Armour for a woman is not burnished steel, but silk and chiffon. We take the ‘r’ from armour. We believe in amour; satin and lace. It is the clothes that cover us that stirs desire for what lies beneath.

Sometimes love is pastel. Sometimes love is black. And sometimes love is fiery red and you feel as if you are going to burn in the flames.

You wait and wait, you get used to waiting. But when your time comes, you must not miss it.

Love and being in love are not the same. A woman takes the man she loves into her body and absorbs his oils and essence. A part of him enters her and becomes a part of her.

When you add love to sex, it feels as if your soul is being drawn from the chains of gravity into the core of the infinite. New feelings come to life, emotions without explanations that we try to name with that perplexing little word we avoid using as if the word is sacred or sacrilegious.

Love and being in love are not the same thing. The woman takes the man she loves into her body and absorbs his oils and essence. A part of him enters her and becomes a part of her.