Mike

So this post is supposed to be erotic monster fiction, but I looked at the blogs of some of my creative writing buddies and they use it to showcase their poetry. So I thought I would kill two birds with one stone and then apologise to their children.

It’s called Mike.

 

I lay in my dark bed in the dark room,

Making secret touches,

Something about cadence or rhythm or some shit,

Beauty, yeah I’ll use that,

Making beautiful secret touches,

Sex is beauty so masturbation is half of beauty,

Anyway the closet door opens,

It is beautiful Mike,

Short and round and green in a hot way,

Single eyelid half closed,

His mouth in a suggestive smile thing,

He saunters across the room,

Like an alley cat going to rape an aristocat,

He climbs in bed,

We kiss and shit like that,

He says,

“STOP!”,

Something is not right,

Something is missing,

He climbs out of bed,

And stands on my computer stool,

He whispers something pretty cool or meaningful or some shit,

He lifts his legs and descends,

He crushes his nuts on the stool,

Hot

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