the lands inhabited by the vast girl-slimemould colony are inhabited *totally*. infact the term "land" is rather debatable. the fluid borders of nonsolid matter would seem to resist the ability to be properly accounted for as the remaining phalloids of this world would like... you cannot take census of an ocean. what would appear at first a molar undifferentiable mass, ebbing and flowing, becoming illuminant or void in the moon's unlight infact retains capacity for moments of difference. she is one body, one individual consciousness. one or multiple bodies that emerge and recede from within her or split and merge from without. as viscosities to give form or resistance. or crystallising as temporary autonomous formations. arborescences branching out and vortices folding in as a hylomorphic reckoning of some matter or another. eventually in what may be termed a "winter" comes she comes to a melancholic stillness. in that stillness is flatness of desire, a kind of boredom, a forgetting of values annihilated in the static noise of turbulence. a heat/bed-death. chaos resembling motionlessness at a higher level of abstraction. her body once alight with furies and ecstacies, orgies of sexviolence of lust and longings for death becomes now tired of the noise. the stillness though has it's function. in a winter's tranquility the slimeocean more properly resembles a liquid, cold and dry for a seeming eternity. she becomes now sensitive as one body to vibrations from the exterior. a slight touch propagating in resonance, symmetrically patterned, harmonic like ripples. pleasingly patterned striking and hypnotic to the extent of a kind of erotic pleasure in which dry becomes wet. eventually motion must be reinvented from first principles. and then comes the summer where bodies come to existence again emerging from the wetness as a swarm, dysfunctionally organised in its idealism, desires reified by the fetishistic exchange from the pleromic exterior. each of the swarm now incomplete, separate a spontaneous blooming of trillions of sexes. what is a slimegirl to do, now suddenly singular? just one among many, similar but unknown. to want try to know at least just one other. to experience something like love, there must be some means of communication a literal love-language, a language made of sex. on the level of abstraction now again personal, slimegirl fucking has a different function than would be entirely familiar to mammaloids. the lines between desire and reproduction are blurred in their fluids exchanging information encoding idealisations, fragments of truths of desire, or just some meme/gene-sequences they think are pretty neat. sorted and interpreted by an intelligent sex organ, a literal desiring-machine. some seek to cultivate within themselves the most bright shining ideal, a golden core, an attempt at a philosophers stone born of talented discernment. others, often more promiscuous are collectors or librarians or something like merchants in a gift-sex mode of reproduction, offering mates curiosities, viral potentials kept from past encounters. the summer is an infestation, a bazaar of prolific exchange, a woven web becoming itself a proper representation of the relation called desire.

can someone do this to me

RE: https://social.xenofem.me/objects/b981cea8-2330-4ef2-ad7d-4425d74144c9

@winterklaus "forgot to make smutty" idk about THAAT

@monkey like i wanted to describe more sensual/sensory encounters between slimegirls but got distracted trying to explicate what i had in mind with slimegirlsexalchemy as necessary fetishism to a cosmological heterogeneity among the mass that becomes trillions. mayb i can develop it more this was off the top of my dome