Girl on Girl: Anime Brides


Suggested Audio Candy:

Goldfrapp Ooh La La


It was going to come up at some point, just a matter of time. I would willingly wager that at least 75% of males with a mind and/or penis have regularly fantasized over the prospect of two nubile vixens writhing around together and getting one another off. Fact of life. To these alphas (myself included) it is a most arousing prospect and one which plays out on perpetual loop each time we reach for the hand cream or slide off that left sock.


In these lucid imaginings both participants are long leggy lust-fillets oozing wanton desire whilst exhibiting a glimmer of innocence. They giggle gleefully, have bare-chested pillow fights and purr like racy kittens whilst their pink little tongues flick ten to the dozen within the haunches of their grateful recipients.


It’s all a bit of a myth really, just like air hostesses. When I first boarded a plane as an adolescent I expected droves of delicious Playboy bunnies leaning over with their duty frees, whilst offering a glimpse of their taut tanned trifles. Instead I got Edna, a fifty-something fishwife with dentures and a facial mole which played host to not one but three wispy wavers. As I recall she also suffered from acute halitosis and a flaky scalp so my fantasy was shattered like a crystal hymen and a dose of home truth swiftly and mercilessly administered with absolutely no anesthetic.


Same can be said for lesbians. The image of two curious intermediates nibbling every inch of one another’s supple pelts is far removed from the reality. Often one teeters on the cusp of having a certain something but her partner is decked out in baggy dungarees and a vest top, and sports a vague ‘tache and supplementing stubble.


It is ordinarily fairly obvious when you are in the company of such lady gardeners and can be informed by the manner in which they carry themselves, bounding along in full man-strut as if there’s a German sausage tucked into their briefs. The alphas are very aggressive towards anyone male and spit on the ground when one nears their vicinity as a way of marking their territory.


Even in the case that you are a staunch believer in each to their own such as I; so long as you’re packing, then you’ll feel their disapproving gaze the moment you near their personal space. All of this is blatant generalization of course, but on numerous occasions the shoe has very much fit.


Girl on girl Erotica is a gargantuan industry and far more accepted than two oily men in Caterpillar boots hunched over a haystack. For those pleasures one would, more often than not, have to find some seedy little sex shop which offers a complimentary bottle of Amyl- Nitrate with every rental…or, of course, simply subscribe.


To me the prospect of Neil and Bob in cut-down denims with their purplish people eaters seeping out of the frayed bottoms, sucking each other off, would induce night terrors. The cold sweats type, real bed-wetters. Not that I take exception to it, I make my analysis based on far more than sexual inclination. But it does make me somewhat uneasy on a personal level.


Now flip it…two impish love-bunnies, both in pigtails and sucking on Cherry lollipops, running their manicured nails down each others’ spines and finding hot-spots many men don’t even know exist, or conveniently forget. Suddenly we have boner. All that tells me is that every person perceives differently. We all have our sexual preferences, whether made public knowledge or not, and something which causes one to swell may well leave another completely flaccid.


Growing up I felt little like the odd-one-out amongst my friends. While they were watching their European porn with wonky stallions flapping their burgundy junk all over the show, I was retching in the corner. It appeared to me that it was a requisite. I could see the casting call in some abandoned warehouse; lines of seething crooked Beetroot members all on exhibit while the Director strolls back and forth like a drill sergeant before proclaiming “I want that one”.


I’ll stick to my ladies; no shaved balls thank you and keep those repellent Ruby ramrods well out of my sight. I just find women’s bodies so much more desirable, hence the supporting artwork in many of my pieces. They definitely smell better, that’s for sure. Have you ever had a men-only poker night? If the answer is yes then you’ll know that men naturally don’t emit a particularly pleasing odor. Take us from our domestic bliss and fart gags suddenly become funny again.


I may jest in my prose but I wouldn’t blink an eyelid at anyone’s orientation. Boy on boy, girl on girl, boy and girl on girl…doesn’t bother me one iota. Preference is there for a reason and nobody is fit to judge that. The world we knew has transmogrified into something entirely different, it’s all about transparency now and embracing our truths.


The Japanese have always been rather more open with the exploration of sexuality through animation and, although the West is beginning to catch up, they still lead the way. Thus I have decided to pay homage to their inimitable stylings. Some of the imagery may well provoke reaction, but once you get past any pre-conditioning, they bear great beauty.


Sinfully Sweet,

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

#BrutalWordWrangler #CrimsonHoneyDripper #CruelWordSculptor
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013


Eastern Promise

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