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Victoria's Poetry & Voices of Muse

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Rutting Begins
By Victoria's Poetry & Voices of Muse
Sunday, November 29, 2009

Rated "PG13" by the Author.

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The White Tail are in season…
“Rutting Begins” in more ways than one in these birch woods…

…last we read from the “Season of the Doe” the gypsy grave digger
 and an unidentified character proclaimed as “I”(author mischievously grins)
were in the birch woods. Circling overhead them was a spiritual messenger
a Black Raven.  The two women are about to experience “Rutting Begins”
To read “Season of the Doe” a wonderfully channeled inspiration from
Our Literary Renowned Celebrity Lesbian Novelist Firebrand Sage Sweetwater click here:
Season of the Doe

 

Rutting Begins
 
 
As the raven circled overhead
I had a vision of the druidess bard;
Her and I met under the hickory grove.
She had given me some stash seeds
back in the months of the corn moons.
She bound them inside a small satchel;
Chanted a blessing of love’s opulence…
…said to keep them close to my heart
…said prosperity was inside the soul
she is a prophesier from willow slough…
 
Empirical reasons were always nearby;
They never went too far from my thoughts.
I am a freelance opportunist as it is anyway…
Belief is all mine wandering the hills or valleys;
I listen to the crows call from the tree tops…
Feeling the mounds of discovering summits;
I inhale the sumptuousness of rich fields;
Beauty is meant to be touched, and explored.
My heart has an innate need to plant and sow;
and this creation of beauty before me
is going to know cultivations of rustic passion.
Upturning arrow heads is my specialty…
 
Seeing into every moment as prospect;
Waiting to be another claimed pasture;  
Belonging to cultivate sensual emotions;
I always stake my claim.
How was I not to own her?
Her overwhelming offering so irrefutable!
Her thighs harnessed upon my hips…
 
…as she looks at the raven circling closer,
I lay her down and reached for the flask.
The grassy knoll never felt so soft,
away from the barbed wire fence post…
Opening the gold decanter lid;
Straddling her curvaceous hungers;
I tasted the corn silk whiskey inside.
I poured some onto her exposing breast.
Unveiling the rest of herself to me;
She said the fire was burning within…
 
Never wasting a drop of whiskey;
I savored every inch poured …tasting her arousals.
She held onto my amethyst jeweled belt buckle.
The calls of the raven echoed through limbs.
The branches budding their fertile blooms opened…
Like magic we smelled the essence of our season…
Her hips grinding to feel more;
Her chiffon torn from her body like
a river’s rushing current …we submersed…
Primal urgencies overtook our naked bodies.
I mounted her with raw intense passion…
 
My lips sucking to know the secret potions;
She quivers like aspen leaves all spread…
Red tail hawks searching fields for prey;
The wind caressing our exploring passions…
I consumed upon her gentle succulent femininity;
Thunder was discovering our fevered flesh.
Her pleasure another satiate bloom opening,
to the season of the doe…
Tapir hooves engaging…rutting…
Upturning the fertile earth we unearthed ourselves…
A floret plucked from this path we declare as our own.
Wet with salacious purity;
 Her lips like petals are soft and fragrantly swelling;
Her thighs tremble to her shoulders…
Arching backwards, uplifting her hips;
She echoes to the raven her euphoria;
Releasing herself completely to me…
 
The glorious sound of her soul sings…
Sparrows escape the tree tops…
Her fingers digging into my flesh;
Pulling my hair with unharnessed intentions;
I take her to heights of newfound freedoms…
Claiming her;
Owning her;
Pleasing her;
Liberating her…
 
It is her season to know these earthen flavors.
Planting myself with her in these birch woods;
Memories now carved forevermore…
Calling to the raven our emotional ecstasy;
We intertwine our naked caressive bodies;
Soothed upon the touch of passion’s surge…
We heard the coyotes yapping over briar ridge.
They were yipping in sequence a glorious rival.
Then suddenly branches nearby cracking…
We looked over to the hedge brush;
We seen a clump head buck staring us down…
 
She smiles with the eyes of satisfaction…
The clump head buck merely grazing as he watches.
She said the hackeyed man may be nearby,
he had been trailing that spiritual buck…
She then lifted the beautiful flask;
Admiring its delicate gold inlay…
 
…as we drank the rest of the corn silk whiskey, she said:
 “I stole this decanter from him….that hackeyed man;
 He came to the graveyard inside Lake Prairie
the eve of the growing moon.”
“I am the one they call the gypsy grave digger.”
“He wanted to share some of his moonshine…”
“He must have thought I was an inexperienced derelict;
He tried to spoon my thoughts to kneel in drunkenness
before his thieving steed.
Little did he know I am a weaving  joatamon …”
 
She laughed under her breath...then said:
 
“I had just bought some fresh ground black powder;
The finest serpentine around,
and a new muskit nipple wrench from the county store;
Up front near crawfish ravine.”
 
She told me when he forced her to her knees
opening his copper flank zipper head;
She pulled the muskit wrench from her hip sling;
Using it to fend herself for the upper hand.
Short changing his jewels took his breath away…
She threw the black gunpowder into his face.
When he grabbed for his eyes
she lit a wooden match for his revelations.
The spathe with the porcelain flask then fell
out of his pocket, and into the grave she dug earlier.
…as the flames cleared she grabbed her jute braid rope;
While hog tying him down, she seen the mortician approaching…
 
“You’re one lucky s.o.b…”
She released him with a warning to never cross her path again…
 
 (Written: November 28th, 2009 9:32 a/m)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Reviewed by Joel Kirkpatrick 12/26/2009
and they say women are the weaker sex... lol
nicely done...
joel
Reviewed by Jon Willey 12/19/2009
Vickie,your characterizations and metaphoric verbiage are unique and so marvelously crafted -- peace and love my friend -- Jon Michael
Reviewed by David cox 12/2/2009
wow! wow! wow! what a tale my eyes were glued to every word well writtenand so captivating.
great!
Dave.
Reviewed by Sheila Roy 12/1/2009
Quite a story, Vickie. I like how it flows seamlessly from discovery to passion to humor and then suspense. Well done. Hugs,
Sheila
Reviewed by Georg Mateos 11/30/2009
Oh my! you can spin a story and let it go on like Ulysses wife Penelope fencing the Ithacensian suitors and make us feel sad because if was too short for our craving senses...we wished more.

Georg

Reviewed by Felix Perry 11/29/2009
Strong write Vick that transcends the ordinary in space and time. The picture is another that is strinking in it's character.
fee
Reviewed by D. Vegas 11/29/2009
Vickie, I thought 'Ocean Front',was EROTIC. . This is a new Victoria! You take us on a journey, wave after wave of 'Erotic Pleasure,' in the woods. . Better than BEST!!
As Always,
DeB
Reviewed by Sage Sweetwater 11/29/2009
Rich with metaphor after metaphor, Rutting Begins is the highest form of lesbian erotica that I have read in this paganistic lesbian genre...

Victoria L. McColley gives lesbian erotica its name in untraditional equivalent to the pagan lesbian erotica writings of Firebrand Sage Sweetwater, in awe of the Goddess.

Victoria L. McColley is continually sharpening her spiritual, sexual and intellectual tools to embrace lesbian consciousness, and she does so through the art of shapeshifting and lesbian sexual witchery. Victoria has emerged her sexuality through garden and wilderness...

Rutting Begins is the mating journey motif. It serves literal and metaphorical functions in today's New Age Lesbian Spirituality. It provides an intelligent means of recovering the Source of feeling offering access to a reality open and simultaneous exploration of being a woman. This piece is highly valued as art rich in mythology inherent with memories which leads the artist Victoria L. McColley consciously to metamorphosis, as well as fresh in individual focus. I find a homecoming in language with the words uttered, realized in awe and celebration of women's spirituality and sexuality. I give this review to the highest degree in access of our community...[Sage Sweetwater, Celebrity Firebrand Lesbian Novelist]



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