Article

Give me fever

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No-one is more delighted than the Amorist that February has arrived at last, along with the first snowdrops. She's spent most of January feverishly stretched on crumpled sheets, pulse racing, skin damp, hallucinating of wild landscapes in which her body melded into the undulating terrain.

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She dreamed of being in Morocco, where the summer heat burned through slatted window shutters, striping her body with dark welts.

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The sweat-drenched nights made her feel as though she was trekking over parched desert roads on her hands and knees, desperately seeking water.

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At last, after what felt like a lifetime of feeble coughing, faintness, lost appetite, and the despairing conviction she was about to expire from consumption like Mimi in La Bohème, the sunshine burst through the curtains and the Amorist rose from her bed. To her blinking eyes, everything felt dazzling, and burnished with possibility. 

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The Amorist stretched out her arms and, her head fired with the fantastical landscapes of her fever-wrought dreams, resolved at once to abjure any New Year's fantasies of gyms, diets, cleanses and fasts.  

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A life of champagne, dancing, flirting and freedom beckoned. She was ready to party again.

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All images thanks to CRAIG SCOFFONE : erotic-fine-art.com

Posters: http://erotic-fine-art.com/posters.html

Craig's fine art landscape photography is here: www.The-Landscape-Photos.com


He denied it with his head held high, as any self-respecting adulterer would
Gabriel Garcia Marquez (on Bill Clinton)