Blood And Flowers

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This photo is beautiful, and I hope the story does it justice.

This is how magic came back to the world; blood and flowers. I remember the way things were Before. People spread hatred, so easily. There were beautiful ways to share art and kindness and they turned it into a way to disseminate distrust and deceit. People were being murdered in the street. Nothing new about that, but it was all so easy. But enough about the ugly past.

After is not perfect. There is little of what was called Technology left. There are still meanness and lies and all the rest. But we are pushing it back. We are the Sisters and we gathered all over the world. My lover and I collected our blood.  Some of it from our own painful pleasure. Some of it from the blessing of our fertility. We cut flowers from our gardens. and spread them around our rooms.

Power came from the Old practices and part of that was sex. Our bodies were so young. My figure was ripe and full like the nameless goddesses of old. Hers was as tall and willowy as the tree that stood outside our humble little apartment. At the appointed hour we stood in the circle drawn by the blood from our veins and vaginas. Petals were strewn about as well as cut flowers and even fresh ones ripped from the ground minutes before.

We kissed, gently at first. Her thin lips against my full. Her long fingers twined in mine. Tongues licked and searched mouths that were well-known paths, but found new places to titillate, even so. Around the globe, millions of our sisters were doing the same in groups as big a three dozen. As best we could, we kept our minds on each other.

She kissed down my breast bone and stomach and mound seeking the source of our power. My vulva opened to her like the flowers around us. She probed my heat and tasted the sweet tang. Her smile radiated pure joy and love. Love for me and love for the world.

The hairs on my arms and neck and legs stood on end, and not just from the pleasure that built from my hips and out. I knew that energy connected us to others. Fingers probed and teeth bit. Lips sought lips and tongues clits. I moaned and she growled.

She filled my heat and spread my cheeks, wanting our love to fill every nook and crevice in my body. She brought me to my knees and we kissed again, my tastebuds flaring to life at my essence on her tongue. Fingers tweaked two sets of nipples and we gasped.

I lay my head on her thigh and her on mine and we ate and drank, blood of our blood and flesh of our flesh. The communion of sisterhood birthing life into the universe, or at least our little corner of it. Our orgasm was born from this joining and the larger circle created by the oldest magic. It flared out and touched our sisters in our city and distant countries.

Together we screamed and moaned and reached for goblets and pitchers and plastic bowls to pour the sacred blood over skin that ran the spectrum of humanity. We scattered petals over our joined flesh and continued to writhe and moan and wail our pleasure into the world.

We awoke to a changed world. Not idyllic but filled with women of all shapes and sizes and creeds and colors who wanted this new world to be real. Was it magic? I don’t know. What I do know is that blood and flowers and love and lust and beauty have the power to change things. You just have to want it as much as I love her and she loves me.


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