The Paisley Swim-Bikini
l.a.b.o.y looks cute in denim, the only one without the full latex poured, so we crowd round his giant thies, per three. His curly hair, matt, macassar’d, with complex braiding techniques, archaic, perhaps oriental or corinthian.
We suck each others thumbs deeply while making gurgley sounds one makes underwater.. Splasheywashey-wash,, while l.a.b.o.y adjusts the pink belt, we sing the lachrymost tunes to Charli’s lipgloss.
“Not enough” I whimper before moving, gorging the glistening cock down my pink throat
“it’s never enuff” snarls the one with the worcester sauce on her bib.
The TV is on, and L.A. Boy is hard as Hell. I’m Watching Britney. Her body is in beyond shape,
What is the best sex? In the sun in plastic pumps, or upon the hot dust spitting out sand with some glamorous beast’s heel in your rear (in the sun in plastic pumps)?”
Earlier @the beach...
Phuw phuw! You gotta hot body
Come to France, I’ve got a big Mansion.
I want to sit in you and tug you along like an octuple scull.
yeah, get under the tarmac with me, get nasty.
You gotta work bitches [enter beach choreo]
One year later…
I’m reading the French Classics in lace.
It’s very interesting reading, and very sexy.
But When I first read your poem I wanted to clean the whole house front to back.
Your loops and knots hold my flesh taut
Dear, Your style
the likeness of a milkmaid’s lactating breasts. Please suck on them, and do not fear the farmer’s reprise.
“They were meant for this!” she insists,,
I can see before me your arched back. You bend over the tablet with some designer specs and trimmed Macassar’d Hair (your favourite Korean pencil)
your balls falling beneath a pair of caramel legs.
While you are reading I ride you drily, gently with my index finger catching the moisture between your buttocks.
I softly clench the leotard you have on, pressing my member against the taut fabric,
Only to feel a new, synthetic stretching.