textfiles/sex/EROTICA/E/eleanor.txt

               Eleanor:  Lesbian Obsession
                        by Wilma


     The professor's name was Eleanor.  One look at this high-class
beauty, and you knew no one ever called her Ellie or some such
diminutive.  Here was a first-degree Eleanor. She had the calm, warm
dignity of an Eleanor, the straightforward grace and the carriage of
an Eleanor.  An Eleanor of the first water was she, and I was to see
her three days a week in lecture.  I thought upon first sight of her
I would also see her nightly in my dreams.  I knew not whereof I
thought.  Had I known what demons awaited me ....

     I sat up front on that first day in Intro to Psych, young folks
all around, mostly freshmen and sophomores. Clean-looking,
bright-eyed, new-skinned girls, intelligent and lovely with quick
minds that dart effortlessly across topics without needing long to
ponder them.  I loved watching them talk and smile and toss their
hair and walk and stand and be busy with things.
     
     College girls.  Coeds.  College women.  Women's dorms.  The
words stirred me.  Young coed.  I pictured them naked in dorms or
going about in little nighties that showed their legs.  Uninhibited
youth with brand new bodies all cleaned up and full of energy.  The
word sophomore, if I may digress a second, has a sexy sound, don't
you agree?  It should be breathed:  Soph . . . More . . ..

     But the professor!  She was a grown woman, a woman grown to be
an Eleanor if ever there was one.  She wore her long, raven hair in
an elegant loose bun with impish strands curling down on the sides.
Her square, rimless glasses were part of the picture of an
intelligent, confident woman who was used to her beauty and accepted
herself, one whose superiority went without her notice.  I could not
imagine that she had ever had to scream or lose control to get her
way.
     I took her in as she glided by me on the front row, resisting
an impulse to tackle her around those swaying hips and shapely legs
with the flaring calves.  She wore open, high-heeled shoes which on
anybody else would be called fuck-me shoes.  On Eleanor, they were
ask-me-and-I'll-take-it-under-advisement shoes.  Nice toes, nothing
misshapen.  A foot devoutly to be worshipped, as was the woman
herself.

     It was an early class, and she had that fresh look of spring
that always makes me want to smoke a Salem and drink sparkling cider
for some reason.  "She's recently been naked," I thought
irreverently, and my brain drifted back in her day for, um,
historical perspective?
     
     I watch her sleep, her beautiful hair lounging over her satin
pillow, her lovely face angelic in nepenthean grace, the early light
of dawn granting a graceful illumination on the slumbering goddess.
     
     Lightly, apologetically, a tuneful bell intones, "Awake, Sweet
Lovely, for your day awaits you."  She moans softly, and her eyes
tentatively consider their option of opening.  She sits up
languorously, and the black satin cover falls from her neck as she
stretches her arms upward and out to receive the day with a ladylike
yawn and a little whine that beckons my heart and soul.  Her breasts
are bare and white with heavenly proportions, young and soft and
womanly.  I am aswoon with concupiscible adoration.

     The girl beside me began whipping my arm with a stack of
papers, the professor's syllabus.  I glared at the girl hatefully,
and she shrank back with a puzzled look, offering the stack of
syllabi meekly as one might approach an unsmiling Doberman with a
morsel of meat.  I took the goddamned syllabus and passed it
hurriedly on to the cretin next to me with his cap on backwards.
     
     "See you Wednesday," Professor Eleanor said, and everybody was
up and moving and jabbering.  The vision was shattered as Eleanor
was surrounded by people.  I toyed with the idea of crawling through
the legs to find her and renew my reverie, but ugly reality had
rudely shoved us apart, and I could not retrieve the moment.
     
     I paused at the door on my way out and looked back at her.
"See you Wednesday, Professor," I whispered telepathically.  She
glanced at me briefly and smiled before turning back to the others.
She knew!  Her eyes said so ... her thoughts told my mind she knew.
I shivered from a spray of invisible needles.

     My thoughts wandered to her throughout the day.  Horns blared
angrily as I sat enraptured by visions other drivers could not see.
Eleanor's beautiful eyes gazed into mine from my rearview mirror.
My Buick Skylark became a virtual reality chamber, and I sank my
face into Eleanor's sex as she luxuriated naked on the seat beside
me.  The waitress where I dined that evening had to place her hand
on my shoulder to draw my attention from Eleanor who, in my
hallucinatory daze, was sitting in front of me on the table letting
me peer up her dress and into her crotch.  That night I masturbated
with a fantasy of Eleanor so vivid I gasped in shock upon
discovering she was not there on top of me after all.  She came to
me then in a dream and completed me.  I awoke in the darkness to see
her leaving my room, her nakedness as she walked away from me as
real as any waking sensation.

     I convinced myself the following morning that I was merely
blessed with a gift for vivid imagery.  I was not insane, these were
not hallucinations, and there was no such thing as a lesbian
succubus.  While it was impossible to dispel the memory and the
feeling that I had had sex with Eleanor the previous night, I chose
to diminish its cogency by laying its cause to fatigue, an eccentric
chemical hiccup of some sort, and to libidinous longing for a
magnificent woman who possessed every attribute I find both
admirable and lustworthy.  "You're ok, Wilma, you're just a little
funny in your brain sometimes," I reassured myself aloud.

     On Wednesday, I prepared myself mentally for Eleanor. If I was
to enjoy lusting on her without later needing psychiatric care, I
had to come up into joy and light and be normal.  A normal
asskissing, cuntsucking, footlicking, masochistic lesbian.
    
    So: glad in spirit, playful of mind, and free of dark and
sinister shadows, I made my hair bounce when I walked into her
classroom.  Okay, so I also bought a cute little two-piece
overalls-style outfit made of terry cloth that showed off some of
the blessings the gods had granted me in lieu of respect.  Barbie
the Carpenter in short culottes was I that warm spring day.

     And she, Eleanor, was the goddess of spring in a plain white
dress, bare legs, and sandal-style high heels, her beautiful hair
dancing and shimmering.  I noticed a medium sized bandaid on one of
her flaring calves and fantasized removing it with my teeth.  At one
point during the lecture, she sat on a high stool and crossed her
legs.  While answering a question, she rubbed her calf where the
bandaid was.  The bandaid came off in her hand.

     Eleanor was a piece of heaven with a brain.  She built a bomb
on the board that looked like something out of Einstein's
nightmares.  She strolled as she lectured, presenting mathematical
variance in a friendly, conversational style with a charm I'll wager
would have deflowered Isaac Newton had that old virgin heard it.  I
watched every move she made, her eyes, her mouth, her hands, the
bandaid she toyed with.  I would have flunked a pop quiz on
variance, but my cortex would be able later to recite Eleanor to my
loins eidetically.
     
     Some boy behind me asked a question.  I gasped when she
strolled toward me.  She stood right in front of me, her leg
actually touching my desk and her pudenda a crane of the neck away
from a lick.  As she spoke with the boy, she absent-mindedly fondled
the bandaid she had removed from her calf.  The bandaid slipped from
her fingers and landed on my notebook.  A sudden thought in response
to the boy crowded the bandaid out of her awareness, and she left it
there where it fell.
     
     It was the bandaid that had been on Eleanor's calf. This
bandaid I saw before me had been in the palm of her womanly hand.
It had been caressed by her feminine fingers. It had covered a
scratch on the goddess's leg and there was a red place on it,
perhaps her blood.  Having been pressed against her skin, the
fortunate band of tape and gauze undoubtedly had acquired a
chemistry, perhaps even cells, that had recently been a part of the
magnificent young beauty who was done with its service.
     
     Reverently, entranced, I picked the bandaid up and looked at it
reclining there on my fingers and pining for its lost past.  Eleanor
turned and walked to the board to clarify a point.  I watched her
calf muscle.  I imagined I was a sentient bandaid on that scratch.
She derived a raw score formula for variance from the expression
that defines it.  And I . . . I . . .

     . . . I ate the bandaid!  Put it in my mouth, chewed on it,
wallowed it around, savored it, chewed some more, and then swallowed
it, all the while my lustful eyes consuming the professor from face
to feet.
     
     The experience was at once a physical rush and a spiritual
happening.  I veritably tingled from it, swooned, I tell you.   My
eyes defocused, my skin flushed, and my Bartholin's glands, confused
by the excitement, prepared me for further action.

     Professor Eleanor was watching me!  She didn't miss a word in
her lecture, but she was looking right at me when my brain fought
its way through the pussy raid and restored order.  She ambled
nonchalantly to me and stood beside my desk as she continued
lecturing.  A student asked a question, and another student started
answering.  As the two of them engaged each other, Eleanor placed
her hand on my shoulder.  I looked up at her, completely enraptured
by this goddess incarnate towering above me and looking down at me
with an expression that could have been either concern or
fascination.
     
     "Are you all right?"
     
     "Yes Ma'am," I said weakly.

     Some devilish conspiracy of those inaccessible powers which
fashion me into who I am suffused my being with a cathexis of
inordinate potency, a tenacious obsession with Eleanor that impelled
me to utter folly.
     
     I followed her.  I walked unobtrusively behind her to the
library, watching her, looking at her, thinking about her naked,
trying to imagine what her brilliant mind was doing as she examined
a volume she had taken from the shelf.  My very spirit longed for
her, my loins ached for her, my hands and my lips trembled as though
fantasying the feel of her flesh upon them.
     
     When she rose and went to the shelves again, I felt myself
rising and floating to her chair.  I had barely the presence of mind
to look about me and insure I wasn't being observed.  I caressed the
chair where her back had been.  Inner resources had to be tapped to
prevent my falling on my knees and passionately kissing the seat of
her chair.  There was a moment of near panic when it could have gone
either way, and I would not have had the discipline, had I
succumbed, to disguise what I was doing down there or to care what
consequences would befall me for such a freakish performance as
that.
     
     The more nonchalant I attempted to be in checking to see who
might catch me, the more like a sneaking pervert I felt.  I touched
the table where her hand had rested.  I ran the tips of my fingers
over the book she had touched.
     
     My stomach leaped.  There was the pencil she had held in her
teeth!  Eleanor's bite marks beckoned me.  Her mouth had been there,
her lips, her tongue, her saliva.
     
     I stole the pencil and went back to my seat and sucked the
instrumentum scribendi that had been blessed by the goddess.

     I followed Eleanor to her office and stationed myself down the
hall where other students milled about.  I leaned back with my ass
on a window sill and crossed my ankles.  Opening a book, I looked for
all the world like an ordinary student no one would conjecture was
trapped inescapably in a sexual fixation of such aberrance as to tax
the credulity of any who had not themselves been so ensnared.  I
sucked the pencil and ran the tip of my tongue over the bite marks,
imagining I could taste her saliva.

     She came out of her office and walked quickly down the hall in
my direction.  In the space of seconds, I suffered the agonies of
the damned, but she walked right by without noticing me.
     
     She had changed shoes.  She was wearing plastic slippers.  That
meant . . . oh, my algolagnic soul! . . . it meant the Fates and the
Muses had conspired to toy with this poor mortal and drain from me
any semblance of will or pride.  I could hardly get my breath as I
went straightway to her office and entered without so much as
glancing once around me.
     
     There they were!  Oh, God help me, there they were in plain
sight near her chair!!  One seemed to be face down in the other,
devotedly kissing inside the upright member of the pair.  I moaned
audibly and went mindlessly to them.  Squatting down to do what I was
compelled to do, I paused only momentarily to let my eyes fill my
brain with lust on her desk chair, and then I did the deed.  I stole
her high heels and ran out with pounding heart.

     One would think my acquisition and the act of theft itself
would have induced in me a manic state precluding controlled
movement.  Quite the opposite happened.  By the time I got to my car
with her precious footwear, an inner peace had settled upon me, a
mood of prayerful tranquility bestowed upon my driven spirit by
touching and kissing the venerated shoes.  She was with me as I
drove home, her energy magically enveloping me and guiding my way to
an arcane destiny.

     The quiet sanctuary of my bedroom seemed to glow with a
mysterious light that had no source.  I placed Eleanor's shoes on
the bed, unable to take my eyes off them as I disrobed.  Naked now,
I placed my mother's Bible on a small rug of oval shape.  It was the
rug that had been placed before the dresser, the rug on which Mom
had stood while brushing her hair after a shower, the rug on which
my beautiful mother stood and allowed my adoration.  I opened the
Bible to the Book of Ruth and placed upon holy writ the cherished
shoes that had been on the feet of my goddess, and I bowed before
them and prayed to her.

          Thou art Femina, the eternal feminine
          spirit incarnate, She who possesses my
          soul and She who created me that I might
          worship Her beauty and sing of Her
          greatness.  Thou art the Goddess, my
          source of life.  Thou art She whose
          magnificent and powerful female body and
          whose strength of will and mind make me
          weak inside and tingle with a mixture of
          uncontrollable desire for thee and
          unremitting fear of thy lash.  Mine eyes
          are given sight by the fluids of thy
          Womanhood.  My being basks in the balm
          of thy Bartholin's.  I long for the
          soul-cleansing flood of thy sacred
          vaginal secretion.  Oh, save my
          undeserving soul with thine ointment, I
          pray thee, my Deitess, that I may be
          found worthy in thy sight.  Thou art
          magnificent in thy discipline and in thy
          grace, and I beg thee to take me as
          thine own, for I ask it in thy glorious
          name.  Amen.

     Inching forward, I buried my face in Eleanor's shoes upon my
beautiful mother's Bible, and I felt a heaviness lifted from me as I
breathed them, kissed them, licked them.  The image of them on
Eleanor's feet, Eleanor's flaring calves, those legs, her desirable
body, her countenance as she looked down upon me -- the images, I
say, appeared before me as real in my sensorium as were these shoes
I was loving.  I loved with my face, with my mouth, with my tongue
and with my very soul these fetishes imbued with feminine charisma.
Eleanor . . . Eleanor . . ..
     
     I moved the precious objects to my bed.  On my pillow was a
purple thong I had stolen at a pool party from a neighbor who had no
idea what kind of woman lived next door to her and often sunbathed
with her.  My mind filled with images, my mouth drooling, and my
loins aquiver, I strapped Eleanor's shoes to my face with the thong
that had been blessed by my neighbor.  Pressing my mother's Bible to
my now torrid vulva, I orgasmed into the Book of Ruth in less than a
minute of profane masturbation that thrilled me beyond description.

                            *****

     It had been a simple matter to discover where Eleanor lived,
albeit the discovery was entirely by happenstance rather than by
design.  Her address was on her checks.  Yes, her checkbook in her
purse in her office.  I had just wanted to touch her stuff, to look
in her purse, to see things personal to this magnificent young
woman, my Eleanor . . . my Eleanor.  Her very name carried magic and
summoned visions of her.  Eleanor . . . Eleanor . . . Eleanor . . ..

          Thou art Beauty Herself.  Thou art
          Woman.  My Goddess.  Femina, I love thee
          beyond all reckoning.  Thy breasts, thy
          body, thy legs, thine every movement and
          thy feminine soul.  I love thee, Femina.

     I had known the second I saw her checkbook I was about to
plunge even deeper into my stultifying fixation.  I had held the
checkbook in my hand and had torn my horrified gaze from it, wishing
I would not do what I knew I would do.  All resistance was drained
from me as I stood there fitfully contending with unconscionable
demons hatefully sapping my moral strength and rendering me
impotent.  My surrender had been inevitable.

     It was a large house on several acres of wooded property on the
outskirts of the city.  A full moon watched over the estate through
malevolent clouds and seemed to direct the trees to brood and the
wind to fume in its seething vexation.  Ominous talons of lightning
threatend to strike me dead for my impious tresspassing, and a
rumbling heaven denounced me for my unforgiveable depravity.
     
     She had written "Cinda & Marilyn 7 pm" in her appointment book.
Having shadowed and snooped for weeks, I knew the women were
Eleanor's research assistants and that they were attending some sort
of women's conference on this evening.  Something called WISE.  I
had entered through a basement window and had soon found my way to
her spacious bedroom.  Unable to bring myself to desecrate her most
sacred chamber with my presence, I stood there prayerfully for an
awe-inspiring moment and backed away respecfully into the adjoining
bathroom.

     There was her towel, still wet from its service.  I rubbed my
face in it and thought of her standing naked near the tub and drying
her glistening body on this holy cloth of fuchsia.  Here had been
her adorable breasts, her underarms, her stomach.  Here, the cloth
had touched her thighs.  I moaned as I mashed my face where her
crotch had been, and I trembled with the vision of her patting and
caressing herself with this fabric, sanctifying it in her sex and in
the cleft of her nates.

     Forestalling fainting, I placed the towel back on its holder
and caught my breath.  My gaze fell upon her toilet, and I feared
for my sanity.  Her hips and the backs of her legs had rested there.
Her body had divested itself of waste therein.  I had watched her at
lunch with a man this day.  I had, in fact, stolen the fork she had
used and had placed my lips on her glass when they had left.  Her
body had processed the food, and she had relaxed herself here to
void her bladder and bowels.  I kneeled before the receptacle and
lovingly licked the seat.  Rashly, I removed my blouse and bra and
pressed my breasts against her toilet, hugging it passionately as I
licked the seat where she had sat.
     
     Fearing my loss of control would drive me to baptize my face in
chemically treated water from the bowl, I pulled myself away,
divested myself of my wraparound skirt, and kissed and licked my way
naked across the floor on which her bare feet had trod.  Eleanor had
been here.  Eleanor . . . Eleanor, Woman . . . Woman . . . Woman . . .
Eleanor . . ..

     At the sink now, I whined upon seeing her toothbrush. It had
been in her mouth.  Her spit . . . her tongue . . ..  I reached for
the implement ------
     
     I froze.  What was that?  Oh, my God!  Voices!  Women's
voices!!

     I had the presence of mind to grab my blouse and bra and skirt
before dashing into the bedroom.  The door was opening.  I scampered
into the large closet with the sliding doors, glad it had been left
open.  I crouched down behind her dresses and a clothes hamper.  In
spite of my predicament, it flashed through my mind that her
unwashed panties may be in the hamper.
     
     I listened.  The women were not speaking.  I heard them moving
around, and I heard the rustle of clothes and distinctive girl
noises.  Mewling and little gasps characteristic of prurient
appreciation reached my experienced ear.  Something Sapphic was in
the making!

     "Who are you?" I heard Eleanor say in a quiet, sultry voice.
     
     "We are WISE.  We are Women in Service to Eleanor," Marilyn and
Cinda replied in unison.
     
     My pussy hiccuped.  I inhaled quickly and held my breath to
prevent emitting girl noises of my own.  I didn't care that they
might discover me and sacrifice me to their carnal pleasures in some
pagan ritual; I cared rather that I might interrupt a scene my
salacious being craved to see.

     Hearing still the sounds of their concupiscence, I peeped over
the clothes hamper at a scene epitomizing algolagnic worship of
muliebrity.  Eleanor, wearing only a short cape of black, her
gorgeous nudity transcendent, her raven hair otherworldly against
the backdrop of a stormy night, stood imperiously with her foot on
the blonde head of a groveling Marilyn while Cinda worshipped the
back of her other leg.  Her naked supplicants moaned and swooned
their devotion to her, and she accepted their obeisance and praise.

     "Honor me, Cinda."
     
     The girl worshipping Eleanor from behind whispered "Goddess, my
Goddess," and nuzzled her face gently between the cheeks of her
goddess's rounded buttocks and paid tribute to her with the Kiss of
Shame.  I clutched my breasts hard and ran one hand down to the
cauldron between my legs.  My mouth yearned for the taste of her
anus, and my face was redolent with lust to feel her crotch and legs
pressing and rubbing in it, to be Cinda receiving the divine reward
of the faithful.

     "Honor me, Marilyn."
     
     She removed her foot from Marilyn's head, and the blonde kissed
and licked her way up Eleanor from her feet to her genitals, there
pausing with her mouth open awaiting the command to perform the
supreme service to her goddess.

     As she reached for Marilyn's face with both hands, the
goddess's body shaped itself slowly into the elongated S of classic
posture for allowing cunnilingus by a kneeling slave.  Cinda
adjusted herself to continue serving the beauty's anus.  Eleanor's
eyes, at once frightening and alluring, transfixed the girl whose
mouth awaited its glorious reward.
     
     Eleanor gripped Marilyn's face and pulled her into her sex.
"Suck," she commanded.  "Suck my sex . . . suck . . . suck."  The
lewd beauty undulated sensually, rhythmically working her yoni into
the sucking mouth locked in her womanhood.  The muscles in her legs
flexed as she moved, soft ridges and valleys shifted gracefully, her
stomach rippled and relaxed, rippled and relaxed.  Her breasts
glistened with perspiration.

     "Suck me, Marilyn, suck me, Cinda.  Suck from me and
taste the wonders of my body.  Drink from me and swallow
from my body the sacred substances of thy Goddess.  Suck ...
suck . . .."

     My eyes rolled involuntarily back into my brain.  I
pursed my lips tightly to stifle a scream and squeezed my
titty hard as I masturbated furiously in my hiding place. 
The noises of female lust emanating from the three-woman
sex-creature masked my irrepressible grunts and whimpers.  I
would be safe so long as I did not scream.

     Eleanor began quivering and vibrating.  She let out a
high-pitched howl and held Marilyn's face tightly in her
orgasming hole.  She was cumming in her mouth, and I could
see Marilyn swallowing.  Then I witnessed a phenomenon I had
seen from only one other woman in my life.  Eleanor's come
was dribbling out of Marilyn's mouth!  She relaxed her grip
briefly and held the girl's face a few inches down from her
boiling sex pit.  Her pussy spit oozed and spurted from her
into Marilyn's grateful mouth.  Cinda was there to lick up
the drippings Marilyn couldn't swallow.  The two girls
worked as a well-trained team now to drink Eleanor's come,
taking turns sucking at her cunt and licking up the
overflow and the sweat and saliva on her legs.  When
Eleanor's well was finally pumped, Cinda and Marilyn moaned
a duet of lust as they swapped spit and female fuckslime
back and forth between their mouths.

     I had been able to suppress a scream, but I had not
predicted being seized by an orgasm so violent that it
tossed me against the clothes hamper and out into the
bedroom where three very startled women stood aghast
watching me continue to jerk like an alien parachutist in a
grand mal.  There midst Eleanor's unwashed panties and other
private matters, I completed my orgasm because I had no
choice.

     "Bring her to me," Eleanor said evenly.  Cinda and
Marilyn, their pretty faces snail-tracked with Eleanor's
copious pussyfuck, dragged me by my arms and hair to the
feet of our goddess.  Thinking it may be my last night on
earth, I kissed her feet humbly and intoned her name in
apotropaic ritual.

     "Suck her eyes," Eleanor ordered her disciples.  The
girls turned me over on my back.  Towering above me were the
exquisite legs of the caped goddess, her juicy crotch, her
stomach, her magnificent breasts, her beautiful face.  Her
long, black hair was a terrifying aura lighted by flashes
from the storm.  Heaven roared and grumbled its judgement
against me, and I cared only that I had been granted this
final moment of my life to kiss Eleanor's feet and behold
her in all her ineffable beauty.

     Marilyn's lovely face moved above me now.  Her open
mouth still webbed with Eleanor's fuckslime descended
slowly.  She held my eye lids open and French kissed my
eyeball slowly and sensually.  When she was done, she moved
down to my breasts and sucked as Cinda took her turn with my
other eye.  Cinda held my face captive in her womanly hands
and licked my eyes with the flat of her tongue.

     "Suck between her legs, Marilyn," Eleanor ordered. 
"Suck her breasts, Cinda.  I will consecrate our new
priestess with my substance."  The girls moved to do her
bidding, and she stood astride my face looking down at me. 
My pussy responded to Marilyn, my breasts to Cinda, and the
depth of my being to the carnal manifestation of the
Goddess, Eleanor.
     
     I spoke her name reverently.  Marilyn and Cinda echoed
the sacred sound.  The three of us murmured her name
prayerfully as ecstacy o'ercame us in our lust and worship.

     The Goddess Femina in the person of Eleanor squatted
slowly down onto my face and nourished me with the milk of
deity from her hallowed female organs.  I became whole as I
sucked and drank her vaginal secretion and partook of her
holy substance.  The warmth of her crotch and the weight of
her on me, the pressure of her wonderful legs against my
face, the incomparable movement of her copulatory dance
completed me and incorporated my soul into the Eternal
Femina, the Goddess of my longing, She who ordained my
ultimate destiny and purpose, She who effected my surrender
by her irresistible grace, my Femina, my Femina, my Femina.

                            *****

     Three women bowed low before Eleanor.  Their earthly
names were Marilyn and Cinda and Wilma.  They chanted their
devotion to her, and sang her praises.

     "Who are you?" she asked.
     
     "We are WISE.  We are Women in Service to Eleanor."

     They did drink the libation of her divine chamber and
she did heal them with her touch and did sanctify them with
her substance.  They were transfigured by the Goddess and
taken up into Her, there to rest from their ageless quest in
the Womb of the Ultimate Feminine Principle, the Eternal
Goddess Femina.

I love you, Femina.
Wilma.