“Might as well lose the shirt too,” she said, unbuttoning herself and then pulling her arms through. This revealed a plain white undergarment. “Unclasp me,” she commanded, and with trembling hands I did so. I affirm that I averted my eyes from her exposed bosom, and its twin milk-white prominences topped with delectable strawberry-red growth, for I would not wish to impinge upon her decency more than necessary.
I reached down below the small of her back, under her scarlet skirt, and undid the clasp there as well. The skirt fell to the floor in a pile of red ruffles, from which emerged two alabaster pillars. A lower undergarment was swiftly discarded. She turned to face me, my eyes — I swear — fixed on hers.
“Thank you, Howard, for everything,” she said and then gave me a full kiss, this time on the lips. And then she turned around, crouched, crawled, into the canal of the statue.
She was partway through and then stopped moving. “I’m stuck! Give me a push!”
With trepidation, I descended to my knees and pressed the palms of my hands into the arches of her feet, and exerted.
“Not there, silly!”
I must impress upon you that it was with the greatest reluctance and embarrassment that I repositioned my hands onto matched lobes of tissue that faced my direction. I most certainly did not luxuriate in the supple smooth warmth of these pale mounds of flesh, cupped in my florid palms. Moreover, it would be preposterous to suppose that I momentarily placed fingers on or inside of other proximal body parts. No, it was without any hesitation or delight did I shove Professor Sonia Hodges through the passage. And it must be amply evident that afterwards I did not lick a finger, did not savor my only taste of a certain feminine ambrosia.
They say that, were one to observe someone falling into a black hole, time would slow down for that person until they appeared to become motionless. As I crouched looking through the passage to that golden land of flesh, quite the opposite occurred. Sonia seemed to land softly in a meadow of cilia, catching her gracefully, making her acquaintance. Then she took one such sinuous object — an inch thick, four feet long — and kissed it. The member made its way down her throat, as others attended to the lower regions of her graceful body. Her enunciations of pleasure echoed back to my realm. Time sped up. Soon she was surrounded and passed among them. Her vocalizations got higher in pitch until they became inaudible. Faster now, she consorted with different kinds of shafts, in every position and fashion imaginable. Buzzing like a hummingbird, she bathed in the white river, showered by everything nearby, and drenched in their fluid, she smiled back at me in perfect bliss.
That was the last I saw of her. The landscape itself began to change, as seasons and then eons passed in this strange land. There must have been ten thousand phalluses visible from my limited porthole, and no reason to think that they ceased just beyond my view. I knew that every one would sample her, and that my Sonia now rests beyond time in a land of ceaseless pleasure: a realm of red flesh, white ejaculate, and golden warmth and care.
She would be the only one. It was not a conscious decision; it was simply what must be. I reached up to the orb that, in my perception, we had placed together but five minutes prior. I grabbed and twisted; it was slippery to my touch. But as it rotated I noticed that the golden light reflected on the floor dimmed and vanished. I had successfully closed the portal to Sonia’s everlasting euphoria.
I ran my hand over the warm, roseate orb a final time, and found myself propelled backwards on a flood of viscous liquid. This ooze was apparently ejected from the statue itself, a clear fluid with a distinctive and fitting aroma given its source. I had been knocked to the floor but only traveled a few feet. I was in no pain and was grateful for not being harmed, but then I looked down on my body and noticed a most peculiar phenomenon: my clothing was dissolving.
The fluid must have been some kind of acid, for it ate away at any foreign material on my person, until moments later my garments had vanished and I stood as naked as the day I was born. But the acid did not harm my skin, or even sting in my eyes. Rather it simply clung to me in thick, gloopy splotches. It was slightly warm. Indeed, the gel appeared to have an enhancing effect on blood flow, at least to certain regions.
Then I noticed the golden light on the floor had returned. Naturally I bent down to investigate. Through the canal was another landscape of flesh, but this one was devoid of tubes or spindles. Instead, I beheld gently rolling knolls, moist valleys, and magnificent, unexplored fissures and chasms. In the distance rose countless softly curving milk-white hills, each adorned with a strawberry red protrusion.
Every painter who has attempted to depict Heaven has lacked in either vision or courage.
Lubricated and bare as I was, it took almost no effort to crawl into my Paradise of female flesh.
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