peripheral satellite cop

the conquistador swing of matador dick,
the punctured bull pumping blood onto the sand,
the white sun blazing in the opalescent
sky -- this is the dream of the
sexy sophomore college boy
as he lies on his back naked in
his bed, his big dick hard as a rock,
lifting his sheet above his
hot flat belly.
**
the roommate who is watching the
sleeping matador dreamer
is wearing
only tight white underpants.
his own big hard dick is sticking out of
the stretched-open fly of
those tight white underpants.
**
the matador dreamer
wakes up,
sees his roommate staring
down at him.
"i thought i told you
to stop doing that,"
says the matador dreamer.
"indeed you did tell me
to stop doing that," says
the roommate.
**
both sexy sophomore boys,
the matador dreamer and
his roommate,
stare into each other's
eyes through softly filtered
light.
**
"so what were you
dreaming about tonight?" says
the roommate to
the sexy sophomore college boy
who had been dreaming about
a sexy big-dicked matador and a
punctured and thrashing
blood-pumping bull.
"nothin," says the matador dreamer.
"that so?" says the roommate.
"yep," says the matador dreamer. "anyways,
i can't remember."
**
they can both smell a lie.
it sticks in the room like the
aroma of hot cum.
**
nobody says anything.
**
then, as they've done before,
in past episodes
of a
similar nature,
they pull the
top sheet off of the matador
dreamer.
the matador dreamer's dick is
still hard, thick,
pulsing.
his roommate starts
masturbating.
the matador dreamer
starts masturbating,
too.
soon, they both spurt cum.
all the cum, both the
roommate's and the
matador dreamer's,
goes right onto the matador
dreamer's taut flat
sexy belly, as if lured there
by the willing texture of
the smooth young flesh.
then, the roommate climbs
into his own bunk,
the top bunk. the
matador dreamer remains in his own
bed on
the bottom.  there's a moment
of mutual understanding while the matador
dreamer wipes the cum off
his belly with a soft smooth
towel. soon, both
boys are
snoring like those big meat saws
in a butcher shop, all primed up and
ready,
to split a carcass in half.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my chapbook Be Kind to Strangers, published by BareBackPress in 2015.)