Waving Not Drowning

Bursting at the seams, stretched tight over taut, voluptuous, well muscled thighs her tights sculpt and lift the frontal sweep of thick, heavy quads inserting high into the hip and wrapping around to a butt that rides high, like a bouncing rubber ball, hard as a rock but oh so tactile. She moves like an animal, primal, articulated, stealthy. Efficiency manifests in power and agility. She is extraordinarily feminine: graceful, confident, delightfully prepossessing. Covered in chalk. Her palms are scarred and ripped, callouses bleeding from repetitive lifting and high swings on an overhead horizontal bar. Flipping, dragging, thrusting, grunting. Sweating. Struggling. Surviving. Her legs contract and explode, flexing and extending, each fibre rippling and undulating under a sheath of unblemished skin. Her shoulders, perfect round globes perched atop astonishing arms, a horseshoe of triangulated sinew. Daunting to behold, but compelling to witness in action. Form meeting function of the hi...

Jesus christ woman, I can smell you from here. I don't know what you've been doing but whatever it is you need to take a shower. Or four. Pronto, capiche? You know I love you but seriously, what have you eaten, a dead baby? Holy dinah, darlin' you are not fit for public consumption. Oh! Oh oh oh oh! Put your shoes back on. PUT YOUR SHOES BACK ON! For the love of all that's holy and I include among that our glorious, sacred, if somewhat left of center, occasionally anachronistic union, put 'em back on your feet and then take them off in an airtight, sealed chamber where they shall promptly be incinerated. Can you not smell that? How can you NOT smell that. How can the entire neighbourhood not smell that? It's worse than the worst ridiculously over priced cheese you could imagine. Worse than that runny Belgian cheese you brought home at christmas! Phew. They let you train in those? In a group? You didn't gas the entire class with the stench? Tell me, I'm s...

She is breathtakingly beautiful. That's not just a saying, Marinda really does take people's breath away. Men walk into telephone poles passing her on the street. Light standards- they bounce off and grapple for a moment to find equilibrium then follow her with their gaze until she's out of sight. Longing.  It's an ease, a quiet confidence coupled with stunning beauty; a grace and elegance married in strength and sexuality. Power. Potential. Men and women want to sleep with her. Marry her. Possess her, ingest her then travel the world with her, climbing mountains and rescuing malnourished orphan children while digging wells in Eritrea with her. She inspires that depth of devotion. A fascination and dedication known only by gurus and cult leaders. Except she's neither. Never practiced yoga a day in her life. Namaste what? As for cults, her parents escaped with the family when she was 3. Her brother and sister have made a relative go of things in the outside world. Be...