cyrus the sophomore makes a decision

the final straw was 82 degrees F and zero humidity.
this required that cyrus,
who was a tall sexy blonde young man,
strike out for the distant meadow at the top of
the farthest hill, take off all his clothes, and
lie down on his back.
oh how cyrus liked fleeing from his dorm room,
and finding solace in that warm grassy meadow.
**
today the sunshine was flecks of pleasure that dotted
the meadowlarks that sang around him as
bits of color with incredible sincerity.
spit on cyrus's full sweet lips
moistened the pathway to his lungs,
lubricated the way to the deep inner recesses of his
command modules.
**
perhaps it was the warm gentle
breeze on the soft wisps of
hair that dotted cyrus's smooth pink
scrotum that was the ultimate
trigger toward migration of his fingertips
to his startlingly hard & upstanding
cockshaft, then quickly the transmogrification to
the smooth
semi-translucence of cyrus's hot young
cum spurted onto his chest and belly, then the
simplicity of pure penile limpness, the
sighs, the tingles between flexing
pink-nailed toes.
**
then, as cyrus lay there cum-spattered
and blinking at the sky,
English Literature
seemed the essence of greed,
applied toward college tuition.
time for him to drop that course
right now, drop it & run
like crazy.
this was it. the end of that.
the beginning of well, you know,
the other. something
with no more goddamn term papers.
**
and, at that moment,
oh how the meadowlarks sang.
oh how the shiny little blond hairs
that surrounded his nipples
bent and jumped in the breeze,
and licked the tips,
just the very very tips, of his
pink, sweaty, & furiously
artistic little-boy nipples.
**
no one ever guessed he was 19.
they always guessed much much younger.
it was infuriating really.
almost maddening.
**
but he was a darn good cook.
everyone said his culinary skills were
his ticket to success.  and
perhaps, this time, those jerks
were right.

--Carl Miller Daniels (July 6, 2006)