Wet fresh from shower. Fingers tremble on dark skin. You glow russet red in the light. Touching you I flick a droplet and bronze shows where water was. Feeling the heat as the steam, from your skin mists my face. I lean in close, desiring to taste. Looking in the mirror, my tongue flicks out. I bury my face in the nape of your neck. Savoring the wet warm heat of flesh. That ignites the fire in my soul.
A search for the ghost of a chorus girl chorine haunting a costume designer’s Manhattan apartment leads to an encounter with an eccentric, mischievous witch with the ability to send folks back through time…in this case, the 1919 Ziegfeld Follies.
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passionate visuals in this one.
Sighhhhh!
Lady peg