Stephen Shearer: 619 books

She hovers over me, a sheen of light sweat moistening her cheeks and brow. Her eyes glow, reflecting the moonlight that seeps through the curtain of her hair. The hair that hangs down brushing my brow, brushing my chest, creating a softly glinting tunnel that shares and molds the privacy and intimacy...

This is where we receive our first nourishment in life. This is where we learned love and caring. This is where we found that someone wanted us. Later in life, this is where we found desire. This is where our first fumbling attempts at intimacy occurred. We feed at these fountains all of our...

She hovers over me, a sheen of light sweat moistening her cheeks and brow. Her eyes glow, reflecting the moonlight that seeps through the curtain of her hair. The hair that hangs down brushing my brow, brushing my chest, creating a softly glinting tunnel that shares and molds the privacy and intimacy...

She hovers over me, a sheen of light sweat moistening her cheeks and brow. Her eyes glow, reflecting the moonlight that seeps through the curtain of her hair. The hair that hangs down brushing my brow, brushing my chest, creating a softly glinting tunnel that shares and molds the privacy and intimacy...

Sun, sea and surf! Welcome to My Lady’s Natural Playground. Here she can let the wind blow through her hair, the sand dribble between her toes and the cool salt water wash around her sweaty body. Here she can be herself, no pretense, no hidden emotions, no acting. She allows us to watch her frolic...

This is where we receive our first nourishment in life. This is where we learned love and caring. This is where we found that someone wanted us. Later in life, this is where we found desire. This is where our first fumbling attempts at intimacy occurred. We feed at these fountains all of our...

She teases me. Oh Wicked Wench, you tease me most delicately, yet most powerfully. You draw my eyes, you reach for my touch yet nimbly step aside as my fingers graze your warm skin. Your smile invites me, your eyes glow with amusement, your breath gently skims across me. I ache for...

She hovers over me, a sheen of light sweat moistening her cheeks and brow. Her eyes glow, reflecting the moonlight that seeps through the curtain of her hair. The hair that hangs down brushing my brow, brushing my chest, creating a softly glinting tunnel that shares and molds the privacy and intimacy...

She hovers over me, a sheen of light sweat moistening her cheeks and brow. Her eyes glow, reflecting the moonlight that seeps through the curtain of her hair. The hair that hangs down brushing my brow, brushing my chest, creating a softly glinting tunnel that shares and molds the privacy and intimacy...

She hovers over me, a sheen of light sweat moistening her cheeks and brow. Her eyes glow, reflecting the moonlight that seeps through the curtain of her hair. The hair that hangs down brushing my brow, brushing my chest, creating a softly glinting tunnel that shares and molds the privacy and intimacy...

She hovers over me, a sheen of light sweat moistening her cheeks and brow. Her eyes glow, reflecting the moonlight that seeps through the curtain of her hair. The hair that hangs down brushing my brow, brushing my chest, creating a softly glinting tunnel that shares and molds the privacy and intimacy...

Welcome to Weird Women, a compendium of photographs that will make you wonder, in all honesty, why we are so infatuated with the so-called “fairer sex”. For centuries the war between the sexes has gone on and there is no end in sight. But these photos will give the male of the species more ammunition...

Sun, sea and surf! Welcome to My Lady’s Natural Playground. Here she can let the wind blow through her hair, the sand dribble between her toes and the cool salt water wash around her sweaty body. Here she can be herself, no pretense, no hidden emotions, no acting. She allows us to watch her frolic...

She hovers over me, a sheen of light sweat moistening her cheeks and brow. Her eyes glow, reflecting the moonlight that seeps through the curtain of her hair. The hair that hangs down brushing my brow, brushing my chest, creating a softly glinting tunnel that shares and molds the privacy and intimacy...