ISM-ISM

Tom C. Hunley

You’re not sure whether or not to divorce your spouse,
so you go for a walk to think-think-think, because
you’re a thinker. A pair of bluebirds fly in unison, sing
in unison. They shoot straight up in unison and then,
as if in a wordless, songless agreement to disagree, one
arcs sharp right, the other veers left at a mirror angle,
and because you’re a Romanticist at heart, you decide
you have to break your marriage in half.
But you’re part Postmodernist, too, so you think
maybe the birds are being ironic, and you think
staying and leaving are really just two ways
of doing the same thing. And since you’re also
part Modernist, you pray, a throwback to your latent
Victorianism. You ask God what you should do, and
before He has a chance not to answer, you tell Him
you don’t believe in Him anymore, though at moments
like this, you wish to God you still did.

Tom C. Hunley

___________________

Three things.

First, I absolutely love this poem. It arrived in my email seconds ago and — already! — here I am posting it for you.  It is, after all, poetry month.

If you are someone who just doesn’t quite get the poetry thing, maybe this will help you wrap your pretty little head around it.  I mean, married or not married or previously married or not previously married … well it doesn’t really matter, does it now?

And is it really *just* a commentary on marriage?

You still get it, don’t you? You get it, you GROK! I know you do!  Because this says everything about the human adventure: our redundant foibles, our silly sweetness, our ironic dichotomies. And I would argue that this lovely poem also speaks to the markings of what I call “God’s Fingerprints” on even the most intellectual and scientific of us, whether we know it or not.  And yes … I do see these Fingerprints often.  And on whom you’d  least expect, or, in some cases, suspect. 🙂

Secondly: Yes! I’m adding Romantic Savant (who turned me on to Mr. Hunley and his beautiful poetry) to my Phone Sex Savant collection. It’s been a very long time since Zen Fetish has had a new Savant,  and to make room for him I needed to get into that damn display case to dust off and rearrange my tried and true most loyal Savants.  I’ve been a neglectful collector.  The dust was so thick in that display case, all of my Savants got a blow job and they didn’t even know it.

And he will be knighted sometime soon, when you will learn more about him. I expect the rest of you Phone Sex Savants to move over, make room and play nice.

And last but certainly not-in-the-least least … more about Mr. Hunley. His books are available here, and I’m particularly desiring this one. Who’s going to buy it for me (paperback, please)?

He is the Director of Steel Toe Books and also teaches poetry classes (*swoon*) at Western Kentucky University.

Life is good. So deliciously and delightfully good good good. And I am a happy happy happy girl.

xo, Angela

An erotic poem inspired by and written to Dennis
(and others who experienced the freedom of the 60’s
and loved a few women along the way)

she is your flower child

your woman-girl

an unwritten sonnet, yet every word in place

the melodia always at the back of your throat

a slip of memory

tucked forever into a corner of your soon-weathered heart

there to unfold

again and again and again.

and you will remember this vixen-child:

her flowing hair, her open flesh

the rose promise of her pink-hued nipples

the tangled flourish of her saporous cunt

you will remember:

her generous desire, her unfettered need, her transparent flame

all of this offered to you

all of this gathered for you

from the chagrined pleats

of your mothers’ ferrous skirts

of your fathers’ flannel suits.

before too long the years will shift

clumsy and dumb, they will take you with them

you don’t even know it

you shouldn’t even know it

she won’t let you know it, at least not yet

so be with her now, in this moment of this night

in this moment of this night that will last forever

because it is all that matters

because it will always matter

mount her, take her, fuck her, love her

forget yourself in her soap-scented yearning

remember yourself in her wide-open giving

save yourself in the clasp of her legs, the press of her breasts

she is your flower child

and you will remember

because she is writing herself onto your heart

________________________________________

Originally published for Sex Kitten

Hope you liked it.

xo, Angela

FrankenCock:

A FemDomme Halloween Fantasy

by Angela St. Lawrence

………

“Sissy Igor, is everything ready?”

“Yes, Doctor FrankenDomme.  I double checked all the parameters and systems last night, and have been monitoring the temperature and pH of the tank since early this morning.”

Doctor FrankenDomme moved around the laboratory, scrutinizing monitors, toggling switches, making notes on her clipboard.   Abruptly she turned, looking over the tortoise frame of her glasses, scanning the room.

“Where is Kaitlin? Where is that girl?”

Sissy Igor hesitated, looking at the floor, smoothing the ruffles of his compulsory tutu. He’d known Doctor FrankenDomme would notice sooner or later; it was only a matter of time.  Leave it to that slut, Kaitlin, to screw up on this day of all days.  And now he could feel the Doctor’s eyes on him, demanding a response.

“I … well … er…” he stuttered.  How could he know where little Miss Hot to Trot was? Why was Doctor FrankenDomme taking it out on him?

Just as the Doctor put down her clipboard and started toward him, the door flew open and in danced Kaitlin, brushing her dark hair behind her ears, smiling as she took off her coat and hung it on the wall beside the door.

“Brrr. It’s so cold out there,” she said, leaning over to smooth out her knee socks, then twirling, checking out herself out in the full length mirror beside the door.  The pleats of her red plaid skirt fluttered, showing off her tight creamy thighs.  Sissy Igor knew she did that on purpose.  She knew she looked hot and she knew Doctor FrankenDomme liked looking.

Doctor FrankenDomme was watching Kaitlin intently. Sissy Igor could see the fists she’d stuffed into her lab coat flexing and pushing against the white fabric. He knew she wanted some of that; she might already be getting it. Or maybe Kaitlin was playing it for all it was worth, teasing the hell out of the Doctor, so she could basically get away with murder around here.

Kaitlin looked at Doctor FrankenDomme. “Did I do something wrong,” she cooed sweetly, batting her eyes.

“We’ll deal with that later, Kaitlin. We have more important things on our plate. You do know what day it is, don’t you?” Sissy Igor thought he might be catching a glint in the Doctor’s eye, maybe a little twist of her lips when she spoke. But he wasn’t sure.

“Oh yes I do, Ma’am, and I’m so excited.  What do you need me to do, Doctor FrankenDomme?” Kaitlin gushed.

Sissy Igor couldn’t resist. “There’s nothing left to do, Kaitlin. I did it all. I got everything ready without your help because you are late.”  Silently he added bitch.  He didn’t want a spanking this early in the morning from Doctor FrankenDomme.

“That’s enough.   The both of you.” Doctor FrankenDomme turned and walked over to a series of dials on the far wall. “This is the day we’ve worked toward. It’s here and I expect you to be professional and do your jobs. Get to your stations. Now. Move.”

As Kaitlin scurried past Sissy Igor to take her place at the curtain, she stuck her tongue out at him, and then looked down at his tutu.  “Nice shade of pink,” she sneered, “so masculine.”

Doctor FrankenDomme was once again checking dials as Sissy Igor stepped up to the table with the knife switch.   His heart was beating with such force; he actually looked around to make sure the women couldn’t hear it. This was it! They were finally going to see what Doctor FrankenDomme had kept behind that curtain these last few months, since they’d finally perfected the algorithm for creating the perfect man.

“Is everybody ready,” Doctor FrankenDomme asked.

“Yes, Doctor,” Kaitlin and Sissy Igor said in unison.

“Well, then.”  Doctor FrankenDomme licked her lips. She looked at both of them.  “I guess this is it then.”

Sissy Igor could see through the opening of her lab coat that the Doctor’s breasts were rising and falling at a rapid pace. He was wondering why she was wearing her purple lace camisole under her lab coat, when Doctor FrankenDomme cleared her throat and said, “Kaitlin, pull the curtain. Do it now.”

Just as Sissy Igor whipped his head around (he wasn’t going to miss any of this), Kaitlin squealed, “Yes, Doctor. As you say, Doctor,” and pulled the curtain rope.  There was a swoosh as the curtain opened. And then …

“Oh. My. Fucking …”

The words stopped, but he knew it was Kaitlin speaking. Not that it sounded like Kaitlin. It was as though her vocal cords had been rearranged somehow, corrupting her usually girly, breathless voice (so faux he’d always thought), twisting it into something akin to guttural mewling.

Kaitlin stumbled back, grasping the medical table that had been delivered two days ago, per Doctor FrankenDomme’s orders.  Then, for a few moments, except for the squeak of the table’s wheels as it shifted and rhythmic hiss coming from the tank, the laboratory was eerily silent.

Gradually Sissy Igor became aware of a wheezing sound coming from Kaitlin. He turned to his head to see her hunched over, still staring at the tank – they all were – pressing her hand to her chest, obviously hyperventilating.  He didn’t blame her. If he hadn’t been so well trained by the Doctor, he’d probably be doing the same thing.

“Help her out, Sissy Igor. Grab that chair from the corner and get her a glass of water.”

“Yes, Doctor FrankenDomme,” he managed to say, dragging the chair and pushing Kaitlin down into it.  He rushed to the sink, looking over his back at the tank as he filled a glass.  He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. How did Doctor FrankenDomme do that?  When he finally was pressing the glass to Kaitlin’s lips, he looked at the Doctor. She was smiling, staring at the tank, the edges of her lips curled into a slight smirk.

“This is it. I did it,” she said.

Then she looked at Kaitlin and Sissy Igor. “I did it. Do you see it? I did it.”

Kaitlin had finally caught her breath.  “That’s the biggest cock I’ve ever seen, Doctor. It’s so big. It’s so thick, so long.” Her voice still wasn’t back to normal, but now had a shrill, almost whiney quality, trailing off as she stared, muttering, “Big … so big … huge … gigantic …”

Doctor FrankenDomme seemed amused by Kaitlin’s little breakdown. She looked at Sissy Igor and winked. If he wasn’t so overwhelmed by the man in the tank, he would have been stunned, absolutely stunned. The Doctor was always professional and authoritative in the laboratory, even more than when he’d originally submitted to her tutelage and underwent cage and chastity training.  But the man in the tank!  The man in the tank with the …

“Huge balls, aren’t they, Sissy Igor?” Doctor FrankenDomme actually chuckled as she finished what he’d been thinking.  No, she giggled. She giggled like a smitten school girl. She walked over to the tank and put her hand on the glass. “He is beautiful, perfect.”  In the tank, a man floated in a slightly-tinged green gel, muscles perfectly formed, a slight cleft to his chin, a perfect roman nose, dark hair buoyantly trailing around his head like a halo.

But it was his genitalia that set him apart from any man any of them, anybody in the entire world, had ever seen.  Testicles, easily the size of beach balls, bounced off of his thighs pushing out the long, thick prick to the front – so that the head occasionally brushed the glass of the tank.

She turned, suddenly all business again.

“Kaitlin, get yourself together and turn on the heat lamps over the table.  Sissy Igor, get back to the knife switch.  And, Kaitlin, don’t forget the blanket in the warmer.”

Everyone was suddenly busy again, as the moment of actual animation rapidly approached.

Doctor FrankenDomme removed her lab coat, tossing it over the autoclave.  Sissy Igor realized she was wearing her grey, pinstriped pencil skirt and felt himself becoming erect.  This always happens when she wears that skirt he thought as he tugged on his tutu, hoping she wouldn’t notice.  Erections in the laboratory were strictly forbidden.

“Are we ready?”

“Yes, Doctor,” Kaitlin and Sissy Igor said, as Doctor FrankenDomme consulted her clipboard and adjusted a few dials.

“Okay then.  Sissy Igor, activate the suspension fluid on the count of three:   One. Two. Three.”

Sissy Igor pulled the knife switch.  A low hum began filling the laboratory as the gel in the tank started to churn and froth.  Doctor FrankenDomme adjusted a few dials, carefully observing the tank.  Suddenly the man’s left foot shot out, kicking the glass. Then his right arm twitched.  “This is good,” the Doctor said.  As the three of them watched, the man’s body began became more and more active.  Soon he was thrashing about, his cock swinging from side to side, banging on the glass.

“It’s time. Kaitlin, engage the drain mechanism.”  As Kaitlin pressed a series of buttons on the side of the tank and the gel began draining from the tank, Sissy Igor stole a glance at Doctor FrankenDomme.  Why she was actually teetering on her six inch stilettos, she was trembling so!  He looked back at Kaitlin just as she bent over to release the aerator hinge at the bottom of the tank, the pleats of her little skirt riding up far enough that he could see the crotch of her bright red panties.  Why, that slut is soaking wet he thought to himself.  Like shameless floozies in heat; that’s what they are, the both of them.  And then he furtively reached under his tutu to adjust the panties digging into his swollen testicles and sissy stick.

“That’s it, darling man, open those beautiful eyes,” Doctor FrankenDomme said, as the last of the gel drained out – gurgle, gurgle, gurgle — and the man started blinking.

“Should I open the tank, Doctor?”  Kaitlin was panting so hard, Sissy Igor thought she might start hyperventilating again.

Doctor FrankenDomme quickly stepped forward, smacking Kaitlin’s hand away, just as she was reaching for the lock.  “Don’t you dare.  Bring a blanket.  NOW!  Hurry up.  We need to get him out of this contraption as soon as possible.”

Soon, Kaitlin was back with the blanket.  Sissy Igor could tell it was taking everything she had not to push the Doctor aside and open that tank and grab that man and just jump on him.  But she knew better.  Just like he did.  Okay, maybe his erection wasn’t all about the Doctor’s pencil skirt, after all.  Just maybe.

And then it happened.  Doctor FrankenDomme opened the tank, taking the man by the hand, helping him to step over the rim of the tank’s base, wiping away the chunks of green gel still clinging to his ear, his chest, his pelvis.  And then…   then …

… yes, then, she was ever-so-lovingly and slowly wiping the few chunks – there were just a few and Sissy Igor thought she was being much too concerned and taking a ridiculous amount of time — from his gigantic member.  Sissy Igor wanted to swoon.  Kaitlin, holding the large white blanket up with both hands, just stared — eyes wide, mouth agape.

Doctor FrankenDomme moved her hand up and down that beautiful giant dick and it started to grow, to harden, to thicken and elongate.  “Yes, yes.  That’s it.  It feels good, doesn’t it?  Enjoy it.  Enjoy my touch.”  As his cock continued to swell, she began using two hands.  She needed two hands.  “Put the towel around him, Kaitlin. Hurry, girl.”  Kaitlin rushed around to the other side of the man, sliding the towel over his shoulders, eyes still wide, mouth still agape.  Sissy Igor noticed her fingers lingering on the flesh of his wide shoulders, but he really couldn’t blame her.  He’d cop a feel, himself, if he had half a chance.

The man was beginning to moan, his hips subtly moving.  “Oh, yes, darling, enjoy it.  That feels so good for you.  I know it does.  And just you wait; I have something for you that is going to feel even better.”  Caught up in the moment, thinking about Doctor FrankenDomme’s pussy – because he wasn’t stupid; he knew what felt better than a hand-job — Sissy Igor started moving his hips, but then the Doctor was telling them to help her move this ridiculously hung man to the table and he remembered his place.  Whew, he thought, if she’d have caught me, would have probably meant a week in the cage.

When they finally had the man on the table, his cock, looking like an unruly torpedo, swayed heavily above him as he moaned and writhed.  Sissy Igor wished he could take care of it for the man.  Now that he had a clearer view, now that Doctor FrankenDomme  had her greedy hands off of him for a minute and wasn’t molesting him like some dirty old woman (my goodness, did I really think that about the Doctor?  My beloved Doctor who I cherish and adore?), he could see the meat (crude, but that’s exactly what it was) actually throbbing, purplish-blue veins pulsing like a virtual map up and down the shaft.  Oh he knew he could take care of it.  Maybe that’s what Doctor FrankenDomme meant when she said she had something that would feel even better than her hands.  Why not?  Both his mouth and his ass were prime cock pleasers.  He knew that for sure.  Certainly the Doctor was aware of this; she was the one who’d trained him.  Surely she wouldn’t let Kaitlin, the dirty little whore, have at it, would she?  That slut got more dick in a week that he got in a year.

With great effort – watching that live hunk of needy, hungry man flesh was almost too much to resist — he pulled his eyes away.  He was here, after all, to facilitate Doctor FrankenDomme’s experiment, not to compromise it.  He was a professional!  And perhaps, if he were a good boy, he might get a treat.  A treat from those swollen balls pushing the man’s thighs apart.

He looked up.  He knew then, seeing Doctor FrankenDomme, that there would be no man-treats for him.

She was frantically tugging at her skirt, pulling it up over that round ass he’d worshiped so many times.  He was shocked to see she didn’t have any panties on, that her inner thighs glistened with her arousal, that even though her thighs were together, her clit bulged from between the lips of her pussy like a shiny, deep red grape.

“It’s alive.”

Doctor FrankenDomme grabbed Kaitlin and him, hugging them.

“He’s alive and now I’m going to know what it feels like to be fucked by the biggest cock in the goddamn world.”

Doctor FrankenDomme’s eyes were rolling around, like they weren’t anchored somehow.  She grabbed one of her breasts with one hand, roughly pinching her nipple through the camisole while running her other hand through her hair.  Which explained why her hair looked so uncharacteristically … well, why her hair was one big hot mess.

“Help me up, you two.  Quit staring, Kaitlin, you aren’t getting any of this.  I’m fucking him.  I’m taking all that cock inside of me and you’re not getting any of it.  This is my … this is my … my …

… This is my FrankenCock!  That’s what he is: My FrankenCock.

Do you hear me?  He is my creation.  He is my FrankenCock.

Besides, I have other plans for the two of you.”

Her voice was wild and crazy and loud, so very loud, as she struggled to put her knee up on Sissy Igor’s side of the table.  As the purple garter straps dug into the creamy flesh of Doctor FrankenDomme’s ass, he reached up, grabbing her arm to steady her.  What about all those endless nights I spent perfecting your serums and potions and even that stupid green gel, Sissy Igor thought.  How is this *your* creation?  How did I get left out the equation?   And what ‘other plans’?  What could you possibly mean by that?

As Kaitlin reached up on the other side of the table (finally, you stupid barely-legal pseudo lesbian), Doctor FrankenDomme slowly stood, thighs quivering as she wobbled on her stilettos, attempting to straddle FrankenCock.  But the cock was so long, sticking up so high, the head easily covered Doctor’s bellybutton.  And it was so thick that he couldn’t even see her pussy at all. How in the hell is she going to manage this?  How in the hell did I think I could manage this?  Still, he was rock hard, the head of his mini-weenie threatening to escape the top of his panties.

“Get the ladders out of the storage cubicle.”

Beneath her, FrankenCock was still moving and moaning and now even grunting and growling.  He needs it bad, Sissy Igor thought before realizing Doctor FrankenDomme had pulled her arm away and now had both hands wrapped under and around the head of that magnificent prick.

“Get the ladders. Do it now.”

As Kaitlin and he started for the cubicle, Sissy Igor glanced back.  Doctor FrankenDomme’s knees were bending and flexing, bending and flexing.  Good God!  No wonder FrankenCock was making all that noise and humping.  The doctor was so fucking ravenous for that big fat-ass dick, she was practically rubbing one out on the back of the shaft with her clit.

Soon they were back, opening the ladders, having not spoken a word to each other while they were gone.  What was there to say?  They despised each other and both of them wished they would get a chance, a taste, a feel, even just a tickle of what Doctor FrankenDomme was about to get.  They were jealous of her and jealous of each other.

Once the ladders were set on each side of the table, the Doctor started easing one foot after the other up the rungs.  Finally she was high enough that the head of that cock was resting in between her spread legs, snuggled up right against the lips of her pussy.   Sissy Igor thought she was going to cum right then and there.   She finally pulled herself together, and looked down at them and dragging her lower arm across the bow of her upper lip, wiping away the perspiration that had accumulated there.  Then she spoke.

“Now, I’m about to enjoy the fruits of my labor. In this very laboratory, day after day, week after week, month after month, I’ve worked for this very moment.  I’ve created my own creature, my own FrankenCock and I intend to enjoy this to the very hilt.”

She smiled at her own bad pun, then turned to Sissy Igor and winked at him. Again.  What could this mean? He was so confused, but remained silent, waiting for Doctor FrankenDomme to continue.  He couldn’t help but notice that Doctor FrankenDomme had now slipped her entire clit into the cavernous slit at the tip of FrankenCock’s cock.  She sighed, wiggled a little bit, shuddered, and then continued.

“Oh I’ve had some help.  In fact, I couldn’t have done without that help.”

Kaitlin grinned.  “Thank you, Doctor. Can we do anything else for you?  I mean I could massage his balls for you or something.  Just to help, of course.”

Doctor FrankenDomme turned to Kaitlin.

“Kaitlin, you’re pretty.  Very pretty.   And you’re sexy as hell.  A pretty, sexy, hot young grad student who can pick and choose who she fucks.”

Kaitlin giggled.  “Thank you, Doctor FrankenDomme.  I can.”

“But, Kaitlin, the problem is you don’t pick and choose.  You’re out every night spreading your legs.  You fuck like a tramp all night long.”

Again, the Doctor swirled her clit around in FrankenCock’s prick slit. Again she sighed.

“But the problem with that, Kaitlin?  The problem is that because you are out fucking all night long, you don’t get any sleep and then you’re late for work.  You’re always and forever late for work.  And then when you finally do get here, you act like an entitled princess.  You play dumb, pretending to not understand a process or experiment.  Simple laboratory procedures that a first year student would know.”

“But Doctor Franken-”

“Shut up.  I’m talking.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“On the other hand, Sissy Igor is always on time.  He stays late, works weekends.  He never complains and he is happy to be here. He’s not daydreaming about the next guy he’s going to bed.  And I don’t even pay him! ”

Doctor FrankenDomme turned to Sissy Igor.  “Did you think I didn’t notice?  That I haven’t appreciated how much your devotion and loyalty got us here?  Oh I did, beloved Sissy Igor.”  And much to Sissy Igor’s surprise, the Doctor actually blew him a kiss. And then rubbed her clit around in FrankenCock’s Dick slit again.

“Would you agree that you owe Sissy Igor big time?  Do you concur that I wouldn’t be here with my mega-man FrankenCock, on the verge of getting the ultimate fuck of a lifetime, if it had been left up to you?  Well, Kaitlin?”

“Maybe.”

Kaitlin stared at the floor, no longer enamored with FrankenCock.  She was more concerned now with what Doctor FrankenDomme was leading up to.  Sissy Igor, on the other hand, was feeling pretty good.  It took everything he had not to break out into a big-toothed grin.  But he knew better.  Mistress said his teeth were crooked.  She found it a bit unnerving and preferred he not show them.

“Do you want to keep this job?  This job, that I might remind you, earns your five times the amount any other laboratory would pay you.  And I might also add, they’d most likely fire you within the first month.  Unless, of course, you were boning your supervisor.  So.  Answer me, Kaitlin.  Do you want to keep your job?

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Good.  I knew you’d see it my way.  So here’s what you’re going to do.  You’re going to go down to the basement with Sissy Igor.  He has a nice, cozy cage there.  I’m sure his cot will be comfortable enough for the two of you.  You are going to give him the fuck of a lifetime.  You’re going to be his little submissive cock slut for the rest of the day.”

Doctor FrankenDomme looked at Sissy Igor.  “Sound good?”

“Yes, Doctor.  It sounds wonderful, Doctor.”

When she turned back to address Kaitlin, he couldn’t help it; he risked one big, crooked-tooth grin in Kaitlin’s direction.  All of a sudden the little sissy was king for a day.  And he was liking this; he was liking this a lot.  Kaitlin glowered at him.  It even made it better.

“What I mean by ‘fuck of a lifetime’ is that you will have any kind of sex Sissy Igor wants.  I don’t care if he wants to cum on your face or fuck your ass.  If he tells you to suck his cock and gag on it, you better do it.  Even though he only has a three incher, you better find a way to gag on it.  Do get where I’m going with this?”

Kaitlin was practically in tears.  “But he’s a sissy, Doctor FrankenDomme.  Pretty girls like me don’t have sex with sissies.”

“You do now.”  The doctor giggled as she once again masturbated her clit in FrankenCock’s slick hole.  Another low moan escaped from her lips.  “Look at it this way:  at least if he fucks you in the ass, it won’t hurt so much.  And if he fucks your pussy, well, you won’t even feel it.  Now get moving.  Now.”

Sheepishly, still a little amazed at how this was turning out, Sissy Igor, walked around the table and took Kaitlin by the arm.  Impulsively, he leaned into her and ran a tongue up her cheek, stopping at her ear to whisper, “The strap-ons that Doctor FrankenDomme uses on me are huge.  I know just which one I’m going to pummel your uptight ass with.”

As they were walking through the door, they heard Doctor FrankenDomme squealing with delight.  Sissy Igor almost peeked.  But decided not to.

Let Doctor FrankenDomme have her fun.  He certainly planned on having his.  As they walked down the hall to the steps, he reached his hand up under Kaitlin’s skirt, pushing two fingers against the still soaking crotch of her panties, shoving the fabric deep inside of her pussy.  My little sissy dick is going to fucking swim in that pussy, he thought.  And I’m going to love every minute of it.

At the Poetry Reading

John Brehm

I can’t keep my eyes off the poet’s

wife’s legs—they’re so much more

beautiful than anything he might

be saying, though I’m no longer

in a position really to judge,

having stopped listening some time ago.

He’s from the Iowa Writers Workshop

and can therefore get along fine

without my attention. He started in

reading poems about his childhood—

barns, cornsnakes, gradeschool, flowers,

that sort of stuff—the loss of

innocence he keeps talking about

between poems, which I can relate to,

especially under these circumstances.

Now he’s on to science, a poem

about hydrogen, I think, he’s trying

to imagine himself turning into hydrogen.

Maybe he’ll succeed. I’m imagining

myself sliding up his wife’s fluid,

rhythmic, lusciously curved, black-

stockinged legs, imagining them arched

around my shoulders, wrapped around my back.

My God, why doesn’t he write poems about her!

He will, no doubt, once she leaves him,

leaves him for another poet, perhaps,

the observant, uninnocent one, who knows

a poem when it sits down in a room with him.

_______________________________________________

What do you think? I’ve been to my fair share of poetry readings, and most times rather than not, they can be quite yawn-inducing.  Yet I collect, read and write poetry.  I think, perhaps, poetry was meant to be read. It is of ink and parchment, and perhaps even kindles and monitors.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’d be looking at the poet’s wife’s legs too.  Wouldn’t you?

_______________________________________________

If you like this poem as much as I do, visit Mr. Brehm’s website HERE.

_______________________________________________

Thank you, Pervert Savant, for submitting this lovely piece for our PSO-etry collection. You sure do know how to pick ’em.

xo, Angela

The Wussy Boy Manifesto
by Eric Ott (Big Poppa E)

my name is big poppa e
and i am a wussy boy.

it’s taken me a long time to admit it…

i remember shouting in high school,
“no, dad, I’m not gay!
I’m just… sensitive.
i tried to like hot rods and jet planes
and football and budweiser poster girls,
but i never got the hang of it!
i don’t know what’s wrong with me…”

then, i saw him,
there on the silver screen,
bigger than life and unafraid
of earrings and hair dye
and rejoicing in the music
of the cure and morrissey and
siouxsie and the banshees,
talking loud and walking proud
my wussy boy icon:
duckie in pretty in pink.

and i realized i wasn’t alone.

and i looked around
and saw other wussy boys
living large and proud of who they were:
ralph macchio, wussy boy;
matthew broderick, wussy boy;
and lord god king
of the wussy boy movement,
john cusack in say anything,
unafraid to prove to the world
that sensitive guys much kick ass.

now i am no longer ashamed
of my wussiness, hell no,
I’m empowered by it.

when I’m at a stoplight and
some testosterone redneck
methamphetamine
jock fratboy asshole dumb fuck
pulls up beside me
blasting his trans am’s stereo
with power chord anthems to big tits
and date rape,
i no longer avoid his eyesight, hell no,
i just crank all 12 watts of my car stereo
and i rock out right into his face:
(devil sign and morrissey’s voice)
“i am human and i need to be loved
just like everybody else does!”

i am wussy boy, hear me roar
(meow).

bar fight? pshaw!
you think you can take me, huh?
just because i like poetry
better than sports illustrated?
well, allow me to caution you,
I’m not the average every day
run-of-the-mill wussy boy you
beat up in high school, punk,
i am wuss core!
(flash “wc” gang sign)

don’t make me get renaissance
on your ass because i will
write a poem about you,
a poem that tears your psyche
limb from limb,
that exposes your selfish insecurities,
that will wound you deeper
and more severely
than knives and chains and gats
and baseball bats
could ever hope to do…

you may see 65 inches of wussy boy
standing in front of you,
but my steel-toed soul is
ten foot tall and bullet proof!

bring the pain, punk,
beat the shit out of me,
show all the people in this bar
what a real man can do
to a shit-talking wussy boy like me

but you’d better remember
my bruises will fade
my cuts will heal,
my scars will shrink and disappear,
but my poem
about the pitiful, small, helpless
cock-man oppressor you really are
will last
forever.

______________________________________________________

First  of all, thanks to PQS who celebrates with me and (and possibly now even transcends) my love for poetry.  I wish you could have heard his rendition of this poem (he reads aloud to me often and it is pure heaven) … I am still smiling.

Since PQS calls me and not you, your next best bet is to see the poet himself, the simply fab Big Poppa E, perform this poem on HBO’s Def Poetry Slam:  CLICK HERE.

Then you can read his Wikipedia page and, of course, buy his book.

xo, Angela