Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 115(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 115(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Oof, it’s a little chilly, but it’s okay. It is 3 a.m. after all. For a moment, I just stand there, savoring the sights and sounds of the city. New York is everything that I’ve always dreamed of, and I feel lucky to be here. I live in West Chelsea, which is being gentrified at light speed. However, my particular neighborhood is untouched for the time being, so around me is a sea of buildings just like my own. They’re former tenements that are capped at about six stories, so we don’t have any of the ultra-tall skyscrapers popping up all over town. This gives us privacy on the rooftop, and ensures that the streets aren’t that clogged. It also means that I have a perfect view of the Freedom Tower south of us, as well as a small glimpse of the water to the west, and even a sliver of the Empire State building to the north. What could be better?
I breathe deep and smile, closing my eyes. The night air is sweet because we have a couple of planters on the roof, and as a result, I keep an herb garden. The scent of oregano, as well as rosemary and thyme, tempts my senses, and when I re-open my eyes again, the full moon beams down at me, its glow balmy and peaceful. A gentle breeze ruffles my hair and I close my eyes again, lifting my arms to the Heavens. This is the perfect night for a moonlight ritual, and it’s time to get started.
Humming to myself, I begin to croon a tuneless song. The melody comes from somewhere deep inside, and there are no words, really. Instead, I let my innermost self take over, and merely emote. I think about the Heavens above; the mortal world before me; and the fiery hellscape that awaits those with cruel intentions. I sing of angels, of mystical birds, of the coming apocalypse, and the benevolent nature deities that can be found all around us. Perhaps they’re masked by a concrete jungle at the moment, but they’re there. After all, these buildings are built on granite from Mother Earth, and the water that surrounds Manhattan comes from Father Ocean. Everything that we have comes from these mystical sources, and I sing my appreciation, swaying to the melody.
Meanwhile, a canopy undulates above me, glittering with stars, and I’m filled with overwhelming joy. Mother Earth and Father Ocean can hear me. So can Brother Sky and Sister Wind. In fact, I can feel the thrum of multiple spirit deities, vibrating with energy. The lemon tree in a planter nearby beckons, as does my tiny garden. Vegetables bursting from the soil shift in their beds, and with light feet, I dance over to the large wooden planter where they’re kept.
My eyes open as I gaze down at a collection of veggies. Earlier today, I pulled some out of the earth, and multiple shapes glimmer from within the wicker basket. There’s the shiny skin of a red pepper, as well as the ghostly gleam of a parsnip. Carrots are scattered about, their orange skins still encrusted with dirt, but that’s not what I’m looking for. Instead, the deep green of a cuke catches my eye, and my fingers slip over its massive form. I lift it in the air and my pupils dilate with appreciation. The cucumber in my hand is about ten inches long, and as thick as my wrist. Even better, the skin is smooth and slick, with just a few protrusions that make my mouth water.
“Mother Earth, Father Ocean, I call you!” is my hum. “Your daughter worships you!”
Only the gentle whistle of the breeze graces my ears, and I nod with appreciation. Yes. Mother Earth and Father Ocean copulated eons ago in order to form the human species, and they understand the joining of life forces. I honor them with this ritual, and with trembling fingers, I slip the robe off over my shoulders, letting the filmy fabric drop to the floor. My generous curves are milk-white in the moonlight, and I raise the cuke high above me, aiming it to the moon.
“Mother Earth, Father Ocean, I call on you to bless this ritual!” I whisper. “Now, here, at this moment! I, Tanya Smead, worship and honor your presence!”
My blonde curls are lifted slightly, and I feel a gentle breeze of benediction over my curves. This is perfect. Mother and Father hear me, and closing my eyes, I lift the cuke to my mouth to taste its green skin. Mmm. It’s slippery and smooth, and I lave it with my tongue, lubricating its thick form. Then I smooth the vegetable down my body, leaving a trail of saliva, before pointing it at my swollen pussy.
“Yes,” I cry out. “I worship you!”