had hopes that the magic of the astral plane (also known, in duller places, as the dream "world"), the bliss and glamour that is the orgy of dimensions known as Coed Heaven, and the nature of this tiny fetish of realities known as the Lab, all put together, meant that her sexy vision of torch promotion could, indeed, work.

-- Thus Spoke Red in the Wheel of Eve, the Goddess of Knowledge, who says: "The secret blade of she whom you know as this present breath is she who slices the way to the Chapel of Birthing and Visits to Coed Heaven."

Tripping back in time, one could encounter Tammy just walking up and down a suburban block, lifting and lowering her skirt, asking lingering tomboys and sexy coeds if they would enjoy having her go down on them. Consider the possibilities when a princess realizes that the same power that causes others to linger and look and pull out modest currency can add a glow to her art and enrich her encounters so that much more can happen. Consider the possibilities when honest feeling and bold adventure and evolution on any number of levels can happen. In short, when Magickal Prayerful Lovemaking is possible.

As a consequence, there's plenty of anticipation at a time like this; but finally the prospective customer came near enough for Tammy to make out the baby-blue raindot pattern on the approaching panties.

-- Thus Spoke Pink in the Wheel of Eve, the Goddess of Knowledge, who says: "The secret blade of she whom you know as this present breath is she who slices the way to the Chapel of Birthing and Visits to Coed Heaven."

You can imagine Tammy's relief when the tomboy sang out, "Aww, your butt looks so cute in that vision." She immediately started blushing, averting Tammy's eye, while the curling points of the tomboy's black bob brushed the apples of her sweet tomboy cheeks and pointed to her cooling blue eyes. You'd have to know the rules of the Lab to truly appreciate what would happen between these two scantily clad princesses. Not only were the tomboy's breasts completely exposed beyond the little suspenders, but Tammy herself revealed a good portion of her perky bosom from beneath her dainty camisole.

Now, if you're in the know, the rules simply call for playful intrigue. Sexiness and bliss, for example, are always fine -- although if you reveal a lot of skin, someone might pretend to be offended until you call her bluff, which you should only do in the most gentle manner. One can certainly understand the tomboy's curiosity, as she gestured at the frozen vision of Tammy, standing at the base of a waterfall, and asked, "Why, Princess, is this vision torch white and so tall?" and then pointed at the bucket of unlits, "while the wands are paperback and so little?" Tammy's gaze swept her caller from eye to toe and right back up again, capturing the tomboy's complete attention, after which she replied, "The paperbacks cost ten silver."

-- Thus Spoke Orange in the Wheel of Eve, the Goddess of Knowledge, who says: "The secret blade of she whom you know as this present breath is she who slices the way to the Chapel of Birthing and Visits to Coed Heaven."

You get a certain feeling when someone winks at you the way Tammy winked, as she added, "My hard torch, though, that's for autographing...under more intimate circumstances." Even upon watching closely, one would not understand everything. But it was more than reading-light that gave Tammy such a comely glow, as even the breezes flirted with her, ruffling freshness from the petal-like skirt with a caress upon her sunny raindots.

"Come on," Tammy said, in a tone that meant, "You know this will be worth it." She hiked forward with her torch and entrusted the wands to the security and enchantment of this sector of the astral plane. When good times are just a cast-off skirt and pair of panties away, not many words need be spoken. When you're free to interrupt this present breath for drowning in hot kisses -- with cotton rubbing against curves and folding nooks of aroused muscle and blushing skin -- it's a cinch to be happy you're alive.

There they lay -- two princesses, one bottomless, the other now topless, her inconsequential tomboy-blue suspenders drooped about her waist, accenting the round sweetness of her pantied butt. It was clear there was nowhere they would rather be than here, in each other's arms, pressing down into the odd buttercups strewn upon the prairie's expanse. When imagination is ignited, what can a sexy coed do but poise herself to meld into that power's embrace?

One can easily realize how tantalizing imagination is when in the light of a creator like Tammy, a light entitled The Sexy Coeds Thrilling Pastime, after the traditional parlor hour. Conscious of the following, one may realize the blessing of the charming one, who etches the secrets of Magickal Prayerful Lovemaking upon the very multitude of things.

Some may be curious, wondering how visions of freedom and luscious nudity are authored onto a princess's utensil. Such minds must realize this: that at the raw cosmic root, from which Coed Heaven's horniness is nourished, rests a generative nature, secret only in the most gallant and radically playful sense.

-- Thus Spoke Yellow in the Wheel of Eve, the Goddess of Knowledge, who says: "The secret blade of she whom you know as this present breath is she who slices the way to the Chapel of Birthing and Visits to Coed Heaven."

One is blessed to understand that satisfaction is the charming flame at the throne of desire, deep in the cup of one's ultimate beauty and ultimate nakedness. "It's time to celebrate," Tammy said, handing a cup of thyme-fortified wine to her new fan, whose panties now lay cast aside in the tender brilliance of the grass. It's good to accept yourself, habits and all, and many at the Lab habitually avoided making objects (like drinks) appear out of thin air, but Tammy's gift for sensual design sometimes called for romantic accents of just that sort. The warmth building inside her as the cup passed back and forth told her she had done the right thing. With the gentle play of forces, the exotic element of nudity, and the kind rhythm of wine passing back and forth, one's state of mind is altered. The tomboy's attention shifted to her moccasins, which she had taken off to sit, legs folded beneath her.

-- Thus Spoke Kerry Green in the Wheel of Eve, the Goddess of Knowledge, who says: "The secret blade of she whom you know as this present breath is she who slices the way to the Chapel of Birthing and Visits to Coed Heaven."

"I don't have the wealth, in coin, to pay for the pleasure of our Magickal Prayerful Lovemaking," she said, spilling gold coins from the pouches of her moccasins, gold sparkling against the smoothness of her naked lap. Mind expanded -- not merely in response to the tomboy's words, but to the dazzling play against feminine succulence -- Tammy's mouth gaped fruitlessly for some moments before she could finally speak. "With all due respect, that's enough gold, Princess, to buy my great torch and seven softcover wands, besides."

The heart can be enchanted by such a smile as that given Tammy. And the tomboy responded, "Though this is not quite enough to honor you, I'll buy exactly what you say, Princess, for my name is Eve, and destiny awaits this knowledge of yours." It's obvious how urgent a reverence struck Tammy, for the ground called her face unto worship -- yet, heart aquiver, she dared raise her lips to the deity's knee and place a trembling kiss.

-- Thus Spoke Aquamarine in the Wheel of Eve, the Goddess of Knowledge, who says: "The secret blade of she whom you know as this present breath is she who slices the way to the Chapel of Birthing and Visits to Coed Heaven."

If you can imagine such a thing, the more humble pink pieces, activated to torching, spun gracefully from the path's direction into the gaze of Eve. The length of the great white torch levitated before its author, who -- blushing with pride -- parted her panties and dipped into her vagina for juice enough to autograph the vehicle of her light. The great white torch then puckered its length down to a thick disc, growing a hole in its center -- holes popping about its edge and just as quickly being snugly attended to by the pink-bodied torches. Every component undulated waves of steaming, rubbing suction, and insinuated the most intimate of impacts. The construction completed itself with whip-lash quickness and locked in snake-like procession from butt, up the spine, to the head, and finally back to the butt of the now-finished wheel. Who couldn't feel the glamour in such a moment?

And Eve proclaimed: "Let the heart be delighted that is struck by the knowledge of this light." With these words, she was transfigured in her nudity by polarized beams of sunshine that ripped through shreds of white cloud, flaring against the gold coins and hugging her watery pink aura. Nearby, delicately colored butterflies fanned her transcendent beauty, while birdsongs honored her presence, only to disappear in unspeakable torrent, then stillness, upon the realization of another place.

When you suddenly notice something -- even if familiar beauty and loving kindness are there to reorient you -- it can take some time to process everything: the tall, white walls, great doors of sky-blue, altars laden with fruit, herbs and incense afire, and the distant echo of chimes and innocent water-play.

"Rest assured," said the naked goddess, "for your vision is of my temple." She stood to gesture toward an altar where fat white candles yielded mounds of long-ago melted wax, thus holding the Wheel aright, as is the case to this very day.

-- Thus Spoke Baby Blue in the Wheel of Eve, the Goddess of Knowledge, who says: "The secret blade of she whom you know as this present breath is she who slices the way to the Chapel of Birthing and Visits to Coed Heaven."

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