weight

in the mountains, in
the spring, the
leaves pop out like pubescent
hair on young arms--
soft, smooth, delicate.
when the sexy young man stands naked
among them, he senses their soft
slightly acrid smell, their almost embarrassing
vulnerability, their extreme tenderness,
as he stands there in his nakedness,
his big smooth dick hard and throbbing,
his attention on the leaves and
on his own sexually insatiable nature there
in the wilderness in the mountains,
surrounded by the little green leaves.
he looks all around, from one
leafy cluster to its neighbor, and
to its next neighbor, and
he jerks off and jerks off and jerks
off--he jerks off for
over half an hour, taking his
time, savoring the moments of pure
tactile sensual bliss,
until he splurts out big gooey
hot blobs of cum--it goes onto
the tips and edges and runs down
the sides and faces of some of the little
leaves that surround him--they bend
under the weight of his cum;
then, as it dribbles and trickles on down,
they stand up again, glistening,
slimy, and he grins with
genuine relief at knowing his
extreme pleasure has caused
none of them any lasting harm,
having had his way with them,
as it were, there, hard, fleshy,
raw, and naked, in the middle of the
woods, in the mountains, under
the big bright blue spring-time sky.


--Carl Miller Daniels (March 11, 2009)