the hopscotch of philosophy

nowhere are the cattle bigger and more full of milk
than in that barn with the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy.
oh how he wraps his fingers around their swollen teats
and fills buckets and jars and glasses with
their warm sweet milk. oh how he gives himself
over to absolute pleasure and bends down
and sucks their fresh milk right out of
their warm pink teats.  the smell of their
warm hair, the smell of their hide,
the hay, the
crispy corn kernels upon which
they munch and work their jaws as
the sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy is
sitting on a little wooden 3-legged stool
in the sweet hay-smelling barn,
and he is milking all the cows that
are waiting for the loving touch of
his fingers on their teats, the loving
touch of his lips on their teats,
and as he sits there naked
big-dicked and happily horny
on the little 3-legged stool
in the hay-sweet-smelling barn,
he milks the big warm cows and he
drinks their
sweet warm milk
and he feels really really good
as his hot thick dick starts spurting
cum
he's not even touching his dick,
not touching his dick at all, but
he's touching all those teats, instead,
as he sits there on
the little 3-legged stool
the cow he has his hands on
at this moment now has his
freshly-spurted cum dripping
down her hot hairy
flank, and he
swallows, and
blinks, and goes
right on touching her
warm pink teats with
his hot eager fingers.
**
later, at the refrigerator
in the kitchen with
his mom,
he looks at the ice-cold cartons
of milk, but he can't
touch the stuff.
he just can't do it.
can't say what he means,
but if he could, though, it
would be something
about violating the sanctity of
worship, and
defiling the purity
of
joy.
**
"drink yer milk,"
she says.
"or it's gonna be the
paddle on your
sweet little butt."
**
at school that day,
the musky smell
of the other boys
tightens his own
scrotum,
puts a film
on his teeth.

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