Ur A celebration of femininity:

I am standing on a balcony high above the Carnaval. The Salvador air is warm and sultry. I can see bodies below me glistening with sweat, dancing to the rhythm of the pounding drums. A parade goes past, and the girl leading them is dressed in a skirt of swaying grasses and nothing else – her breasts are painted with glitter and they mesmerize me as they swing and sway to the beat. I am taking it all in, my body pressed against the stone of the balcony. Earlier this evening I was dancing in the square wearing my bikini and a tiny pair of shorts that showed the cheeks of my ass. Hands were touching me everywhere, not the hands of my partner, that anonymous man who led me into the samba, our bodies melting together like we were making love. I am watching thousands of people in the square below me dancing out their fantasies, flaunting their bodies with abandon. As I lean over, he enters me from behind, in time with the rhythm of the drums, and I come so quickly, with the drums in my head and the sequins of the dancers shimmering before my eyes. I am coming so hard and it’s the last night of the Carnaval, and this is the physical sensation of the joy that makes you high and I am watching it all – the movement and the rhythm and the energy of it and I am screaming and I forget myself and this is it, the Carnaval, this is it…