Golden hour bathes the sunflower field where naked indian pdx unfolds. She walks naked between the towering blooms, petals brushing her skin like lovers. In naked indian pdx, she drops to the earth, crushing flowers beneath her back, their scent exploding with every grind against her own hand. Pollen dusts her thighs gold as she works a glass dildo in and out, sunlight glinting off slick curves in naked indian pdx. Bees hum around her moaning form, unafraid. When she comes in naked indian pdx, her cry scatters birds from the field; petals rain down on sweat-slick skin like applause. She stays there long after, crowned in yellow, goddess of naked indian pdx.