a perfect day to pray to frey

My spores been growing by the day; my days been shining bright

"It's a figure'a speech," you murmur almost absently to Oia, your attention split between the figure of Frey that splays across the stone and the growing heat in your groin that causes your reproductive organs to pulse as blood continues to flood them. "It means the one that's least likely to succeed- like a bad mutation, or somethin' with another disadvantage."

Shifting your body half to subdue the erection and half to stimulate it (needles to say you're confused as fuck about what's appropriate for the situation), you bite your lip, your head swimming with a strange desire to touch yourself, an unusual need. "D'ya make everyone who comes to see you wanna procreate? An' why? It seems... distractin'."

Kaimana