PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

She plagued me with her erotic inventiveness, and those maiden crazed

intercepts of controlling euphoria and hell fire. Starting months ago when she

clipped drags of raven pubic hair into a vivid T-bone around her wet, pink flushed,

tampon tunnel. Next she began thrashing in unexpected sexual fantasies, swirling

edible mixtures upon her naked body. Making me nosh like a kowtow sword

fish raptured beneath an ocean, island luau. Once she laid back to expose her

attractive muffin, and then ruptured vanilla pudding into flying missiles

that projected a foot from her vagina, landing on my cheeks after she tricked me

into looking at her cutesy ferret split. She forever marveled and broke into haunting

laughs whenever she would think about her faked orgasm squirting in my face.

Although she often whisked me away with a subpoena of potential elation,

at times I felt troubled – as if I was hoisted with restraints to ride the bucking

mare of a pirouette witch. She did these insane, cloistered, yet sugary strong

shockers – like the time my tongue discovered the taste of peppermint punani

after she slid Altoids, and other compote mélange into her kitty, giving me a rush

of swizzle stick glucose that sent my sexual desires into banquet frenzy. I lunched

between her thighs for hours as if nothing else mattered except to devour that

tangy box of mush away. I then paused in her orgasm as she overtly let go all

the stew, leaving me still erect and owl eyed, but covering my ears from her

screams of high pitched, sexual ecstasy. This was a carnal sorceress gone mad.

Trips to the supermarket were not a typical, satiating food run. Rather her daily

surprise, oral excursions into the fruity/vegetable world of erotic ambrosia. Every

fresh or packaged morsel was a hunt for a new cherry puree, as she garnished her

nakedness through amber prisms of sweet sauces, smelling to me like clover and

spearmint jelly. She loved sliding in tupelo honey; and then, after intercourse, she

flew into the bathroom to douche in cranberry coulis, or maple syrup … emerging

to smear on a gooey truffle, caramel, peanut butter, whipped cream, or fudge

toppings. I saw infinite flavors of lurid Jell-O oozing out between her legs. I also

witnessed globs of chocolate frosting on her nipples, teasing me silly; but, did she

ever think about the fat, calories, or those thirty extra pounds she gave me?

I tried to escape her seductions, but she was like a cat whispering clitoral mews

from a bubble bath. Her wacky passions continued for months. She turned my

penis into one of her peeled fruits stuffed into her moist paradise. I had oral sex

with crystalized ginger, melons, apricots, papaya, blueberries, strawberries and

sliced Kiwi. She was the Venus of crazy, making me lick her coconut oils, quiche,

custard pie, guava, and yogurts. She once stunned me as I found a Snickers bar,

protruding and half melted in her sticky – girls’ only oven. Again, when I tried to

end it, this outlandish woman took me hiking with no underwear or bra, and a

knapsack filled with one pair of handcuffs, candy, dates, bananas, pineapple,

plums, and anal beads. Upon limping home, she cooked corn on the cob – and

with a big, titillating smile on her face, said, “I’ll butter this inside me -- cum.”