Sunday, March 31, 2019
Saturday, March 30, 2019
bow wow
you're thinking about getting a dog,
but now you're
in the middle of getting fucked by a
gorgeous ferociously big-dicked 18-yr-old boy.
the
gorgeous ferociously big-dicked 18-yr-old boy
is fucking you rhythmically and pleasurably
and he is sweating and you are a sweating
and you are nearly beyond delirious in
your panting sexual ecstasy
and you are still thinking about getting a dog,
and the
gorgeous ferociously big-dicked 18-yr-old boy
is pumping away and
you're thinking what kind of dog
you might want
and the
gorgeous ferociously big-dicked 18-yr-old boy
keeps on fucking you and he's doing
A REALLY GREAT JOB!!, too,
god he is HOT! SO HOT!!
and you
both cum like
twin explosions
and then you say
"good boy!"
and then you say it even
louder:
"GOOD BOY! WHAT A GOOD BOY YOU ARE!!"
and the sexy sex machine 18-yr-old boy
says "arf?"
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011.)
you're thinking about getting a dog,
but now you're
in the middle of getting fucked by a
gorgeous ferociously big-dicked 18-yr-old boy.
the
gorgeous ferociously big-dicked 18-yr-old boy
is fucking you rhythmically and pleasurably
and he is sweating and you are a sweating
and you are nearly beyond delirious in
your panting sexual ecstasy
and you are still thinking about getting a dog,
and the
gorgeous ferociously big-dicked 18-yr-old boy
is pumping away and
you're thinking what kind of dog
you might want
and the
gorgeous ferociously big-dicked 18-yr-old boy
keeps on fucking you and he's doing
A REALLY GREAT JOB!!, too,
god he is HOT! SO HOT!!
and you
both cum like
twin explosions
and then you say
"good boy!"
and then you say it even
louder:
"GOOD BOY! WHAT A GOOD BOY YOU ARE!!"
and the sexy sex machine 18-yr-old boy
says "arf?"
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011.)
Friday, March 29, 2019
how many prawns can you eat?
the science of satiation says to keep on doing
something until you're full of it. teehee.
well, seriously now, the
science of satiation basically says,
you keep on eating until you
are full. then, you stop eating, because you
are full, and you don't want anything
else to eat, for a while anyway.
the science of satiation says to keep on doing
something until you are done, and
then you stop. for instance,
the beautiful big-dicked young man
keeps on masturbating, keeps on
rubbing and stroking and pumping away
on his big hard dick, until he
spurts cum. then, the
beautiful big-dicked young man stops
masturbating. and
the beautiful big-dicked young man doesn't
masturbate again until
he's in the mood again.
the science of satiation says the
beautiful big-dicked young man
will masturbate until he's done,
and then he won't masturbate anymore,
for a good while. but, that "good while"
part is open to interpretation.
the science of satiation is fuzzy on this point.
the science of satiation is indeterminant in
this area.
when does a person who has eaten
his or her fill need to eat again?
when does the beautiful big-dicked
young man need to masturbate again?
it is this "betweenness" in the
science of satiation that causes
so much head-scratching. between
one meal and the next. between
one masturbatory session and
the next. what does one DO with
all that betweenness? and, in
fact, how much betweenness
should there be? is there
some optimal amount of
betweenness? the science
of satiation is a world
of imprecision, of maybe's
and kinda's and sort-of's. when the
beautiful big-dicked young man
is masturbating, he is happy,
pleasant, and cheerful.
when the beautiful big-dicked
young man is eating, he
is happy, pleasant, and cheerful.
often, though, when he
is eating, he is thinking
about masturbating. when
will he get to masturbate again?
after dessert? or, should
he skip dessert, and get
right to the masturbating?
between meals, between
masturbation sessions,
drifting along in the
realm of betweenness,
the beautiful big-dicked young man
is lost, adrift, and
alone -- as the scientists
of satiation congratulate
themselves on the knowledge
they've amassed so far, and slap each
other on the back, until
one of them says stop.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011. Gorilla Architecture is currently for sale at good ole' Amazon.)
the science of satiation says to keep on doing
something until you're full of it. teehee.
well, seriously now, the
science of satiation basically says,
you keep on eating until you
are full. then, you stop eating, because you
are full, and you don't want anything
else to eat, for a while anyway.
the science of satiation says to keep on doing
something until you are done, and
then you stop. for instance,
the beautiful big-dicked young man
keeps on masturbating, keeps on
rubbing and stroking and pumping away
on his big hard dick, until he
spurts cum. then, the
beautiful big-dicked young man stops
masturbating. and
the beautiful big-dicked young man doesn't
masturbate again until
he's in the mood again.
the science of satiation says the
beautiful big-dicked young man
will masturbate until he's done,
and then he won't masturbate anymore,
for a good while. but, that "good while"
part is open to interpretation.
the science of satiation is fuzzy on this point.
the science of satiation is indeterminant in
this area.
when does a person who has eaten
his or her fill need to eat again?
when does the beautiful big-dicked
young man need to masturbate again?
it is this "betweenness" in the
science of satiation that causes
so much head-scratching. between
one meal and the next. between
one masturbatory session and
the next. what does one DO with
all that betweenness? and, in
fact, how much betweenness
should there be? is there
some optimal amount of
betweenness? the science
of satiation is a world
of imprecision, of maybe's
and kinda's and sort-of's. when the
beautiful big-dicked young man
is masturbating, he is happy,
pleasant, and cheerful.
when the beautiful big-dicked
young man is eating, he
is happy, pleasant, and cheerful.
often, though, when he
is eating, he is thinking
about masturbating. when
will he get to masturbate again?
after dessert? or, should
he skip dessert, and get
right to the masturbating?
between meals, between
masturbation sessions,
drifting along in the
realm of betweenness,
the beautiful big-dicked young man
is lost, adrift, and
alone -- as the scientists
of satiation congratulate
themselves on the knowledge
they've amassed so far, and slap each
other on the back, until
one of them says stop.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011. Gorilla Architecture is currently for sale at good ole' Amazon.)
Thursday, March 28, 2019
formal thank-you letter not necessary for this gift
all the leaves fell off,
and their branches looked like
naked reaching arms, grabbing
for the sky. the tree bark
was cold and scratchy, and
the moss that was perched upon it
was brittle and
wispy, not soft
and green, but gray,
and harsh in texture,
as well as in tone.
oh how the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
longed for summer,
as he stood in the forest,
in the sunniest spot he could
find, but the air was still chilly
as he stood there in
the glow of the late-autumn sun,
tugging on his big hard dick,
tugging
with less enthusiasm than
he tugged on it in the summer,
when the sweat ran down
his back and butt
and dripped off his
balls and ran down his lean
muscular legs.
now, the bare branches
above him,
and all the leaves down on the ground,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
tugged on his dick
and waited for the electro-jolt of
wet sloppy orgasm,
and,
when it hit,
he spurted about 18 cum spurts
up against the bark of a nearby
tree, and watched the blotches of
his cum drip
down the filaments of
the crispy gray moss.
then, he began to shiver,
and got dressed quickly,
the chilly breath of
insistent winter
poking around inside
his nostrils,
licking the
lust right out
of his lungs.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)
all the leaves fell off,
and their branches looked like
naked reaching arms, grabbing
for the sky. the tree bark
was cold and scratchy, and
the moss that was perched upon it
was brittle and
wispy, not soft
and green, but gray,
and harsh in texture,
as well as in tone.
oh how the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
longed for summer,
as he stood in the forest,
in the sunniest spot he could
find, but the air was still chilly
as he stood there in
the glow of the late-autumn sun,
tugging on his big hard dick,
tugging
with less enthusiasm than
he tugged on it in the summer,
when the sweat ran down
his back and butt
and dripped off his
balls and ran down his lean
muscular legs.
now, the bare branches
above him,
and all the leaves down on the ground,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
tugged on his dick
and waited for the electro-jolt of
wet sloppy orgasm,
and,
when it hit,
he spurted about 18 cum spurts
up against the bark of a nearby
tree, and watched the blotches of
his cum drip
down the filaments of
the crispy gray moss.
then, he began to shiver,
and got dressed quickly,
the chilly breath of
insistent winter
poking around inside
his nostrils,
licking the
lust right out
of his lungs.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)
Monday, March 25, 2019
Sunday, March 24, 2019
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 chapbook 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 chapbook Riot Act, published by Chiron Review Press in 2010.)
Friday, March 22, 2019
Thursday, March 21, 2019
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