spinach souffle

the golden delinquent was gorgeous and
big-dicked, and everyone loved him,
secretly or overtly. oh yes,
the golden delinquent was much loved.
the golden delinquent got "a lot of
action." some of this action was
from those who admitted it; some of
this action was from those who
kept it private.
**
one fine night, the golden delinquent
was sick of them all, didn't feel
like messing around with any of them,
got into his studly car, drove
out into the countryside, parked
his car by the edge of
the road, and set off
into the woods with a bottle of booze
and a pack of cigarettes.
he was sitting on a rock smoking
and drinking when
the sky ignited a brightly
glowing shiny red,
and he found himself inside
a space ship, belly-side
down and naked on an
examination table, with a warm supple
probe up his ass.
the golden delinquent spurted a few
drops of cum as the probe wriggled
about in intriguing and insinuating
ways. these drops of cum were
instantly collected, and he
was returned, naked,
to the rock in the woods.
his first reaction was to break
down and cry. next, he found his
pack of cigarettes, he found
his bottle
of booze, and he sat and smoked
and drank, hoping all the while
that he would not be seen returning
to his car, naked, and driving
home, naked, and getting
into his apartment, naked.
**
but, as it turned out,
he was able to get home without
being spotted once. he
went to bed, and slept
like a log. it was an
unnaturally deep sleep.
a sleep like it, he
had never known before.
he woke up the next morning
rested and feeling peaceful.
from then on,
the golden delinquent
was a changed man.
he quit his job
as a country-club tennis
instructor, and
he got a job
as a high-school
history teacher. he
specialized in the
american civil war, and
the stories he told
were so beautiful, and
so tragic,
that his students cried,
the girls offered themselves
to him, the boys offered
themselves to him,
but he would have none of
that, not a bit.
the life a scholar
leads is a lonely
one, but fraught with
its own reward.


--Carl Miller Daniels (September 19, 2015)