Two poems



not all who wander are lost

i'm constantly revising the movie BLUE LAGOON in my mind.
there's no brooke shields in my movie. there's
only me and christopher atkins, both of us running
around naked and having sex all the time.
i don't know if you've ever seen BLUE LAGOON or not,
but in that movie christopher atkins is a beautiful blonde big-dicked
teenage boy. he was wide shoulders. tiny nipples.
a rippled belly. he is astonishingly hot. his voice
is sweet and gently masculine. he is yummy.
in BLUE LAGOON he and brooke shields are
trapped as children on a tropical island
after a ship wreck.  they are the only
people on the island. no adults.
gradually, as they grow into teenagers,
they discover sex and have a baby.
but, in my constant revisions, there
is NO BROOKE SHIELDS on that island.
it's just me and christopher atkins.
one day while we're wrestling, our
dicks get hard and he discovers
he can butt-fuck me. we both
like it, and i discover that i can
butt-fuck him.  we both like it.
we go for long swims in the warm
ocean, wash ourselves squeaky
clean, watch each other jerk off,
jerk each other off, suck each
other off, sleep together as one tangled
mass of hot moist teenage-boy flesh.
i love the smell of his sun-crinkled
blonde hair. the blue of his eyes.
the sexy manliness of his gentle
voice. as a teenage
boy, i am almost as good-looking
as he is. but let's face it: no one
is as good-looking as
christopher atkins. look him
up on google if you don't
believe me.
you'll see. and as to
those constant revisions i'm doing,
how does
christopher atkins butt-fuck my
tight little teenage-boy asshole?
wouldn't some kind of lubricant
be helpful? i mean, i'm just
a teenage boy, and my
asshole is really really TIGHT.
ah, coconut oil. coconuts
are plentiful on the island,
and we already know how
to get into them. that slick
slimy rind, run your fingers
over it, and they come out
slippery, feeling oily. just spread
it in the appropriate places, his
dick and my tight little pink asshole,
and my being butt-fucked
by christopher atkins
is almost easy. and, with
that stuff on my dick and
rubbed into his asshole,
i'm sure he'd feel
just about the same.
you can lick that stuff,
too, leaves your tongue
kinda musky and oily.
christopher and i talk
about that flavor, and
he likes the smell
of my armpits as
much as i like the smell
of his armpits, which is
a lot, the sweaty wisps
of hair, his face against
my chest in the middle
of a hot tropical night.
**
he's so beautiful --
a puff of air
inside a bag
of skin.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014, and currently available from Amazon.)


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another darn doogie fantasy

he sits in the deep hot bath water jerking off, he
is a tall skinny rough-looking boy of 17 with
short bushy blonde spikey hair.
"i look just like doogie howser m.d." he is saying
to himself, "only i am rough-looking and mean
and in fact i don't even like pretty-looking boys" he is saying to
himself.
"i would like to have my cock up doogie howser's smooth pink ass
right now," he is thinking to himself, as he slides
his hand up and down the long thick hard shaft
of his big underwater cock. "i'd like to have my cock
up doogie howser's ass and be fucking him so
hard he'd be groaning and moaning and telling
me it hurts it hurts it hurts."
splash. splash. splash. these are the sounds as
the tall skinny 17-yr-old rough-looking blonde-haired boy sits
in the hot bath water jerking off thinking of himself fucking
doogie howser, m.d., doogie howser is on his hands and knees in
the bathroom beside the bathtub, the tall
skinny 17-yr-old boy is on top of him,
fucking doogie howser's smooth pink ass
while doogie howser m.d. cries and moans
and says it hurts it hurts god it hurts, but the tall
skinny rough-looking 17-yr-old boy won't stop until he comes with his
dick way up inside
doogie howser's smooth pink ass
and in fact now the tall skinny naked rough-looking 17-yr-old boy with
the short bushy spikey blonde hair
sitting in the bathtub full of hot deep water is coming and coming,
murky whitish
underwater plumes of his cum jetting into the hot bath
water, the rough-looking 17-yr-old boy is twitching jerking heaving
and
gasping with each spurt, then when he's done he settles back into the
tub, his semen swirling in the hot water around him, he is lonely and sad
and wishes that doogie howser m.d. really were here with
him, they would talk gently and kiss on the lips, and before
the afternoon ended maybe
he'd even let doogie fuck him in the ass
if doogie seemed desperate enough and asked real gentle,
like he knew who was boss.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Shy Boys at Home, published by Chiron Review Press in 1999, and now out of print.)