Tuesday, December 31, 2019
light
spectacular fireworks displays did not impress him,
but they did make him horny.
perhaps it was the hot july night, the presence
of all the shirtless young men, in their tight
sexy jeans, the aroma of their sweat mixed with
their overly-zealous deoderant.
he watched the fireworks.
he was a sexy young man himself, mostly
naked tonight, wearing only shorts
and shoes. as the fireworks
went off, he noted those around
him, and decided that this
was a night he would go
to the nearby track, and
run laps, and absorb the musky murkiness
and just the general slinkiness of the night.
so, as the fireworks ended,
hot, horny, and energized, he
headed off for the track, and
arrived there a few minutes
later, where he ran and ran
and ran, not really counting
the laps with the normal
obsessivesness with
which he usually counted them,
though he was vaguely aware when
he hit somewhere around the 3-mile
mark. drenched in sweat, his
shorts clinging to his
butt and hips and dick and balls
with almost obscene precision,
he ran on, and on, and on.
when he hit what he
was pretty sure was mile 6,
he noticed a cluster of
fireflies, flashing their
phosphorescence with
perfect synchrony, and
that's when he
shot a load of cum,
right there in his pants.
--Carl Miller Daniels
spectacular fireworks displays did not impress him,
but they did make him horny.
perhaps it was the hot july night, the presence
of all the shirtless young men, in their tight
sexy jeans, the aroma of their sweat mixed with
their overly-zealous deoderant.
he watched the fireworks.
he was a sexy young man himself, mostly
naked tonight, wearing only shorts
and shoes. as the fireworks
went off, he noted those around
him, and decided that this
was a night he would go
to the nearby track, and
run laps, and absorb the musky murkiness
and just the general slinkiness of the night.
so, as the fireworks ended,
hot, horny, and energized, he
headed off for the track, and
arrived there a few minutes
later, where he ran and ran
and ran, not really counting
the laps with the normal
obsessivesness with
which he usually counted them,
though he was vaguely aware when
he hit somewhere around the 3-mile
mark. drenched in sweat, his
shorts clinging to his
butt and hips and dick and balls
with almost obscene precision,
he ran on, and on, and on.
when he hit what he
was pretty sure was mile 6,
he noticed a cluster of
fireflies, flashing their
phosphorescence with
perfect synchrony, and
that's when he
shot a load of cum,
right there in his pants.
--Carl Miller Daniels
https://cmd2019.newtumbl.com/
But you won't be able to see everything on my newTumbl blog unless you have a newTumbl blog of your own. In general, you'll only be able to see the "G-rated" stuff, and not any of the "X-rated" stuff on my newTumbl blog, if you don't have your own newTumbl blog.
both of us 20 years old, him & me
there is nothing more to be said.
**
there is always something more to be said.
**
i need to talk with him.
**
but mainly i want to lick the tip of
his dick and feel his warm cum
spurting into my mouth, feel his warm cum
slosh around on my slobbery tongue.
**
i am 20 years old. so is
he.
**
he is straight. i am trying
to be straight, too, but almost
certainly i am gay.
he is a swimmer on the college
swim team. he is gorgeous,
sweet, gentle, friendly.
i am almost certainly in love
with him.
i am pretty good-looking, too.
long, lean, lithe, athletic.
we play a lot of tennis
together, him and me.
we look good together, too.
**
i need to talk with him. even though
we talk hours and hours
and hours, but it is not enough.
it is never enough.
we talk while we shower together
in the university gym.
we talk while we backpack together
on hikes on the weekends.
we talk while we're getting dressed.
we talk while we're walking to class.
**
no matter how much we talk,
it is not enough.
**
we are twenty years old.
he is gorgeous, his face handsome,
his cheeks ruddy, his dick big
and sturdy.
i am pretty good-looking myself.
**
there is nothing more to be said.
**
there is always something more to be said.
**
i need to talk to him. i want
to lick the tip of his dick.
i want to watch him spurt cum.
i want him to watch me spurt cum.
**
i don't like his girlfriends, even
though they are nice enough.
i am jealous of them. i am
jealous of the time they
take from me.
**
i am 20 years old.
so is he. we are roommates.
we are in college. we are
young and our energy never
ends. we run laps and play
tennis and since it is
not swimteam season
he doesn't have to swim
so he is able to spend
that time with me.
**
i watch him sleep.
i jerk off while he sleeps.
i want him to wake up and
catch me doing that, but
he is a sound sleeper.
at least he pretends to
be. if he's ever caught
me jerking off, he's
not let on.
**
we need to talk. i need
to talk. we talk a lot.
but it is never ever enough.
**
once i blurted out to him that
i loved him. he seemed
kinda taken aback, then,
he was a good sport
about it, and said
he loved me, too. kind of in
his "aw shucks" voice.
**
things go on like that.
**
i am 20. so is he.
we look good together.
we need to talk.
i need to talk.
**
i need.
**
there's nothing more to
be said.
**
there's always something
more to be said.
**
i need to touch his dick.
i need to feel him spurt his
cum into my mouth.
i need for us to sit on
the couch naked and
watch each other jerk off.
i need for us to jerk each
other off. i'm sure his
touch on my
dick would be warm, but gentle.
i'm sure my touch on his
dick would be crazy fast and
entirely too eager.
**
we are 20 years old.
it is early in the morning.
we are playing tennis.
the sound of the
court: thwack. thwack.
**
we need to talk.
**
i love him.
i am in pain.
he is beautiful.
i look pretty good myself.
we look good together.
**
i need to talk.
**
why do i seem to feel
every emotion through my
dick? why does the sound
of
his nice deep voice
resonate in my dick?
**
i feel everything in my
dick.
**
joy, sorrow, love,
hate--i feel them
all in my dick.
**
i spurt cum and think
of him.
**
i hate his girlfriends.
**
can't we talk, just him
and me?
**
i need to talk.
**
there's nothing more to
be said.
**
there's always something
more to be said.
**
how often does he spurt cum? i
wish he would
tell me tell me tell me tell me.
**
i need to talk.
i know we talk a lot, but
please, let's just
talk some more.
**
no matter how
much we say
to each other,
it is never enough
talking all night
only whets my
insatiable appetite
for him and
him and
the more he's there
the more i'll want
this will never end
this will always hurt
this will always
be a big slurry
of lust, and joy,
and pain.
we'll be 20 years old
forever, him and me, the
sunrises and
sunsets flashes
of light and dark,
twists of tenderness and
urgency,
the light shining behind his
ears makes
them glow pink,
then nearly red,
i look into his crystal
blue eyes
as the sunlight
immolates first one, then
the other,
of his sacred, sexy,
delicately pink ears.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem first appeared in The Commonline Journal, November 16, 2015. It also appears in my book String Bean, published by BareBackPress in 2018 and currently available at Amazon.)
there is nothing more to be said.
**
there is always something more to be said.
**
i need to talk with him.
**
but mainly i want to lick the tip of
his dick and feel his warm cum
spurting into my mouth, feel his warm cum
slosh around on my slobbery tongue.
**
i am 20 years old. so is
he.
**
he is straight. i am trying
to be straight, too, but almost
certainly i am gay.
he is a swimmer on the college
swim team. he is gorgeous,
sweet, gentle, friendly.
i am almost certainly in love
with him.
i am pretty good-looking, too.
long, lean, lithe, athletic.
we play a lot of tennis
together, him and me.
we look good together, too.
**
i need to talk with him. even though
we talk hours and hours
and hours, but it is not enough.
it is never enough.
we talk while we shower together
in the university gym.
we talk while we backpack together
on hikes on the weekends.
we talk while we're getting dressed.
we talk while we're walking to class.
**
no matter how much we talk,
it is not enough.
**
we are twenty years old.
he is gorgeous, his face handsome,
his cheeks ruddy, his dick big
and sturdy.
i am pretty good-looking myself.
**
there is nothing more to be said.
**
there is always something more to be said.
**
i need to talk to him. i want
to lick the tip of his dick.
i want to watch him spurt cum.
i want him to watch me spurt cum.
**
i don't like his girlfriends, even
though they are nice enough.
i am jealous of them. i am
jealous of the time they
take from me.
**
i am 20 years old.
so is he. we are roommates.
we are in college. we are
young and our energy never
ends. we run laps and play
tennis and since it is
not swimteam season
he doesn't have to swim
so he is able to spend
that time with me.
**
i watch him sleep.
i jerk off while he sleeps.
i want him to wake up and
catch me doing that, but
he is a sound sleeper.
at least he pretends to
be. if he's ever caught
me jerking off, he's
not let on.
**
we need to talk. i need
to talk. we talk a lot.
but it is never ever enough.
**
once i blurted out to him that
i loved him. he seemed
kinda taken aback, then,
he was a good sport
about it, and said
he loved me, too. kind of in
his "aw shucks" voice.
**
things go on like that.
**
i am 20. so is he.
we look good together.
we need to talk.
i need to talk.
**
i need.
**
there's nothing more to
be said.
**
there's always something
more to be said.
**
i need to touch his dick.
i need to feel him spurt his
cum into my mouth.
i need for us to sit on
the couch naked and
watch each other jerk off.
i need for us to jerk each
other off. i'm sure his
touch on my
dick would be warm, but gentle.
i'm sure my touch on his
dick would be crazy fast and
entirely too eager.
**
we are 20 years old.
it is early in the morning.
we are playing tennis.
the sound of the
court: thwack. thwack.
**
we need to talk.
**
i love him.
i am in pain.
he is beautiful.
i look pretty good myself.
we look good together.
**
i need to talk.
**
why do i seem to feel
every emotion through my
dick? why does the sound
of
his nice deep voice
resonate in my dick?
**
i feel everything in my
dick.
**
joy, sorrow, love,
hate--i feel them
all in my dick.
**
i spurt cum and think
of him.
**
i hate his girlfriends.
**
can't we talk, just him
and me?
**
i need to talk.
**
there's nothing more to
be said.
**
there's always something
more to be said.
**
how often does he spurt cum? i
wish he would
tell me tell me tell me tell me.
**
i need to talk.
i know we talk a lot, but
please, let's just
talk some more.
**
no matter how
much we say
to each other,
it is never enough
talking all night
only whets my
insatiable appetite
for him and
him and
the more he's there
the more i'll want
this will never end
this will always hurt
this will always
be a big slurry
of lust, and joy,
and pain.
we'll be 20 years old
forever, him and me, the
sunrises and
sunsets flashes
of light and dark,
twists of tenderness and
urgency,
the light shining behind his
ears makes
them glow pink,
then nearly red,
i look into his crystal
blue eyes
as the sunlight
immolates first one, then
the other,
of his sacred, sexy,
delicately pink ears.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem first appeared in The Commonline Journal, November 16, 2015. It also appears in my book String Bean, published by BareBackPress in 2018 and currently available at Amazon.)
Monday, December 30, 2019
broad back
when the scent of fresh coffee wafts its way
into the nostrils of the slender sexy big-dicked boy
lying on his bed on his back naked and trying to
decide whether to rush downstairs to the coffee
or lie there naked and big-dicked on his back
and jerk-off real nice and slow,
he kicks the last of the covers off
of his tender pink feet
and wraps his fingers around his
hard smooth purple-headed dick
and lies there pumping contentedly away,
savoring the knowledge of his impending orgasm
and the certainty of the hot aromatic coffee,
two absolutes in the life of a naked
big-dicked boy, lying on his back on
his bed in the morning jerking off
in the sunlight that streams in thru his
bedroom window. he pumps and pumps
and pumps away, his lips twisted
into something between a grimace and
a grin, and then he spurts what looks like (to
him) about
3 or 4 pints of hot gooey runny cum,
(but to most of us, would appear to
be 2 or 3 tablespoons of goo spread
gently across his smooth sexy chest and
lean firm belly), and, after
he spurts that cum, he wipes
it off of himself with a soft
old t-shirt kept hanging on his
bedpost for times such as this,
and then he gets dressed, goes downstairs,
pours himself a cup of coffee,
listens to the warm friendly
sounds in the next room,
and just sits there smelling
the aroma of his cup of coffee and grinning kind of
goofy, and kind of sincerely
profoundly happy.
it is the middle of june,
and summer seems like a sweet sexy dream.
--Carl Miller Daniels
when the scent of fresh coffee wafts its way
into the nostrils of the slender sexy big-dicked boy
lying on his bed on his back naked and trying to
decide whether to rush downstairs to the coffee
or lie there naked and big-dicked on his back
and jerk-off real nice and slow,
he kicks the last of the covers off
of his tender pink feet
and wraps his fingers around his
hard smooth purple-headed dick
and lies there pumping contentedly away,
savoring the knowledge of his impending orgasm
and the certainty of the hot aromatic coffee,
two absolutes in the life of a naked
big-dicked boy, lying on his back on
his bed in the morning jerking off
in the sunlight that streams in thru his
bedroom window. he pumps and pumps
and pumps away, his lips twisted
into something between a grimace and
a grin, and then he spurts what looks like (to
him) about
3 or 4 pints of hot gooey runny cum,
(but to most of us, would appear to
be 2 or 3 tablespoons of goo spread
gently across his smooth sexy chest and
lean firm belly), and, after
he spurts that cum, he wipes
it off of himself with a soft
old t-shirt kept hanging on his
bedpost for times such as this,
and then he gets dressed, goes downstairs,
pours himself a cup of coffee,
listens to the warm friendly
sounds in the next room,
and just sits there smelling
the aroma of his cup of coffee and grinning kind of
goofy, and kind of sincerely
profoundly happy.
it is the middle of june,
and summer seems like a sweet sexy dream.
--Carl Miller Daniels
Friday, December 20, 2019
clorox bleach
the twin boys had been having sex with each other
longer than they could remember.
perhaps they'd first sucked each other's dicks
inside their mother's womb.
they'd grown up sexy slender and gorgeous, and
all through high school they'd
done it: had secret sex with each other.
and, all through college,
it had been easy since they
were roommates in the dorm, and
then, in their own apartment.
they'd never "cheated" on each other,
never had sex with anyone else.
sometimes, after a particularly
tough academic week in college,
exam week for example,
well, the weekend following
that, they spent that entire
weekend in bed, "recuperating
thru recreation," having every
kind of sex with each other
that they'd ever had, and adding
in a couple more variations, as well,
"for extra fun."
**
then,
after college, they got
jobs in the same city,
and lived together,
and continued having sex
with each other all the time,
until, one day, seemingly
out of the blue,
one of the twins
said it should stop.
it was "just wrong."
they had a brief discussion,
and,
it was decided that they
would continue living together,
but would no longer have
sex with each other.
**
their world turned dark
and stormy. alone in
their now-separate beds, they cried
themselves to sleep nearly
every night.
**
finally, the twin who
had initiated the "no-sex" rule
moved out,
and left his twin brother all
alone.
**
as the century ended, and
trees everywhere began dying
of intense and
vicious insect infestations,
the sexy twin boys
continued their lives alone,
full of shame,
confused about the
guilt, lonely for
each other's arms, dicks,
asses,
the taste of each other's cum.
**
finally,
when they both thought everything
looked pretty much hopeless,
one weekend
they had a major "slip-up"
in the shower of their suite in
a major hotel. after, their
eyes shining like
four super-nova stars,
they said
to each other, and quietly, too,
just to heck with everything,
and moved back in together,
and
quietly lived,
life.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)
the twin boys had been having sex with each other
longer than they could remember.
perhaps they'd first sucked each other's dicks
inside their mother's womb.
they'd grown up sexy slender and gorgeous, and
all through high school they'd
done it: had secret sex with each other.
and, all through college,
it had been easy since they
were roommates in the dorm, and
then, in their own apartment.
they'd never "cheated" on each other,
never had sex with anyone else.
sometimes, after a particularly
tough academic week in college,
exam week for example,
well, the weekend following
that, they spent that entire
weekend in bed, "recuperating
thru recreation," having every
kind of sex with each other
that they'd ever had, and adding
in a couple more variations, as well,
"for extra fun."
**
then,
after college, they got
jobs in the same city,
and lived together,
and continued having sex
with each other all the time,
until, one day, seemingly
out of the blue,
one of the twins
said it should stop.
it was "just wrong."
they had a brief discussion,
and,
it was decided that they
would continue living together,
but would no longer have
sex with each other.
**
their world turned dark
and stormy. alone in
their now-separate beds, they cried
themselves to sleep nearly
every night.
**
finally, the twin who
had initiated the "no-sex" rule
moved out,
and left his twin brother all
alone.
**
as the century ended, and
trees everywhere began dying
of intense and
vicious insect infestations,
the sexy twin boys
continued their lives alone,
full of shame,
confused about the
guilt, lonely for
each other's arms, dicks,
asses,
the taste of each other's cum.
**
finally,
when they both thought everything
looked pretty much hopeless,
one weekend
they had a major "slip-up"
in the shower of their suite in
a major hotel. after, their
eyes shining like
four super-nova stars,
they said
to each other, and quietly, too,
just to heck with everything,
and moved back in together,
and
quietly lived,
life.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)
https://cmd2019.newtumbl.com/
But you won't be able to see everything on my newTumbl blog unless you have a newTumbl account of your own. In general, you'll only be able to see the "G-rated" stuff, and not any of the "X-rated" stuff on my newTumbl blog, if you don't have your own newTumbl account.
Thursday, December 19, 2019
kangaroo vine gold rush
ralph the nation and pantomime the stars,
the manikins are coming to town. and why is
it, you may ask, that manikins have no
genitalia? males or females, the
manikins just don't have these organs.
the sexy big-dicked teenage boys are standing
in front of a window display, where
all the manikins are still nude, and
are just this moment being dressed, and
it is hard not to notice that
none of these manikins have
genitalia. "where are the guys' dicks?" says
one of the sexy big-dicked teenage boys.
"and where are the girls' cunts?" says
another of the sexy big-dicked teenage boys.
then, the sexy big-dicked teenage boys
stand there a while longer, until
the manikins are mostly dressed,
and then,
nearing sunset,
the sexy big-dicked teenage boys
head on over to the house
where one of them lives,
and they take off all their
clothes, and they look at
each other's genitals. and by
look, i mean really look.
these sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys
examine each other's genitals,
scrutinize each other's genitals,
talk about each other's genitals,
and, the general consensus is,
that everybody here looks real good naked,
and that everybody here has real nice
genitals, and that boy manikins everywhere
should definitely have genitals, too.
by then, all the sexy naked big-dicked
teenage boys have pretty much
fallen in love with each other,
and they touch each other
in warm, friendly, and
overtly sexual ways. in fact, when
the word "orgy" is spoken,
there is instant agreement,
and
even the sexy male manikin that's
been hidden in the
mother's closet, gets to
take part. none of the
boys are surprised to see
that this particular manikin
has a penis,
or that his
eyes are startlingly
blue.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014, and currently available at Amazon.)
ralph the nation and pantomime the stars,
the manikins are coming to town. and why is
it, you may ask, that manikins have no
genitalia? males or females, the
manikins just don't have these organs.
the sexy big-dicked teenage boys are standing
in front of a window display, where
all the manikins are still nude, and
are just this moment being dressed, and
it is hard not to notice that
none of these manikins have
genitalia. "where are the guys' dicks?" says
one of the sexy big-dicked teenage boys.
"and where are the girls' cunts?" says
another of the sexy big-dicked teenage boys.
then, the sexy big-dicked teenage boys
stand there a while longer, until
the manikins are mostly dressed,
and then,
nearing sunset,
the sexy big-dicked teenage boys
head on over to the house
where one of them lives,
and they take off all their
clothes, and they look at
each other's genitals. and by
look, i mean really look.
these sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys
examine each other's genitals,
scrutinize each other's genitals,
talk about each other's genitals,
and, the general consensus is,
that everybody here looks real good naked,
and that everybody here has real nice
genitals, and that boy manikins everywhere
should definitely have genitals, too.
by then, all the sexy naked big-dicked
teenage boys have pretty much
fallen in love with each other,
and they touch each other
in warm, friendly, and
overtly sexual ways. in fact, when
the word "orgy" is spoken,
there is instant agreement,
and
even the sexy male manikin that's
been hidden in the
mother's closet, gets to
take part. none of the
boys are surprised to see
that this particular manikin
has a penis,
or that his
eyes are startlingly
blue.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014, and currently available at Amazon.)
umlaut
smelling like a candle, he walks into the party
hoping to get blown.
blown out, blown up, or blown away, but mainly, just blown.
yep, guy who smells like a candle just
wants the feel of human lips on his own peter.
guy who smells like a candle shouldn't have
too much trouble getting someone
to blow him. guy who smells like a candle
is tall and good-looking, wearing a very nice
pair of jeans, and displaying a really "nice package."
sure enough, guy who smells like a candle
gets approached quite early on.
inquiries are made. intentions are stated.
decisions are reached.
**
so, that night, the guy who smells like
a candle is getting capably and competently
blown by the good-looking muscular blond
guy who had approached him only a short
while ago. they are at the good-looking
muscular blond guy's apartment. the apartment is
clean and well-lighted. beginning, during, and
after the sucking-off process, the blond
guy keeps commenting: "god you smell
just like a candle. that wax smell,
ya know, before it burns."
guy who smells like a candle says,
"yep, uh huh: smelled that way for
a few years, i think.
ever since i hit puberty."
"so it's not a cologne of some kind?"
asks blond guy. "nope,"
says guy who smells like a candle.
"nope. it's just me."
"i LIKE it," says blond guy. "i like
it a lot."
**
later that night, lying in bed together in
the blond guy's apartment, guy who
smells like a candle says: "i like
getting blown. let's do it again, ok?"
"golly," says the blond guy, this'll
be the fourth time! you ARE insatiable,
aren't you?" blond guy himself has
had to beat-off in order to achieve
his own orgasms. guy who smells like
a candle has shown no interest in
sucking the blond guy off, or in
fucking him, or in being fucked by
him. so blond guy has beaten-off
a couple times while blowing
the guy who smells like a candle.
"yep," says guy who smells like
a candle. "that's me: insatiable. you
don't mind do you?"
"er," says the blond guy. "no. you're
quite the pepper, all right. and
you've got a big gorgeous smooth cock."
**
then, later that night, after
the blond guy falls asleep, guy
who smells like a candle gets
dressed, sneaks out, vanishes.
in the morning, the blond guy
notices stuff on his sheets --
not cum spots, but spots
of pure wax. blond guy puts his
nose right down over them
and smells--yep, wax spots all right,
smells just like a candle.
**
guy who smells like a candle
is back at home now in
his den--lying naked on
his back. he looks good,
there in the dimness,
and, with a sharp piece of
flint, he strikes a spark
against his left nipple.
a small flame arises
from that nipple; then he lies
there, holding a book,
reading by the flame of
his own left nipple. when he
turns the page, he burps
up a little plume of smoke,
so small and delicate,
it's almost
invisible.
--Carl Miller Daniels (2008)
smelling like a candle, he walks into the party
hoping to get blown.
blown out, blown up, or blown away, but mainly, just blown.
yep, guy who smells like a candle just
wants the feel of human lips on his own peter.
guy who smells like a candle shouldn't have
too much trouble getting someone
to blow him. guy who smells like a candle
is tall and good-looking, wearing a very nice
pair of jeans, and displaying a really "nice package."
sure enough, guy who smells like a candle
gets approached quite early on.
inquiries are made. intentions are stated.
decisions are reached.
**
so, that night, the guy who smells like
a candle is getting capably and competently
blown by the good-looking muscular blond
guy who had approached him only a short
while ago. they are at the good-looking
muscular blond guy's apartment. the apartment is
clean and well-lighted. beginning, during, and
after the sucking-off process, the blond
guy keeps commenting: "god you smell
just like a candle. that wax smell,
ya know, before it burns."
guy who smells like a candle says,
"yep, uh huh: smelled that way for
a few years, i think.
ever since i hit puberty."
"so it's not a cologne of some kind?"
asks blond guy. "nope,"
says guy who smells like a candle.
"nope. it's just me."
"i LIKE it," says blond guy. "i like
it a lot."
**
later that night, lying in bed together in
the blond guy's apartment, guy who
smells like a candle says: "i like
getting blown. let's do it again, ok?"
"golly," says the blond guy, this'll
be the fourth time! you ARE insatiable,
aren't you?" blond guy himself has
had to beat-off in order to achieve
his own orgasms. guy who smells like
a candle has shown no interest in
sucking the blond guy off, or in
fucking him, or in being fucked by
him. so blond guy has beaten-off
a couple times while blowing
the guy who smells like a candle.
"yep," says guy who smells like
a candle. "that's me: insatiable. you
don't mind do you?"
"er," says the blond guy. "no. you're
quite the pepper, all right. and
you've got a big gorgeous smooth cock."
**
then, later that night, after
the blond guy falls asleep, guy
who smells like a candle gets
dressed, sneaks out, vanishes.
in the morning, the blond guy
notices stuff on his sheets --
not cum spots, but spots
of pure wax. blond guy puts his
nose right down over them
and smells--yep, wax spots all right,
smells just like a candle.
**
guy who smells like a candle
is back at home now in
his den--lying naked on
his back. he looks good,
there in the dimness,
and, with a sharp piece of
flint, he strikes a spark
against his left nipple.
a small flame arises
from that nipple; then he lies
there, holding a book,
reading by the flame of
his own left nipple. when he
turns the page, he burps
up a little plume of smoke,
so small and delicate,
it's almost
invisible.
--Carl Miller Daniels (2008)
flint
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy is
a white boy, but he wants to be a native american boy,
hopefully a native american boy from ancient times,
because he thought it would be fun to run around
mostly naked and hunt animals and fuck like a savage.
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
didn't know much at all about how native americans
really lived, but in his head he
has this image of himself,
this image of
himself wearing almost nothing at all
and he is carrying
a bow and arrow, or a spear,
running down a big savage beast of some kind
with a group of his sexy wild half-naked friends,
running down that beast, a big furry bison perhaps,
and stabbing it with spears and shooting it with arrows,
and then skinning it and cutting it apart
and bringing its butchered parts back
to the womenfolk in the village
and there would be a big feast
and lots of mostly-naked dancing
and then a night of wild rampant
fucking of the womenfolk
and lots of spurting of cum
and many many orgasms
that night to celebrate
the killing of that big hairy bison.
meanwhile,
as
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
was having these thoughts,
he is standing in the middle
of the forest all alone
tugging on his big thick hard
sturdy dick, and he is about
to spurt cum
and his tiny little nipples
are tingling
and the tips of the pubic hairs
on his scrotum
are moving lightly in the warm summer breeze
and their hairy movements is causing
his scrotum to tingle with
unbelievably strong readiness
to urge his big throbbing dick right along
in spurting out a big
gooey series of blobs of
hot runny musky-scented cum
and as the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
tugs on his dick
and awaits the actual moment
of spurting cum
he watches a little flock of birdies,
chickadees they are,
and he wonders
how anyone
could ever
kill
an animal,
could ever kill
any animal,
all those sweet animals
in the world,
birds and beasts and giant whales in the sea
but
when the orgasm does begin and he is now spurting
his cum
and his cum is jetting out of him
in big gooey jolts of orgasmo-heat
he is a wild native american mostly-naked
boy
running down a bison
and stabbing
it
right through the
eye, his half-naked boyfriends
shouting like
savages,
their dicks
flopping up down back
and forth, under
very little
cover.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014, and currently available at Amazon.)
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy is
a white boy, but he wants to be a native american boy,
hopefully a native american boy from ancient times,
because he thought it would be fun to run around
mostly naked and hunt animals and fuck like a savage.
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
didn't know much at all about how native americans
really lived, but in his head he
has this image of himself,
this image of
himself wearing almost nothing at all
and he is carrying
a bow and arrow, or a spear,
running down a big savage beast of some kind
with a group of his sexy wild half-naked friends,
running down that beast, a big furry bison perhaps,
and stabbing it with spears and shooting it with arrows,
and then skinning it and cutting it apart
and bringing its butchered parts back
to the womenfolk in the village
and there would be a big feast
and lots of mostly-naked dancing
and then a night of wild rampant
fucking of the womenfolk
and lots of spurting of cum
and many many orgasms
that night to celebrate
the killing of that big hairy bison.
meanwhile,
as
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
was having these thoughts,
he is standing in the middle
of the forest all alone
tugging on his big thick hard
sturdy dick, and he is about
to spurt cum
and his tiny little nipples
are tingling
and the tips of the pubic hairs
on his scrotum
are moving lightly in the warm summer breeze
and their hairy movements is causing
his scrotum to tingle with
unbelievably strong readiness
to urge his big throbbing dick right along
in spurting out a big
gooey series of blobs of
hot runny musky-scented cum
and as the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
tugs on his dick
and awaits the actual moment
of spurting cum
he watches a little flock of birdies,
chickadees they are,
and he wonders
how anyone
could ever
kill
an animal,
could ever kill
any animal,
all those sweet animals
in the world,
birds and beasts and giant whales in the sea
but
when the orgasm does begin and he is now spurting
his cum
and his cum is jetting out of him
in big gooey jolts of orgasmo-heat
he is a wild native american mostly-naked
boy
running down a bison
and stabbing
it
right through the
eye, his half-naked boyfriends
shouting like
savages,
their dicks
flopping up down back
and forth, under
very little
cover.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014, and currently available at Amazon.)
Wednesday, December 18, 2019
pony farm
the splish splash i'm taking a bath
sounds
being made by the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
long about saturday night
were splishy and splashy and wet and soapy
and squeezy turgid dick
flopping around on top of the water
almost ready to spurt cum
and
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
wonders if he's going to spurt his cum
right into his own face
and then wash the cum off his face
or if he's going to submerge his
big hard dick right before
the moment he cums
and thus spurt his cum into the hot soapy water
jostling for position
his dick above the water
his dick below the water
sliding his tight firm butt around
on the bottom of the slick hot tub
his dick out of the water
his dick under the water
splishing and splashing
and taking a bath
long about saturday night
and
when
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
cums
his dick is out of the water
and his cum
spurts out and hits
him right on the lips
and on his forehead
and some of it goes right
over his head and hits
the back of the tub
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
spurting cum
splishing and
splashing
long about
saturday night.
the cum on his
face, he scrunches
under the water
and rubs his hands
over his face
and around his
chin
and touches his
adam's apple,
there under the soapy
water,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
groans and growls
mouthing out bubbles
under
the water
and then
he sticks his
face out of the water
and grins
like a hot sexy maniac
who's just had a whole lota
fun spurting cum
splishing and splashing
and taking a bath
long about saturday
night.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem "pony farm" also appears in my book Be Kind to Strangers, published by BareBackPress in 2015. And "pony farm" first appeared in BareBack Magazine, in September 2014.)
the splish splash i'm taking a bath
sounds
being made by the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
long about saturday night
were splishy and splashy and wet and soapy
and squeezy turgid dick
flopping around on top of the water
almost ready to spurt cum
and
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
wonders if he's going to spurt his cum
right into his own face
and then wash the cum off his face
or if he's going to submerge his
big hard dick right before
the moment he cums
and thus spurt his cum into the hot soapy water
jostling for position
his dick above the water
his dick below the water
sliding his tight firm butt around
on the bottom of the slick hot tub
his dick out of the water
his dick under the water
splishing and splashing
and taking a bath
long about saturday night
and
when
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
cums
his dick is out of the water
and his cum
spurts out and hits
him right on the lips
and on his forehead
and some of it goes right
over his head and hits
the back of the tub
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
spurting cum
splishing and
splashing
long about
saturday night.
the cum on his
face, he scrunches
under the water
and rubs his hands
over his face
and around his
chin
and touches his
adam's apple,
there under the soapy
water,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
groans and growls
mouthing out bubbles
under
the water
and then
he sticks his
face out of the water
and grins
like a hot sexy maniac
who's just had a whole lota
fun spurting cum
splishing and splashing
and taking a bath
long about saturday
night.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem "pony farm" also appears in my book Be Kind to Strangers, published by BareBackPress in 2015. And "pony farm" first appeared in BareBack Magazine, in September 2014.)
now that's an existential moment
brightly shine the little stars at night.
the sexy young man lies naked on his back,
staring up at them while he masturbates.
just before he cums, he rolls onto his
side, and spurts his cum off into the grass.
then, he rolls again onto his back, and
stares up at the stars while his big cock
droops and gets flexible again. he
smells the scent of the night air (soil
and warm wispy dampness) and the scent
of his own cum (acrid, musky, fertile).
he watches a bat gliding and dipping
as it tries to catch insects. the sexy
naked young man cannot tell if the bat
is catching any insects or not. it is too
dark, and the insects are just too small.
the sexy naked young man curls and uncurls
his toes. he touches his nipples, first
the left one, then the right, and
feels just a bit astonished at how
hot his own body feels at the touch
of his own fingertips. then he remembers,
and that's when the calmness really settles in,
midnight, summer, the middle of june.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Riot Act, published by Chiron Review Press in 2010.)
brightly shine the little stars at night.
the sexy young man lies naked on his back,
staring up at them while he masturbates.
just before he cums, he rolls onto his
side, and spurts his cum off into the grass.
then, he rolls again onto his back, and
stares up at the stars while his big cock
droops and gets flexible again. he
smells the scent of the night air (soil
and warm wispy dampness) and the scent
of his own cum (acrid, musky, fertile).
he watches a bat gliding and dipping
as it tries to catch insects. the sexy
naked young man cannot tell if the bat
is catching any insects or not. it is too
dark, and the insects are just too small.
the sexy naked young man curls and uncurls
his toes. he touches his nipples, first
the left one, then the right, and
feels just a bit astonished at how
hot his own body feels at the touch
of his own fingertips. then he remembers,
and that's when the calmness really settles in,
midnight, summer, the middle of june.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Riot Act, published by Chiron Review Press in 2010.)
Tuesday, December 17, 2019
truce
at the sudden outbreak of fixation,
the hot gorgeous sexy big-dicked young man
fell for the tall slinky sloe-eyed teenage boy
with a clank, and a rattle, and a twank to the
knockers. kaboom the heart-thud sound.
thwack and mysterion phases of the
thigh stem package, a tweak to
the eyeballs, and a ratiocination
of the brainstem extravagances.
oh heck yeah,
the hot gorgeous sexy big-dicked young man
fell hard for the tall slinky sloe-eyed teenage boy,
and there was just no keeping the two of them
apart. in their sex bed, they
yeed and yawed and hummed and
pushed and prodded and yipped
and yammered. whimpers of
joy and explications of pleasure.
a slimy mess of semen, the spots
on the pillow inhaled as
though religious.
after their first few weeks together,
the hot gorgeous sexy big-dicked young man
and the tall slinky sloe-eyed teenage boy
showed no signs of slowing down.
a whirlwind over their heads.
eye shadow a phenomenon of
tufted titmice, screeching peacefully
amongst the sharp points of
the leaves of the holly,
red berries edible,
but only when perfectly
ripe.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014, and currently available at Amazon.)
at the sudden outbreak of fixation,
the hot gorgeous sexy big-dicked young man
fell for the tall slinky sloe-eyed teenage boy
with a clank, and a rattle, and a twank to the
knockers. kaboom the heart-thud sound.
thwack and mysterion phases of the
thigh stem package, a tweak to
the eyeballs, and a ratiocination
of the brainstem extravagances.
oh heck yeah,
the hot gorgeous sexy big-dicked young man
fell hard for the tall slinky sloe-eyed teenage boy,
and there was just no keeping the two of them
apart. in their sex bed, they
yeed and yawed and hummed and
pushed and prodded and yipped
and yammered. whimpers of
joy and explications of pleasure.
a slimy mess of semen, the spots
on the pillow inhaled as
though religious.
after their first few weeks together,
the hot gorgeous sexy big-dicked young man
and the tall slinky sloe-eyed teenage boy
showed no signs of slowing down.
a whirlwind over their heads.
eye shadow a phenomenon of
tufted titmice, screeching peacefully
amongst the sharp points of
the leaves of the holly,
red berries edible,
but only when perfectly
ripe.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014, and currently available at Amazon.)
walrus blood
the weather report calls for the loss of virginity,
the administration of smelling salts,
the particularly pleasant and pleasurable
pantheon of 16 sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys
taking turns fucking each other up the ass.
and, when they suck on each other's dicks,
they only taste the tip. the whole shaft
is just too beautiful.
**
the clouds are fluffy white marvels of
sea foam, suspended in the pale blue atmosphere,
raindrops not even a possibility,
not even a thought.
**
hundreds of thousands of insects
ride the air currents high above
our heads. sometimes they fall
to earth. mostly, though, they
just seem to ride.
**
all alone in his room,
jeff the tall skinny college freshman
tugs gently on his big hard well-oiled penis,
and waits
for the circus of the stars.
when the orgasm happens,
it's practically chimpanzees,
and nearly that furry,
but without all that vocalizing.
chimp vocal sounds,
those pale yellow teeth.
not what jeff was looking forward to,
and certainly not what he expected.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014, and currently available at Amazon.)
the weather report calls for the loss of virginity,
the administration of smelling salts,
the particularly pleasant and pleasurable
pantheon of 16 sexy naked big-dicked teenage boys
taking turns fucking each other up the ass.
and, when they suck on each other's dicks,
they only taste the tip. the whole shaft
is just too beautiful.
**
the clouds are fluffy white marvels of
sea foam, suspended in the pale blue atmosphere,
raindrops not even a possibility,
not even a thought.
**
hundreds of thousands of insects
ride the air currents high above
our heads. sometimes they fall
to earth. mostly, though, they
just seem to ride.
**
all alone in his room,
jeff the tall skinny college freshman
tugs gently on his big hard well-oiled penis,
and waits
for the circus of the stars.
when the orgasm happens,
it's practically chimpanzees,
and nearly that furry,
but without all that vocalizing.
chimp vocal sounds,
those pale yellow teeth.
not what jeff was looking forward to,
and certainly not what he expected.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014, and currently available at Amazon.)
i reckon so, if the good lord's willin
ah the lure of the brash big-dicked cowboy.
how he can make a gay boy's heart flutter.
how he can make a gay boy's dick hard in
an instant, spurt cum in less than a minute.
the brash big-dicked cowboy is down
by the pond, the clear-water one,
where the cows don't drink.
the brash big-dicked cowboy is washing
himself off in the cool clear water.
the brash big-dicked cowboy is naked
when the gay boy spies him,
and the gay boy's dick goes instantly hard.
the gay boy stands behind a tree
and stares at the brash naked big-dicked cowboy.
the gay boy whines softly, kinda
whimpers, as the brash naked big-dicked cowboy
goes right on washing himself.
soon, real soon,
the brash naked big-dicked cowboy notices
that he's being observed.
the brash naked big-dicked cowboy speaks:
"get right over here, you!" he
says to the gay boy.
the gay boy obeys.
the gay boy sucks off the brash naked big-dicked cowboy.
the brash naked big-dicked cowboy tries to
return the favor, but the gay boy has
already spurted his cum, and
it floats in a slimy little pool on
top of the pond.
they both stare at it, nod with understanding,
and kiss each other on the lips.
things like this happen everyday.
things like this
make the rapid-fire assault of
targeted munition sites
a pea-popping pleasure,
a wealth of historical evidence
quickly demonstrable in the
annals of mercury-powered time.
"you're a good-looking boy,"
the brash naked big-dicked cowboy says
to the sweetly sexy gay boy.
"i think we should get ourselves in that
there bunkhouse right now, and pursue this
here matter."
whimpers and screams are often the
voice of
cowpoke love.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014, and currently available at Amazon.)
ah the lure of the brash big-dicked cowboy.
how he can make a gay boy's heart flutter.
how he can make a gay boy's dick hard in
an instant, spurt cum in less than a minute.
the brash big-dicked cowboy is down
by the pond, the clear-water one,
where the cows don't drink.
the brash big-dicked cowboy is washing
himself off in the cool clear water.
the brash big-dicked cowboy is naked
when the gay boy spies him,
and the gay boy's dick goes instantly hard.
the gay boy stands behind a tree
and stares at the brash naked big-dicked cowboy.
the gay boy whines softly, kinda
whimpers, as the brash naked big-dicked cowboy
goes right on washing himself.
soon, real soon,
the brash naked big-dicked cowboy notices
that he's being observed.
the brash naked big-dicked cowboy speaks:
"get right over here, you!" he
says to the gay boy.
the gay boy obeys.
the gay boy sucks off the brash naked big-dicked cowboy.
the brash naked big-dicked cowboy tries to
return the favor, but the gay boy has
already spurted his cum, and
it floats in a slimy little pool on
top of the pond.
they both stare at it, nod with understanding,
and kiss each other on the lips.
things like this happen everyday.
things like this
make the rapid-fire assault of
targeted munition sites
a pea-popping pleasure,
a wealth of historical evidence
quickly demonstrable in the
annals of mercury-powered time.
"you're a good-looking boy,"
the brash naked big-dicked cowboy says
to the sweetly sexy gay boy.
"i think we should get ourselves in that
there bunkhouse right now, and pursue this
here matter."
whimpers and screams are often the
voice of
cowpoke love.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014, and currently available at Amazon.)
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