Every Tuesday evening I attend an English Composition class at the local community college as a way of circumventing more conventional methods of... learning. Last Tuesday we were charged with the task of writing a one page description of a topic of our choice: I chose a peach. A peach, as we all know, is fairly unremarkable in itself. A mysterious, sensual encounter, on the other hand, tends to draw considerably more attention.
Your skin is of velvet cloth, with a blanket of hairs like uncountable cilia: fine and soft and uniform. It is firm, but supple, and conforms to the touch as the finest feathered downs, packed tightly as they are, conform all the same. Your sweat beads on your taut skin, so easily bruised, and glistens in the faintest light as pearlescent droplets of clean, cool water slide easily across the warm tones of yellow and red that so sensuously mottle your tender skin before dipping down into full, round cleavage, further stimulating the hunger.
Beyond this fetching complexion of voluptuous curves and healthy red and yellow hues lies flesh full and deceptively sinewy beneath the smooth surface of such amorous skin. The taste of your flesh to my lips is exquisite - bitter and tantalizingly sweet - and my fancy implores me to indulge but I resist, instead savoring with relish the fleeting taste of your sweet, sticky nectar. That I will soon yearn for the flesh of another is of no consequence to you. Our time together is the only relevancy, and it is this sublime truth that spurs me further to press my teeth to your yielding skin, aching with the hunger as your sweet flesh is engulfed by a greedy maw desperate to sate the most base of needs. A groan escapes from my throat in primal joy as your juices mingle with saliva and linger on the cusp of a lip before streaming down my chin, my tongue twisting to lap up the sweet, sticky rivulets.
As my taste buds alight with the sweetness of your juices, so are my senses arrested by the irresistible aroma that wafts from your delicate flesh, and I am held helpless in ecstasy. Though your shape is flawless, I will soon long for another. For now, my desire is singular and unwavering, and this is perfection. Though the next may never hold the same enchantment, I am eternally held captive by that which is rapture: promiscuous, perfect, peach.