Thursday, October 31, 2019
Wednesday, October 30, 2019
One Halloween poem -- and
two "Halloween-ish" poems -- Hope
ya enjoy 'em all -- HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
i think he said his name was "lucky"
for his halloween costume,
the sexy big-dicked young man decided
to go naked. in other words, he decided he'd
"dress up" as a nudist.
this thought amused the sexy big-dicked young man
very much,
and, the first door he knocked on,
a young woman answered.
"trick or treat," said
the sexy naked big-dicked young man.
he held out a little brown paper sack,
and waited for his treat.
the young woman slammed the door in his face.
he turned and walked down the sidewalk.
very soon, a police car showed up.
two cops hurried over to the
sexy naked big-dicked young man,
and one of the cops wrapped a blanket
around him.
"you're under arrest," said the cop who
had wrapped him up with the blanket.
"indecent exposure."
"but it's halloween," said the
sexy naked big-dicked young man,
"and this is my costume. i'm 'dressed
up' as a nudist. get it?"
and then the young man
laughed, quite charmingly.
"yeah yeah," said the other cop. "very funny.
but you're STILL under arrest for indecent exposure."
and so the two cops and the sexy big-dicked young man
who was wrapped up in the blanket
drove to the police station/jail.
they booked the sexy big-dicked young man
and issued him some jail clothes and
put him a cell and told him to
get dressed.
the sexy big-dicked young man
refused. in fact, he threw off the blanket,
and stood there sexy, naked, big-dicked,
with a full horny erection that suddenly looked,
in fact, like it was made entirely out of
bone, and then encrusted with
brittle knobby chunks of tortoise shell.
there then ensued what seemed to be
a general melting and fusing of flesh,
and the creature that
the sexy naked big-dicked young man
had become kicked out the bars
of the cell's window, unfurled
a pair of wings, and flew off into the
starry night-time sky.
"happy halloween," were the parting words
the two cops heard, as the goosebumps
seized them, and covered their
pale municipal flesh.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem was originally published in the book Last Train to Noir City [2010]. It also appears in my book Saline [Interior Noise Press, 2014]. And, it also appeared in The Commonline Journal, October 30, 2015.)
alive
people have wondered about Frankenstein's dick.
not the Dr. but the Monster.
people have been asking questions about Frankenstein's dick.
people want to know.
people wish Mary Godwin Wollstonecraft Shelley (wife of
Percy Bysshe Shelley) had told them.
about the dick.
about Frankenstein's dick.
people wish she'd have made the story sexier.
people have been clamoring.
forming little garrulous knots and murmuring.
"i wish she'd have told us about Frankenstein's dick" they say.
"i wish she'd have told us."
lying naked on the table, the fully assembled monster had a
big big big big big male member.
she might have said.
the phallus swelled and lifted its phallic head as the rich dark
blood began to circulate through the monster's body.
she might have said.
the first thing the jolt of electricity effected
was the instant turgidity in the monster's male part that caused
it to come to life and
spurt
its white manly liquid instantaneously and copiously, and
fill the room with the scent of tall muscular maleness in all its
musky earthy
overripeness.
she might have said.
but she didn't.
and people have wondered about Frankenstein's dick ever since.
little mumbles of curiosity.
little whimpers of prurient interest.
little shouts and pants and moans
from under their sheets
in thick summer nights.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Be Kind to Strangers, published by BareBackPress in 2015.)
undomesticated
THIS PLACE IS HAUNTED thinks the
beautiful big-dicked boy, his
big dick as hard as a shiny steel pipe.
chains are rattling in the background.
there are moans and sighs. a big
dog, more like a wolf, really,
stands shivering in the middle of
the room, blinks,
squints, then trots off into
nothingness. THIS PLACE IS
FUCKING HAUNTED! thinks the
beautiful big-dicked boy. he is
standing naked in the middle
of a big smooth room. there
is a large rumpled bed, and a few
over-stuffed chairs. the light
is dim. he doesn't know
how he got here, why he's
here, how long he's been
here, but his big hot dick
is hard and throbbing, and shiny
like steel, in the strange
phosphorescence of the light,
whose source he is unable
to discern. the room is
just strangely glowing. he
himself is shiny like
metal--beautiful and big-dicked
and horny as hell as chains
rattle, voices moan and groan
all around him, and the big
dog, yes, it is a wolf! no
doubt about it, the wolf
returns, growls, then
breaks into sobs and moans
that sound very much human.
the beautiful big-dicked
boy walks over to the wolf,
pats it on the head, and
the wolf's eyes turn white-hot,
and sugared cherries fall out
of its open mouth. the
beautiful big-dicked boy
bends down and eats,
starving for food,
and company.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem -- "undomesticated" -- also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011. Before that, "undomesticated" appeared in Thieves Jargon, June 4, 2009.)
*********** END OF HALLOWEEN POSTING ***************
two "Halloween-ish" poems -- Hope
ya enjoy 'em all -- HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
i think he said his name was "lucky"
for his halloween costume,
the sexy big-dicked young man decided
to go naked. in other words, he decided he'd
"dress up" as a nudist.
this thought amused the sexy big-dicked young man
very much,
and, the first door he knocked on,
a young woman answered.
"trick or treat," said
the sexy naked big-dicked young man.
he held out a little brown paper sack,
and waited for his treat.
the young woman slammed the door in his face.
he turned and walked down the sidewalk.
very soon, a police car showed up.
two cops hurried over to the
sexy naked big-dicked young man,
and one of the cops wrapped a blanket
around him.
"you're under arrest," said the cop who
had wrapped him up with the blanket.
"indecent exposure."
"but it's halloween," said the
sexy naked big-dicked young man,
"and this is my costume. i'm 'dressed
up' as a nudist. get it?"
and then the young man
laughed, quite charmingly.
"yeah yeah," said the other cop. "very funny.
but you're STILL under arrest for indecent exposure."
and so the two cops and the sexy big-dicked young man
who was wrapped up in the blanket
drove to the police station/jail.
they booked the sexy big-dicked young man
and issued him some jail clothes and
put him a cell and told him to
get dressed.
the sexy big-dicked young man
refused. in fact, he threw off the blanket,
and stood there sexy, naked, big-dicked,
with a full horny erection that suddenly looked,
in fact, like it was made entirely out of
bone, and then encrusted with
brittle knobby chunks of tortoise shell.
there then ensued what seemed to be
a general melting and fusing of flesh,
and the creature that
the sexy naked big-dicked young man
had become kicked out the bars
of the cell's window, unfurled
a pair of wings, and flew off into the
starry night-time sky.
"happy halloween," were the parting words
the two cops heard, as the goosebumps
seized them, and covered their
pale municipal flesh.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem was originally published in the book Last Train to Noir City [2010]. It also appears in my book Saline [Interior Noise Press, 2014]. And, it also appeared in The Commonline Journal, October 30, 2015.)
alive
people have wondered about Frankenstein's dick.
not the Dr. but the Monster.
people have been asking questions about Frankenstein's dick.
people want to know.
people wish Mary Godwin Wollstonecraft Shelley (wife of
Percy Bysshe Shelley) had told them.
about the dick.
about Frankenstein's dick.
people wish she'd have made the story sexier.
people have been clamoring.
forming little garrulous knots and murmuring.
"i wish she'd have told us about Frankenstein's dick" they say.
"i wish she'd have told us."
lying naked on the table, the fully assembled monster had a
big big big big big male member.
she might have said.
the phallus swelled and lifted its phallic head as the rich dark
blood began to circulate through the monster's body.
she might have said.
the first thing the jolt of electricity effected
was the instant turgidity in the monster's male part that caused
it to come to life and
spurt
its white manly liquid instantaneously and copiously, and
fill the room with the scent of tall muscular maleness in all its
musky earthy
overripeness.
she might have said.
but she didn't.
and people have wondered about Frankenstein's dick ever since.
little mumbles of curiosity.
little whimpers of prurient interest.
little shouts and pants and moans
from under their sheets
in thick summer nights.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Be Kind to Strangers, published by BareBackPress in 2015.)
undomesticated
THIS PLACE IS HAUNTED thinks the
beautiful big-dicked boy, his
big dick as hard as a shiny steel pipe.
chains are rattling in the background.
there are moans and sighs. a big
dog, more like a wolf, really,
stands shivering in the middle of
the room, blinks,
squints, then trots off into
nothingness. THIS PLACE IS
FUCKING HAUNTED! thinks the
beautiful big-dicked boy. he is
standing naked in the middle
of a big smooth room. there
is a large rumpled bed, and a few
over-stuffed chairs. the light
is dim. he doesn't know
how he got here, why he's
here, how long he's been
here, but his big hot dick
is hard and throbbing, and shiny
like steel, in the strange
phosphorescence of the light,
whose source he is unable
to discern. the room is
just strangely glowing. he
himself is shiny like
metal--beautiful and big-dicked
and horny as hell as chains
rattle, voices moan and groan
all around him, and the big
dog, yes, it is a wolf! no
doubt about it, the wolf
returns, growls, then
breaks into sobs and moans
that sound very much human.
the beautiful big-dicked
boy walks over to the wolf,
pats it on the head, and
the wolf's eyes turn white-hot,
and sugared cherries fall out
of its open mouth. the
beautiful big-dicked boy
bends down and eats,
starving for food,
and company.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem -- "undomesticated" -- also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011. Before that, "undomesticated" appeared in Thieves Jargon, June 4, 2009.)
*********** END OF HALLOWEEN POSTING ***************
Several poems -- um, 7, to be exact :-)
picking daisies
pacing to the left, then to
the right,
the skinny little art major college boy
practically wore down the carpet
in his room, he paced so much.
the skinny little art major college boy
was totally naked, clothes bothered
him when he was in his worry mode,
and he was sure in his worry mode
now,
ah yes indeed,
he was quite the worrier.
everything worried him.
everything made him fret.
he worried and worried and worried
and fretted and fretted and
paced to the left and
then to the right
and outside it started
to rain and then thunder and
lightning and
then gusts of wind rattled
his bedroom window and still
the skinny naked little art major college boy
went right on
pacing and worrying and fretting.
the level of his anxiety
could be described as a 10 on a
scale of 1 to 10
and when
the rain and thunder and lightning
and wind finally stopped,
the skinny naked little art major college boy
suddenly quit
pacing,
sometimes jerking off really helped
calm him down for a few moments,
he'd seen it work that way before,
more than once, in fact,
and so he
lay down on his back
on top of his bed and
tugged on his surprisingly
big vigorously rock-hard dick for a while
until he spurted cum all
over his skinny naked chest and belly
and then he wiped it off himself
and lay there staring wide-eyed
at the ceiling, and then wouldn't ya know
goddammit this time jerking off
didn't calm him down all that
much now did it
and so then
it was right back to
fretting and worrying and
fretting some more so he
got right back out of bed
and paced some more
and wore down the carpet some more
and
by now it was well after midnight
but still the skinny naked little art major college boy
couldn't sleep,
still he worried and fretted
and worried some more,
it was all just so
fucking much -- he worried
about everything, this,
that, whatever crossed his
mind, he couldn't stop
thinking about it,
this, that, the
other, just EVERYthing --
now take
Edvard Munch's
THE SCREAM, for instance --
one of them
recently sold for 55 million,
now how could anyone
sleep after that?
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Be Kind to Strangers, published by BareBackPress in 2015. The poem first appeared in Chiron Review, Issue 99, Spring 2010.)
===============================
Six poems about (pant! gasp!) Jamie Bell
1.
toe, and finger, nails
jamie bell
is letting me watch while he jerks himself off.
jamie bell
has been a point of fixation of mine
for many years. jamie bell is
a very sexy sweet cute handsome young actor.
i think his body is marvelous.
his crooked little smile just
sweet and endearingly sensuous.
the only time i've seen him almost
naked is in his movie "mr. foe" --
he's
almost totally naked in
that movie, but not quite totally.
anyhow i nearly lost it when
i saw that scene of him
almost naked. second only
to the scene in which
he paints red circles around
his nipples with lipstick.
**
anyhow, at this
moment i am watching jamie bell
jerk himself off, and i am
kind of
going mad
while
jamie bell is jerking himself off for me,
and,
when he spurts cum,
he smiles real big,
his eyes sparkle,
and then
he lets me smell the puddle
of cum he's left
on the bed -- in fact,
he insists that
i stick my
nose right
into it,
so that he
can see his cum
on the tip
of my nose.
at this moment
it strikes me that life is certainly very strange,
but really, quite
good.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)
*******************************************
2.
indulgence is the sincerest form of saying yes
Jamie Bell (star of BILLY ELLIOT and THE CHUMSCRUBBER
and MISTER FOE), are you secretly reading my poetry?
Jamie Bell, you beautiful big-dicked young man, are
you secretly reading my poetry
about beautiful big-dicked young men,
beautiful big-dicked young men just like you?
**
Jamie Bell, i hope you're flattered, and
not creeped out, that i can so easily
picture you totally naked, lying on
your back atop your bed, and you
are so gently oh you are
so gently tugging on your big
hard smooth dick. when you spurt
cum, your eyes flash like
mystical sparks and your
sweet charming crooked little grin peeks
through your wet tongue-licked
lips.
**
Jamie Bell, are you secretly
reading my poetry about
beautiful big-dicked young men
who do the sort of things
that i imagine you do,
in the privacy of your
own room, on your bed,
alone, experiencing
the joy you experience
at touching your beautiful
body in the respectful
and reverent ways that
you touch your nipples,
and dick, and balls,
and let your fingers
linger over just the
tips of your untrimmed
pubic hair.
you are
a wild man, there
all alone, thrashing
about, dreaming of
my sweet
sexy poems,
and me.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem first appeared in Assaracus #3, June 2011. It also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)
**********************************************************
3.
and how are we feeling today?
sometimes brain-sparks just shoot out
and flash intermittently.
in fact, sometimes when
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
is jerking off in his bedroom,
he sees things.
for instance,
people walk in, and then they walk out. today,
while the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
is jerking off in his bedroom,
his vision of several gigantic bottles of beer
is interrupted by the sight of
sexy jamie bell walking on
in. jamie bell is very good-looking.
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
has seen all of jamie bell's movies.
jamie bell is an actor, a very
sexy actor with great eyes
and a wry gentle grin.
now, in
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy's
bedroom,
jamie bell isn't wearing any clothes.
jamie bell moves to a position directly in
front of
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy,
and then,
jamie bell, too, starts jerking off.
they stand there staring at each
other, watching each other
tug on their own hot shiny dicks.
48 canaries began to sing.
a whole herd of houseflies goes
galloping across the ceiling.
"you know," says jamie bell to
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy,
"you're really quite a good-looking guy."
then, jamie bell starts spurting cum.
jamie bell's big gooey globs of cum
go all over the chest and belly
of the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy.
and then
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
starts spurting cum.
it goes all over the sexy naked chest
and belly
of jamie bell. jamie bell is very
good-natured about it all. he grins
his sexy wry crooked little gentle
jamie bell grin, and shrugs, in
his cutest kinda "ah shucks" style.
"ah well," says
jamie bell, as he fades into
the color of sun glow, and
the curtains in the room
spread to satin.
then,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
takes a long hot shower.
the reality of
soap suds
has never been more in dispute.
--Carl Miller Daniels
*************************************************
4.
j.bell's balls
smug people know everything, but they're not telling.
they purse their lips tellingly, but they don't tell.
they just know. have everything figured out.
all of it. everything makes sense to them.
**
smug people make the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
kind of nauseous.
they create a metallic taste on the tip of his tongue.
when the sexy big-dicked teenage boy is jerking off,
he tries not to think about them, but sometimes
he does anyway. when the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
thinks about them while jerking off, his
orgasms are never as good as they are
when he thinks about other things.
**
his favorite thing to think about
while jerking off is jamie bell.
jamie bell is the actor who starred
in "billy elliot" and "the chumscrubber"
and "mr foe" and "the eagle" and
other good movies, too.
jamie bell is 26. jamie bell
is hot sexy smoldering gentle
sweet with kind eyes and great lips
and perfect nipples.
the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
thinks about jamie bell a lot,
and, when the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
is jerking off, he imagines that
jamie bell is doing the same thing,
and that they are watching each other do it,
saying sweet gentle encouraging
intimate things to each other while
they are watching each other jerk off.
**
they are standing so close to each
other they can smell each other's breath.
they have both been eating peppermint candy,
and drinking vodka.
**
the torrent of hot sweet
high-voltage orgasm is going to shake
both
the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
and jamie bell
to the very fiber of their sweet gentle
sexual selves.
**
whenever the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
jerks off while thinking about jamie bell,
he knows what's going to happen next.
**
GOD! GOD! GOD! oh good gushy GOD!
**
he knew it would be good, and it was.
**
he's never smug about it, though.
**
god how he hates smug people.
**
they just make him sick.
--Carl Miller Daniels
********************************************
5.
tra la la
the circumstances under which i am in
bed with jamie bell are mysterious,
but, there we are, both naked,
and in bed together.
jamie bell is 26 years old now, and quite
sexy. i love his movies "billy elliot"
and "the chumscrubber" and "mr foe"
and "the eagle". he is incredibly
sexy. jamie bell is lying on
his belly talking to me about
my poems. he likes my poems.
i'm surprised to learn that
he has been aware of
me, and my poems, and has
been reading my poems, for
over the past 10 years or
so. they turn him on.
he likes them a lot. he
tells me these things. i like
his movies. they turn me on.
i like them a lot. i tell
him these things. he smiles
demurely, pushes the
covers off of himself,
and lies there with
his smooth sexy butt
exposed. he kind of
wriggles it.
i smear a little
aveeno body lotion
onto my cock.
i climb on top of
him and push my
cock between his butt
cheeks, oh so muscular,
oh so smooth. i don't
push my cock into his
anus, i just move
it back and forth
in the tight space
between his two hot
moist butt
cheeks. he seems to
enjoy this activity
quite a lot, and,
when i spurt cum
onto his back, i notice
that he's spurting cum
onto the sheet beneath him.
we get out of bed,
i wipe off his back
with a soft towel,
and then i sniff the
spot of cum he left
on the sheet. smells
warm and musky, and
really quite good.
"would you like to
take a shower with me?"
he asks.
"duh," i say.
we stand in the shower,
soaping each other up,
talking poetry, talking
movies, talking
the life of
talk, the mysteriosity
of athletics, screwed
into the milkshake that
is the state of the universe,
chocolate, and vanilla,
and, the most elusive of them
all: the smooth and
delectable,
raspberry cream.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem "tra la la" also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)
*******************************************************
6.
temporal lobe
jamie bell started out cute and grew up
into smoldering hot.
everybody loved him in the movie BILLY ELLIOT.
anybody see jamie bell in the movie MR. FOE?
god! hot hot hot! and he's almost totally
naked part of the time. you see pretty
much everything except his actual cock
and balls. which would, i'm quite
sure, really be something to see.
watching a cute guy grow up into
a smolderingly hot guy is, well,
humbling, overwhelming, almost an
eerie feeling. watching "beautiful"
become "more beautiful" is
something that would cause some
to shed tears. watching "cute" become
"hot" can be devastating. in MR. FOE,
when jamie bell rips off his
shirt and outlines his own nipples
with a tube of red lipstick, i
just wanted to say "thank you god" --
in fact, that's what i did say.
right out loud, too.
jon, my lover (aka, "the sweetest
man in the world"), the man with
whom i have lived for nearly 30
years, the man who
was watching the movie with me,
nodded, grinned: jon knows i don't
actually pray, but when i say
something that sounds like a prayer
of thanks, jon always
understands.
--Carl Miller Daniels
picking daisies
pacing to the left, then to
the right,
the skinny little art major college boy
practically wore down the carpet
in his room, he paced so much.
the skinny little art major college boy
was totally naked, clothes bothered
him when he was in his worry mode,
and he was sure in his worry mode
now,
ah yes indeed,
he was quite the worrier.
everything worried him.
everything made him fret.
he worried and worried and worried
and fretted and fretted and
paced to the left and
then to the right
and outside it started
to rain and then thunder and
lightning and
then gusts of wind rattled
his bedroom window and still
the skinny naked little art major college boy
went right on
pacing and worrying and fretting.
the level of his anxiety
could be described as a 10 on a
scale of 1 to 10
and when
the rain and thunder and lightning
and wind finally stopped,
the skinny naked little art major college boy
suddenly quit
pacing,
sometimes jerking off really helped
calm him down for a few moments,
he'd seen it work that way before,
more than once, in fact,
and so he
lay down on his back
on top of his bed and
tugged on his surprisingly
big vigorously rock-hard dick for a while
until he spurted cum all
over his skinny naked chest and belly
and then he wiped it off himself
and lay there staring wide-eyed
at the ceiling, and then wouldn't ya know
goddammit this time jerking off
didn't calm him down all that
much now did it
and so then
it was right back to
fretting and worrying and
fretting some more so he
got right back out of bed
and paced some more
and wore down the carpet some more
and
by now it was well after midnight
but still the skinny naked little art major college boy
couldn't sleep,
still he worried and fretted
and worried some more,
it was all just so
fucking much -- he worried
about everything, this,
that, whatever crossed his
mind, he couldn't stop
thinking about it,
this, that, the
other, just EVERYthing --
now take
Edvard Munch's
THE SCREAM, for instance --
one of them
recently sold for 55 million,
now how could anyone
sleep after that?
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Be Kind to Strangers, published by BareBackPress in 2015. The poem first appeared in Chiron Review, Issue 99, Spring 2010.)
===============================
Six poems about (pant! gasp!) Jamie Bell
1.
toe, and finger, nails
jamie bell
is letting me watch while he jerks himself off.
jamie bell
has been a point of fixation of mine
for many years. jamie bell is
a very sexy sweet cute handsome young actor.
i think his body is marvelous.
his crooked little smile just
sweet and endearingly sensuous.
the only time i've seen him almost
naked is in his movie "mr. foe" --
he's
almost totally naked in
that movie, but not quite totally.
anyhow i nearly lost it when
i saw that scene of him
almost naked. second only
to the scene in which
he paints red circles around
his nipples with lipstick.
**
anyhow, at this
moment i am watching jamie bell
jerk himself off, and i am
kind of
going mad
while
jamie bell is jerking himself off for me,
and,
when he spurts cum,
he smiles real big,
his eyes sparkle,
and then
he lets me smell the puddle
of cum he's left
on the bed -- in fact,
he insists that
i stick my
nose right
into it,
so that he
can see his cum
on the tip
of my nose.
at this moment
it strikes me that life is certainly very strange,
but really, quite
good.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)
*******************************************
2.
indulgence is the sincerest form of saying yes
Jamie Bell (star of BILLY ELLIOT and THE CHUMSCRUBBER
and MISTER FOE), are you secretly reading my poetry?
Jamie Bell, you beautiful big-dicked young man, are
you secretly reading my poetry
about beautiful big-dicked young men,
beautiful big-dicked young men just like you?
**
Jamie Bell, i hope you're flattered, and
not creeped out, that i can so easily
picture you totally naked, lying on
your back atop your bed, and you
are so gently oh you are
so gently tugging on your big
hard smooth dick. when you spurt
cum, your eyes flash like
mystical sparks and your
sweet charming crooked little grin peeks
through your wet tongue-licked
lips.
**
Jamie Bell, are you secretly
reading my poetry about
beautiful big-dicked young men
who do the sort of things
that i imagine you do,
in the privacy of your
own room, on your bed,
alone, experiencing
the joy you experience
at touching your beautiful
body in the respectful
and reverent ways that
you touch your nipples,
and dick, and balls,
and let your fingers
linger over just the
tips of your untrimmed
pubic hair.
you are
a wild man, there
all alone, thrashing
about, dreaming of
my sweet
sexy poems,
and me.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem first appeared in Assaracus #3, June 2011. It also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)
**********************************************************
3.
and how are we feeling today?
sometimes brain-sparks just shoot out
and flash intermittently.
in fact, sometimes when
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
is jerking off in his bedroom,
he sees things.
for instance,
people walk in, and then they walk out. today,
while the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
is jerking off in his bedroom,
his vision of several gigantic bottles of beer
is interrupted by the sight of
sexy jamie bell walking on
in. jamie bell is very good-looking.
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
has seen all of jamie bell's movies.
jamie bell is an actor, a very
sexy actor with great eyes
and a wry gentle grin.
now, in
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy's
bedroom,
jamie bell isn't wearing any clothes.
jamie bell moves to a position directly in
front of
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy,
and then,
jamie bell, too, starts jerking off.
they stand there staring at each
other, watching each other
tug on their own hot shiny dicks.
48 canaries began to sing.
a whole herd of houseflies goes
galloping across the ceiling.
"you know," says jamie bell to
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy,
"you're really quite a good-looking guy."
then, jamie bell starts spurting cum.
jamie bell's big gooey globs of cum
go all over the chest and belly
of the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy.
and then
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
starts spurting cum.
it goes all over the sexy naked chest
and belly
of jamie bell. jamie bell is very
good-natured about it all. he grins
his sexy wry crooked little gentle
jamie bell grin, and shrugs, in
his cutest kinda "ah shucks" style.
"ah well," says
jamie bell, as he fades into
the color of sun glow, and
the curtains in the room
spread to satin.
then,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
takes a long hot shower.
the reality of
soap suds
has never been more in dispute.
--Carl Miller Daniels
*************************************************
4.
j.bell's balls
smug people know everything, but they're not telling.
they purse their lips tellingly, but they don't tell.
they just know. have everything figured out.
all of it. everything makes sense to them.
**
smug people make the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
kind of nauseous.
they create a metallic taste on the tip of his tongue.
when the sexy big-dicked teenage boy is jerking off,
he tries not to think about them, but sometimes
he does anyway. when the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
thinks about them while jerking off, his
orgasms are never as good as they are
when he thinks about other things.
**
his favorite thing to think about
while jerking off is jamie bell.
jamie bell is the actor who starred
in "billy elliot" and "the chumscrubber"
and "mr foe" and "the eagle" and
other good movies, too.
jamie bell is 26. jamie bell
is hot sexy smoldering gentle
sweet with kind eyes and great lips
and perfect nipples.
the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
thinks about jamie bell a lot,
and, when the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
is jerking off, he imagines that
jamie bell is doing the same thing,
and that they are watching each other do it,
saying sweet gentle encouraging
intimate things to each other while
they are watching each other jerk off.
**
they are standing so close to each
other they can smell each other's breath.
they have both been eating peppermint candy,
and drinking vodka.
**
the torrent of hot sweet
high-voltage orgasm is going to shake
both
the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
and jamie bell
to the very fiber of their sweet gentle
sexual selves.
**
whenever the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
jerks off while thinking about jamie bell,
he knows what's going to happen next.
**
GOD! GOD! GOD! oh good gushy GOD!
**
he knew it would be good, and it was.
**
he's never smug about it, though.
**
god how he hates smug people.
**
they just make him sick.
--Carl Miller Daniels
********************************************
5.
tra la la
the circumstances under which i am in
bed with jamie bell are mysterious,
but, there we are, both naked,
and in bed together.
jamie bell is 26 years old now, and quite
sexy. i love his movies "billy elliot"
and "the chumscrubber" and "mr foe"
and "the eagle". he is incredibly
sexy. jamie bell is lying on
his belly talking to me about
my poems. he likes my poems.
i'm surprised to learn that
he has been aware of
me, and my poems, and has
been reading my poems, for
over the past 10 years or
so. they turn him on.
he likes them a lot. he
tells me these things. i like
his movies. they turn me on.
i like them a lot. i tell
him these things. he smiles
demurely, pushes the
covers off of himself,
and lies there with
his smooth sexy butt
exposed. he kind of
wriggles it.
i smear a little
aveeno body lotion
onto my cock.
i climb on top of
him and push my
cock between his butt
cheeks, oh so muscular,
oh so smooth. i don't
push my cock into his
anus, i just move
it back and forth
in the tight space
between his two hot
moist butt
cheeks. he seems to
enjoy this activity
quite a lot, and,
when i spurt cum
onto his back, i notice
that he's spurting cum
onto the sheet beneath him.
we get out of bed,
i wipe off his back
with a soft towel,
and then i sniff the
spot of cum he left
on the sheet. smells
warm and musky, and
really quite good.
"would you like to
take a shower with me?"
he asks.
"duh," i say.
we stand in the shower,
soaping each other up,
talking poetry, talking
movies, talking
the life of
talk, the mysteriosity
of athletics, screwed
into the milkshake that
is the state of the universe,
chocolate, and vanilla,
and, the most elusive of them
all: the smooth and
delectable,
raspberry cream.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem "tra la la" also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)
*******************************************************
6.
temporal lobe
jamie bell started out cute and grew up
into smoldering hot.
everybody loved him in the movie BILLY ELLIOT.
anybody see jamie bell in the movie MR. FOE?
god! hot hot hot! and he's almost totally
naked part of the time. you see pretty
much everything except his actual cock
and balls. which would, i'm quite
sure, really be something to see.
watching a cute guy grow up into
a smolderingly hot guy is, well,
humbling, overwhelming, almost an
eerie feeling. watching "beautiful"
become "more beautiful" is
something that would cause some
to shed tears. watching "cute" become
"hot" can be devastating. in MR. FOE,
when jamie bell rips off his
shirt and outlines his own nipples
with a tube of red lipstick, i
just wanted to say "thank you god" --
in fact, that's what i did say.
right out loud, too.
jon, my lover (aka, "the sweetest
man in the world"), the man with
whom i have lived for nearly 30
years, the man who
was watching the movie with me,
nodded, grinned: jon knows i don't
actually pray, but when i say
something that sounds like a prayer
of thanks, jon always
understands.
--Carl Miller Daniels
Tuesday, October 29, 2019
a little more relish on that burger, please
the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy pretended to be
in love with wanda jean.
but, in reality, the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy
was in love with wanda jean's brother, ralph.
oh ralph was hot. oh ralph was smoldering.
oh ralph was ridiculously good-looking, and,
sometimes, when
the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy
and wanda jean were making out on the couch,
ralph walked into the room, showing
off a big smooth hardon at the front of
his tight faded blue jeans.
the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy
stared intently at ralph at these times.
ralph stared back at
the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy, and
ralph's eyes kind of twinkled.
wanda jean pretended not to see
any of this, none of it, not a bit.
**
well, one day,
the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy
showed up unexpected at wanda jean's house.
wanda jean was out shopping with her mom.
but her sexy brother ralph was home.
in fact, ralph was the only
one home.
ralph answered the door.
ralph was wearing only a towel, wrapped
loosely around
his waist. ralph looked wonderful.
ralph looked like sex on legs.
"come in," ralph said to
the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy.
**
in no time at all,
ralph and the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy
were up in ralph's bedroom,
naked, rolling around on the floor,
touching each and every part of each other
with quick eager fingers.
they spurted about 3 loads of cum, each,
before they got dressed
and went back into the living
room and sat there chatting innocently
when wanda jean and her mother walked in.
**
at one point in the conversation,
wanda jean and her brother ralph
exchanged weird, eerie, unsettling
kinds of glances. then, everybody
continued right along, talking pleasantly.
**
eventually the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy
and wanda jean's brother ralph
moved into their own little apartment
and had sex for dozens of hours during
their very first week of living together.
the schedule continued pretty much
the same during subsequent weeks, as well.
those two just couldn't keep their hands
off of each other.
**
eventually,
wanda jean became very noble about the whole
thing. oh, for several months after
the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy
and her brother
ralph
moved in together, she refused to
speak to either one of them.
but then, one night, they all
went out to dinner, had a good
laugh at the whole situation,
and, from then on,
everything was a-ok.
"fine as frog's hair," is a term
we have here in the South.
rivet.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)
the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy pretended to be
in love with wanda jean.
but, in reality, the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy
was in love with wanda jean's brother, ralph.
oh ralph was hot. oh ralph was smoldering.
oh ralph was ridiculously good-looking, and,
sometimes, when
the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy
and wanda jean were making out on the couch,
ralph walked into the room, showing
off a big smooth hardon at the front of
his tight faded blue jeans.
the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy
stared intently at ralph at these times.
ralph stared back at
the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy, and
ralph's eyes kind of twinkled.
wanda jean pretended not to see
any of this, none of it, not a bit.
**
well, one day,
the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy
showed up unexpected at wanda jean's house.
wanda jean was out shopping with her mom.
but her sexy brother ralph was home.
in fact, ralph was the only
one home.
ralph answered the door.
ralph was wearing only a towel, wrapped
loosely around
his waist. ralph looked wonderful.
ralph looked like sex on legs.
"come in," ralph said to
the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy.
**
in no time at all,
ralph and the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy
were up in ralph's bedroom,
naked, rolling around on the floor,
touching each and every part of each other
with quick eager fingers.
they spurted about 3 loads of cum, each,
before they got dressed
and went back into the living
room and sat there chatting innocently
when wanda jean and her mother walked in.
**
at one point in the conversation,
wanda jean and her brother ralph
exchanged weird, eerie, unsettling
kinds of glances. then, everybody
continued right along, talking pleasantly.
**
eventually the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy
and wanda jean's brother ralph
moved into their own little apartment
and had sex for dozens of hours during
their very first week of living together.
the schedule continued pretty much
the same during subsequent weeks, as well.
those two just couldn't keep their hands
off of each other.
**
eventually,
wanda jean became very noble about the whole
thing. oh, for several months after
the cute sexy big-dicked teenage boy
and her brother
ralph
moved in together, she refused to
speak to either one of them.
but then, one night, they all
went out to dinner, had a good
laugh at the whole situation,
and, from then on,
everything was a-ok.
"fine as frog's hair," is a term
we have here in the South.
rivet.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)
Monday, October 28, 2019
marigold jelly
a big-dicked blonde boy walked into
a restaurant and
took a
seat by the window.
he had a raging hardon and
it was obvious.
a cockroach crawled up onto
the surface of the table and
started talking to
the big-dicked blonde boy.
"you'd sure look good in an old-fashioned
codpiece," said the cockroach.
"i think you're really built for it," added
the cockroach.
"you really think so?" said
the big-dicked blonde boy, embarrassed by
the attention, yet kind of
flattered, too.
"oh yes indeed i do," said
the cockroach. "you'd look
absolutely great in a codpiece."
"so exactly what is a codpiece?"
said the big-dicked blonde boy.
"it's just an old-fashioned
item of apparel," said the
cockroach, "quite
sexy, too, in a clean overt traditional
kind of way. it's kind of a pouch
for your dick and balls,
gives 'em room, and
shows 'em off
at the same time."
at that moment, a waitress
appeared, and the cockroach went
scurrying away.
the waitress handed the
big-dicked blonde boy
a menu. "what would
you like to drink?" she
asked.
"beer," replied the
big-dicked blonde boy.
the waitress started chuckling.
"got some i.d.?" she asked.
"no," said the big-dicked blonde boy.
"well, sweetie, either you need to order
a soft drink, or i think you'd
better be on your way," she said.
"couldn't you just bring me
a whiskey?"
said the big-dicked blonde boy.
the waitress frowned.
"well, buster, it looks to
me like you'd just better be on
your way," she said to the
big-dicked blonde boy.
he shrugged, stood up,
and walked toward the door.
the cockroach was now sitting on
his collar.
"remember my advice," squeaked
the cockroach, "codpiece
for you -- and i'd make
it a nice soft velvet,
if possible."
"thanks," said
the big-dicked blonde boy,
as he strode off
into the sunlight,
its beams radiant
on his golden hair,
its heat liquid
fire on the front
of his
tight bulging
trousers.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book String Bean.)
a big-dicked blonde boy walked into
a restaurant and
took a
seat by the window.
he had a raging hardon and
it was obvious.
a cockroach crawled up onto
the surface of the table and
started talking to
the big-dicked blonde boy.
"you'd sure look good in an old-fashioned
codpiece," said the cockroach.
"i think you're really built for it," added
the cockroach.
"you really think so?" said
the big-dicked blonde boy, embarrassed by
the attention, yet kind of
flattered, too.
"oh yes indeed i do," said
the cockroach. "you'd look
absolutely great in a codpiece."
"so exactly what is a codpiece?"
said the big-dicked blonde boy.
"it's just an old-fashioned
item of apparel," said the
cockroach, "quite
sexy, too, in a clean overt traditional
kind of way. it's kind of a pouch
for your dick and balls,
gives 'em room, and
shows 'em off
at the same time."
at that moment, a waitress
appeared, and the cockroach went
scurrying away.
the waitress handed the
big-dicked blonde boy
a menu. "what would
you like to drink?" she
asked.
"beer," replied the
big-dicked blonde boy.
the waitress started chuckling.
"got some i.d.?" she asked.
"no," said the big-dicked blonde boy.
"well, sweetie, either you need to order
a soft drink, or i think you'd
better be on your way," she said.
"couldn't you just bring me
a whiskey?"
said the big-dicked blonde boy.
the waitress frowned.
"well, buster, it looks to
me like you'd just better be on
your way," she said to the
big-dicked blonde boy.
he shrugged, stood up,
and walked toward the door.
the cockroach was now sitting on
his collar.
"remember my advice," squeaked
the cockroach, "codpiece
for you -- and i'd make
it a nice soft velvet,
if possible."
"thanks," said
the big-dicked blonde boy,
as he strode off
into the sunlight,
its beams radiant
on his golden hair,
its heat liquid
fire on the front
of his
tight bulging
trousers.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book String Bean.)
Another blog of mine is this one at newTumbl--
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.
working through it
two sexy young men, one who is depressed,
and one who isn't, standing
in the depressed guy's apartment, late at night, talking,
just the two of them:
the depressed guy says: "i have seen your dick and i like it,"
and then he gets this weird crazy kind of expression
on his face, as if he's asking himself
NOW WHY DID I SAY THAT?
the guy who isn't depressed says: "i can get undressed if you like."
the depressed guy says: "i don't know."
the guy who isn't depressed says: "let's just both get undressed
and cuddle on your bed. i bet you'll feel better."
the depressed guy says: "i'm not in the mood to have sex."
the guy who isn't depressed says: "you say that NOW."
the guy who isn't depressed smiles charmingly, and his
eyes flash signals of aliveness and zest for life.
the depressed guy has tears welling up in his eyes.
the depressed guy feels really really morose.
the depressed guy says: "i'm really not planning on
having sex, ok?"
the guy who isn't depressed says: "hey! you
know me after all this time, i hope! no pressure!! but let's
just get undressed and cuddle. sometimes when you're
feeling down like this, it helps just to lie
there with somebody you like. and i hope i'm still someone you like???"
the depressed guy says: "of course you are."
the guy who isn't depressed says: "that's good."
then,
the guy who isn't depressed adds, "and you're
someone i happen to like very very much, ok?"
the depressed guy nods, kind of listlessly.
the guy who isn't depressed takes off all of his
clothes and stands there in the living room
of the depressed guy's apartment.
the guy who isn't depressed is hot-looking, naked,
sexy, sweet face, beautiful lips, big smooth cock.
then, the guy who isn't depressed says, "OK now!
let's see that sexy sexy body of yours!"
but, so far, the depressed guy has only taken off his
shirt. the depressed guy looks good that way -- shirtless --
he is lean, has muscles, a byronic face, with dark sad eyes.
the depressed guy stands there shirtless in his own living
room looking lost, confused, ill-at-ease.
the guy who isn't depressed says: "oh come on now,
off with those shoes, young man! and off with those
pants!" he says these
words very cheerfully, encouragingly, gently,
with a twinkle in each of his mischievous eyes.
the depressed guy sits down on the couch and
starts unlacing his shoes. he does so as
if it's a real effort, as if there's no meaning
in shoes, laces, socks, feet, as if the entire world
is a distant and annoying little buzzing sound.
the guy who isn't depressed says: "jesus! you
are freaking me out here! let me do that, ok?"
the depressed guy leans back on the couch,
his hands by his side. "ok" he says.
very gently, the guy who isn't depressed unties
the depressed guy's shoe laces. then the
guy who isn't depressed pulls off the
depressed guy's shoes (adidas, track shoes).
then the guy who isn't depressed pulls
off the depressed guy's socks.
"wow!" says the guy who isn't depressed. "VERY nice.
you've even got sexy toes, did you know that?"
the depressed guy smiles just a tiny little
bit, but his lips barely move at all, actually.
you'd miss it if you weren't looking real real
close. the guy who isn't depressed IS looking
real real close. "that's better," says the
guy who isn't depressed. "i saw that little
tiny hint of a smile. i knew there was one
in there somewhere. now, stand up, ok?"
the depressed guy stands up real slow.
"that's it!" says the guy who isn't depressed.
"real good!! now i'm gonna undo your
belt and unzip your pants, ok?"
something dark and scary crosses the
depressed guy's face. then it fades, mostly.
"ok," says the depressed guy.
the guy who isn't depressed unbuckles the
depressed guy's belt, pulls down his zipper.
"you are one sexy guy," says the guy
who isn't depressed. "don't be alarmed
if i get a hardon, ok? it doesn't mean
we have to have sex. it only means
i'm standing here naked undressing
a very sexy guy who i happen to like
a whole lot. it's a natural reaction,
sorry."
"sure," says the depressed guy. "whatever."
the depressed guy really does not seem
to care about what is happening at this
moment. he really does not seem to care
that a naked and very attractive
big-dicked young man is undressing him.
"let's just get you undressed and
in bed beside me," says the guy
who isn't depressed. "then i'm gonna
do some serious holding and comforting,
no doubt about that."
"hmmm" says the depressed guy. there is
a tear at each corner of his
deep dark sexy brooding eyes.
the guy who isn't depressed pulls
down the depressed guy's pants, then
he pulls down the depressed guy's underpants.
"come on," says the guy who isn't
depressed. "step out of these, ok?
just lift your feet, and take a little
step. it's not that difficult."
the depressed guy obeys, as if why
the hell not, why the hell not bother,
why the hell not do anything, or
why DO anything, for that matter. the depressed
guys eye's are vacant, dark, almost
blank, actually, and just a bit scary.
the depressed guy is totally naked now,
and beautiful, and masculine, and very
very sexy.
so now both the depressed guy and
the guy who isn't depressed walk
naked down the hall into the depressed
guy's bedroom. in there is a
big bed, full-size, at least,
maybe bigger. the bed is neatly
made. the guy who isn't
depressed pulls back the covers.
the sheets look clean and smooth.
"come on" says the guy who isn't depressed.
"lie down here beside me, ok?"
the guy who isn't depressed climbs onto
the bed and lies down on his back.
the depressed guy lies down, too,
right beside him. they are both
lying on their backs. the guy who
isn't depressed pulls up the covers
and snuggles in beside the depressed
guy. he pushes his nose up against
the side of the depressed guy's neck,
drapes one arm over the depressed
guy's chest.
"any idea what's wrong?" says the
guy who isn't depressed. "or is
it the same as usual?"
the depressed guy sighs darkly.
"the same" he says. "i just get
this way sometimes. i thought
you understood."
"i do," says the guy who isn't
depressed. "really. it's like
a brain-wave thing or something. your
brain waves go one way for a while,
and then they go the other." he
kisses the depressed guy on the
side of his neck. "did i say it
right?"
"pretty much" says the depressed
guy.
"thought so," says the guy who isn't
depressed. "i'm a pretty good listener,
you know. i pay attention."
"hmmmmm," says the depressed guy, his
voice fading away, as
if he sort of doesn't care.
they lie there naked in bed together,
the guy who isn't depressed pressing
himself close up against the depressed
guy, cuddling, snuggling, gently
kissing the depressed guy's neck from time.
"i do love you," says the guy who
isn't depressed.
"and i love you," says the depressed guy.
"i'm sorry you're feeling down," says
the guy who isn't depressed. "i'm here
to help, and you won't feel bad forever. we
both know that."
"ummm," says the depressed guy. "we both
know."
they lie there naked together,
under the covers, and as the
guy who isn't depressed snuggles up
against the depressed guy, the
depressed guy starts to snuggle back,
just a little, but, still, there
is a bit of reciprocation going on.
they lie there like that a long time.
they both lose track. 2 hours?
3 hours? only the beside lamp
is on, and neither of them
gets out of bed to turn it off.
they both fall asleep.
in the middle of the night,
the guy who isn't depressed
is awakened by the
depressed guy speaking these words:
"climb on top of me, ok?"
the depressed guy is flat on his
back, looking up at the ceiling.
the guy who isn't depressed
rolls over, climbs on top of
the depressed guy. they push
their chests together. they
push their big dicks together.
they push their bellies together.
they kiss each other, hard.
"there," says the depressed guy.
"perfect. just stay this way, ok?"
the depressed guy has his arms
wrapped tightly around the back
of the guy who isn't depressed.
the depressed guy is holding,
hugging, pulling the guy who
isn't depressed tight up against
him. they both have big hardons now.
"this feels fantastic" says the
depressed guy. "let's just lie
here this way, the rest of the
night, ok?"
the guy who isn't depressed says:
"sure, whatever you want."
they lie there like that. the
bottoms of their
hard dicks are pressed tight up
against each other.
the depressed guy holds onto
the guy who isn't depressed
as if the
guy who isn't depressed is the only thing in
the entire world that's pure
and virtuous and beautiful, the only thing
that even matters at all.
the guy who isn't depressed
likes this feeling, likes
this feeling that he's really
needed, wanted. he likes this feeling
a lot. he likes it so much he
starts to cry. his
tears run down his face and plop
onto the face of the depressed
guy.
both guys are hot, and sweaty.
they can feel the liquid sheen
of the sweat between their chests,
pushed tightly against each other.
the guy who isn't depressed pushes
his arms under the back of the
depressed guy, and hugs him
as tightly as he can.
they lie there in bed in the
middle of the night, both crying now,
both hugging each other as hard
as they can, their big stiff dicks
pressed up against each other.
in another instant, they are
both crying and spurting their cum
all over each other's bellies,
at practically the exact same moment.
then they go limp, the guy who
isn't depressed slumping on top
of the guy who is; then, again,
they hug each other tight,
their arms wrapped around each
other; they kiss each other on
the neck. embracing, feeling
the heat of each other's bodies --
the embrace they are sharing
the balm, the salve, and the
glue that assures them both,
whenever there's any doubt,
of why they truly belong together.
after they wipe themselves off,
they snuggle in for the rest of
the night. they both sleep like babies,
and, in the morning, everything's
fine, just fine -- maybe even
beautiful.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011.)
two sexy young men, one who is depressed,
and one who isn't, standing
in the depressed guy's apartment, late at night, talking,
just the two of them:
the depressed guy says: "i have seen your dick and i like it,"
and then he gets this weird crazy kind of expression
on his face, as if he's asking himself
NOW WHY DID I SAY THAT?
the guy who isn't depressed says: "i can get undressed if you like."
the depressed guy says: "i don't know."
the guy who isn't depressed says: "let's just both get undressed
and cuddle on your bed. i bet you'll feel better."
the depressed guy says: "i'm not in the mood to have sex."
the guy who isn't depressed says: "you say that NOW."
the guy who isn't depressed smiles charmingly, and his
eyes flash signals of aliveness and zest for life.
the depressed guy has tears welling up in his eyes.
the depressed guy feels really really morose.
the depressed guy says: "i'm really not planning on
having sex, ok?"
the guy who isn't depressed says: "hey! you
know me after all this time, i hope! no pressure!! but let's
just get undressed and cuddle. sometimes when you're
feeling down like this, it helps just to lie
there with somebody you like. and i hope i'm still someone you like???"
the depressed guy says: "of course you are."
the guy who isn't depressed says: "that's good."
then,
the guy who isn't depressed adds, "and you're
someone i happen to like very very much, ok?"
the depressed guy nods, kind of listlessly.
the guy who isn't depressed takes off all of his
clothes and stands there in the living room
of the depressed guy's apartment.
the guy who isn't depressed is hot-looking, naked,
sexy, sweet face, beautiful lips, big smooth cock.
then, the guy who isn't depressed says, "OK now!
let's see that sexy sexy body of yours!"
but, so far, the depressed guy has only taken off his
shirt. the depressed guy looks good that way -- shirtless --
he is lean, has muscles, a byronic face, with dark sad eyes.
the depressed guy stands there shirtless in his own living
room looking lost, confused, ill-at-ease.
the guy who isn't depressed says: "oh come on now,
off with those shoes, young man! and off with those
pants!" he says these
words very cheerfully, encouragingly, gently,
with a twinkle in each of his mischievous eyes.
the depressed guy sits down on the couch and
starts unlacing his shoes. he does so as
if it's a real effort, as if there's no meaning
in shoes, laces, socks, feet, as if the entire world
is a distant and annoying little buzzing sound.
the guy who isn't depressed says: "jesus! you
are freaking me out here! let me do that, ok?"
the depressed guy leans back on the couch,
his hands by his side. "ok" he says.
very gently, the guy who isn't depressed unties
the depressed guy's shoe laces. then the
guy who isn't depressed pulls off the
depressed guy's shoes (adidas, track shoes).
then the guy who isn't depressed pulls
off the depressed guy's socks.
"wow!" says the guy who isn't depressed. "VERY nice.
you've even got sexy toes, did you know that?"
the depressed guy smiles just a tiny little
bit, but his lips barely move at all, actually.
you'd miss it if you weren't looking real real
close. the guy who isn't depressed IS looking
real real close. "that's better," says the
guy who isn't depressed. "i saw that little
tiny hint of a smile. i knew there was one
in there somewhere. now, stand up, ok?"
the depressed guy stands up real slow.
"that's it!" says the guy who isn't depressed.
"real good!! now i'm gonna undo your
belt and unzip your pants, ok?"
something dark and scary crosses the
depressed guy's face. then it fades, mostly.
"ok," says the depressed guy.
the guy who isn't depressed unbuckles the
depressed guy's belt, pulls down his zipper.
"you are one sexy guy," says the guy
who isn't depressed. "don't be alarmed
if i get a hardon, ok? it doesn't mean
we have to have sex. it only means
i'm standing here naked undressing
a very sexy guy who i happen to like
a whole lot. it's a natural reaction,
sorry."
"sure," says the depressed guy. "whatever."
the depressed guy really does not seem
to care about what is happening at this
moment. he really does not seem to care
that a naked and very attractive
big-dicked young man is undressing him.
"let's just get you undressed and
in bed beside me," says the guy
who isn't depressed. "then i'm gonna
do some serious holding and comforting,
no doubt about that."
"hmmm" says the depressed guy. there is
a tear at each corner of his
deep dark sexy brooding eyes.
the guy who isn't depressed pulls
down the depressed guy's pants, then
he pulls down the depressed guy's underpants.
"come on," says the guy who isn't
depressed. "step out of these, ok?
just lift your feet, and take a little
step. it's not that difficult."
the depressed guy obeys, as if why
the hell not, why the hell not bother,
why the hell not do anything, or
why DO anything, for that matter. the depressed
guys eye's are vacant, dark, almost
blank, actually, and just a bit scary.
the depressed guy is totally naked now,
and beautiful, and masculine, and very
very sexy.
so now both the depressed guy and
the guy who isn't depressed walk
naked down the hall into the depressed
guy's bedroom. in there is a
big bed, full-size, at least,
maybe bigger. the bed is neatly
made. the guy who isn't
depressed pulls back the covers.
the sheets look clean and smooth.
"come on" says the guy who isn't depressed.
"lie down here beside me, ok?"
the guy who isn't depressed climbs onto
the bed and lies down on his back.
the depressed guy lies down, too,
right beside him. they are both
lying on their backs. the guy who
isn't depressed pulls up the covers
and snuggles in beside the depressed
guy. he pushes his nose up against
the side of the depressed guy's neck,
drapes one arm over the depressed
guy's chest.
"any idea what's wrong?" says the
guy who isn't depressed. "or is
it the same as usual?"
the depressed guy sighs darkly.
"the same" he says. "i just get
this way sometimes. i thought
you understood."
"i do," says the guy who isn't
depressed. "really. it's like
a brain-wave thing or something. your
brain waves go one way for a while,
and then they go the other." he
kisses the depressed guy on the
side of his neck. "did i say it
right?"
"pretty much" says the depressed
guy.
"thought so," says the guy who isn't
depressed. "i'm a pretty good listener,
you know. i pay attention."
"hmmmmm," says the depressed guy, his
voice fading away, as
if he sort of doesn't care.
they lie there naked in bed together,
the guy who isn't depressed pressing
himself close up against the depressed
guy, cuddling, snuggling, gently
kissing the depressed guy's neck from time.
"i do love you," says the guy who
isn't depressed.
"and i love you," says the depressed guy.
"i'm sorry you're feeling down," says
the guy who isn't depressed. "i'm here
to help, and you won't feel bad forever. we
both know that."
"ummm," says the depressed guy. "we both
know."
they lie there naked together,
under the covers, and as the
guy who isn't depressed snuggles up
against the depressed guy, the
depressed guy starts to snuggle back,
just a little, but, still, there
is a bit of reciprocation going on.
they lie there like that a long time.
they both lose track. 2 hours?
3 hours? only the beside lamp
is on, and neither of them
gets out of bed to turn it off.
they both fall asleep.
in the middle of the night,
the guy who isn't depressed
is awakened by the
depressed guy speaking these words:
"climb on top of me, ok?"
the depressed guy is flat on his
back, looking up at the ceiling.
the guy who isn't depressed
rolls over, climbs on top of
the depressed guy. they push
their chests together. they
push their big dicks together.
they push their bellies together.
they kiss each other, hard.
"there," says the depressed guy.
"perfect. just stay this way, ok?"
the depressed guy has his arms
wrapped tightly around the back
of the guy who isn't depressed.
the depressed guy is holding,
hugging, pulling the guy who
isn't depressed tight up against
him. they both have big hardons now.
"this feels fantastic" says the
depressed guy. "let's just lie
here this way, the rest of the
night, ok?"
the guy who isn't depressed says:
"sure, whatever you want."
they lie there like that. the
bottoms of their
hard dicks are pressed tight up
against each other.
the depressed guy holds onto
the guy who isn't depressed
as if the
guy who isn't depressed is the only thing in
the entire world that's pure
and virtuous and beautiful, the only thing
that even matters at all.
the guy who isn't depressed
likes this feeling, likes
this feeling that he's really
needed, wanted. he likes this feeling
a lot. he likes it so much he
starts to cry. his
tears run down his face and plop
onto the face of the depressed
guy.
both guys are hot, and sweaty.
they can feel the liquid sheen
of the sweat between their chests,
pushed tightly against each other.
the guy who isn't depressed pushes
his arms under the back of the
depressed guy, and hugs him
as tightly as he can.
they lie there in bed in the
middle of the night, both crying now,
both hugging each other as hard
as they can, their big stiff dicks
pressed up against each other.
in another instant, they are
both crying and spurting their cum
all over each other's bellies,
at practically the exact same moment.
then they go limp, the guy who
isn't depressed slumping on top
of the guy who is; then, again,
they hug each other tight,
their arms wrapped around each
other; they kiss each other on
the neck. embracing, feeling
the heat of each other's bodies --
the embrace they are sharing
the balm, the salve, and the
glue that assures them both,
whenever there's any doubt,
of why they truly belong together.
after they wipe themselves off,
they snuggle in for the rest of
the night. they both sleep like babies,
and, in the morning, everything's
fine, just fine -- maybe even
beautiful.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011.)
Sunday, October 27, 2019
Happy Birthday Peter Firth!
On October 27, 2019, he is 66 years old
Golly he was hot in Equus. Full frontal nudity, and lots of it! Yum! He was only 20 years old when the play Equus was first presented by The National Theatre at The Old Vic Theatre on July 26, 1973. He later went on to star in the movie version of that play. The movie was released in 1977. I never saw him in the play, but I've seen the movie Equus at least 20 times, and he looks WONDERFUL! Great movie! Very disturbing, very hot. Anyhow, again, HAPPY BIRTHDAY PETER FIRTH! I hope you don't mind that I'll always picture you as I first saw you in the movie Equus, blond, skinny, and you're totally naked, your big dick flapping... Ah... Nice. So nice. So hot.
On October 27, 2019, he is 66 years old
Golly he was hot in Equus. Full frontal nudity, and lots of it! Yum! He was only 20 years old when the play Equus was first presented by The National Theatre at The Old Vic Theatre on July 26, 1973. He later went on to star in the movie version of that play. The movie was released in 1977. I never saw him in the play, but I've seen the movie Equus at least 20 times, and he looks WONDERFUL! Great movie! Very disturbing, very hot. Anyhow, again, HAPPY BIRTHDAY PETER FIRTH! I hope you don't mind that I'll always picture you as I first saw you in the movie Equus, blond, skinny, and you're totally naked, your big dick flapping... Ah... Nice. So nice. So hot.
zoological hideaways
choosing a career is the most
important decision you will ever make.
if it chooses you, instead of
you choosing it, your chances
of success may be greater than
if you alone make the decision.
after all, who can predict
the future with all that
much accuracy? not you, i'll
bet. not me. perhaps
the brightly-colored
water snakes sun-bathing
in the swamps, the
minnows in terror, the
frogs leery and wild-eyed,
as they confront their own
set of troubles. perhaps
the water snakes are the
only ones who know what
is actually going on.
**
people who are secretaries
all their lives are
often very well-organized
people. in their secretarial careers,
as well as in their private home
lives, too. rarely is a thing out
of order. they almost never
misplace their car keys.
**
when a sexy big-dicked
teenage boy learns how
to wash a load of clothes,
it's almost always because
he doesn't want anyone
else to see the cum
stains in his underpants.
most sexy big-dicked
teenage boys get to be very
good at washing their own clothes,
eventually.
**
just a nod, a wink,
and a sigh.
**
balloon manufacture is another thing
altogether. we do that out of passion.
once you've got balloon manufacturing in
your blood, you'll never give it up.
the rewards are endless -- all those
colors, and lights, and windsongs.
**
up there, among the birds -- hawks,
and eagles, and shy little
titmice.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in Chiron Review, Issue #112/113, Summer/Fall 2018.)
choosing a career is the most
important decision you will ever make.
if it chooses you, instead of
you choosing it, your chances
of success may be greater than
if you alone make the decision.
after all, who can predict
the future with all that
much accuracy? not you, i'll
bet. not me. perhaps
the brightly-colored
water snakes sun-bathing
in the swamps, the
minnows in terror, the
frogs leery and wild-eyed,
as they confront their own
set of troubles. perhaps
the water snakes are the
only ones who know what
is actually going on.
**
people who are secretaries
all their lives are
often very well-organized
people. in their secretarial careers,
as well as in their private home
lives, too. rarely is a thing out
of order. they almost never
misplace their car keys.
**
when a sexy big-dicked
teenage boy learns how
to wash a load of clothes,
it's almost always because
he doesn't want anyone
else to see the cum
stains in his underpants.
most sexy big-dicked
teenage boys get to be very
good at washing their own clothes,
eventually.
**
just a nod, a wink,
and a sigh.
**
balloon manufacture is another thing
altogether. we do that out of passion.
once you've got balloon manufacturing in
your blood, you'll never give it up.
the rewards are endless -- all those
colors, and lights, and windsongs.
**
up there, among the birds -- hawks,
and eagles, and shy little
titmice.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in Chiron Review, Issue #112/113, Summer/Fall 2018.)
golden age penis skeleton
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy had reached
the point in his masturbatory development where
he liked to whap his dick against his belly.
in other words, he liked to lie on his back atop
his bed,
and with the fingers of one hand hold onto
his dick so
that he could knock the top of his dick
against his belly, rhythmically, whap
whap whap.
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
especially savored the feel of his
big purple dickhead as he knocked
the top of it against his smooth
tight belly. whap whap whap.
oh yes,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
loved to lie there atop his bed on his
back whapping the top of his big hard
dick against his nice smooth and tight
belly. this procedure made a definite
"whap whap whap" sound and one
night he was lying in bed masturbating
using that method and
making that "whap whap whap" sound
as the top of his big hard dick whapped
against his belly,
and his roommate said "what
are you doing?"
his roommate was also a sophomore
in college. his roommate was in
the top bunk.
he himself was in the bottom bunk.
his roommate was also a very good-looking
guy.
so, the mood he was in,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
who was currently masturbating
and making that "whap whap whap" sound
said: "i'm doing this new kind of
masturbation i've starting liking where
i whap the top of my dick against my belly.
it feels great, especially the part where my
my nice sensitive dickhead whaps against
me."
and, while saying these words to
his sexy roommate,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
is making that "whap whap whap" sound
as he continues masturbating using this
"whap whap whap" methodology.
in a couple of seconds, the sexy roommate
replies, "that's what i thought you
were doing," and then HE, the sexy roommate,
begins making that sound himself, as he
whaps the top of his own big smooth dick
against his own nice taut belly.
so both boys are lying in their bunks,
masturbating in this "whap whap whap"
method, neither boy seeing
the other, but both boys entirely aware
of what is going on, and very soon,
they are pacing themselves using
the exact same rhythm. their
"whap whap whaps" are synchronized
exactly, and then both sophomore college boys,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
and his hot sexy roommate,
are chuckling good-naturedly,
lying there masturbating rhythmically,
and the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
says to his roommate,
"any second i'm gonna spurt cum" and
his sexy roommate answers back "me too"
and
the "whap whap whap" continues right along,
until a moment of silence,
during which hot smelly cum is being spurted
in great big gooey gushy quantities.
then, both boys get out of bed
and start wiping the cum off
their chests and bellies with
dirty t-shirts,
and
the lights in their room are still
off
but
suddenly
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
turns on the overhead light
and both boys stand there
staring at each other,
their big dicks still mostly
hard, their bodies young
and beautiful and sweaty,
they've never done anything like
this before, nothing sexual like
this, with each other, or with
any other guy for that matter,
and
they just go on staring at each
other like this is the most
amazing thing they've ever done
in their whole entire
lives
and, years later,
all graduated,
employed, with attractive
wives and smart sassy kids,
each of those two guys
occasionally thinks back
on that night in the dorm,
and then each of those
two guys grins, licks
his lips, and
smiles really really
big.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy had reached
the point in his masturbatory development where
he liked to whap his dick against his belly.
in other words, he liked to lie on his back atop
his bed,
and with the fingers of one hand hold onto
his dick so
that he could knock the top of his dick
against his belly, rhythmically, whap
whap whap.
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
especially savored the feel of his
big purple dickhead as he knocked
the top of it against his smooth
tight belly. whap whap whap.
oh yes,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
loved to lie there atop his bed on his
back whapping the top of his big hard
dick against his nice smooth and tight
belly. this procedure made a definite
"whap whap whap" sound and one
night he was lying in bed masturbating
using that method and
making that "whap whap whap" sound
as the top of his big hard dick whapped
against his belly,
and his roommate said "what
are you doing?"
his roommate was also a sophomore
in college. his roommate was in
the top bunk.
he himself was in the bottom bunk.
his roommate was also a very good-looking
guy.
so, the mood he was in,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
who was currently masturbating
and making that "whap whap whap" sound
said: "i'm doing this new kind of
masturbation i've starting liking where
i whap the top of my dick against my belly.
it feels great, especially the part where my
my nice sensitive dickhead whaps against
me."
and, while saying these words to
his sexy roommate,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
is making that "whap whap whap" sound
as he continues masturbating using this
"whap whap whap" methodology.
in a couple of seconds, the sexy roommate
replies, "that's what i thought you
were doing," and then HE, the sexy roommate,
begins making that sound himself, as he
whaps the top of his own big smooth dick
against his own nice taut belly.
so both boys are lying in their bunks,
masturbating in this "whap whap whap"
method, neither boy seeing
the other, but both boys entirely aware
of what is going on, and very soon,
they are pacing themselves using
the exact same rhythm. their
"whap whap whaps" are synchronized
exactly, and then both sophomore college boys,
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
and his hot sexy roommate,
are chuckling good-naturedly,
lying there masturbating rhythmically,
and the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
says to his roommate,
"any second i'm gonna spurt cum" and
his sexy roommate answers back "me too"
and
the "whap whap whap" continues right along,
until a moment of silence,
during which hot smelly cum is being spurted
in great big gooey gushy quantities.
then, both boys get out of bed
and start wiping the cum off
their chests and bellies with
dirty t-shirts,
and
the lights in their room are still
off
but
suddenly
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
turns on the overhead light
and both boys stand there
staring at each other,
their big dicks still mostly
hard, their bodies young
and beautiful and sweaty,
they've never done anything like
this before, nothing sexual like
this, with each other, or with
any other guy for that matter,
and
they just go on staring at each
other like this is the most
amazing thing they've ever done
in their whole entire
lives
and, years later,
all graduated,
employed, with attractive
wives and smart sassy kids,
each of those two guys
occasionally thinks back
on that night in the dorm,
and then each of those
two guys grins, licks
his lips, and
smiles really really
big.
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014.)
Saturday, October 26, 2019
kiss
"sometimes there's nothing more satisfying
than running the water in the bathroom sink
and washing your hands there under
the running water at the bathroom sink
and just washing your hands and washing
your hands and letting the water run
and run and run and carry the soap
and dirt from your hands down
the drain and the water runs
and runs and runs" he's thinking
as he stands there young and
naked and sexy in front of
the bathroom sink washing
his hands and washing his
hands and now he's spitting
into the sink, water running, watching
the running water carry his
spit down the drain and
down the drain and down the
drain and he's thinking "spitting
into the bathroom sink while
the water runs and runs
and carries your spit down
the drain is satisfying
and pleasant and the sound
of the running water is good
and the water going down
the drain carrying your
spit and you spit some more
and it carries that spit
away too" he's thinking
as he stands there young and
naked and sexy in front of
the bathroom sink watching
the water carry his spit
down the drain and listening
to the sound of the running
water and he's still washing
his hands and he's still
spitting down the sink
his big dick is hard
now and he stands there
listening to the water
run into the sink
and watching the water
run into the sink
and down the drain
and his dick is hard
and now he jerks off
quickly and precisely
into the sink, pushing
down on his cock at
the critical moment
to aim his spurts of
cum into the back of the
sink and then he
splashes water
onto his spurts of cum, to wash
his spurted cum down the drain
and as he stands there young and
naked and sexy in front of
the bathroom sink washing
his cum down the drain he's
thinking "you're watching
your cum go down the drain
and it's satisfying listening
to the sound of the water
and watching the running
water carry your cum down
the drain, everything,
all your troubles, all
your this and that,
mis and match, spit and
spurt and plip and plop,
right down the drain
water running and running
and running it's nice
just being here naked
the water running
hand washings
cum spurts spit droplets
a few more hand washings
all going going gone into
the sink running down
the drain, you're
likely to be here quite
a while longer aren't
you, this is all
pretty dern satisfying,
the water running
standing here your
hands in the bathroom
sink, the
water running and
running" he thinks,
standing there young and
naked and sexy in front of
the bathroom sink and
the water runs and
runs and runs.
--Carl Miller Daniels
"sometimes there's nothing more satisfying
than running the water in the bathroom sink
and washing your hands there under
the running water at the bathroom sink
and just washing your hands and washing
your hands and letting the water run
and run and run and carry the soap
and dirt from your hands down
the drain and the water runs
and runs and runs" he's thinking
as he stands there young and
naked and sexy in front of
the bathroom sink washing
his hands and washing his
hands and now he's spitting
into the sink, water running, watching
the running water carry his
spit down the drain and
down the drain and down the
drain and he's thinking "spitting
into the bathroom sink while
the water runs and runs
and carries your spit down
the drain is satisfying
and pleasant and the sound
of the running water is good
and the water going down
the drain carrying your
spit and you spit some more
and it carries that spit
away too" he's thinking
as he stands there young and
naked and sexy in front of
the bathroom sink watching
the water carry his spit
down the drain and listening
to the sound of the running
water and he's still washing
his hands and he's still
spitting down the sink
his big dick is hard
now and he stands there
listening to the water
run into the sink
and watching the water
run into the sink
and down the drain
and his dick is hard
and now he jerks off
quickly and precisely
into the sink, pushing
down on his cock at
the critical moment
to aim his spurts of
cum into the back of the
sink and then he
splashes water
onto his spurts of cum, to wash
his spurted cum down the drain
and as he stands there young and
naked and sexy in front of
the bathroom sink washing
his cum down the drain he's
thinking "you're watching
your cum go down the drain
and it's satisfying listening
to the sound of the water
and watching the running
water carry your cum down
the drain, everything,
all your troubles, all
your this and that,
mis and match, spit and
spurt and plip and plop,
right down the drain
water running and running
and running it's nice
just being here naked
the water running
hand washings
cum spurts spit droplets
a few more hand washings
all going going gone into
the sink running down
the drain, you're
likely to be here quite
a while longer aren't
you, this is all
pretty dern satisfying,
the water running
standing here your
hands in the bathroom
sink, the
water running and
running" he thinks,
standing there young and
naked and sexy in front of
the bathroom sink and
the water runs and
runs and runs.
--Carl Miller Daniels
beans
reeking of fresh semen,
he walks into the room
and waits to be noticed.
the semen is his own, splattered onto his own naked
chest during a hot
masturbation session only 10 minutes
earlier and then left
there under his t-shirt, which is
now damp and blotchy with the oozy gooeyness
of his own sticky cum.
he who wears the scent of his own
semen is young -- a college
sophomore as a matter of fact -- and he is tall, sexy, blonde,
lanky, hot-looking; he has great lips. he wears tight
faded blue jeans. and that semen-dampened t-shirt. the
t-shirt is white, with a black-and-red image of Mickey
Mouse on the front, cum oozing gently around Mickey's ears.
the room into which he walks
is a large room, with
about 3 dozen young men in it. any one of these
young men he can tell at a glance
he would be willing
to do intimate sexual things with. there is not
an ugly young man in this room.
he has never worn his own semen as cologne before.
today he's done it as a lark. and because he
feels, well, sort of evil. sort of angry.
sort of "in-your-face". sort of pissed off
at the world. (sort of, to use an old-fashioned
expression, "full of beans".)
the room into which he, reeking of cum, has just
walked, is in a private home,
the home of a professor of english literature.
it is a big, old, Georgian-style house, and,
the only UGLY man in this particular room is, in fact, the
professor of english literature. the long-time
partner of the english literature professor is
a sometimes perky/sometimes-pouty little man, also
ugly, but he is out of the
room at the moment, fetching ice.
the 3 dozen ATTRACTIVE young men are all students
belonging to the gay and lesbian campus group.
today's occasion is an afternoon party for this group,
to discuss books, politics, ideas, & ideals.
this time, only gay young men have
come to the party. no women have attended.
there is rumor of a schism. there is a rumor
that the women are forming their own
separate group. which is just fine with
he who wears the semen-scented t-shirt. (frankly,
he'd much rather look at boys.)
the ugly english literature professor
is talking to 3 or 4 attractive young men now.
they look bored, but polite.
he who carries the heavy musk of semen-scentedness on
his chest walks up to an
attractive young man at the opposite end of the
room. this attractive young man is wearing long pants,
white, and the shape of his big smooth cockhead is
clearly visible against the fabric of those white
pants.
"hi," says semen-shirt boy.
"hey," says cute white-pants boy, wrinkling up his nose
in a surprised and thoroughly interested manner.
"wanna fuck me outside in the garden right now?" says
semen-shirt boy. he says it loudly.
"er, um, er, um," says cute white-pants boy.
ugly english literature professor has wandered over.
"and you are???" ugly english literature professor
says to semen-shirt boy.
"i am trying to get fucked by this cute boy," says
semen-shirt boy. "we want to use your garden. we'll
find a secluded place. one with lots of bushes. we
promise."
"um, er, uh, um," says cute white-pants boy.
"i'm afraid this is not that kind of gathering," says
ugly english literature professor, trying
to smile through the look of horror and disapproval
that has captured his rictic face. and he seems to
have detected the odor of fresh semen, and is
eying the moist Mickey Mouse face of semen-shirt boy's
white front-dampened t-shirt.
by this time, semen-shirt boy has taken the hand of
cute white-pants boy and has started to
lead cute white-pants boy out of the big old elegant room.
"nevermind your goddamn garden" says semen-shirt boy. "we will
go fuck our brains out in the big dark forest that is
miles & miles away. i have my car."
semen-shirt boy says these words loudly, as he pulls cute
white-pants boy toward the door. cute white-pants boy does
not have to be pulled toward the door with very much
effort. cute white-pants boy
seems both aroused and amused by the direct language
and non-subtle approach of semen-shirt boy.
ugly little partner of ugly english literature
professor enters the room carrying a little glass bowl
of melting ice cubes.
ugly little partner gives semen-shirt boy and cute
white-pants boy the eye.
"not leaving so soon i hope?" say ugly little partner
of the ugly english literature professor.
"afraid we must," says semen-shirt boy.
"um er uh, ummm," says cute white-pants boy.
and with that, semen-shirt boy and cute white-pants boy are
out the door, in semen-shirt boy's car, the windows
down, the car going at a fast speed toward the forest,
toward sex, toward wild and hedonistic abandon, an
afternoon of unbridled sexual passion and
multi-orgasmic pleasure. it's a little later now,
after they have parked the car and wandered into
the forest.
"i like it much better out here than at that
stuffy old party," says semen-shirt boy to
cute white-pants boy. only now,
neither boy is wearing any of those items of apparel.
in fact, now, neither boy is wearing any apparel at all.
birds sing. breezes rush through the leaves and pine
needles of the trees that loom overhead. "and god i hate
english literature," says semen-shirtless boy, as he
lies on his back, on a bed of moss, his legs lifted and spread
wide, with his toes almost touching his
broad sexy shoulders.
cute white-pantsless boy pushes his big smooth
cock deeper into the tight pink asshole of semen-shirtless
boy. "ummmmmm, nice," says
semen-shirtless boy. "and,
as a matter of fact," adds semen-shirtless boy,
"i HATE literature. period. i HATE the word. i HATE the
term. it all just sounds so goddamn PRISSY, doesn't
it?"
"um," says cute white-pantsless boy, "um um um".
"exactly," says semen-shirtless boy, "now fuck me faster, ok?"
cute white-pantsless boy obliges, thrusting more quickly
than before, and even more deeply.
"ummmmmm" says semen-shirtless boy. "you're good. you're
hot. you're goddamn huge, too."
cute white-pantsless boy slobbers now; the slobber drips onto
semen-shirtless boy's smooth sexy chest. it mixes
there with the dried semen, and, as he's getting
fucked,
semen-shirtless boy rubs the slobber into his skin
with his finger-tips, and smiles really quite
maniacally. "ahhhhhhh" say the two boys. "ahhhhhhh."
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011.)
reeking of fresh semen,
he walks into the room
and waits to be noticed.
the semen is his own, splattered onto his own naked
chest during a hot
masturbation session only 10 minutes
earlier and then left
there under his t-shirt, which is
now damp and blotchy with the oozy gooeyness
of his own sticky cum.
he who wears the scent of his own
semen is young -- a college
sophomore as a matter of fact -- and he is tall, sexy, blonde,
lanky, hot-looking; he has great lips. he wears tight
faded blue jeans. and that semen-dampened t-shirt. the
t-shirt is white, with a black-and-red image of Mickey
Mouse on the front, cum oozing gently around Mickey's ears.
the room into which he walks
is a large room, with
about 3 dozen young men in it. any one of these
young men he can tell at a glance
he would be willing
to do intimate sexual things with. there is not
an ugly young man in this room.
he has never worn his own semen as cologne before.
today he's done it as a lark. and because he
feels, well, sort of evil. sort of angry.
sort of "in-your-face". sort of pissed off
at the world. (sort of, to use an old-fashioned
expression, "full of beans".)
the room into which he, reeking of cum, has just
walked, is in a private home,
the home of a professor of english literature.
it is a big, old, Georgian-style house, and,
the only UGLY man in this particular room is, in fact, the
professor of english literature. the long-time
partner of the english literature professor is
a sometimes perky/sometimes-pouty little man, also
ugly, but he is out of the
room at the moment, fetching ice.
the 3 dozen ATTRACTIVE young men are all students
belonging to the gay and lesbian campus group.
today's occasion is an afternoon party for this group,
to discuss books, politics, ideas, & ideals.
this time, only gay young men have
come to the party. no women have attended.
there is rumor of a schism. there is a rumor
that the women are forming their own
separate group. which is just fine with
he who wears the semen-scented t-shirt. (frankly,
he'd much rather look at boys.)
the ugly english literature professor
is talking to 3 or 4 attractive young men now.
they look bored, but polite.
he who carries the heavy musk of semen-scentedness on
his chest walks up to an
attractive young man at the opposite end of the
room. this attractive young man is wearing long pants,
white, and the shape of his big smooth cockhead is
clearly visible against the fabric of those white
pants.
"hi," says semen-shirt boy.
"hey," says cute white-pants boy, wrinkling up his nose
in a surprised and thoroughly interested manner.
"wanna fuck me outside in the garden right now?" says
semen-shirt boy. he says it loudly.
"er, um, er, um," says cute white-pants boy.
ugly english literature professor has wandered over.
"and you are???" ugly english literature professor
says to semen-shirt boy.
"i am trying to get fucked by this cute boy," says
semen-shirt boy. "we want to use your garden. we'll
find a secluded place. one with lots of bushes. we
promise."
"um, er, uh, um," says cute white-pants boy.
"i'm afraid this is not that kind of gathering," says
ugly english literature professor, trying
to smile through the look of horror and disapproval
that has captured his rictic face. and he seems to
have detected the odor of fresh semen, and is
eying the moist Mickey Mouse face of semen-shirt boy's
white front-dampened t-shirt.
by this time, semen-shirt boy has taken the hand of
cute white-pants boy and has started to
lead cute white-pants boy out of the big old elegant room.
"nevermind your goddamn garden" says semen-shirt boy. "we will
go fuck our brains out in the big dark forest that is
miles & miles away. i have my car."
semen-shirt boy says these words loudly, as he pulls cute
white-pants boy toward the door. cute white-pants boy does
not have to be pulled toward the door with very much
effort. cute white-pants boy
seems both aroused and amused by the direct language
and non-subtle approach of semen-shirt boy.
ugly little partner of ugly english literature
professor enters the room carrying a little glass bowl
of melting ice cubes.
ugly little partner gives semen-shirt boy and cute
white-pants boy the eye.
"not leaving so soon i hope?" say ugly little partner
of the ugly english literature professor.
"afraid we must," says semen-shirt boy.
"um er uh, ummm," says cute white-pants boy.
and with that, semen-shirt boy and cute white-pants boy are
out the door, in semen-shirt boy's car, the windows
down, the car going at a fast speed toward the forest,
toward sex, toward wild and hedonistic abandon, an
afternoon of unbridled sexual passion and
multi-orgasmic pleasure. it's a little later now,
after they have parked the car and wandered into
the forest.
"i like it much better out here than at that
stuffy old party," says semen-shirt boy to
cute white-pants boy. only now,
neither boy is wearing any of those items of apparel.
in fact, now, neither boy is wearing any apparel at all.
birds sing. breezes rush through the leaves and pine
needles of the trees that loom overhead. "and god i hate
english literature," says semen-shirtless boy, as he
lies on his back, on a bed of moss, his legs lifted and spread
wide, with his toes almost touching his
broad sexy shoulders.
cute white-pantsless boy pushes his big smooth
cock deeper into the tight pink asshole of semen-shirtless
boy. "ummmmmm, nice," says
semen-shirtless boy. "and,
as a matter of fact," adds semen-shirtless boy,
"i HATE literature. period. i HATE the word. i HATE the
term. it all just sounds so goddamn PRISSY, doesn't
it?"
"um," says cute white-pantsless boy, "um um um".
"exactly," says semen-shirtless boy, "now fuck me faster, ok?"
cute white-pantsless boy obliges, thrusting more quickly
than before, and even more deeply.
"ummmmmm" says semen-shirtless boy. "you're good. you're
hot. you're goddamn huge, too."
cute white-pantsless boy slobbers now; the slobber drips onto
semen-shirtless boy's smooth sexy chest. it mixes
there with the dried semen, and, as he's getting
fucked,
semen-shirtless boy rubs the slobber into his skin
with his finger-tips, and smiles really quite
maniacally. "ahhhhhhh" say the two boys. "ahhhhhhh."
--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Gorilla Architecture, published by Interior Noise Press in 2011.)
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