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“My curiosity aroused, I flipped to another page. 蛸と海女: Tako to Ama, trans. ‘The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife.’ Head thrown back, eyes closed, a nude woman lay sprawled ashore. Her brows creased in anguish and ecstasy. As she was pleasured by a large octopus. No, octopi. I trailed a finger along the suctioned underside of the creature’s appendage to her breast where a smaller octopus latched onto. The painting might’ve been unmoving, but it held an animated quality. The woman writhing on the shore; the fluid movements of the sea creatures as the trio derived mutual pleasure from their strange encounter. Their visceral desire seeped through the page, and I was but a voyeur.” — Anita Zara
My curiosity aroused, I flipped to another page. 蛸と海女: Tako to Ama, trans. ‘The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife.’ Head thrown back, eyes closed, a nude woman lay sprawled ashore. Her brows creased in anguish and ecstasy. As she was pleasured by a large octopus.
No, octopi. I trailed a finger along the suctioned underside of the creature’s appendage to her breast where a smaller octopus latched onto. The painting might’ve been unmoving, but it held an animated quality. The woman writhing on the shore; the fluid movements of the sea creatures as the trio derived mutual pleasure from their strange encounter. Their visceral desire seeped through the page, and I was but a voyeur.