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...
Rower
#1
Phuw
phuw! You gotta hot body
Rower
#2
Come
to France, I’ve got a big Mansion.
Rower
#3
I
want to sit in you and tug you along like an octuple scull.
Rower
#4
yeah,
get under the tarmac with me, get nasty.
Me
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)
Descent
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,
(gradually
parting)
Only
to feel a new, synthetic stretching.
