Tuesday, November 23, 2021

primary source flight

mercury is flirting with 100
degrees F and the
sexy naked big-dicked teenage boy
is sweating
and masturbating lying
alone on his back on a blanket
in the woods, in a sunny spot
on a mossy spot of ground
and he is happily sweating
and masturbating lying
on his back listening
to the birds and looking up
amongst the tips of the
tree leaves and suddenly
the sexy naked big-dicked
teenage boy says
and he starts spurting cum
and he lies there
his fingers wrapped around
his big thick hot smooth hard dick
and the spurts of his cum
splat out onto his
chest and belly and
he lies there
in the sunshine
the mercury flirting with 100
and he
says "ahhhhh" again
and again, each
"ahhhhh" in perfect
unison with each spurt,
and when he's done
spurting and "ahhhh-ing"
he lies there
on his back his
chest and belly covered
with his cum which
he smells quite strongly
as he watches it to
see what the sunshine
does to it, the freshly
spurted cum on his skin --
it's such a hot day --
will the cum
dry up? get crispy? soak
into his skin? or just
mostly evaporate?
there in the heat? he
usually just wipes
the stuff off of himself
right away with
a wad of kleenexes but
today he's just lying here,
kind of thinking like a
scientist, actually, wondering
what will happen to the
stuff if he doesn't wipe
it off right away, just
lying there, his thoughts
kind of drifting --
when a
bright blue butterfly suddenly
lands on his sweaty cum-spattered
belly, unrolls its long coiled
proboscis, and starts lapping
up cum, the sexy naked
big-dicked teenage boy
realizes he's observing
truly amazing
"butterflies sometimes
lap up cum!" he thinks.
"butterflies lap up cum!"
he thinks
he'd love
to report
that "some butterflies
like to drink fresh cum,"
to somone
who should he
tell? who can he
tell about this?
and then, he
feels kinda really sad,
lying there, real quiet,
watching that butterfly lap
up his cum, watching
that little butterfly, and knowing,
yet again, this is
probably something he'll
just keep to himself,
like so many other things
in his life, wishing things
were different, the pangs
of loneliness,
yet again, making their
presence felt.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2015)

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