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The Good Pussy Apr 2015
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The Good Pussy Sep 2014
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ESSAYS ON
LEADERSHIP FRONTIERS OF AFRICAN LITERATURE
By
Alexander   k   Opicho




Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; aopicho@yahoo.com)

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Contents                                                                                                                Page
TABAN MAKITIYONG RENEKET LO LIYONG AND PREFECTURE OF AFRICAN LITERATURE 4
THE CURRENT EAST AFRICA IS NOT A LITERARY DESERT 27
AFRICAN WRITERS HAVE CULTURAL RIGHTS TO FORMULATE AND CREATE ENGLISH WORDS 31
LIKE PUSHKIN, AFRICAN WRITERS MUST CREATE THEIR OWN PROFFESSION OF LITERATURE 35
THERE IS POWER IN THE NAME ‘ALEXANDER’ 40
KENYAN COURTS AND PARLIAMENT ARE BETRAYERS OF HUMANE GOVERNANCE 47
AFRO-CHRISTIAN RESPONSE TO RADICAL LITERATURE IS GOOD AND SWAGGERISH 50
YUNUS’S SOCIAL BANKING IS A GOOD BENCHCMARK FOR THIRD WORLD ENTREPRENEURS 54
HEROISM IS NOT GREATNESS BUT HUMILITY IN SERVICE TO HUMANITY 57
KENYAN STUDENTS; YOUR MOBILE INTERNET CULTURE IS ANTI- ACADEMICS 61
WHAT IS THE MAGIC IN THE WORD ‘DRINKARD’ OF AMOS TUTUOLA 63
SOCIETIES IN AFRICA HAVE TO MENTOR BUT NOT CONDEMN THE LIKES OF JULIUS MALEMA 66
AMERICA WILL NOT WIN THE WAR ON GLOBAL TERRORISM 69
AFRICA CAN OVERCOME A MENACE OF **** IN EVERY 30 MINUTES 71
COMPARATIVE ROLES OF AFRICAN-BRAZILIAN LITERATURE IN THE POLITICS OF RACIAL AND GENDER DEMOCRACY 76
NEO-COLONIALISM IS NOT THE MAIN VICE TO THE GAMBIAN POLITICS 85
RELATIVE MEDIA OBJECTIVITY IS ACHIEVEABLE IN AFRICA AGAINST POWER CULTURE AND TYRANNIES OF TASTE 89
READING CULTURE IS GOOD FOR BOTH THE POOR AND THE RICH 96
VIOLENT DEATH IS THE BANE OF AFRICAN WRITERS AND ARTISTS 100
AFRICAN WRITTERS AND ARTISTS MUST ASPIRE BEYOND A NOBEL PRIZE 104
WHAT ARE CULTURAL RIGHTS OF AFRICAN ENGLISH SPEAKERS? 109
WHY IMPRISONMENT OF WRITERS CONTRIBUTED MOST TO AFRICAN LITERATURE 113
DORIS LESSING: A FEMINIST, POET, NOVELIST, WHITE-AFRICANIST AND NOBELITE UN-TIMELY PASSES ON 121
Amilcar Cabral: Beacon of revolutionary literature and social democracy 127
How the State of Israel is brutally dealing with African refugees 131
Historical glimpses of language dilemma in Afro-Arabic literature 146
THIS YEAR 2013; IS THE YEAR OF GREAT DEATHS 153
AFRICAN LITERATURE WITHOUT POETRY IS LIKE LOVE WITHOUT VAGINAL *** 156



















PROLOGOMENA
BARRACK OBAMA READS MOBY ****
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
American president is reading Moby ****
Ja-kogello is reading Moby ****
Ja-siaya is reading Moby ****
Ja-merica is reading Moby ****
Jadello is reading Moby ****
Ja-buonji is reading Moby ****
His lovely Oeuvre of Melville Herman
And what are you reading?

Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because untimely death took his father
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because untimely death took his mother
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because untimely death to his brother
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because untimely death took the grannies
His lovely Oeuvre of Melville Herman  
And what are you reading?

Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Baba Michelle is reading Moby ****
Baba Sasha is reading Moby ****
Baba Malia is reading Moby ****
Baba nya-dhin is reading Moby ****
Sarah’s sire is reading Moby ****
Ja-sharia is reading Moby ****
The ****** is reading Moby ****
His lovely Oeuvre of Melville Herman
And what are you reading?

Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because here ekes audacity of hope
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because here ekes dreams of fathers
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because here ekes yes we can
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because here ekes American dream
His lovely Oeuvre of Melville Herman
And what are you readings?

Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because American president is like whale hunting
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because Obama is a money making animal
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because hunting Osama is whale riding
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because hunting Gaddaffi is whale riding
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because coming to Kenya is whale riding
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because Guantanamo prison is a bay of whales
Barrack Obama is reading Moby ****
Because Snowden is a Russian whale
Because launching drones is whale riding
His lovely Oeuvre of Melville Herman
And what are you reading, Moby ****?














CHAPTER ONE
TABAN MAKITIYONG RENEKET LO LIYONG AND PREFECTURE OF AFRICAN LITERATURE

I am writing this article from Kenya on this day of 23 September 2013 when the Al shabab, an Arabo-Islamic arm of the global terrorist group the Al gaeda have lynched siege on the shopping mall in Nairobi known as the West Gate where an average of forty people have been killed and a hundreds are held hostage. The media is full of horrendous and terrifying images. They have made me to hate this day. I hate terrorism, I hate American foreign policy on Arabs, I hate philosophy behind formation of the state of Israel and I equally hate religious fundamentalism. Also on this date, all the media and public talks in Kenya are full of intellectual and literary tearing of one Kenyan by another plus a retort in the equal measure as a result of the ripples in the African literature pool whose epicenter is the Professor Taban Lo Liyong .He is an epicenter because he had initially decried literary mediocrity among the African scholars and University professors, Wherein under the same juncture he also quipped that Kenya’s doyen of literature Ngugi wa Thiong’o never deserved a Nobel prize. Liyong’s stand has provoked intellectual reasons and offalities to fly like fireworks in the East African literary atmosphere among which the most glittering is Chris Wanjala’s contrasting position that; who made Liyong the prefect and ombudsman of African literature? This calls for answers. Both good answers and controversial responses. Digging deeper into the flesh of literature as often displayed by Lo Liyong.
Liyong is not a fresher in the realm of literary witticism. He is a seasoned hand .Especially when contributions of Liyong to east African literary journal during his student days in the fifties of the last century during which he declared east Africa a literary desert. In addition to his fantastic titles; Another ****** Dead and The Un-even Rips of Frantz Fanon, Professor Taban Lo Liyong also humorously called Amos Tutuola the son of Zinjathropus, what a farcical literary joke? I also want to appreciate this Liyong’s artfulness of language in this capacity and identify him in a literary sense as Taban Matiyong Lo   Liyong the son of Eshu. He is an ideological and literature descended of the great West African Eshu. Eshu the god of trouble which was dramatized by Obutunde Ijimere in the imprisonment of Obadala and also recounted by Achebe in the classical essays; Morning Yet of Creation Day. I call him Eshu because of his intellectual and literary ability to trigger the East and West Africans into active altercation of literary, cultural and political exchanges every other time he visits these regions. Whether in Lagos, Accra or Nairobi.
Now, in relation to Ngugi and intellectual quality of Kenyan University literature professors was Liyong right or wrong?  Does Liyong’s stand-point on Ngugi’s incompetence for Nobel recognition and mediocrity in literary scholarship among Kenyan Universities hold water. Are Liyong’s accusations of East Africa in these perspectives factually watertight and devoid of a fallacy of self-aggrandizement to African literary prefecture as Professor Chris Wanjala laments. Active literary involvement by anyone would obviously uncover that ;It is not Liyong Alone who has this intellectual bent towards East Africa, any literary common sense can easily ask a question that; Does Ngugi’s literary work really deserve or merit for Nobel recognition or not ? The answers are both yes and no. There are very many of those in Kenya who will readily cow from the debate to say yes. Like especially the community of alumni of the University of Nairobi who were Ngugi’s students in the department of English in which Ngugi was a Faculty during the mid of the last century. Also the general Kenyan masses who have been conditioned by warped political culture which always and obviously confine the Kenyan poor into a cocoonery of chauvinistic thought that Ngugi should or must win because he is one of us or Obama must win because he is one of us or Kemboi must win because he is the son of the Kenyan soil. These must also be the emotional tid-bits upon which the Kenyan Media has been based to be catapulted into Publicity feat that Ngugi will win the Nobel Prize without reporting to the same Kenyan populace the actual truths about other likely winners in the quarters from the overseas. I am in that Kenyan school thought comprising of those who genuinely argue that Ngugi’s literary work does not befit, nor merit, nor deserve recognition of Nobel Prize for literature. This position is eked on global status of the Nobel Prize in relation to Ngugi’s Kikuyu literary and writing philosophy. It is a universal truth that any and all prizes are awarded on the basis of Particular efforts displayed with peculiarity. Nobel Prize for literature is similarly awarded in recognition of unique literary effort displayed by the winner. It is not an exception when it comes to the question of formidability in a particular effort. However, the most basic literary virtue to be displayed as an overture of the writer is conversion of theory into practice. This was called by Karl Marx, Hegel, Antonio Gramsci and Paulo Freire, especially in Freire’s  pedagogy of the oppressed as praxis.History of literature and politics in their respective homogenous and comparative capacities has it that ;There has been eminent level of praxis by previous Nobelites.Right away from Rabitranathe Tagore to Wole Soyinka, From Dorriss Lessing to Wangari Mathai.Similar to JM Coatze ,Gao Tziaping,Alexander Vasleyvitch Solzhenystisn and Baraka Obama.This ideological stand of praxis is the one that made Alfred Nobel himself to to stick to his gun of intellectual  values and deny Leo Tolstoy the prize in 1907 because there was no clear connection between rudimentary Tolstoy in the nihilism and Feasible Tolstoy in the possible manner  of the times .In a similar stretch Ngugi wa Thiongo’s literary works and his ideological choices are full of ideological theory but devoid of ideological praxis. Evidence for justification in relation to this position is found back in the 70’s and 80’s of the last century, When Ngugi was an active communist theoretician of Kenya. His stature as a Kenyan communist ideologue could only get a parallel in the likes of Leon Trotsky and Gramsci. This ideological stature was displayed in Ngugi’s adoration of the North Korean communism under the auspice of the Korean leader Kim Yun Sung. This is so bare when you read Ngugi’s writers in politics, a communist pamphlet he published with the African red family. By that time this pamphlet was treated equally as Mao tse Tung’s collected works by the Kenya government which means that they were both illegal publications and if in any case you were found with them you would obviously serve nine months in prison. And of course when the late Brigadier Augustine Odongo was found with them he was jailed for nine months at Kodhiak maximum prison in Kisumu ,Kenya .O.K, the story of Odongo is preserved for another day. But remember that, this was Ngugi only at his rudimentary stage. But when Ngugi got an opportunity to get an ideological asylum, he did not go to Russia, nor East Germany, Nor Tanzania, nor China but instead he went to the USA , a country whose ideological civilization is in sharp contradiction with communism; a religion which Ngugi proffessess.In relation to this choices of Ngugi one can easily share with me these reflections; is one intellectually  honest if he argues that he is a socialist revolutionary when his or her employer is an American institution like the university of California in Irvine ?
Ngugi was not the only endangered communist ideologue of the time. There were also several others. Both in Kenya and without Kenya. They were the likes of; Raila Odinga, George Moset Anyona, ***** Mutunga and very many others from Kenya. But in Africa some to be mentioned were Walter Rodney, Yoweri Museven,Isa Shivji,Jacob Tzuma ,Robert Mugabe and others. The difference between Ngugi and all of these socialist contemporaries of him is that; Ngugi went to America and began accumulating private property just like any other capitalist. But these others remained in Africa both in freedom and detention to ensure that powers of political darkness which had bedeviled Africa during the last century must go. And indeed the powers somehow went. Raila has  been in Kenya most of the times,Anyona died in Kenya while in the struggle for second liberation of Kenyan people from the devilish fangs of Moi’s dark reign of terror and tyrany.Walter Rodney worked in Tanzania at Dare salaam University where he wrote his land mark book; How Europe underdeveloped Africa. Later on he went back to his country of birth in Africa, Guyana where he was assassinated while in the revolutionary struggle for political good of the Guyanese people. Yoweri Museven practically implemented socialism by fighting politics of sham and nonsense out of Uganda of which as per today Uganda is somehow admirable. Isa Shivji has ever remained in Dare salaam University, inspite of poverty. He is now the chair of Mwalimu Julius Nyerere school of Pan African studies. Jacob Tsuma and Robert Mugabe they are current presidents of South Africa and Zimbabwe respectively. The gist of this reference to African socialist revolutionaries as contemporaries to Ngugi wa Thiong’o is that a socialist revolutionary must and should not run away from the oppressor in to a zone of comfort. But instead must remain and relentlessly fight, just like in the words of Fidel Castro; fight and die in the battle field as long as it is a struggle against the enemy of the revolution. This view by Castro is pertinent as it’s a Revolutionary praxis which actually is redolent of practice of an ideology that has to be held for ever above ideological cosmentics.Ngugi scores badly on this. So if the Nobel academy looks at Ngugi in terms of defending human rights then it must be reminded that Ngugi have no marks on the same because he only ran away from the practical struggle. Anyway, Politics and ideology has its own fate. But let us now come back to literature. Ngugi and his books. As at  this time of writing this essay  Ngugi has published the following works; Weep not Child, The River Between, A Grain of Wheat, Black Hermit, Petals of Blood, Devils on the Cross,Matigari,Homecoming,Decolonizing the Mind, Writers in Politics, Ngugi Detained, Pen Points and Gun Points, Wizard of the Crow,Globalectics,Remeembering Africa, Dreams in Times of War and I Will Marry When I Want as well as the Trial of Dedan Kimathi which he wrote along with Micere Githae Mugo.Out of this list the only works with literary depth that call for intellectualized attention are ;A Grain of wheat, Wizard of the crow and Globalectics. The Grain of wheat is simply a post colonial reflection of Kenyan politics. Its themes, plot, lessons and entire synechedoche is also found in Wole Soyinka’s Season of Anomie as well as Achebe’s Anthills of the savannah. My argument dove-tails with those of Liyong’s stand that rewarding Ngugi’s Grain of wheat and forgetting Achebe’s Anthills of the Savannah and A man of the people would be a literary ceremony devoid of literary justice. Wizard of the Crow is indeed a magnum opus. I am ready to call it Ngugi’s oeuv
The Good Pussy Jan 2015
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*it just came to me.
shyann raulerson Jul 2013
I heard faint noises downstairs, and I decided to investigate. I pulled on a pair of cut-off jeans and grabbed the old pump shotgun that had served me so well in Viet-Nam from under my bed and crept downstairs to check. My Ranger training came into play, and I moved soundlessly, down the stairs and into the living room. An air of vague shadowy figures were searching through the cabinet that housed my collection of antique silver. I announced my presence in a sudden and intimidating manner: I merely pumped the action of the shotgun, then immediately moved to the right so if anyone shot, he would shoot where I had been, not where I was now. That sound was a language that everyone understood, including the two figures before me. They froze, and were still motionless.

"Mr. Steve?" one of the figures quavered. "Please don't shoot!"

I recognized the voice as belonging to Lisa, the twenty-year-old daughter of my nearest neighbor. I didn't know who the other person was or who else may be in the house, so I kept the shotgun pointed in their direction and hit the light switch with my free hand. Immediately a car cranked up in my driveway, and tires squealing, raced out to the road and away. I looked at my midnight visitors. I recognized Lisa and Julie, who was a close friend of Lisa's and a frequent overnight visitor of hers. They were holding between them a laundry bag containing most of my silver collection. I lowered the muzzle of the cut down shotgun.

"You sure know how to get yourselves killed," I stated. "Mind telling me who was in the car? You don't want to take the rap all by yourselves."

"Please don't shoot! That was Mike, it was all his idea! He made us do it! He said he would put us out and make us walk home if we didn't do it! Are you going to call the Cops?"

Now I could understand why the girls tried to burglarize my home. It was a fifteen-mile walk home in pitch darkness on a moon-less night for the two frightened girls. It was just what a worthless **** like Mike would pull. Knowing what I did about Lisa's boyfriend, I knew what he probably needed the money for. He was nineteen; the only job he had ever had was selling drugs, and I don't mean at the pharmacy. He was a charmer though. Girls fell for his good looks and his charm, and would do anything for him, and he of course chose the best looking one of the bunch, Lisa. She never realized what a slime-ball he really was. The problem was that Lisa didn't have a father to threaten to put a bullet in Mike's behind, and her mother was just as deceived as she was.

"You broke into my house and attempted to steal my belongings. Why shouldn't I?" I said with false sternness. I wouldn't really turn them in, now that I knew the situation. I would give the girls a good scare, then a ride home. Maybe then Lisa would see through Mike's veneer.

"Because we'll do anything you want," Julie offered, speaking for the first time. "Anything at all!"

Julie stepped over and ran her hand up my leg, pausing to tweak the head of my ****, which was hanging out of the leg of my cutoffs. I hadn't bothered to pull on any underwear. Julie was almost as good looking as Lisa was. Both girls had fabulous bodies, large firm ****, and smooth well-rounded *****. Julie had a cute face, whereas Lisa was absolutely beautiful.

"Yes, anything you want to do!" Lisa agreed.

The girls weren't wanton *****, but scared out of their wits and taking the only way out that they could think of. Of course they weren't virgins. It hadn't occurred to me to take advantage of the girls like this, and I would have declined Julie's offer if she hadn't fooled with my **** like that. You see, I was developing an outrageous *******, and with my **** hanging down the leg of some fairly tight shorts, the situation was rapidly becoming painful and serious. I had to get those pants off fast! Also, I hadn't been laid in quite a while. I decided to lay my cards on the line.

"You kids know me. I never had any intention of calling the Cops. I was going to give you a scare to teach you a lesson, then drive you home. Does that mean the offer is withdrawn?"

The girls looked at each other and both breathed a sigh of relief, big smiles on their faces. Lisa winked at Julie. "Nope," Julie said, smiling, "It still stands. Lets go upstairs."

I escorted the girls to my bedroom, pressed the magazine block on the shotgun, pumped out the shell that was still in the chamber, then put it back in the magazine. I tossed it onto the dresser with a loud thump.

I turned around and both girls were stark naked. Lisa came over, dropped to her knees, and planted a wet kiss on the head of my painfully throbbing ****. My ******* became harder still. I had to get out of those cutoffs! Julie solved that problem. She unzipped and unbuttoned them and gently worked them down around my rock-hard ****, allowing it to spring up to freedom.

"Lets get on the bed first," I suggested, "Then we have fun."

"Lay down on your back," Lisa insisted. "Have we got something for you!"

I complied, and Lisa leaned over and put my **** in her hot mouth. Her tongue swirled over the head, ran up and down the shaft, and started over again. I looked over at Julie and she was watching avidly. Not having anything better to do with my hands, I reached between her legs and caressed her ****. Julie gasped with surprise, then spread her legs. Her **** was already hot and wet, so I slid my ******* in all the way, then started finger ******* her and massaging her **** with my thumb. Her **** hardened and grew. Julie had her eyes closed and was erotically tweaking her ***** *******. She was slowly lowering her body, deepening the ******* of my finger, and rocking her hips back and forth, intensifying the stroking of her ****. Julie's hot ***** juices ran down my hand while Lisa's mouth was still working on my throbbing ****.

I began to draw my hand from Julie's sopping wet ****, but she grabbed it and held it tightly to her crotch. I pulled my hand now, and she came with it. I grabbed her thigh and swung her leg over me, so she was now sitting on my chest. I pulled my finger from her hungry ****, grabbed her ***, and pulled her ****** right up to my face. As soon as I flicked her **** with the tip of my tongue, she went wild, ******* my face, filling my nostrils with the sweet aroma of her **** juices. I thought I would give her all the licking she could handle. I rammed my tongue into her ****-hole with all my might, then gently nibbled on her ****. Apparently she had a low threshold, as this was all she could stand.

"Oh God, I'm coming!" she screamed, ground her **** into my face one more time, quivered, then collapsed sideways onto the bed.

One down, one to go. I looked at Lisa, still ******* my **** for all she was worth. I was nearing the end of my endurance, and I still hadn't had my **** in any hot **** yet. I grabbed Lisa's shoulders and pulled her mouth from my ****. I turned her around and held her up, her blonde ***** triangle just inches over my waiting tool.

"Give it to her! Now!" Julie whispered.

Lisa's **** didn't look wet or ready to take anything in it yet, but my **** was ready to take some *****. Julie reached over and spread the lips to Lisa's still dry *****, and began tweaking her ****. Lisa gasped her surprise at her most private place being touched by another chick. Within seconds though, her **** and inner ***** lips began to swell, and her juices started flowing. I slowly lowered Lisa to my rod, admiring her glistening pinkness. Julie guided my throbbing rod into Lisa's wet love hole.

"Please, be careful! Ah-h-h-h! Go slow, I'm so tight!"

I lowered Lisa very carefully, for her hot ****-hole was indeed the tightest ***** I had ever felt. With that in mind, I fought the urge to slam her down on my eager ****. As soon as she was down, I grabbed her *** and began sliding her back and forth. Lisa bit her lip as a tear trickled down from one eye.

"Stop, Mr. Steve! It's hurting her!" Julie commanded. Then to Lisa, "You haven't done it much, have you?"

"Just once, with Mike, and he isn't this big. It hurt then, too!" Lisa sobbed. "I wanted so bad to do it with Mr. Steve because he's been so nice to me, and I was so scared when I saw how big he was. Oh, it hurts!"

"You'd better get up then." I reassured, "I don't want to do anything to you that you don't want me to do."

"I want to go on, really I do! But don't you have anything I could use to make it easier?"

"Yeah, any Vaseline, or KY jelly, or something like that?" Julie asked.

"I have some KY jelly in the bathroom." I answered.

Julie jumped up and padded into the bathroom. I watched her naked *** jiggle as she left.

"You're gonna have to get up." I told Lisa. I gently lifted her ***. She bit her lip again and moaned as my **** slowly withdrew from her tortured hole. With a pop from her *****, a shriek burst from her lips as my **** sprung from her nearly dry ****-hole. She knelt on the bed next to me, softly crying, clutching herself where it hurt. I realized that she had been wrong in pretending to be so eager. A more gentle approach was needed.

I reached over, pulled her to me, and kissed her lips passionately. She ****** once in surprise, then melted into my arms, returning my kiss, forgetting the pain in her ****. I ran my hand around to her firm **** and gently stroked her *******, feeling them harden under my touch. I pulled my mouth from hers and kissed the point of each hard ******. She moaned and gasped with each touch of my lips, but from pleasure this time, not from pain. While I had her aroused, I lightly traced circles on her tummy with my finger, each circle going lower and lower, until I finally reached the blonde **** of her ***** hair. Slowly, I reached down and cupped her ***** with my hand, being careful not to press too hard or insert my finger. I would know when she was ready for *******. She responded with a **** and a gasp. I pressed again, and she gasped again. I kissed each firm ****** one last time, then started kissing down her tummy to her love nest, which was now warming and starting to respond to my touch.

I spread her legs and gently ran the tip of my tongue the full length of her slit. When I reached the vicinity of her ****, she reacted as though she had been shocked. She arched her back, pressing her **** against my face. Maybe she was ready. I probed again with my tongue, harder this time, hard enough to separate her ****-lips and tickle her ****. She went mad again, jerking and twitching in response to the touch of my tongue, moaning and panting. Then I felt her **** harden, her inner lips swell and spread, and her delicious juices start to flow. Now she was definitely ready for more. I probed her ****-hole with my tongue, licked all the way up to her ****, swirled it around, bit it gently, and then probed her hole again. When I started doing all this, she went even wilder. She spread her legs, ****** and reared against my face, and pulled my head tight against her hot cooze.

"Oh-h-h-h-h, **** me," she moaned, "I can't stand it any more! I don't care if it does hurt! Please, please **** me!"

I put her throbbing **** between my lips and gave it one hard ****, drawing it completely into my mouth, and pulled my head back sharply, causing her **** to pop back. She screamed, ****** her hips at me, and grabbed her sweating *******.

When she had subsided, her legs still spread, I mounted her in the traditional position. I started to position my throbbing pole for a gentle entry, but Lisa released her **** and spread her ****-lips with one hand and guided my tool to her sopping wet ****-hole with the other. She was much wetter now than when Julie diddled her ****, wet enough to ****.

"Please do it now!" Lisa pleaded.

I began to insert my **** cautiously, and found that due to her juices, entry was no problem. Lisa groaned like a ****** as I slid into her hot wetness. When she had taken as much of my ten-inch tool as she could, I still wasn't all the way in. But she began pumping her hips, causing the swollen head of my **** to ram against the back of her *****. She was as deliciously tight as before, but she must have been stretching, for with just a few strokes, my ***** were slapping against her ***, and I was in to the hilt. My tenderness and foreplay had paid off.

"Oh-h-h-h, that's good!" she purred when I began pumping to meet her rhythm. She wrapped her legs around my waist, and was pumping as hard as I was. With each stroke, I would completely withdraw from her hot, tight wetness, then shove my eager tool back in to the hilt, never missing her voracious target, always sliding easily in, jamming against the back of her *****.

Her pumping increased in tempo, and I sped up to match. Each pump became harder and more frantic than the one before. Lisa's breathing became harder and faster. She was about to come, and I wanted to come with her. I raised her legs over my shoulders so that I had a better angle at the depths of her tight hole, and started ramming as hard as I could.

"Don't stop! I think I'm gonna come! Oh-h-h, its so good! Come in me! Oh, please, I want to feel your load in me!" Lisa screamed. She bucked and reared and screamed incoherently, then went limp. I continued to pump. In just a few seconds, she began to pump anew. For more times than I could count, she orgasmed.

Once I felt my ****** approaching, I gave her one last hard ram and drove my weapon in as far as I could. I came at this point, spurting her sweet, tender Steve **** full of my hot sticky come, like an erupting volcano. She gasped, trembled, and fell back to the bed. I pulled out my softening ****. Our ****** energies were spent for the moment.

I glanced down at the foot of the bed, and saw Julie, whom I had forgotten. She sat in the chair at the foot of the bed, her legs spread, working a coke bottle in and out of her *****. She had found the KY jelly, then found us ******* away. Feeling left out but excited by the ****** sight of her best friend getting a good *******, she slicked up the coke bottle and began using it as a *****.

I saw that Lisa also was seeing something she had never seen before, her best friend's ****, gaping open, a coke bottle almost disappearing inside it. "Look how far in she puts it! And see how big it is to go in her like that. How does she do it?" Lisa asked, amazed.

"Why don't you get a closer look," I suggested. "Ask her." Lisa crawled down to the foot of the bed and sat on the end, astounded, watching Julie *******.

Julie finally looked down, under heavy-lidded eyes and saw Lisa so close. "Why don't you do this for me?" Julie asked.

"How?" Lisa queried.

"Just do what I'm doing now," came Julie's reply. Lisa watched for a few seconds more, then pushed Julie's hand aside and grasped the slippery end of the bottle. "In and out, and twist it a little bit. Oh, yes-s-s, oh, yes-s-s. Do it good, oh, that's so good!" Julie purred.

My **** was hardening again at the sight of one female ******* another.

I had an idea. If Julie was as promiscuous as she seemed, she might not object to what I had in mind. While Lisa continued to work the bottle in Julie's stretched ****, I helped Julie out of the chair and down to the floor, her heaving **** on the floor, her *** up in the air. She stayed in the position, crooning wordlessly, **** juice dribbling down her thighs, Lisa still ******* her.

I picked up the tube of KY jelly that Julie had used, and liberally covered my ***** rod with it. Then I stood behind Julie, straddling Lisa.

"What are you going to do?" Lisa asked.

"Watch and see!" I responded. With that I grasped Julie's hips and aimed my **** at the delicate rosette of Julie's ***. Using my **** like a weapon, I suddenly shoved my tool in as far as I could. Julie let out a scream, tearing out fistfuls of carpet.

"Oh God, **** my ***! That hurts so good! **** me harder, give me all you've got! Make it hurt! Give me more of that bottle!"

"I'm ***-******* Julie!" I informed Lisa, who was now completely mind-blown.

I needed no invitation, and neither did Lisa. Both of us gave Julie all we could, Lisa with the bottle in Julie's ****, me with my **** far up Julie's clenching ***. Julie rocked back to take us both in, then forward, then back for more. I couldn't see
Wesley Willis Jan 2014
**** a polar bear's funky ***!
**** a racehorse's **** with Heinz Tomato Ketchup!
**** a donkey's ****** ***!
**** a male camel's **** with Hoisen sauce!

**** a cheetah's ****
**** a cheetah's ****
**** a cheetah's ****
**** a cheetah's ****

**** a European bison's smelly ***!
**** a woolly mammoth's **** with Miracle Whip!
**** a snow leopard's *** with whip cream!
**** a hyena's spermy ****!

**** a cheetah's ****
**** a cheetah's ****
**** a cheetah's ****
**** a cheetah's ****

**** a llama's ****** *******!
**** a panda bear's spermy *******!
**** a sloth bear's bootyhole!
**** a greyhound's musty ***, *******!

**** a cheetah's ****
**** a cheetah's ****
**** a cheetah's ****
**** a cheetah's ****

Polaroid, see what develops
The Good Pussy Sep 2014
.
                                   k
                                     c
                                      I
                       ­    ****  d  ****
                     **** **** **** ****
                   dickdickdickdickdick
                     ****  **** ****  ****
                      **** **** **** ****            
                           **** **** ****          
                               **** ****
John F McCullagh Dec 2011
Spot, that lucky dog, is dead.
He did not live to see
what became of **** and Jane.
Let me relate their history.
**** and Jane now were in their teens
Vietnam was our national hell.
Jane mourned her fellows at Kent State.
****'s squad stormed Hue's Citadel.
**** came back from Vietnam
a changed and distant man.
In sleep he'd mutter, toss and turn,
crying out like one who's dammed.
Jane became a feminist and
in protest burned her brassiere.
****, in monosylables
proclaimed he loved Jane dear
Soon Jane was having fun with ****
in the back seat of his car.
A different sort of fun, I think
than they ever had before.
They both tried marijuana
and both of them inhaled
They were discreet, unlike their friends
and avoided time in jail.
They lived together for  a while
Eventually they married.
The product of their union was
two boys named Tom and Harry.
**** got work at Chysler
standing right beside his Dad.
He figured he was set for life.
He became a Union man.
Jane became a lawyer
working for A.C.L.U.
**** and Jane would often argue
about the causes she pursued.
By now the boys were growing up
and spending time with Dad
Out at Tiger Stadium
they had seats in the grandstand.
It seemed everything was perfect.
Of course everything was not.
**** and Jane fought frequently.
Her career was getting hot.
She no longer had much fun with ****;
the passion had grown cold.
Cialis was not invented yet
and **** grew fat and bald.
Jane began to question why
she  ever chose to marry.
Jane stopped having fun with ****.
Jane  now has fun with Sally.
American baby boomers learned to read from a series of books that were titled fun with **** and Jane. they were simple tales of two friends **** and Jane and his dog Spot.   This is intended as a comic piece outlining their live after we left them in grade school
The Good Pussy Oct 2014
.
                               Black ****
                           white **** old
                           **** new ****.
                            This one has a
                            Ittle star.  This
                            one has a little
                            car. Say! What
                            a lot   of   ****
                            there are . Yes,
                            some are black
                            and  some  are
                ­            white.      Some
                            are old.  S o m e
                 are new.Som  e are sad.  And
              some are  gla d   A nd   some   are
               very very bad .  Why   are   t he y
                sad and glad an  d bad? I do not
                    know. Go ask      your dad.
Terry Collett Oct 2013
You climbed through a broken window
at the back of the deserted pub
and you and ****

and Ingrid
went
into the gloomy bar room

with dust and chairs
and round tables
some broken

and empty glasses
and bottles
on shelves

and **** went
behind the bar
and said

what are you having?
large beer and a gin
for the lady

you said
sorry mate no beer
and we're right out of gin

**** said
shame
you said

Ingrid wandered
around the tables anxiously
do people come in here now?

no been closed for years
**** said
although some one's

been here
going by
the broken window

he added
Ingrid ran her finger
across a dusty table

could do with a good clean
she said
I think my granddad

used to drink here
said ****
I remember waiting outside

with a bottle of lemonade
and  packet of crisps
I've done that

Ingrid said
what waited outside of here?
**** said

no not here
she said
another pub

the Duke of Wellington mostly
never done it
you said

ain't done what?
**** asked
waited outside pubs

you said
lucky you then
**** said

waited for hours once
Ingrid said
mum was away

and Dad was in there so long
that someone
asked about me

and he came out
and dragged me home
all annoyed

as if I'd complained
you gazed at her
waiting for the next comment

about her old man
but she didn't
say anything

but you knew
what he most probably did
when he got her home

she looked at the windows
with words on them
but they were back to front

and hard to read  
**** held up a bottle
with a blue label

some sort of beer
he said
shall I open and have a swig?

no
said Ingrid
probably taste horrible

all beers taste horrible
**** said
he put the top

of the bottle
against a bottle opener
behind the bar

nailed to the bar top  
and yanked it open
and smelt it

have a sniff
he said
and he brought the bottle

around the bar
and you had a sniff
smells all right

you said
Ingrid sniffed
yuk

she said  
smells like my dad's breath
when he gets near me

**** had a quick swig
and pulled a face
yes horrible

he said
he put the bottle on the bar
and you all walked

around the bar room
then there a bang from upstairs
what the heck was that​ ?

**** said quietly
*****
you said

*****? Ingrid said anxiously
let's go
yes let's be off

**** said
and so you all tiptoed
as fast as you could

through to the back  
and one by one
out the window

making sure
not to cut yourselves
on the broken glass

once outside
**** went off
down the subway

to his home
and you and Ingrid
walked along

the New Kent Road
in the late afternoon
she brushing off her dress

to get rid of the dust
and you rubbed your hands
together with spit

to clean them
the smell of fish
and vinegar

from the fish and chips shop
the passing traffic
she talked of going home

before her old man
got back
so she could wash

and clean up
her eyes
dark olives shining

and tearful
you said
tomorrow we can go

to the cinema
and see that cowboy film
I told you about

yes
she said softly
if I'm allowed out

and you crossed the road
and walked down
Meadow Row

wanting her to stay
and play and not
have to go.
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Jan 2020
FOR MY DEAR FRIEND, ****

I met **** when we both entered
Roosevelt Junior High School. In
9th grade, we both ran for Student
Council President. I beat him. We
both started on our city championship
basketball team, he playing one
forward, I the other. **** was smart
as hell. He sat right in front of me
in algebra class and got better grades
than I. I was told **** wrote a paper
about me in an English class some-
time while at Topeka High. I regret
that I never had a chance to read
it;  I left my junior year to attend An-
dover. One summer night before
college, **** and I doubled-dated.
His father had suffered for years with
manic depression and had spent a
number of years at Topeka State
Hospital. The night **** and I double-
dated, his father had gotten a pass
from the hospital to spend the night
at home. The next morning, I heared
that ****’s father had shot himself
in the head as he sat at the kitchen
table. **** attended KU where he
was elected president of Beta Theta Pi,
the most prominent fraternity on
campus. Years later in the fall of 1979,
I returned to Topeka from Phoenix.
I had heared that ****, too, had
fallen victim to manic depression.
His wife had divorced him. **** had
spent a long time at Topeka State
Hospital, shunned basically by vir-
ually all his former friends. I found
out where he was living and called
him. I was still his friend. In early
November, we drove through the
northeastern part of Kansas where
the leaves had turned beautiful
colors. Every Saturday morning,
I picked **** up to go have break-
fast together. Then we would re-
turn to his apartment where we
would spent the afternoon and
early evening playing cribbage,
watching old movies and sporting
events, and listening to Anne
Murray sing her many hits. ****,
over these years, used beer to
calm himself. He had a favorite
tavern he would go to. One
morning several years later, he
was found dead halfway home.
Nobody ever found out for sure
why he had died. He remains,
even in death, a dear friend of
mine.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet and human-rights advocate his entire adult life. He recently finished his first novel, A CHILD FOR AMARANTH.
Susan Hunt Jul 2012
CHAPTER ONE: THE DEMISE OF A YOUNG GIRL SEPTEMBER 1975


I had not seen my father in over two years when he showed up at my mom and step dad's condo. He had a slick knack of disappearing when laws were broken and he was wanted for questioning. He had an even better ability to re-enter when the heat was off.

My father owned three nightclubs in Oklahoma City. His first was the Silver Sword, and then he opened The Red Slipper. After he met his second wife, they together, opened the Jade Club.

All were successful, but the Red Slipper had a reputation. On a rare occasion, my dad would take me with him to open up the place. At first, it scared me. It was so dark in there. But as the lights came on behind the bar, I fell in love with the atmosphere.

Bobby Orr’s hockey stick hung on the wall, along with an endearing note from F. Lee Bailey. At six years old, all I knew was that they were the objects that made my dad beam.

I learned to play pool by standing on a phone book. I watched the colorful smacking ***** bounce around the most beautiful color of green I had ever seen. Chalking the stick was a chore, but after nearly poking my eye out once, I soon caught on.

It was a struggle to climb up on a barstool, but it was worth the effort. I sat at the bar and had lunch: popcorn, pretzels, peanuts and Pepsi.

As I grew older, I saw less and less of him, until he became a stranger, drifting in every once in awhile.  Every few weeks or so, I would come home from school, and see his car in the driveway.

This always shot fear and excitement through me. The air of unpredictability always made me want to ***. Unfortunately, most of the time, we were locked out of the house for a few hours, so I would have to *** in the back yard or at the neighbors. We waited on the stairs for the front door to open. And it always did, by my mom. She usually looked satisfied and serene but other times, I saw dread and sadness on her face.

Ever since I could remember, my dad had been a string of disappointments for me with a few indescribable moments of pure enjoyment mixed in between He could be kind, funny and like a real dad sometimes, that was the dad I missed. I tried to hold onto those experiences, even though he was such a mean ******* most of the time. But mostly, I just didn't know him.

Their divorce became final around the summer of 1972, but that didn't stop my mom from loving him. I don't know why, but she chased him frequently, going out to bars with her friends, trying to get a glimpse of him, and maybe more.

The last time I’d seen my father had not been pleasant. When I was thirteen, he broke down the door to our apartment and went straight to my mother’s bedroom. The noises were terrifying. The screaming, and punching sounds were followed by my mother’s whimpering, begging, groveling.

"How dare you do this to me, Patsy!? And behind my back! You could have at least told me!"

My dad had bailed himself out of jail that night. She promised him she would never seek alimony or child support again. Her lawyer was wrong. It wasn’t worth getting killed over.  

Shortly after, he had to leave the state. It had something to do with a low-level mob deal involving an insurance fraud. Too bad, it involved burning a building with someone in it. My dad became nothing but a memory, which faded away over time.

**

Alcohol and tobacco were constants in my family, so when my older brother, Tim, started smoking at ten years old, I don't remember much protest from anyone. I was seven and when my sister Abby, turned ten the next year, she also started smoking.  All the older kids were smoking cigarettes. I wanted to be cool, so I puked and coughed as I practiced. By the time I was ten, I too, was inhaling properly.  Around that time, I was introduced to *** by my sister's boyfriend. It did help my mood, somewhat, but it wasn't enough.

By 1974, I was using drugs from my sister’s boyfriend. John was a true drugstore cowboy. At first, he committed burglaries, which were easy at the time. There were no sophisticated electronics to stop someone from cutting a hole in the roof of a pharmacy. It took only minutes to pry open the safe that contained the narcotics. Then it took maybe another minute to fill a pillowcase full of every variety of amphetamines, barbiturates, valiums, etc.

It wasn’t long before I graduated to using morphine, ******* and then overdosed on Demerol. My stepfather sent me to a treatment facility in Tulsa Oklahoma, about one hundred miles away from Oklahoma City. The Dillon treatment center didn’t accept clients under age of sixteen but made an exception with me. I was a walking-talking disastrous miracle...or a miraculously saved disaster.

They figured that since I was fourteen, the sooner the better to start my road to recovery. Apparently, they didn’t condone sneaking *** and valiums in to the facility. I was kicked out of Dillon after about a month.

I came back home and laid low. I went back to Hefner Jr. High and enrolled back into the ninth grade. I quietly picked up where I left off, going back into business with John. My job was to sell the safe stuff; valiums, seconols, white bennies, ***, etc.


Summer came; I turned fifteen and had developed a tendency to over test my wares. I overdosed and nearly died in the hospital several times, which had led to my current predicament. Nobody knew what to do with me.

In August, I entered the tenth grade...for two weeks. I was expelled, (you guessed it) for dealing drugs. I was on homebound teaching twice a week with little supervision. My mother worked, my step-dad, **** ,worked, and I was home all day. However, I was not just sitting idly around. I was into enterprise.

**

In September, I overdosed again. I was quickly killing myself and my mother didn’t know what to do to stop it. That is why what happened was not my mother’s fault. But it wasn’t my fault either.

I never figured out how he knew where we lived. My mother moved over at least fourteen times in between the time I was six and twelve years old. Yet, here he was, at our front door, with his undeniable ‘ah shucks’ charm. His modesty was convincing. His timing was incredible. My mother stood frozen, her mouth agape. **** took the lead. He placed himself between my mother and father.

“You must be Gary Don, my name is ****; I’m Patsy’s husband." **** had never met my dad, but he'd heard enough about him to surmise who was standing at the door.

"Um, yeah, I'm Gary Don, it's nice to meet you ****", he said; as he offered a friendly hand shake to ****.

"I hope I'm not interrupting you, I was just in Duncan with my parents and they suggested I stop by and talk with you before heading back west. It's about Susie....

"Yes, Patsy said you called yesterday. We weren't expecting you this soon, but it's no problem. Why don't you come in and tell us what your plans are? Patsy, honey, would you mind putting on a *** of coffee?”

This unfroze my mother and she scurried to the kitchen. I was still in shock at seeing my dad’s face. I retreated to the staircase, but poked my head around and caught him glance at me. I flew up to the landing. I could easily escape up the rest of the stairs to my bedroom.
I was small enough to remain hidden on the landing, and heard the conversation between my mother, my dad and ****. **** was the classiest, most even-tempered adult I had ever encountered. I wished I could stop hurting him and my mother.  

My mother sat down two cups of coffee on the dining room table where my dad and **** sat. As she retreated a few steps back into the kitchen, **** politely probed my dad. My dad had the right answer for every question.

He swore he was a completely different person. He had changed. He had no hard feelings, instead he was back to help. He was remorseful for being an absent father and he wanted to make things right. He was back for a reason. He had heard that I was in trouble with drugs and school and he felt guilty for that. He had the answer to my problems. He was so convincing, so….humble, almost shy.

As I listened, I began freaking out with fear and excitement. I always wanted my dad. The last time I tried to live with him, it didn’t work out; he sent me back to my mother’s after a month. Now my dad wanted me! He wanted to save me, take care of me!

He lived by himself now. He was the manager of The Palace Restaurant/Hotel in the little town of Raton, New Mexico. It was a refurbished hotel, built over a century ago The ground floor was an elegant bar and restaurant. He was making very good money, he paid no rent and he had an extra room for me.

With a population of 6000, it was not a place to continue a lucrative drug business. Also, he would enroll me into the little high school and I could get my diploma. I could work in the restaurant in the evenings where he would keep his eye on me. Then, there was the horse. He would buy me a horse. And on and on and on.

The logic and sincerity of his argument was convincing. So there it was. An hour later, my bags were packed. I was going to live with my father in New Mexico.

That’s how in September 1975, my father whisked me away from my home in Oklahoma City, under the guise of saving me from my own demise. I was stolen and held captive in Raton, New Mexico for what seemed like forever.

My dog, Baron was coming with me, I refused to go anywhere without him. He was a tiny black and tan Dachshund. I got him free when I was fourteen, when I got back from Tulsa. To me, he was priceless. He was my best friend. He couldn’t have weighed more than ten pounds, but his heart was huge.

I talked to him about everything and he consoled me by nodding, and licking me on the cheek non-stop…or he would admonish me through his expressions and demeanor. I had lived with Dachshunds since I was seven, so understood their language pretty well. Baron understood humans better. We developed a rare communication that worked well for both of us.
Herman, our older dachshund had greeted my dad cordially. Baron couldn’t figure this out, he expressed his apprehension. He looked at me and conveyed,

“Well, if Herman isn’t worried, I guess it’ll be Okay, right? Right, Susan?”

I was sorry I didn’t have an honest answer. I did my best to settle him.

“Sure, this’ll be fun, a whole new adventure!”

As we drove West, toward the Texas panhandle, Baron kept the conversation going by his curious interest expressed by wide eyes and attentive ears. My dad amazed him with his knowledge of history, geography, geology, astronomy, world geo-politics, weather, music on the radio, literature, mechanics, religion and countless other topics. I knew he was faking his fascination with my dad. He knew he was doing me a favor.

There was not a dead moment in the air. An occasional “really?” expressed by me was enough to keep my dad’s mouth running. I was thankful for that. It kept my attention away from my jangle of emotions. As we drove through the night, I was conflicted, scared, excited, happy and worried. I didn’t know where I was going, or who was driving me there.

My dad’s jovial demeanor comforted me. He made The Palace sound like the perfect place for his little princess.

When we arrived, it was late, after 10pm., Baron was exhausted. I stood on the corner and looked up. I gulped. The three-story building was like an old gothic castle. It was a huge rectangle with the front corner cut back with a fifth wall about ten feet wide. This provided the entrance with two giant oak doors. Baron was less than enthused by its foreboding appearance. I had to agree.

Dad ignored my hesitation. “Come on, you’re going to love this place!”

He pulled open one of the oak doors, which had to weigh at least five hundred pounds. I was hesitant, but thirsty. Baron’s squirming had started to annoy me. I went forward filled with adrenalin.

The initial entrance was a small round foyer with a domed ceiling of cut glass. It was about six feet round. As I stared up at the beautiful little pieces of color, I heard my dad chuckle.

“See? I told you, there’s no place like this!”

Then I saw the true entry to the bar, a set of small bat winged doors that swung back and forth. He pulled one of the doors back, beckoning me forward. He looked down at me with a tender expression.

“Welcome home, honey, this is home now.”

As we entered the bar, I was dumbstruck. Baron was not. I stepped back in time, to 1896, into The Palace Hotel.

The bar took up half of the first floor of the hotel. It was the most captivating centerpiece of the establishment. The mirror behind the bar was the longest continuous piece of reflection glass in all the states, the brochure proclaimed. A brass foot rail extended the length of the long cherry oak bar A few feet behind was a waist high railing just like the saloons in old John Wayne movies.

The carpet was a deep royal red interlaced with black swirly patterns. Bright golden paper covered the walls. It was smooth and shiny with raised curly designs made out of felt or maybe even velour. God, I just wanted to reach over and run my fingers across it!  

The wall opposite the bar had windows that were quizzically narrow and impossibly tall. Lush maroon velvet drapes adorned them, parted in the center to provide a view of the quaint town just beyond the sidewalk.

I looked up at the ornate ceiling, which seemed a mile above me. It was covered with tiles of little angels that all looked the same, yet different. The angels danced across the entire ceiling until it curved and met the wall. I got dizzy looking at them.

“You can’t find ceiling tiles like that anywhere! My dad grinned. “They’re covered in pure gold leaf!”

I didn’t know what pure gold leaf was, but the word ‘gold’ impressed me very much.

He introduced me to the staff. I l blushed when he said; “This is Susie, my favorite little girl!” I had never heard that before. The whole crew greeted me warmly, all smiles and friendliness.  

I always paid attention when Baron got nervous but I chose to ignore him. I jostled him in my arms. My stern look at him stopped his squiggling, but his look back conveyed that I was clueless.

I, however thought, Okay, I have died and gone to Heaven! I was enchanted. My fascination with this magical setting made me feel happy; I was in the neatest place I had ever seen. I’m going to love it here!

On the first night, my dad led me around the ground floor. The restaurant was as elegant as the bar. To the rear of the restaurant, there was a large commercial kitchen. Off the rear of the kitchen, he showed, me a short hallway to the back exit. To the right, a huge staircase led to the two upper floors of dilapidated hotel rooms. A manager’s apartment had been converted from several hotel rooms connected together on the second floor, just above the entrance to the hotel.

We ended up back in the bar and sat at a table for two. Crystal, the head bartender stayed on for a little while longer after the rest of the staff were allowed to go home.

Sitting at the table, he ordered Harvey’s Bristol Cream Sherry. I had never had Cream Sherry before, but it tasted like candy with nuts and I had no problem going through numerous rounds in a very short time. I was hungry but I was too nervous to eat.

Baron, however, was ravenous. My dad fed him little pieces filet mignon and French bread with real butter. He played cute for my dad, sitting up and begging. He jumped up, putting his paws on my dad’s leg, wagging his tail like crazy.

I was a little befuddled until I caught his sideways glance that said, “I do not like this guy, but I gotta eat, I’m starving. You’re the one falling into his into his trap, not me.”

Ouch. “Baron, sometimes I wish you would shut the hell up.”

After having his fill, he settled into a wary sleep on top of my feet. I never worried about losing Baron. Where I went, he went, period.

I wasn’t aware when the bartender left. The bottle was on the table before I knew it; he kept my glass full. I was five feet tall and weighed 106 pounds. I had a lethal level of alcohol pulsing threw my entire body…and I had my daddy.

I was in a haze. Actually, it was more of a daze than a haze. My vision was
Susan Hunt Jul 2012
CHAPTER ONE: THE DEMISE OF A YOUNG GIRL SEPTEMBER 1975


I had not seen my father in over two years when he showed up at my mom and step dad's condo. He had a slick knack of disappearing when laws were broken and he was wanted for questioning. He had an even better ability to re-enter when the heat was off.

My father owned three nightclubs in Oklahoma City. His first was the Silver Sword, and then he opened The Red Slipper. After he met his second wife, they together, opened the Jade Club.

All were successful, but the Red Slipper had a reputation. On a rare occasion, my dad would take me with him to open up the place. At first, it scared me. It was so dark in there. But as the lights came on behind the bar, I fell in love with the atmosphere.

Bobby Orr’s hockey stick hung on the wall, along with an endearing note from F. Lee Bailey. At six years old, all I knew was that they were the objects that made my dad beam.

I learned to play pool by standing on a phone book. I watched the colorful smacking ***** bounce around the most beautiful color of green I had ever seen. Chalking the stick was a chore, but after nearly poking my eye out once, I soon caught on.

It was a struggle to climb up on a barstool, but it was worth the effort. I sat at the bar and had lunch: popcorn, pretzels, peanuts and Pepsi.

As I grew older, I saw less and less of him, until he became a stranger, drifting in every once in awhile.  Every few weeks or so, I would come home from school, and see his car in the driveway.

This always shot fear and excitement through me. The air of unpredictability always made me want to ***. Unfortunately, most of the time, we were locked out of the house for a few hours, so I would have to *** in the back yard or at the neighbors. We waited on the stairs for the front door to open. And it always did, by my mom. She usually looked satisfied and serene but other times, I saw dread and sadness on her face.

Ever since I could remember, my dad had been a string of disappointments for me with a few indescribable moments of pure enjoyment mixed in between He could be kind, funny and like a real dad sometimes, that was the dad I missed. I tried to hold onto those experiences, even though he was such a mean ******* most of the time. But mostly, I just didn't know him.

Their divorce became final around the summer of 1972, but that didn't stop my mom from loving him. I don't know why, but she chased him frequently, going out to bars with her friends, trying to get a glimpse of him, and maybe more.

The last time I’d seen my father had not been pleasant. When I was thirteen, he broke down the door to our apartment and went straight to my mother’s bedroom. The noises were terrifying. The screaming, and punching sounds were followed by my mother’s whimpering, begging, groveling.

"How dare you do this to me, Patsy!? And behind my back! You could have at least told me!"

My dad had bailed himself out of jail that night. She promised him she would never seek alimony or child support again. Her lawyer was wrong. It wasn’t worth getting killed over.  

Shortly after, he had to leave the state. It had something to do with a low-level mob deal involving an insurance fraud. Too bad, it involved burning a building with someone in it. My dad became nothing but a memory, which faded away over time.

**

Alcohol and tobacco were constants in my family, so when my older brother, Tim, started smoking at ten years old, I don't remember much protest from anyone. I was seven and when my sister Abby, turned ten the next year, she also started smoking.  All the older kids were smoking cigarettes. I wanted to be cool, so I puked and coughed as I practiced. By the time I was ten, I too, was inhaling properly.  Around that time, I was introduced to *** by my sister's boyfriend. It did help my mood, somewhat, but it wasn't enough.

By 1974, I was using drugs from my sister’s boyfriend. John was a true drugstore cowboy. At first, he committed burglaries, which were easy at the time. There were no sophisticated electronics to stop someone from cutting a hole in the roof of a pharmacy. It took only minutes to pry open the safe that contained the narcotics. Then it took maybe another minute to fill a pillowcase full of every variety of amphetamines, barbiturates, valiums, etc.

It wasn’t long before I graduated to using morphine, ******* and then overdosed on Demerol. My stepfather sent me to a treatment facility in Tulsa Oklahoma, about one hundred miles away from Oklahoma City. The Dillon treatment center didn’t accept clients under age of sixteen but made an exception with me. I was a walking-talking disastrous miracle...or a miraculously saved disaster.

They figured that since I was fourteen, the sooner the better to start my road to recovery. Apparently, they didn’t condone sneaking *** and valiums in to the facility. I was kicked out of Dillon after about a month.

I came back home and laid low. I went back to Hefner Jr. High and enrolled back into the ninth grade. I quietly picked up where I left off, going back into business with John. My job was to sell the safe stuff; valiums, seconols, white bennies, ***, etc.


Summer came; I turned fifteen and had developed a tendency to over test my wares. I overdosed and nearly died in the hospital several times, which had led to my current predicament. Nobody knew what to do with me.

In August, I entered the tenth grade...for two weeks. I was expelled, (you guessed it) for dealing drugs. I was on homebound teaching twice a week with little supervision. My mother worked, my step-dad, **** ,worked, and I was home all day. However, I was not just sitting idly around. I was into enterprise.

**

In September, I overdosed again. I was quickly killing myself and my mother didn’t know what to do to stop it. That is why what happened was not my mother’s fault. But it wasn’t my fault either.

I never figured out how he knew where we lived. My mother moved over at least fourteen times in between the time I was six and twelve years old. Yet, here he was, at our front door, with his undeniable ‘ah shucks’ charm. His modesty was convincing. His timing was incredible. My mother stood frozen, her mouth agape. **** took the lead. He placed himself between my mother and father.

“You must be Gary Don, my name is ****; I’m Patsy’s husband." **** had never met my dad, but he'd heard enough about him to surmise who was standing at the door.

"Um, yeah, I'm Gary Don, it's nice to meet you ****", he said; as he offered a friendly hand shake to ****.

"I hope I'm not interrupting you, I was just in Duncan with my parents and they suggested I stop by and talk with you before heading back west. It's about Susie....

"Yes, Patsy said you called yesterday. We weren't expecting you this soon, but it's no problem. Why don't you come in and tell us what your plans are? Patsy, honey, would you mind putting on a *** of coffee?”

This unfroze my mother and she scurried to the kitchen. I was still in shock at seeing my dad’s face. I retreated to the staircase, but poked my head around and caught him glance at me. I flew up to the landing. I could easily escape up the rest of the stairs to my bedroom.
I was small enough to remain hidden on the landing, and heard the conversation between my mother, my dad and ****. **** was the classiest, most even-tempered adult I had ever encountered. I wished I could stop hurting him and my mother.  

My mother sat down two cups of coffee on the dining room table where my dad and **** sat. As she retreated a few steps back into the kitchen, **** politely probed my dad. My dad had the right answer for every question.

He swore he was a completely different person. He had changed. He had no hard feelings, instead he was back to help. He was remorseful for being an absent father and he wanted to make things right. He was back for a reason. He had heard that I was in trouble with drugs and school and he felt guilty for that. He had the answer to my problems. He was so convincing, so….humble, almost shy.

As I listened, I began freaking out with fear and excitement. I always wanted my dad. The last time I tried to live with him, it didn’t work out; he sent me back to my mother’s after a month. Now my dad wanted me! He wanted to save me, take care of me!

He lived by himself now. He was the manager of The Palace Restaurant/Hotel in the little town of Raton, New Mexico. It was a refurbished hotel, built over a century ago The ground floor was an elegant bar and restaurant. He was making very good money, he paid no rent and he had an extra room for me.

With a population of 6000, it was not a place to continue a lucrative drug business. Also, he would enroll me into the little high school and I could get my diploma. I could work in the restaurant in the evenings where he would keep his eye on me. Then, there was the horse. He would buy me a horse. And on and on and on.

The logic and sincerity of his argument was convincing. So there it was. An hour later, my bags were packed. I was going to live with my father in New Mexico.

That’s how in September 1975, my father whisked me away from my home in Oklahoma City, under the guise of saving me from my own demise. I was stolen and held captive in Raton, New Mexico for what seemed like forever.

My dog, Baron was coming with me, I refused to go anywhere without him. He was a tiny black and tan Dachshund. I got him free when I was fourteen, when I got back from Tulsa. To me, he was priceless. He was my best friend. He couldn’t have weighed more than ten pounds, but his heart was huge.

I talked to him about everything and he consoled me by nodding, and licking me on the cheek non-stop…or he would admonish me through his expressions and demeanor. I had lived with Dachshunds since I was seven, so understood their language pretty well. Baron understood humans better. We developed a rare communication that worked well for both of us.
Herman, our older dachshund had greeted my dad cordially. Baron couldn’t figure this out, he expressed his apprehension. He looked at me and conveyed,

“Well, if Herman isn’t worried, I guess it’ll be Okay, right? Right, Susan?”

I was sorry I didn’t have an honest answer. I did my best to settle him.

“Sure, this’ll be fun, a whole new adventure!”

As we drove West, toward the Texas panhandle, Baron kept the conversation going by his curious interest expressed by wide eyes and attentive ears. My dad amazed him with his knowledge of history, geography, geology, astronomy, world geo-politics, weather, music on the radio, literature, mechanics, religion and countless other topics. I knew he was faking his fascination with my dad. He knew he was doing me a favor.

There was not a dead moment in the air. An occasional “really?” expressed by me was enough to keep my dad’s mouth running. I was thankful for that. It kept my attention away from my jangle of emotions. As we drove through the night, I was conflicted, scared, excited, happy and worried. I didn’t know where I was going, or who was driving me there.

My dad’s jovial demeanor comforted me. He made The Palace sound like the perfect place for his little princess.

When we arrived, it was late, after 10pm., Baron was exhausted. I stood on the corner and looked up. I gulped. The three-story building was like an old gothic castle. It was a huge rectangle with the front corner cut back with a fifth wall about ten feet wide. This provided the entrance with two giant oak doors. Baron was less than enthused by its foreboding appearance. I had to agree.

Dad ignored my hesitation. “Come on, you’re going to love this place!”

He pulled open one of the oak doors, which had to weigh at least five hundred pounds. I was hesitant, but thirsty. Baron’s squirming had started to annoy me. I went forward filled with adrenalin.

The initial entrance was a small round foyer with a domed ceiling of cut glass. It was about six feet round. As I stared up at the beautiful little pieces of color, I heard my dad chuckle.

“See? I told you, there’s no place like this!”

Then I saw the true entry to the bar, a set of small bat winged doors that swung back and forth. He pulled one of the doors back, beckoning me forward. He looked down at me with a tender expression.

“Welcome home, honey, this is home now.”

As we entered the bar, I was dumbstruck. Baron was not. I stepped back in time, to 1896, into The Palace Hotel.

The bar took up half of the first floor of the hotel. It was the most captivating centerpiece of the establishment. The mirror behind the bar was the longest continuous piece of reflection glass in all the states, the brochure proclaimed. A brass foot rail extended the length of the long cherry oak bar A few feet behind was a waist high railing just like the saloons in old John Wayne movies.

The carpet was a deep royal red interlaced with black swirly patterns. Bright golden paper covered the walls. It was smooth and shiny with raised curly designs made out of felt or maybe even velour. God, I just wanted to reach over and run my fingers across it!  

The wall opposite the bar had windows that were quizzically narrow and impossibly tall. Lush maroon velvet drapes adorned them, parted in the center to provide a view of the quaint town just beyond the sidewalk.

I looked up at the ornate ceiling, which seemed a mile above me. It was covered with tiles of little angels that all looked the same, yet different. The angels danced across the entire ceiling until it curved and met the wall. I got dizzy looking at them.

“You can’t find ceiling tiles like that anywhere! My dad grinned. “They’re covered in pure gold leaf!”

I didn’t know what pure gold leaf was, but the word ‘gold’ impressed me very much.

He introduced me to the staff. I l blushed when he said; “This is Susie, my favorite little girl!” I had never heard that before. The whole crew greeted me warmly, all smiles and friendliness.  

I always paid attention when Baron got nervous but I chose to ignore him. I jostled him in my arms. My stern look at him stopped his squiggling, but his look back conveyed that I was clueless.

I, however thought, Okay, I have died and gone to Heaven! I was enchanted. My fascination with this magical setting made me feel happy; I was in the neatest place I had ever seen. I’m going to love it here!

On the first night, my dad led me around the ground floor. The restaurant was as elegant as the bar. To the rear of the restaurant, there was a large commercial kitchen. Off the rear of the kitchen, he showed, me a short hallway to the back exit. To the right, a huge staircase led to the two upper floors of dilapidated hotel rooms. A manager’s apartment had been converted from several hotel rooms connected together on the second floor, just above the entrance to the hotel.

We ended up back in the bar and sat at a table for two. Crystal, the head bartender stayed on for a little while longer after the rest of the staff were allowed to go home.

Sitting at the table, he ordered Harvey’s Bristol Cream Sherry. I had never had Cream Sherry before, but it tasted like candy with nuts and I had no problem going through numerous rounds in a very short time. I was hungry but I was too nervous to eat.

Baron, however, was ravenous. My dad fed him little pieces filet mignon and French bread with real butter. He played cute for my dad, sitting up and begging. He jumped up, putting his paws on my dad’s leg, wagging his tail like crazy.

I was a little befuddled until I caught his sideways glance that said, “I do not like this guy, but I gotta eat, I’m starving. You’re the one falling into his into his trap, not me.”

Ouch. “Baron, sometimes I wish you would shut the hell up.”

After having his fill, he settled into a wary sleep on top of my feet. I never worried about losing Baron. Where I went, he went, period.

I wasn’t aware when the bartender left. The bottle was on the table before I knew it; he kept my glass full. I was five feet tall and weighed 106 pounds. I had a lethal level of alcohol pulsing threw my entire body…and I had my daddy.

I was in a haze. Actually, it was more of a daze than a haze. My vision was
THE ALLAN FAMILY STORY, BRIAN WANTS TO BE AN ADULT, BUT HE;S TOO YOUNG



YOU SEE BRIAN ALLAN SINCE HE MOVED TO CANBERRA, HE HAS BEEN GETTING

VOICES IN HIS HEAD, OF HIS FAMILY AND OUTSIDERS, TREATING HIM LIKR A LITTLE

YOUNG DUDE, BUT BRIAN WAS FRUSTRATED, CAUSE, HE LIKED THE ADULTS BETTER

YOU SEE BRIAN WAS A COOL KID, BUT HIS VOICES WERE BOTHERING HIM, WHEN BRIAN

SAID I AM A MAN, HIS BROTHER WOULD SAY, SHUT UP, BABY, THEN ANOTHER VOICE SAYS

FROM AN OUTSIDER, SAYING, MEN BULLY, BRIAN, AND YOUR NO BULLY, BE LIKE USES WITH

THE YOUNG DUDES, AND BRIAN WAS UPSET, AND SAID, NO I AM AN ADULT, THERE IS NOTHING

WRONG WITH BEING AN ADULT, I WAS A COOL KID, YOU SEE, I WANTED TO BE ALLOWED TO RELAX

BUT BECAUSE MY BROTHER WAS ONLY 2 YEARS YOUNGER, HE FORCED ME TO JOIN HIM

WHICH I DIDN’T MIND, CAUSE AS I SAID, I WAS A COOL KID, YOU SEE WE PLAYED YARD CRICKET

AND FOOTBALL AND SPORTS SHOWS, AND BECAUSE OF ALL THIS, I WAS A REAL MAN, WHICH

UPSET MY PARENTS WAY OF LIFE, AND I DID THIS ALL THE WAY THROUGH MY CHILDHOOD

WITH OUTSIDERS CALLING OUT TO ME, SAYING, YOUR STILL A LITTLE YOUNG DUDE, AND

WHEN BRIAN SAID, I AM AN ADULT, THEY SAID, ADULT, ADULT, TRYING TO TAKE THE NOVELTY

OUT OF ME SAYING I AM AN ADULT, CAUSE I AM TOO WOOSEY TO BE LIKE LYLE, AND THIS

YOUNG DUDE SAID, **** MY ****, YOUR STILL A YOUNG DUDE BRIAN, BRIAN AT FIRST

SAID ******* I AM NOT GAY, HE SAID, NO YOUR STILL A YOUNG DUDE MATE, **** MY FUCKEN ****, ****

BRIAN SAID, WHY CAN’T YOU LEAVE ME BE TO BE A REAL MAN, THEN HE SAID, **** MY ****

YOU ARE TOO WOOSEY TO BE A MAN, AND BRIAN SAID, I DON’T WANT TO **** YOUR ****, ****

I AM NOT GAY, YA ****, HE GRABBED MY ARM AND PULLED ME INTO THE ROOM AND FORCED ME

TO **** HIS ****, THE FUCKEN **** HE WAS, AND BRIAN AS SOON AS HE LEFT, WAS FOLLOWING HIM

AND HE SAID, BRIAN ****** MY ****, YA SEE THAT **** IS NOT LIKE ME, AND THEN I WAS PLAYING

A TIE UP GAME, WHERE BRIAN ASKED THIS YOUNG DUDE TO TIE HIM UP, HOPING IT’LL TAKE THE

LITTLE YOUNG DUDE OUT OF THE STREET, BUT BRIAN BECAME WILD, AND HIS DAD, WELL HE AIN’T PERFECT

BUT STILL HIS PRIDE GOT IN THE WAY, I GOT CRANKY WITH DAD, CAUSE, HE LOOKED AS IF HE DIDN’T GIVE A ****

YOU SEE, I WAS TRYING TO GAIN RESPECT AND OPEN UP TO HIM, BUT I FOUND IT HARD, AND DAD HAD A LIFE

LIKE BEING A SCHOOL TEACHER WHERE HE HELPED A LOT OF KIDS, ACTUALLY DAD WAS THE REAL KIDS FRIEND

BUT, ME, I COULDN’T GET THROUGH TO DAD, SO I PUNCHED HIM AND THREATENED HIM WHEN HE LAUGHED AT ME

I SAID, SHUT UP, *******, YOU ARE NOT LIKE US, AND DAD WANTED TO HAVE HIS CHAIR, NOW DAD DID MAKE IT UP TO ME

BUT I WANTED FRIENDS, AND I FUCKEN TRIED TO BE CAREFUL, BUT I HATED THE YOUNG DUDE ASKING ME TO **** HIS ****

AND BRIAN HATED HIS DAD, HAVING A PROBLEM, WITH HIM BEING A KID, I WAS PLAYING BASKETBALL LIKE MY BROTHER

PLAYED TENNIS, AND DAD NEVER UNDERSTOOD, I LIKED THAT LIFE OF GOING OUT AND WALKING AROUND THE MALL

YA KNOW MUCKING AROUND BEING A FOOL ON SOME DAYS, BUT OTHER DAYS, MAINLY ON WEEKENDS I WENT TO THE MALL’

TO HAVE LUNCH AND HAD A BIT OF A MUCK AROUND AT *** BLACK PINNY ARCADE, AND THEN OVER TO THE BOWLING ALLEY

AND ON THE WAY HOME, I ENJOYED ALL THE KIDS PLAYING IN KEANE PLACE, YA KNOW YARD CRICKET, YA KNOW, BEH AND JOSH

AND THIS KID WHO LOOKED LIKE A CARBON COPY OF THE BIG YOUNG DUDES I LIKED AS A KID, BUT HE WAS A TROUBLE MAKER

AS HE ASKED ME TO TIE HIM UP, AND IF I DIDN’T KNOW BETTER, I WOULD HAVE TIED HIM UP, BUT I SAID NO, HOPING KIDS WOULD

STOP TREATING ME LIKE A PHEDAPHILE, AND THEN ANOTHER GAME OF CRICKET WITH BRENDAN AND CANDICE AND MY BROTHER

AND I LOOKED LIKE A REAL COOL KID, CRUISING AROUND, THEN AFTER A WHILE, THE VOICES STARTED, AND EVERY VOICE WENT

TO BED, LEAVING BRIAN THE COOL KID TO STAY UP ALL NIGHT, PLAYING COMPUTER GAMES, WATCHING TALK SHOWS, AND JUST AS

I WENT TO BED, MY MATES RANG ME UP, TO DRINK BEERS OUTSIDE THE SCHOOL, AS WELL AS JUMPING IN OUR FAMILY’S SWIMMING POOL

AND LEAVING SHARP OBJECTS, MAKING MY FATHER, NEVER TRUST ME EVER AGAIN, I WAS TRYING TO BE LIKE A MATE I LIKED, PAT, BACK THEN

BUT I LOOKED LIKE A DRUNKEN WOOSEY *****, CAUSE, I WAS TRYING TO BE THE COOL KID IN THE CLUB, TEASING THE NERDY YEAH MATE YEAH KID

WHO IS LIKE DAD’S NERDY BEING FRIENDS MOTTO, BUT, I WAS A FOOL, BUT I ENJOYED WALKING AROUND FROM PUB TO PUB, WITH THE

LINE IN MY HEAD, MEN DON’T DO THAT, THAT’S WHAT KIDS DO, I AM OFF TO THE PUB, AND WHEN I LOOKED SHY AT A FEW STAGES IN MY LIFE

IN CIVIC, I HEARD DADS VOICE SAYING, GO INTO A PUB BRIAN, RATHER THAN WALK AROUND CIVIC, AND I PARTIED ALL OVER THE CITY CLUB

AND THE PRIVATE BIN, SOMEONE TRIED TO ROUGH ME UP OUTSIDE THE CHARNWOOD INN, AT A CHOIRBOYS GIG THERE, BRIAN LOST EVERYTHING

THAT NIGHT, BUT THE TAXI DRIVER WAS HAPPY TO GIVE ME A FREE RIDE HOME, I AM NOT DOING THAT AGAIN, AND I VISIONED ME AND BRENDAN

WERE ******* TOGETHER, BETWEEN HOUSES, BUT I HATED DAD LOOKING LIKE HE DOESN’T CARE FOR MY WELL-BEING SO I HAD NUMEROUS FIGHTS

WITH HIM, BUT I DON’T BELIEVE IN VIOLENCE, AND DAD, ALWAYS DID THE WIMPY THING TO CALL THE POLICE IN RATHER THAN JUST RELAX AND LET ME YELL

DAD, HAS HIS PRIDE, TO PROTECT, I SAID THEN, **** YOUR FUCKEN PRIDE, I WILL NEVER BE A NERDY ADULT LIKE YOU DAD I SAID, AFTER A WHILE I UNDERSTOOD DAD

BUT I CAN’T UNDERSTAND, WHY IS IT SO IMPORTANT TO BE AN OLD JITTERY MAN, BACK THEN, BRIAN WAS JUST TEASING THE OLD JITTERY MAN IN DAD, DAD

LET HIS PRIDE GET THE BETTER OF HIM, DAD CARED, BUT, HE COULD’VE BEEN A LITTLE NICER BACK THEN, CAUSE I NEVER HELD A GUN TO HIS HEAD

AND I HATE BEING TREATED LIKE A FIGHTING COOL KID, BUT I WAS A COOL KID, WHO LOVES TO PARTY, I HAVE ALWAYS LIKED PARTIES, IN THE PAST

AND I WILL LOVE THEM THROUGH EVERY BUDDHIST LIFE OF MINE, DAD, REMEMBER FRANK SPENSER, BETTY, OH DEAR BETTY, WELL YOUR BETTY NOW DAD

AND NOW, I HAVE TO MAKE PEOPLE UNDERSTAND, I HATED FIGHTING DAD, I WAS HAVING PROBLEMS, LIKE I THOUGHT I WAS DEALING WITH, LIKE A COOL YOUNG DUDE DOES

I WANTED TO BE AN ADULT, DON’T WE ALL
D Conors Aug 2010
Big ****, The Head *******,
was the head of all the ******* in the ******* Shed.
What made Big **** so skilled and keen
at dickheadedness was to be seen.
Big **** had a certain ******* flair,
for tugging at everyone's short and curly hair.
He never had an important specialty,
except for being a type-A personality.
His skills were near to nothing great.
He kinda looked like a backward ape,
with a necktie 20 years gone out of style,
and his middle-management bullshitty wiles;
"I'm better than any ******* here!"
He'd proclaim everyday with a prickish sneer.
So they put him on his own cocky shelf,
where he could reign all by himself,
and every *******, ***** or *******-wanna-be,
would come to the ******* Shed just to see,
what they could achieve if they'd observe instead,
the ways and means of Big ****, The Head *******.
___
Dedicated to every single uptight, middle-management, pain in the ****
you have ever had to work with or for.
D. Conors
08 August 2010
they say he was a clever ****
the cleverest **** around
there were no *****
as clever as him ever found

his Dickie manner
smarter than all the rest
which proved beyond doubt
that he was the best

**** became a legend
for being so sharp of mind
never had the world
seen such a brilliant kind

the expert **** known
near and far
his absolute brightness
made him a star

but sceptics had another
opinion of *****
they saw that he was
a numbskull brick

you'll always get
an opposite point of view
from folks who have a defter
more insightful review

they say he was a clever ****
the cleverest **** around
there were no *****
*as clever as him ever found
ryan pemberton Sep 2012
**** stitch mitch
had six stitches in his ****.
he tried to choke the carrot
but it tore his **** to shreds.
he tried to stitch it up
but the dog got to it,
and buried his **** in the yard
with all the other bones.

**** stitch mitch
kicked his dog to death
and then he drove to the hospital.

now he does talks at catholic high schools.
preaching the danger
of monkey spanking,
chain yanking,
meat beating.
Butch Decatoria Aug 2016
[This piece is a grower, one of my lengthier poems, but don't worry - just enjoy the journey on my ride.]


Craigs Schindler's
the Personals, VIP - Invite
Lists
Of "A" Listers on the DL
Haters D-Listing us...

So yeah, I got on
Craig's Intersection on Chrome,
and this what I read...

[MEN Seeking Men]
"Amen and good luck on finding the One in here"

Cyber-ly here,
We Seekers seeking Sick seas
to feel pleased,

Should of made a quick sticky
Note - "It's like looking through a filth mag."
with a mouse to turn the page
No need to feel shame.

Let's give us a chance,
Cyber here be
like - click - pics - clack
opens where we view
at that - a close up of a Mr.'s

**** Slong Johnson Peter Pecker Wood
(Don't ****)

Mushroom tops / Low sagging sacs...
The next pic - *click click
is also Member only.
Who's ads dare say
self-description / Promo / Sales' Pitch
A one-liner catch phrase

Hook  Line  And  Sinker.

**** Pleasures.  All your needs.
Age : 26 / Location : Strip.
His pic is also ****.

Where's my Cub? Top seeks Bttm
Bottom of the list
but still - It's Equal Opportunity Miss.

Late Night ******* looking for a Regular
(You know like how dogs keep going back
   to the same spot he ******)

Want a *******--22

Nips and JO (You know J for Jack and then Off)

Busco Chavito Activo M4M
Muchacho's Quatro Mi'cha-chos

All-American for encounters with the Same - discreet

Pages on pages of this place
Cyber Ether Web
And the address for such sites
     No longer a conversation chat room to connect
its business of exchanges
no one likes wasting time
getting nothing
     No one cares for a walk in quick-sand sludge
drowning in mud

In excess we numb our selves
from the heavy absence of Life
but I dare say :
     "Self-Respect is Love -Self - Love"
I stop flipping through the pages
of **** upon **** pics
a few body and **** shots
not one of a face
     without shade, beanies, hoods, photo-shopped
"disguise" - is the same as "hide"
so not to be recognized
so ridiculed with embarrassed shame
where they respect you at work

Must not end up like **** on Craig's list.
And without a pic, I place my own post

Yearning for Mr.'s **** Slong Johnson / Peter Pecker Wood
(Just for kicks--curiosity--what kind responds replies)
It's a gamble on here
Cyber-ly in there - with lists raining
*** and **** and misters (its hot in Sin city).

What's cookin'--who's lookin' -- Sookies
****** and Chance
perchance ...

To dream and in that dream, Feel...
when all I feel is blue
**** Slong Johnson Peter Pecker Wood
wit deez ... nuts
Family Jewels
Nothing but wanting for nutting

Don't be a ****
and go look for some kind of kindness
some kind of beautiful
life of a Love Life
back then when in the back of an '80's
pink station wagon...

Howling at the moon as all dogs do,
And no sign of a ******

Thank goodness thanks to She
All
Mothers love
my Juliet's
with sincerest respect


Don't forget to look for Love
now
**"I bow to the Divine in You"
LearnfromBOBD Dec 2022
The beauty of a *****
Is predefined by her face
Her smiles shows how touchy
the ******* is
A moment with her is like
the best day of my life.
A hug with her is like
A life time *** experience
Her peck makes me drain
and fulfilled
The memories afterwards is unexplainable
I asked for a visit to my house
She look sweet in her no bra,
soft black half short gown,
showing her shinning thigh
and high heel on her foot.
All i can see now is a nice cleavage,
and ****** under cloth.
Then I hug her in.
I didn’t wanna leave her,
Her perfume is sensual’
I make her sit on a couch
She looks at me wanting me to say something
I’m scared cos she’s bad to me
I asked for her favorite
She said white wine
We both took a toss
We looked at each other,
She asked, why.
I said what !
She smiled
I said why ?
She said nothing,
I moved closed to her,
but shy.
She sighed,
I took courage,
I touched her thigh,
But couldn’t move it
Cos I was shy
She looked at me
I mean my ****
She saw me hard.
She wowed,
I said what,
She said this,
I took her hand gently on my Jean
to feel it.
why I gently move mine on her thigh. She felt my **** getting bigger
While I was also making a move through her short gown.
She was breathing fast.
I got to her hips,
touch’ her pant.
Rub my hands around.
We couldn’t resist
I knee in front of her
Slightly moved my two hands to her thighs,
And move her **** short gown up
I slowly removed her pant
Got her eyes kissed,
While i unzip her dress-half way
Took her shoulder to rest on the couch
Then i pull her-legs wide open.
What a nice smell down here
at a snail's pace i eat em’all.
Drew the ******* nearer
Her Legs vibrates
Lick underneath,
with my tongue ready to **** harder.
Took my tongue to her ****. She scream for more
She draw me closer to untie my zip
Saw me ready to insert.
She got them to her hands
And do her thing
She took my ***** to her mouth and dangle it.
Make them wetter.
Licked every part of it wetly
she got the thing bigger
While I completely undressed her
I saw the ****** up
Another thing
that got my **** heavier
I-stood her up to **** the ****** out. She hold my head tightly
While she continuously feel it.
After a while,
i carried her to my waterbed
Both naked.
I Play a slow romantic music
Took her legs up.
While her ****** was slightly opened
I took my wet **** into her.
In and out slowly, until she ask me to **** her harder.
I bend her thigh over to her chest.
While i insert all my **** in her Pusey
She said Yes, yes
I made her call her mum name several times.
She sweat off.
I gave her the full option
I later slept on her,
While i gently romance my **** inside her *****
Touching the peak of her ****** wall.
She said yes thats it thats it.
I later stood up and took one leg up and one leg on the bed.
And gave her another tight style
She breathe for joy
She said she loves me
I sharply turn her over for a doggy
I widen her leg and struck the **** in.
She thirst for this for long
I ride her till her leg vibrates no more.
Her ringing tone is fantastic and
Her tone later got me ****** on her face
A 33 minutes hot *** got served
She thanked me
if i was a pearl i’d feel itchy scratchy stuck inside an oyster shell if i was a tree i’d  be a big fat redwood fantasizing about Julia Butterfly Hill living and peeing around me if i was a dog i’d be a Catahoula hound if i was Italian i’d be Sicilian if i was pasta i’d be spaghetti if i was Icelandic i’d be Bjork if i was a rock star i’d be Elvis Presley Bob Dylan Jimi Hendrix Jim Morrison John Lennon Bruce Spingsteen Maynard James Keenan if i was i writer i’d be Herman Melville Mark Twain James Joyce William Faulkner Thomas Bernhard Yukio Mishima Naguib Mahfouz Phillip K. **** Gabriel Garcia Marquez Annie Proulx Lydia Davis if i was a poet i’d be Walt Whitman Sylvia Plath Ted Hughes Gwendolyn Brooks Pablo Neruda  Heather McHugh Carl Sandburg Robert Frost Arthur Rimbaud Dante Alighieri Homer if i was a painter i’d be Leonardo Da Vinci Michelangelo da Caravaggio Johan Vermeer Rembrandt van Rijn Paul Cezanne Marcel Duchamp Jackson ******* Mark Rothko Ad Reinhardt Anselm Kiefer Susan Rothenberg if i was a photographer i’d be Man Ray Ansel Adams Edward Weston Diane Arbus Robert Mapplethorpe Sally Mann Helmut Newton Richard Avedon Annie Leibovitz if i was a philosopher i’d be Socrates Plato Aristotle Jean Jacques Rousseau Sören Kierkegaard Immanuel Kant Karl Marx Georg Hegel Friedrich Nietzsche Henry David Thoreau Ralph Waldo Emerson  Jean-Paul Sartre Jean Baudrillard Michel Foucault if i was a singer i’d be Woody Guthrie Otis Redding Grace Slick Bob Marley Joni Mitchell Marvin Gaye Johnny Cash Patsy Cline June Carter Patti Smith Chrissie Hinde Nick Cave P J Harvey Beyonce if i wa a band i’d be Velvet Underground Ramones *** Pistols Clash Cure Smiths Joy Division Uncle Tupelo Pixies Nirvana Nine Inch Nails Madrugada Sigur Ros White Stripes Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra Justice of the Unicorns if i was a boot i’d be Chippewa Frye Ariat Red Wing Tony Lama Wellington if i was a shoe i’d be Christian Louboutin Jimmy Choo Kedds Chaco Chuck Taylor p f flyer if i was a dress i’d be Channel Dolce & Gabbanna Giorgio Armani Marc Jacobs Comme des Garçons if i was a cowboy shirt i’d be H bar C Rockmount Temp Tex Karman Wrangler Levis Strauss Lee if i was a hat i’d be a Stetson Borsalino Stephen Jones if i was a fruit i’d be a mango apple banana blackberry if i was an scent i’d smell like fresh perspiration jasmine sandalwood ylang ylang the ocean if i was a doctor i’d be a gynecologist neurosurgeon if i was a flower i’d be a hibiscus rose orchard if i was a stone i’d be a sparkling ruby diamond opal if i was a knife i’d be a k-bar switch-blade machete if i was a gun i’d be a Remington Winchester Beretta Glock AK-47 if i was a car i’d be a Lamborghini Ferrari BMW Saab Volkswagen GTO Ford Mustang Dodge Challenger if i was a  TV show i’d be Law and Order if i was actor i’d be Charlie Chaplin Humphrey Bogart Steve McQueen Robert De Niro Ed Norton Shawn Penn if i was an actress i’d be Marlene Dietrich Ingrid Bergman Natalie Wood Audrey Hepburn Marilyn Monroe Helen Mirren  Meryil Streep Brigette Fonda Robin Wright Julianne Moore Angie Harmon if i was a female comedian i’d be Gilda Radner Lily Tomlin Nora Dunn Joan Cusack Sarah Silverman Tina Fey if i was a  football player i’d be Sid Luckman George Blanda Walter Payton **** Butkus Mike Singletary Joe Montana Jerry Rice Payton Manning LaDanian Tomlinson  Drew Breeze if i was a celebrity i’d be Charlotte Gainsbourg if i was a rapper i’d be Tupac Shakur if i was a movie director i’d be Sam Peckinpah Robert Altman Stanley Kubrick Roman Polanski Werner Herzog Rainer Fassbinder Louis Bunuel Alfred Hitchcock Jean-Luc Godard François Truffaut if i was a bird i’d be a eagle hawk sparrow bluebird if i was a fish i’d be a dolphin shark narwhal Charlie the tuna if i was breakfast i’d be a French toast pancake folded in half with 2 strips of bacon in between if i was a cold cereal i’d be snap crackle popping rice crispies shredded wheat cheerios oatmeal if i was tea i’d be Japanese green matcha Irish breakfast Tulsi Thai holy basil Lapsang souchong Luzianne Lipton if i was a soap i’d be French hand milled ayurvedic Avon Ivory Dove Pears Aveda  if i was a man i’d be a football basketball baseball tennis swimmer athlete if i was a woman i’d be a track star runner writer painter gardener doctor nurse yoga mom i'm just scratching the surface and the beat goes on lahdy dah dah
Soeka laborde Oct 2016
And though I know he has a wife
I cannot help myself I've realised
Every night in my mind
This man i lust for is already mine
I rode  his ****
slow wine on the tip, bounce on the head my ***** grips him tighter,
juices flowing on his ****
He held my waist and pull me down ******* his **** as it gets bigger inside of me.
  
  The harder I rode , the sweeter it felt
  I bit my lips......moaning and groaning...... Then he spanked my ***
His **** keeps hitting my spots the right way,
making my body quiver as my breast sways
I can feel the tip pressed against my womb,
His **** teasing me, sending me over the edge,
My muffled screams filled the room

you take my breast into your mouth
my ******* become rock hard
and sensitive to your touch.
I begged you to rub my **** as you drive your **** in me,
drawing my ****** closer with every voracious stroke.
I love this sensation so much
My legs became weak and my arms can no longer hold onto you,
the sensation you created in me is bursting out if me like a tsunami.
My ***** floods your **** with its love juices,
And you filled my convoy with your entire army
  
His hands ***** my ******* and he continue to ravage my ***** with his almighty ****,
He bend me over,
insert his **** into my quivering *****,  fingers caresses my ****,
my ***** pouring it's content onto his **** my body grows weaker to his  touch,
Of this amazing phenomenon I can never get enough

Head down,My legs wide apart,
my *** raised high in the air
He enters my promise land with ease and ravage my secret garden to shreds.
I can feel you in me baby, your **** vibrating into my core,
your desires throbbing deep inside me,
my body heats up and I feel you quiver,
the rage in you pours out and the pleasure within my soul burst out,
mixing together as we both ******, breathing heavily, too tired to move,
to satisfied to think.

In the morning when I wake
I know that things will be the same
But every night I go to bed
This fantasy I'll replay in my head
         

              *La Vida Love
This piece is extremely ******
I hope no one eats my head off for it.
I do hope that whosoever reads this is to age

I look forward to the comments

                    Thank you
The Good Pussy Feb 2015
.

                              Sidedick
                       ­   Sidedick Side
                         **** Sidedick S
                        idedick Sidedick
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                           ****  Sidedick
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The Good Pussy Oct 2014
.
                                  Dairy
                       ­      Grains Meat
                           **** Fruit and
                         Vegetables Dairy
                             Grains Meat
                             ****    Fruit
                             an d    V ege
                             tables  Dairy
                             Grains Meat
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                             and   V e g e
                             tables Dairy
                             Grains Meat
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                             a n  d    Vege
                             tables  Dairy
                  Grains Meat **** Fruit and
                Vegetables Dai  ry Grains Meat
                  ****  Fruit  an  d   Vegetables
                     Dairy Grains    Meat ****
Martin Narrod Jan 2018
The Holy Ones


I want to shove socks in my pants, so it looks like I have one of those Italian-line painting *****. I want to do it when I go to the grocery store so fourteen-year olds and thirty-year olds alike stare at my junk as it fills the stitches of my pelvic arena, I want to make eye contact with mothers and grandmothers, brothers and dads as they shift uncomfortably in those handicap battery powered carts that are reserved for the handicapped but are often only used by the near-morbidly obese, near because they’re not quite dead yet, morbid because they can’t help but imagining my **** sliding past their tongue and what it feels like as the tip pushes past their uvula and they gasp for air through their nose because they’ve never had a **** like this in their mouth before. This would be my **** ****. This would have me making lists of adult film star names for film star jobs I’d never take because I’d be busy making lists of phone numbers, the college girls I’d have my pick of *******, and the mothers and grandmothers who I’d be happily turning away from while I select my own organic radishes from the produce department at the specialty market on Vine. This **** is better than a rolled up wrapped stack of hundreds or the leather jacket I had in high school, it’d be better than when I walked down Michigan Ave in Umbro Valentino donning a Parisian accent, I can see me having to buy new briefs just to make room for this ****. And my own **** getting jealous of the girth I’d be faking it’d swell up, and in the middle of ordering my four-pump Vanilla Almond milk Latte from Starbucks my gray wool socks would fall to the floor, and up from the band of my Acne Jeans would bulge the tip, just the tip, like she said when I was in college, or just the tip like I said when I just needed to feel something other than how emotionally wrecked you made me feel when you told me not to touch you anymore. You ****** me up righteously. And still, 380 women later, I’m ****** up and I don’t have a single pair of socks to wear
Auroleus Nov 2012
I was in a public restroom at the mall takin' a leak in one of those urinals.
There happened to be a TDH (tall dark and handsome) man standing next to me.
And as we were peeing in unison, I leaned over, leaned back,
Looked him in the eyes and said, "Nice ****, ******."

Why is he looking at my ****?
Is he gay?
Did he just call ME a ******?
Is he confused about his sexuality?
Why do I feel insecure about my **** all of a sudden?
What just happened?


I finished peeing before he did,
So I took my ***** self over to the sink and proceeded to wash my hands.
It wasn't long before TDH was by my side.
We were now washing our hands in unison and he looks over at me and says,
"Nice hands, ******."

Is he hitting on me?
Is he really gay?
Do I really have nice hands?
Does he want to touch them?
Is he just ******* with me?
I don't know what's happening but I like it =)


Turns out he wasn't gay... nor was I.  
We both just happened to be in the business of belittling strangers
With contradictory insults for no apparent reason.
It was a good day.
Loud Falls Mar 2017
Think of nothing but this night.
The blooded stars, blue leaves and red trees...
Think of nothing...
Nothing but tonightt.

Close your eyes,
Relax your mind...
Unfold my lies
And everything'll be fine

My **** begins to rise
As my moist lips drag along your neck
My hand slides up your sides...
Contemplating left, right or back down to your thighs

Bite me
Force on the aggression
Grab me
****, just simple persuasion.

The night just confides
As I pull your legs apart.
Squeezing your sides
Lifting you up on my hard ****

Biting your neck
As you moan aloud
Squeezing your *******
As you gasp, with each insertion

Aggression but pure passion,
I throw you down.
And force my **** in your tight, warm *****
Hearing you scream aloud, I ******* deeply.

Open your grey eyes...
Realize it's just a poem.
Unfold my demise
And know this night will come.
The moon lies where the night lies.
L A Lamb Sep 2014
Friday, August 01, 2014, Buttes-Chaumont Parc, Paris, France.



Why do I need feminism? We all have our reasons. We all have our stories. Let me tell you about my day:



I was sitting on a hill in the grass at Buttes-Chaumont park, a lovely historical area in Paris. I wanted to be relatively by myself so I could write in peace and smoke without drawing attention to myself. I’m sitting, book in my lap, a pen and cig between my fingers, when I am approached by a man. My main concern was determining whether or not he was the po-lice, but he had no characteristics of cops. He appeared emotionally stable and had good hygiene so I wasn’t too uncertain, (isn’t it kind of bad how we judge people on that stuff?), still, I wondered what he wanted, dreading having to talk to someone when I was merely trying to write in peace. I figured he was going to ask me for something to smoke.



He didn’t. Instead, he asked if he could sit by me. I look around and scan all the other vacant spaces he could sit instead, making it obvious that there was plenty of room to sit instead of right the **** next to me. It’s a pretty big park. “Si ca ta derange pas?” I wasn’t planning on staying long anyway, but I knew he wouldn’t be dangerous as there were many families and couples and runners and walkers, old friends and young kids playing. I felt safe enough, and he seemed harmless. I figured if anything, I could practice my French, which was always nice.



I said okay. He sat, and for a moment we sat in silence. I made myself a sandwich with baguette and cheese and offered him some. He politely declined. We started talking.



I asked if he was Parisian, and he told me he lived there for a while but was from Afrique. I didn’t catch which country, but I don’t think he specified which region. He asked about me, and I told him I was American, born in DC, but I came to France every so often and it was my first language. We talked about travel. We talked about the chaos in the Middle East, and how it was prophesized in scripture. He told me he was Muslim. I told him I wasn’t religious.



I told him I acknowledged the importance of texts, but I believe our ability to think has evolved in 2000 years and we have more information now than we did then. I told him there was too much life and I could not fit it all into one magic being which sprinkled glitter and said “Let there be” and we were created. I told him I really liked the Asian philosophies of Buddhism and Daoism. We talked about peace. We talked about Human Rights and the beauty of diversity, and how marvelous it was people could live among another in peace.



I said it was cool, and I even said it was cool that even as a black man in Europe and an Arab-American woman, we could talk freely without hostility and social division. We talked about closed-mindedness and Conservativism. I explained cognitive dissonance contributing to conflict, generated by opposing views and resistance/reluctance to consider new ideas. We talked about Psychology. I told him I was a writer and I told him about Cabaret Populaire in Belleville and the poetry community in Paris. I told him I love Paris. We talked again about travel.



He told me he was in Germany last weekend, and I told him I was in Langen Tuesday night. He told me he always wanted to go to the U.S.A. We talked about immigration. We talked about the American Dream. We talked about money. I told him I was proposed to the last time I was in Lebanon. We talked about reasons people marry. I reminded him today was the first of August, which meant I’d been with my boyfriend for two months. We talked about love. We talked about monogamy, polyamory and infidelity. We talked about Islam. We talked about racism.



We were sitting there talking for an hour or so, which I was especially grateful for, because besides having an interesting conversation I was able to speak in French for all of it, as he did not speak English (apparently he spoke German, though). I stood up to leave and told him “Enchanté,” but before I started walking off he motioned for me to look at his phone. I was wondering if he was trying to add me on Facebook or follow me on Instagram or something, but I am instead confronted by a picture on his screen of him laying on his back on a bed, with an ***** ***** as the focal point.



Furious, I asked him “Pourquoi tu ma montre ca?! J’ai pas demande a voir ca!”



The stupid smile on his face disappeared and was replaced by a look of slight hurt, confusion, and surprise.

“Bordelle! C’est dommage—mais c’est ca—des hommes et femmes ne peuvent pas parler normalment, vraiment!”



And for the vile words I wanted to spout, I scoffed instead, too much of a lady to shout or get emotional, but I made sure to call him out and stand my ground, exuding negative energy and making it clear with my few words that that was not okay.



I gave no impression of interest in seeing his ****, so why did he do that? Even if he thought I might want to (hell never) he should have heard me ask or vocally say “yes, you can do that.” However, I did not ask; there were no prompts, hints, innuendos or even suggestive, flirty phrasing that would serve as an indication of ****** interest on my behalf.



I don’t want to be cynical and assume all guys are perverts and avoid any conversation because I’m not a rude person (generally). I’m not sexist. I value conversations and friendships with people without emphasis of gender importance. I try not to assume that everyone is sketchy or has ****** up motives. Some people just want to talk.



I wasn’t going to blatantly ignore or dismiss him because he was a man, nor because he was black, foreign, or Muslim. But where the hell is he from that he was socialized and thought that was appropriate or wanted?

I did not ask. The worst part is that he seemed like a genuinely alright person, but then he had to ruin it by whipping out a **** pic. Gross. What’s even more gross is the sense of entitlement he had, thinking it was acceptable to do that. You are a stranger. And I don’t want to see your ******, you disgusting *******.



I really don’t like assuming **** about people or making generalizations. I’m not going to assimilate one ****** with every group they are assigned to and stereotype against every person of that respective group. But fuckkkk. It’s annoying and disappointing that what I thought was a pleasant talk and exchange of ideas with a friendly stranger was actually a plot to show me his ****. ****.



The moral of this story is to say why feminism is needed, because this happens to people every day. If you still need further assistance understanding, please allow me to elaborate:



1)      I need feminism because it allows me to stand up for myself and feel confident about stating that I’m uncomfortable with unwanted behaviors and I’m not going to tolerate them.



These behaviors include, but are not limited to:



1)      Showing me **** pics

2)      Assuming it’s okay to show a girl you met not even an hour ago a **** pic (Do not even say it’s because of a culture difference, because I know of Frenchies who don’t do that)

3)      Approaching me because I’m sitting alone (I accepted that because I assumed he wasn’t going to violate my mind like that (good thing I don’t have photographic memory) but I didn’t wave over and say “Hey, you look friendly! Come over and talk to me!”)

4)      Asking me how serious things are with my boyfriend

5)      Asking me about my bisexuality—only to invalidate it

6)      Assigning me behavior expectations because of my gender

7)      Trying to control the way I do or do not reproduce

8)      Expecting me to behave a certain way because of my sexuality

9)      Judging me based on my sexuality

10)  Openly discriminating against people and expecting me to be okay with prejudice

11)  Using racist terms… because you’re a racist

12)  Dehumanizing the oppressed





Because I don’t know what you studied about it (wait—most people who disagree with feminism haven’t and are completely misinformed) but:



Feminism is about equality, and it doesn’t feel very equal when I show someone respect but I get no respect in return. And if you associate feminism with fauxminism and misandry, please educate yourself. (If I had Tumblr still, you better believe I would’ve already posted this). To quote the great words of Jay in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back: "Remember, don’t whip your **** out unless she asks."
Ayeshah Mar 2010
They touched and caressed,So close and so intimately.
She decided she had enough of feeling awkward
and took control over the situation.
Kala said I notice you been looking at me lately
a little differently and I wanted to know why?
Ai'yahna  let out a little sigh.
Well ever since I kissed you
in the elevator at work things
just hasn't been the same,
Yes I know we kissed
and touched like this but are you only  
bi curious or are you really into me?
Kala said  I wont lie this is my first time
doing anything even close to this.
I've never thought of it before
but I like how I feel when you touch me.
Ai'yahna Says you know I've been thinking
about you for a long long time
now and for me it's different.  
Let me show you what I mean.
Ai'yahna kissed  Kala's  forehead,
the bridge of her nose, than teased
her mouth open as she pulled her head by,
by pulling gently on her hair.  
Ai'yahna Moaned into her mouth as they deepened the kiss,
Sitting in the living room had started
out with champagne and dinner,
a girl's night out.
They're both wearing lingerie
Ai'yahna had on a baby doll nightie,
red&pin;;,
Kala's wearing a blue and purple short set
their toe's have the french tips and pedicure
from earlier when they went to the salon to get a full do up.
Ai'yahna  slides one hand in Kala's top
as she feels her up and down than squeezes
Kala's breast.
Kala bits on her lower lip and tries not to like it so much.
She feel weird but can't understand whats coming over her.
Ai'yahna  than stared kissing her neck biting as
She went further down toward Kala's cleavage,
Kala was only 5'2" with a slim waist and a big ***,
Her breast were about 36.C
Ai'yahna liked her ladies shorted than her 5'7 thick frame,
she too had a big ***, bigger than
Kaala's & her breast were about a 38-40.B
but she didn't have that tiny waist like Kala
She was thick not a big girl but far from small of course
Ai'yahna worked out about
4 to 5 times a day every time she took her
break and for about an hour for lunch.
Ai'yana didn't look butch she carried her weight
well and had a very feminine side
to her just like Kala, the difference's between them was
Everywhere Kala was soft
Ai'yahna was hard tone and firm,
But unlike a man she still had that femininity
about hr and she was still muscular like a woman
should be not counting her arms of course.
Kala started caressing Ai'yahna's back as
Ai'yana moved slowly down Kala's body
Kala couldn't help what Ai'yahna was doing to her,
She felt like she was burn up from the inside out,
Her desire caused her confusion
she shouldn't like it so much but OH God it felt so good,
She'd never been touched kissed
or licked like this by man or woman
and Yes she's dated a chick before
but they never went this far.
Ai'yahna licked
Kala's navel and midriff she teased and taunted her with her hair,
her fingers and teeth,
Up and down and all across her body,
Kala was looking her mind
she tried hard to fight the feelings
that were coming over her,
She wanted to stop it but couldn't form
the words all that came out was a little sigh.
As Ai'yahna moved further down  her body she tensed,
Readying herself for what was about to happen,
Ai'yahna kised than gently bit  down on
Kala's mound right  at the base of her ****,
she than used her teeth to take off
Kala's shorts as she was doing this
Kala began to play with Ai'yahna's ****,
squeezing her ******* with her two
fingers and pulling gentle, than
Kala grabbed a handful and slowly caressed each one
massages and teasing Ai'yahna.
Kala slid one finger inside
Ai'yahna's mouth when she was done taking her shorts off
than pulled her finger out and slid it into her own *****
Teasing Ai'yahna.
Kala said
Watch me and let me watch you,
Ai'yahna slowly danced as she undressed for Kala,
She moved so graceful like a ballerina.
Ai'yahna sat on the bear skin rug and started to
also playing with her own *****, She slowly putting
two-fingers in very very slowly until they were
filling up her hole. she moved them in and out
and Kala watched while taking one hand
and moving it in circle around her ****,
letting the other fingers slide in and out of her *****,
She took them out then shoved them deep
inside herself while Ai'yahna
watched  with abandon desire in her eyes.
Ai'yahna stood up and walked over to where
Kala was sitting on the couch.
She picked her up easy and laid
Kala down on the bear skin rug.
Spreading her legs far apart
Ai'yahna than licked  Kala's hole as
Kala continued to play with herself,
Ai'yahna moved her hands and held
them both above her head with just one
of her own hands while using the other to tease in
and out of Kala's *****.
She knew Kala would probably
put up a fight and she knew too that Kala liked it rough.
Ai'yahna thought to her self she may not be a man
but she'd make t work to have this beautiful woman
as her very own and do her best to please her.
It was so **** hard competing with men
for bi carious women.
Kala did in fact struggle and cried out as she felt
Ai'yahna penetrate her ***** to it's very core,
she likes it rough but wow this was so different
and it felt good more than it hurt-ed.
Ai'yahna ****** on her **** so hard
and bobbed her head up and down like
she was ******* on a **** she liked
and ****** insider her hole
taking her hands away just to spread her open
teasing her ***** as she slide in 2 fingers stretching her hole
and making her tense up as the pressure built and built inside Kala.
Just as Kala was about to ****** and *** her boyfriend walks in.
Neil didn't know what to say at the scene he just walked in on
his chick and another girl was on his floor going at it
and from what he could see the other chick had her fingers
and mouth on his chicks *****.
He could tell Kala was *******
from that sweet look on her face.
She always bit down hard
on her bottom lip to keep from
screaming while she was *******.
It turned him on yet he was fuming ,
To him it was some what like cheating and
His lady would pay for this one way or another.
She pushed up and away from the other woman
and the other woman just smiled and said Hey.
how are you I'm Ai'yahna,
She stood up licked her finger
than ****** one her index and
extended her hand to him.
Neil just looked at the both of them.
He studied Kala's sweet angelic face
as she watched the floor.
He than looked at this
Ai'yahna chick and smiled
she was almost as tall as him well
close enough to suit what he had just thought to do.
He liked her build and her athletic frame,
she still had to look up at him and he liked that a whole lot,
He said Hi. I'm Neil ,Kala's boyfriend....,
Baby he said to Kala.
I knew you had asked about doing this
but I never thought you'd really do it,
I'm shocked,
Kala says sweetie before you go off
please listen.
He laughs and says,
NO you listen.
Kala thought she was in for it now
and looked at the floor again while he talked.
Neil says I want in&right; now!
Ai'yahna smiles while Kala's mouth's drops open,
Neil's stripping and He watches his chick
just stands there with her mouth hanging open.
Ai'yahna walks up to Kala and starts
kissing her passionately.
She than bends down on her knees
and starts lick and again ******* on
Kala's ****,
Ai'yahna than again slide her fingers in Kala's  *****.
Neil walks right up to Kala and grabs her head saying
"**** my ****".
Kaala laughs and does what Neil asked of her to do.
She stops and says wait.
"No" is All Ai'yahna says and
her and Neil pick up
Kala and laying her down again on the bear skin rug.
Ai'yahna again starts her sweet torture on
Kala's ***** while Neil  stuck
his **** a little roughly inside
Kala's mouth.
Kala **** hard and
deep throats
Neils **** taking it all inside
as he rides her face.
He hold the sides of her face as
he pushes his **** in and out her mouth.
TO BE CONTINUED!!!!!
Always Me Ayeshah
Copyright ©
Ayeshah K.C.L.N 1977-Present YEAR(s)
All right reserved
Josh Apr 2019
Cuddled up, feeling her warmth,
Running my hands Up and down,

Caressing her body,
Every bump and curve,
Every twist and turn,
My hands working their
Way down slowly down,

To her hips, pulling her in,
I lean my head into hers
As we slowly touch lips ,

Moving my hand round,
To hold her ****, as we
Rub against each other,
I start to tease my lover,

Stopping for a moment,
I take a step back as I
Unbutton the top button
Of her jeans, and slip

My hand down, rubbing
Her *****, I can feel it
Through her pants,
Getting wetter and wetter,

She starts to moan that this,
Moment couldn’t be better,
I love my hand up and down
Pushing a little bit harder
With my *******

She’s really wet now, I can tell,
I pull my hand up and out,
Then back in, under her pants,
I can feel her freshly shaved,
Naked *****, dribbling onto
My hand,

“She’s so *****!” I think to myself,
As I get an *******, she’s see it,
Shows me some affection, she
Moves her hand down and rubs
My ****, stroking it, it feels so
Right, I might just **** her, tonight,

She carry’s on the rub,
As I start to slip my
Finger in, only just
Breaking through as
I move it back out,
And back in again

I start to push deeper,
Getting faster and
Sharper, I move my
Thumb to play with
Her ****, she moans
A little, I push my
Finger even deeper,

She begins to whimper,
Her legs shake, her grip
Tightens, as she rolls
Her eyes to the back of
Her head, I stop. Pull
My finger out, and go
Back in with two,

This time more to the point,
In and out, in and out,
Still getting deeper,
Still getting harder,
My thumb back playing with
Her ****, she’s moaning now,

Telling me to keep going,
And how good it feels,
I do as asks and keep
Driving my fingers deeper
Into her wet *****,
In and out, in and out,

At this point I’m going
Fast and deep, she
Gonna *** soon,
“Yes! Yes! Yesss!”
She screams as
She begins to ******,

Her abdomen cliches up,
Her ***** tightens,
Her legs stiffen,
She moans once more
And then releases,

Her ***** starts
To leak with ***,
She dripping...

To my surprise she then
Pulls my trousers down
Half way, and my pants
Then begins to stroke my
**** in front of her face,

I want to have *** now,
It’s all I can think about,
“I want to go further”
I tell her...she’s more
Than happy, “**** me”
She orders,

I pull her jeans all
the way down and
Take them off, then
Pull her pants down
To her ankles, bend
Her over, she arches
Her back for me,

I push my **** inside her
Tight ***** dripping
With ***, the first push
In, she moans, I take it
Back out and then go in
Again, and then begin to
**** her,

“Deeper!” She begs as
I burry my **** further
Inside her, getting faster,
It feels so right, she’s so
******* tight, I knew then
I’d always remember tonight,

I keep going, as she begs
For more, she’s moans
Again, and again, telling
Me how good it feels to
Be ****** from behind

She starts panting and
The moans get louder,
She’s gonna *** soon,

I pull my **** out of her
Sweet sweet ***** and
Admire the beauty of her
Naked ***** and ****

I move my hands to her hips
And turn her around, life
One leg up, and then the
Other, she’s surprisingly
Light, and amazing tight,

Pinning her naked back
Against the wall and lifting
Both legs in the air, I
Push my **** inside her
Again, this time I don’t
Give her a chance,

Going straight in,
Fast and deep,
Fast and deep,
She’s loving it,

Biting my neck, digging
Her nails into my back,
Her moans are continuous,
And so so loud, she loves
Being ****** I can tell,

I can feel myself about
To ******, so I stop.
Put her down and she
Goes to sit on the bed
Starts stroking my ****

Back and forth, she’s a
Natural, then she puts
It in her mouth, and starts
To **** backs and forth,
Ooh she’s good at it,

And wave my hands
Through her hair to
The back, and pull
It into a pony tail held
Together by my hand,

Then start pushing her
Mouth, further down my
****, she encourages it
And starts deep *******,
I start moaning “ah yeah”
And within seconds more

It’s over, I came into her
Mouth, she swishes it
Around for a moment
Then swallows,
Ooh she’s good,

But then I look down and
See her beautiful *****,
Still so wet, begging for
More, I kneel down and
Start to finish the job...

I spread her legs apart,
Over of my shoulders,
Nestle my face into her
Crotch area, and begin
To lick in between her
***** and tight,

Short, quick, licks,
After some short time
She starts to push my
Head inwards, I know
She’s wanting it now,

I move my head over
Her ***** and begin...

I start, short, quick licks,
Flicking my tongue around
Her ****, she’s loves it,
Then every so often poking
Deeper with my tongue,
Only just braking through,

I focus my tongue on her ****,
Flicking it around still, then
Move my hand gently up and
Along her thigh, and rub her
***** a bit with my finger,

Then up with the finger, down,
And finally in...then out then in,
Repeating it, ******* her fast
And as deep as my finger while
Playing with her **** with my tongue,

She’s moaning so loud,
Like before her legs stiffen,
Body tenses up and she
Let’s out a scream of
Pleasure, she orgasmed,

I clean my **** off and
Clean her ***** out,
She puts her pants back
On, but leaves her **** out,

I lay down in the bed and
She joins, lays on top of me,
She lays facing me, legs
Either side, bare **** on my
Bare chest, and lays her
Head to the side of mine,
I pull the covers over and
Switch out the lamp leaving
The TV for light,

“That was amazing” she
Quietly whispers in me hear...
“We’re doing it again tomo”
I whisper back, she holds me
Tighter and snuggles into me,
“I love you” she whispers,
“I love you too” I reply.
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The GameCat Mar 2014
I have a tiny ****
Like a crooked little finger
Everybody else's ****
Is inevitably bigger
If six inch as an average
Can truly be believed
Someone here in this room
Must be twice the size of me
If you can do your algebra
Already you will know
Four inches is the maximum
My **** will ever go
For the engineers among you
I'll express my ratio
My little one inch wonder
Up to four times it can grow
I'm glad to hear you laugh
It shows you understand
These are such the shortcomings of
A very short **** man

My ***** they can grow longer
Into a comfy little nest
With a little acorn sat
Upon the very crest
Rummage in my fly and
Wish that I were blessed
Searching frantically
I recover just the head
Get a little **** drip
Up on my finger tip
There's absolutely nothing there
For me to get a grip
If I sit to *** I must
Be wary of my jet
The angle of my dangle means
My trousers may get wet
Then dribble on my ball bag
For my **** does not overhang
These are such the shortcomings of
A very short **** man

I **** it with one finger
If you really want to know
And no I can't imagine
The feeling of *******
When I look down I can
Still clearly see my toes
But my little ***** hides
Beneath my belly folds
Sometimes it is inverted
Even when it isn't cold
Like a little turtle
Inside of me it goes
Girls they like to tell me
It is a cute surprise
Until I have to tell them I
Left the ****** stuck inside
I'm hung like Micky Mouse
You've just got to understand
These are such the shortcomings of
A very short **** man

Now why would I admit to this?
By now you know it's true
I'm such a little babydick
Exposed in front of you
But the greater pain exists
In propagating myths
According to the internet
Real men have massive *****
So for anyone who feels small
Let me reassure you all
By bringing down the average
With my little four inch *****
So if you're sat with five or six
Feel the relief
And if you really want to,
Then have a laugh at me
You no longer have to hide it
Give a **** or give a ****
You no longer have to let it
Be the measure of the man
And I guess I kinda like it
When I am being teased
These are such the shortcomings of
A short **** man like me
Poetry by MAN Feb 2014
You want ******* well here I ***
I'll be the trigger to make those ***** juices run
**** with your lips I wanna eat you like a peach
Take you to Hawaii and ******* on the beach
Friction from my licking up and down your ****
Hand full of **** as you grab my ****
My **** starts leaking lusting for your ***** fire
Sixty nine every time let me lick your desire
Exploring every inch of your body and skin
Oops I missed a spot let me do it again
Juices are a flowing I love how you taste
Suction sporadic as my **** enters your face
Bodies in sync I'm feeling all your lust
Making you *** with my tongue is always a must
Your ***** my playground watch me swing
You can play too, here play on my ding a ling
Pulling your hair while I nibble on your neck
As I position your ***** umm so wet
My **** on your **** up and down sideways rubbing you
Begging to be entered, so I do, now I'm ******* you
***** gripping my **** doesn't want to let it go
As we play tug of war in and out your ***** hole
Deep inside you I'm feeling your ***** walls
As I ****** in and out you feel my flapping *****
Finding your G spot oh there it is
Your ***** bubbles up and begins to fizz
Pounding on your ***** turn you around like a dog
*** up in the air ******* you into a fog
My poking keeps stroking as you *** on my ****
Writhing up and down bouncing on my stick
Intertwined in our minds ******* at the same time
Staring in each others eyes while our pleasure climbs
Taboo sextasy with you I'll commit every sin
When we are done turn around and do it again..
M.A.N 2-1-14
B Sep 2014
it's hard to
be with you
and not get *****
your ***
your stomach
everything about you
makes me feel like
I just want to lift you up and throw you on the bed
rip your clothes off

and **** u so hard
until u *** all over
and scream and moan
and breathe so heavy
I want to feel your warm breath
on my neck
I want to feel your voice vibrate
as you give me head
I want to hear you say oh yes
as I ******* on the desk
and lift you up
and feel your *** cheeks
in my hands
girl I can't stand
to watch you walk away
without having a taste
and a sampling
of that wetness
my body yearns for you
it's a machine
that wants to be strong
and make you feel so good
that you can't imagine
ever touching another man
because
I'm your rock

When I had you in my arms
took hold of you
took control of you
you're mine now
I'm going to dominate you
and she likes it
she likes when I take over
and **** her all over
in several different positions
on the counter
to the bed
she ****** me, she was on top
and i felt that *** go up and down
and clap against my *****
then I flipped her over
and got on top
and ****** her hard and slow

she wanted to *** on my ****

which was perfectly fine with me
as I was caressing her ****

I ****** her against hte wall
threw her against the dresser
rubbed her *** on it
hard and aggressively
and made her breath
heavily

I lifted her leg up and pinned her against the wall
and felt all of her walls
as I pulled out and slid back in
all the way to the tip
to the base of my ****
she said does that feel good baby
I said yeah it's the best

she sent me pictures
of her *** and ****
and her pretty face
and I couldn't help but think
about how I wanted to take
my **** and go up in it
pull out
and *** all over her ***
and make her feel it
make her moan
make her legs shake
and vibrate
I want to make her ***** feel like
it's having a 7.1 earthquake
on the richter
I fixed her
she was stressed out
feeling uneasy
anxious
and an ****** relaxed her
gave her the endorphins she needs
to go about the rest of the week
let's **** baby
let's do it all night long
til we can't go anymore
and we're left laying on the bed
holding each other
laying sideways
with no pillows
forgetting about
how we usually sleep
and our bodies locked in
to each other
we're the same one another
we're a unit
together
*******, not just for pleasure
but to satisfy our needs
and emotionally
doing each other good deeds
so we can go to bed
and get good sleep
and be better people
we're a strong couple
and we always know how to make the bed rumble

— The End —