I wish I made a photo of Starbright Firecracker BoomBoom this morning. She was attacked by a bear, pushed over and left for dead.No one likes hospital photos. The impact of the fall caused the fuel pump assembly to break and gasoline to pour onto the gravel. Boo-fucking-hoo. A few phone calls later I have a plan in motion and will be up rolling within the week.
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My hands smell like fuel. It's one of those scents that makes me tighten my inner thighs in anticipation.
I feel misplaced within this woman body inhabiting man world built by for suited to man.
The skin is soft and covers the long sloping curves where her back and thighs join.
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I recover my poise quickly am laughing and joking about the bear within minutes. Information is king. It will take one week. Until then there's nothing I can do but bite my lip and smell the fuel only fingers.
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How much more I appreciate scents that have mingled. Fuel, morning sun on wet grass; the secret aromas my body holds post coitus when the sweat of two bodies dries in the tangle of my hair; charring meat, freshly cut grass, sprinklers on dry concrete.
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