She stooped for a stone and dropped it down.'Fancy being where that is now,' she said, peering into the blackness; 'fancy going round and round like a mouse in a pail, clutching at the slimy sides, with the water filling your mouth, and looking up to the little patch of sky above.''You had better come in,' said Benson, very quietly. 'You are developing a taste for the morbid and horrible.' ("The Well")

The art is in evolving to such a receptive consciousness, which is aligned to enjoyment and fruition in both ways _ expecting and planning the randomizations for __pecific_ joys as well as designing joys in __eneric_ randomizations. True love lands you in a consciousness, which relishes the joys of this rainbowish dualism best.

The here and the beyond are enough, but there were a few angels for whom it was not enough: who demanded a third dimension--who sought fusions, communes, who ate each other and created sex.

Can I kiss you?_ And she would let him, lightly on her lips, a moment of brief anticipation. __our kisses are like sugar woman._ He would tell her affectionately. __o sweet._ He would close in on her and then ask softly, __lease spend the night with me.

She liked his unique smell, and it turned on all five of her senses, wanting to see him naked, touch him while naked, hear him as he moaned while he made love, taste his skin, and feel his naked body as she seduced him with the trailing of hungry fingers.

We're all princes and princesses, at 5, 50, or 100! It's never too late, we're never too old to rock the world and contribute! Reaching for intimacy in all relationships? Delicious.