hell’s handmaiden

People like bodies. It isn’t hard to see why. Bodies are happy things, or should be. They’re fun and exciting, cuddly and warm. And full of surprises. It’s easy to love them; to love to be near them, to smell them, to rub them, to taste them, to fuck them.

And what is better than a run through hills and valleys, and through the forests of fur only to sleep with head in buried treasure, ahhh… to smell them, to rub them, to taste them breathing musk and listening to a heartbeat?

There is a parable of a fig tree….

“He spake also this parable; A certain man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came and sought fruit thereon, and found none. Then said he unto the dresser of his vineyard, Behold, these three years I come seeking fruit on this fig tree, and find none: cut it down; why cumbereth it the ground? And he answering said unto him, Lord, let it alone this year also, till I shall dig about it, and dung it: And if it bear fruit, well: and if not, then after that thou shalt cut it down.” (Luke 13:6-9)

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