Vulvette
Praline
Take a Vulvette praline from her silky praline boudoir and feel the first aesthetic shiver of pleasure when you look at her pretty shapes. Now feel the joyful self-empowerment that lies small and fine in your hand, then let her sweet delicacy melt slowly on your tongue or savour it in small bites. Just as you please. Be so free. Notice how a laugh gurgles in your throat when you have eaten it.
The Vulvette praline is a "piece of art" by universal artist Ira Blazejewska. It is a confident statement of female self-image and self-empowerment. A plea for sensuality, pleasure and humour. It is for all women, female readers and people who celebrate and like the feminine. It has social relevance and stands for respect and adoration of the feminine. The model for the praline was designed by the artist herself on the basis of small sculptures from her oeuvre, the designs are realised by the company "Meine Formen". The chocolatier ... is inspired by art and stories to create congenial flavours. The result is a total work of art for the senses: the ultimate amuse geulle.
La Signora Goldoni
I want to eat you. Morsel by morsel. Start neatly with your fine golden neck hair. Then the pointy little ear. Crack. A gentle crackle. Then the little tongue glides over the pale blue carotid artery to the shell between your straight collarbones. A cool delight. You are Fiametta Goldoni. You lavish yourself with systematic grace. Radical.
Firebird
dances around the flames, her mouth laughing, her lips red and hot and plump. She can take off, she can dig herself deep into the mud as she pleases. Her name is Loplop, she has grown up and faces the house angel with a grin.
Unicellular organisms
All your little round cheeks glow white as milk in the early morning light/glow of the neon light. Quick alabaster hands grab what they want. What's mine, what's yours? Pah. The cherry juice drips from your mouth, Kim, as you redistribute things. The ruffles of your panties tremble gently under Yashimoto's gaze.
The gentlest wind in Italy
Giselle, I can always see you sitting on the terrace of a café overlooking Lake Garda, the wind blowing warmly through your light silk blouse and the weave of the chairs. This is how you want to watch the hustle and bustle of life. (You smile. And don't have to do anything.) Smiling. Without doing anything.
Blindfolded in the jungle
After sex/love with a tree I forget all my misery. I stroll well satisfied through humid, floating meadows,with fingers wet and swollen mouths.I lick the blue of glancing flies, my forehead banging in the dancing shadows. The skin of my tree feels like silk, shines silver, is warm. I caress this beautiful torso. My toes sink into the leaves, they smell dry, sweet and good. The chirping of crickets lulls me into the air. My eyes are closed. I don't need to see anything. I breathe.
Miss Matisse
Water lily fingers stroke her damp forehead, the air, a steamed-up mirror, stands buzzing, wraps itself around her, soft as cool silk. Laughter sounds from the veranda, light years away. She stands in the scent of jasmine and ripe mirabelle plums. Alone. Cosy.