Three poems

vanilla yogurt trip

"i had a lousy orgasm last night," mike said to jeff.
"that so?" said jeff.
"yep," said mike. "it was just a lousy orgasm."
"how so?" said jeff.
"no spark," said mike. "no electricity. no high-voltage JOLT there
at the end when the cum was spurting out," said mike.
"i take it you were masturbating?" asked jeff.
"hell yeah," said mike. "it's still my
favorite way to get off -- but last night, the
orgasm barely happened. more like a whimper
than a bang."
"pity," said jeff.
mike and jeff had been friends for years. they
were each 20 years old now. they liked each
other a lot. they were sexy good-looking guys,
and they were both naked at the moment,
showering off together in mike's apartment.
they often showered together, had
been showering together since they were
kids, saw nothing unusual about it.
"yep," said mike. "it was just a lousy
orgasm."
"sure sorry 'bout that," said jeff.
"not your fault," said mike. "hell, you weren't
even there."
now, at this moment, both mike and jeff
had each sprouted a nice big hardon, there
in the steam and soap and shampoo of
the shower.  of course this had happened
before, when they showered together,
but, today, well, there just seemed to be
a bit more INSISTENCE to the situation
than there had been those other times.
"nice boner ya got there," said jeff.
"thanks," said mike. "nice boner you
got there yourself."
"thanks," said jeff.
they stood there staring at each other,
two good-looking sexy naked
20-year-old guys each with a nice
big hardon.
"wanna watch each other jerk
off?" says jeff.
mike nods. just
a nod. so jeff starts tugging
on his own big smooth dick.
then mike starts
tugging on his own nice big
dick.
they are facing
each other, and mike is jerking off
at the exact same pace
as jeff.
then both mike and jeff begin
to chuckle, jerking off right
along, same pace, same
dickheab rub, chuckling
like the good friends
that they are.
then, KA-BOOM! jeff
starts spurting cum, and
a couple seconds later,
KA-BOOM! mike starts
spurting cum, too.
they stand there watching
each other spurt cum
until the cum-spurting stops.
"DAMN," says mike. "DAMN! that was
good!"
"glad to hear it," says jeff. "glad
to hear it. better than last night
i hope?"
"hell yeah," says mike. "hell yeah!"
they stand there looking
at each other.
"why'd we never do anything
like this before?" says jeff. "jerking
off together i mean."
"search me," says mike.
then they finish up their shower,
rinse up, turn off the water,
dry off.
then, they go to mike's room,
get dressed, act like nothing
out of the ordinary just
happened.
but, as they're leaving mike's room,
mike says to jeff, "critters
in paradise,
walrus whistle biscuit
brains."
"exactly," says jeff. "i know
just what you mean."

--Carl Miller Daniels (2014)


===================================

guard duty

while scanning the horizon for incoming alien flying saucers,
our hero casually masturbated. "god i've got a big dick,"
he noted, and, indeed, it was so. this knowledge now,
as it always did, made him happy. and, thus,
there he sat, his big dick jutting skyward, his legs
sprawled out in front of him, and, when he began
to spurt cum, the translucent airborne globules reminded him
of the shapes he thought the alien flying saucers might
have assumed, if, indeed, they did appear on the horizon,
in the distance, the sky as pink as a martian nipple.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2009)

==================================

biologists in love

there in the october field
of big wet brutal spikey-skinned gourds
where wild things writhe amongst
the rotting foliage and the unpicked and abandoned,
a smell of death and decay permeates
all, the cool dank foggy evening
air, the wet muddy soil, the
flecks of fallen leaf and tufts
of mold, the slick sheen of greasy-looking
mildew, the bits of exoskeleton from bug
leg and spider molt, the general
feeling of muck and squishiness,
of closeness of the soil to
one's skin, the closeness of
mud-spattered bits of spikey gourd skin to one's
own human skin, the sky is indistinct
through the evening fog,
blurred, dark but not,
glowing, yet, absolutely dead.
yet this place is where
two tall slender naked
sexy young men embrace, kiss
each other's lips, shiver
with the chill of the fog wisps
that lick their naked backs,
their naked butts, their
naked shoulders, the october mud
squishing in between their naked
toes, clinging to the bottoms
of their naked feet.  the two
slender young men stand there
naked in the near-darkness,
embracing, kissing each other's
lips over and over; their dicks
are hard, stiff, pressed bottoms-up
against each other. they thrust
their hips forward as they kiss,
savor the friction of big smooth cock pressed
up against big smooth cock, savor the heat
of shiny underside of cockhead rubbing up against
shiny underside of cockhead.
"i love you," says one young man.
"and i love you," says the other young man.
the acrid smell of autumnal decay is all around
them. the fog carries it, touches their
skin with it, insinuates itself into
the mouths and nostrils of the two
sexy slender naked young men.
their feet sink a bit deeper
into the muddy dirt of the
spent autumn field. they kiss
harder, press their lips more tightly
together, stimulate the insides of
each other's mouths with the tips
of their tongues. they are pushing
their hips together with something
approaching ferociousness, rubbing
the undersides of their cocks
against each other with hot
grinding friction, and, in a moment
more, spurting hot thick gooey cum
onto each other's bellies and cocks
and matts of thick wiry pubic
hair. they stand there embracing,
kissing lips, the chill of the
decay-scented fog lingering over
their hot young goose-pimpled bodies.
"we made quite a mess didn't we," says one young
man. "quite," says the other young
man, and "gooey" he adds.
but in reality of course they
don't care about that kind of mess.
in reality they are just happily
erotically delirious to be standing
there in that fall-spent field, naked, big-dicked &
kissing each other's lips and spurting
their cum and telling each other
i love you. they don't know
why they like this place as much
as they like it. it's a long walk
from their car; it's in the middle
of nowhere. it's cold and dank
and smelly.  and yet...
they do like it here, a lot.
they stand there embracing,
their cum running down their bellies
and soaking into their pubic hair,
then dribbling ever so slightly
between their hot hairy legs.
an owl hoots in the distance.
the scent of rotting gourd vines
is thick and heady.
"so why DO we like it here so much?"
says one young man.
"it's deep and dark and primal," says
the other young man. "the smell
is earthy and raw. i like it.
you like it. it's a real turnon.
what more is there to say?"
"i like the way the aroma of
the rotting gourds and the vines
and all the dying vegetation mixes with the
aroma of our own smelly cum."
"of course, there's that, too" says the other
naked young man.
they don't leave; they stand there kind
of glued together by their sticky
gooey pubic tufts, their
embrace a
declaration, perhaps,
that even as some things wither and die and end,
other things don't. they stand there many many
more minutes, lips pressed against lips,
nipples pressed against nipples,
cum-drippy pubic hairs tangled
amongst cum-drippy pubic hairs; the
two sexy naked slender young men
inhaling
the scent of october, mucky field,
body musk, cooling cum,
clear saliva,
moldy leaf, armpit hair,
and
well, just
about everything in the miasma
of that
cold, but hot, wet smelly gooey
utterly autumnal and
mud-between-the-toes-messy
darkness of that deliriously happy
late-october night.

--Carl Miller Daniels (2004)