"Lily, he's beneath you. A worthless writer!"

I was wilting. My growth stifled by narrow minds. Now, I seek enlightenment in this field of poppies.

His camera captures my restlessness; his readings redirect my misguided soul; his writings awaken my repressed longings. 

Bravely, I bare my bosom. Lifting my skirt, I slide down his manhood, wincing as the last barrier breaks. Slow undulations begin. Inhibitions leave. He feels my unhurried movements turn demanding. Our eyes lock as our bodies erupt and the evidence of my newfound freedom drips onto the soil.

Father, forgive me, I blossom with him beneath me.