Namaste Sweetie! 012121

 

Namaste Sweetie,

Happy Thor's Day

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh

I feel so much better

Cleaner, More Hopeful, Less Anxious

The Bad Man who held us hostage is gone

And a Kind and Loving Man has come to rescue us

That is how the last four years made me feel

I was so pleased watching the Inauguration

I really enjoyed the evening's performances

I think they should do these every Inauguration

I am still feeling a bit under the weather today

So I've posted a snack pack for you

I hope you will enjoy your visit

I wish you a day of Peace

Joy, Love and Peace, 

AOM

~*~

The Beatles

"Here Comes the Sun" 

(with lyrics)

YouTube Direct Link: https://youtu.be/mc1ta1UMGeo

~*~

I Heard this one last night on the Inaugural Special

I really like the words

Tim McGraw & Tyler Hubbard

"Undivided"

 (Lyrics)(with lyrics)

YouTube Direct Link: https://youtu.be/6_WvGr00KzA

Youth Poet Amanda Gorman 

Recites Poem At Presidential Inauguration

YouTube Direct Link: https://youtu.be/mqa-FiEKLcI

When day comes we ask ourselves,

where can we find light in this never-ending shade?

The loss we carry,

a sea we must wade

We've braved the belly of the beast

We've learned that quiet isn't always peace

And the norms and notions

of what just is

Isn’t always just-ice

And yet the dawn is ours

before we knew it

Somehow we do it

Somehow we've weathered and witnessed

a nation that isn’t broken

but simply unfinished

We the successors of a country and a time

Where a skinny Black girl

descended from slaves and raised by a single mother

can dream of becoming president

only to find herself reciting for one

And yes we are far from polished

far from pristine

but that doesn’t mean we are

striving to form a union that is perfect

We are striving to forge a union with purpose

To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and

conditions of man

And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us

but what stands before us

We close the divide because we know, to put our future first,

we must first put our differences aside

We lay down our arms

so we can reach out our arms

to one another

We seek harm to none and harmony for all

Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true:

That even as we grieved, we grew

That even as we hurt, we hoped

That even as we tired, we tried

That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious

Not because we will never again know defeat

but because we will never again sow division

Scripture tells us to envision

that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree

And no one shall make them afraid

If we’re to live up to our own time

Then victory won’t lie in the blade

But in all the bridges we’ve made

That is the promise to glade

The hill we climb

If only we dare

It's because being American is more than a pride we inherit,

it’s the past we step into

and how we repair it

We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation

rather than share it

Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy

And this effort very nearly succeeded

But while democracy can be periodically delayed

it can never be permanently defeated

In this truth

in this faith we trust

For while we have our eyes on the future

history has its eyes on us

This is the era of just redemption

We feared at its inception

We did not feel prepared to be the heirs

of such a terrifying hour

but within it we found the power

to author a new chapter

To offer hope and laughter to ourselves

So while once we asked,

how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?

Now we assert

How could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?

We will not march back to what was

but move to what shall be

A country that is bruised but whole,

benevolent but bold,

fierce and free

We will not be turned around

or interrupted by intimidation

because we know our inaction and inertia

will be the inheritance of the next generation

Our blunders become their burdens

But one thing is certain:

If we merge mercy with might,

and might with right,

then love becomes our legacy

and change our children’s birthright

So let us leave behind a country

better than the one we were left with

Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest,

we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one

We will rise from the gold-limbed hills of the west,

we will rise from the windswept northeast

where our forefathers first realized revolution

We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the midwestern states,

we will rise from the sunbaked south

We will rebuild, reconcile and recover

and every known nook of our nation and

every corner called our country,

our people diverse and beautiful will emerge,

battered and beautiful

When day comes we step out of the shade,

aflame and unafraid

The new dawn blooms as we free it

For there is always light,

if only we’re brave enough to see it

If only we’re brave enough to be it

~*~

I thought we needed some Fireworks to celebrate!

Katy Perry Firework inauguration

YouTube Direct Link: https://youtu.be/x6d8pHBhkfE

Full Screen Reommended

Great Interview with Amanda Gorman and Anderson Cooper

YouTube Direct Link: https://youtu.be/qHhut5nhI8g

AOM TV: H. W. Longfellow "A Psalm of Life"

 H. W. Longfellow 

"A Psalm of Life"

YouTube Direct Link: https://youtu.be/rkIi68Ijk8I

AOM TV: Ralph Waldo Emerson "What is Success?"

 “To know 

even one life 

has breathed easier 

because you have lived.. “

"An essayist, poet, and popular philosopher, Ralph Waldo Emerson achieved worldwide fame as a lecturer and the author of such essays as “Self-Reliance,” “History,” and “The American Scholar. Emerson influenced generations of Americans, from his friend Henry David Thoreau to John Dewey, and in Europe, Friedrich Nietzsche, who showed a profound admiration for Emerson’s writing."

One of my Heroes!

Ralph Waldo Emerson

"What is Success?"

YouTube Direct Link: https://youtu.be/6roYCQ1S2aU

AOM TV POETRY ALOUD: Walt Whitman "Song of the Open Road"

 Walt Whitman

"Song of the Open Road" 

Read by Dave Luukkonen

Music by Tony Anderson

YouTube Direct Link: https://youtu.be/bCgbc_RcKF8

AOM TV: POETRY ALOUD - Kahlil Gibran "Love One Another"

 POETRY ALOUD

Kahlil Gibran

"Love One Another"

Read by Dave Luukkonen

YouTube Direct Link: https://youtu.be/CqZbHXYd16w

AOM TV: "To a Stranger" by Walt Whitman

POETRY READ ALOUD

"To a Stranger" 

by Walt Whitman

YouTube Direct Link: https://youtu.be/UusqyCliKBI

~*~

 

AOM TV: Harry Baker "Sunshine Kid"

Harry Baker
"Sunshine Kid"

YouTube Direct Link: https://youtu.be/yoFs6As2wfY

NOTE: I suggest reading the poem below as you listen



~*~

Old man sunshine was proud of his sun,
And it brightened his day to see his little boy run,
Not because of what he’d done, nor the problems overcome,
But that despite that his disposition remained a sunny one.
It hadn’t always been like this.
There’d been times when he’d tried to hide his brightness,
You see, every star hits periods of hardship,
It takes a brighter light to inspire them through the darkness.
If we go back to when he was born in a nebula,
We know that he never was thought of as regular,
Because he had a flair about him,
To say the Midas touch is wrong
But all he went near seemed to turn a little bronze,
Yes this sun was loved by some more than others,
It was a case of Joseph and his dreamcoat and his brothers
Because standing out from the crowd had its pros and its cons,
And jealousy created enemies in those he outshone
Such as the Shadow People.

Now the Shadow People didn’t like the Sunshine Kid,
Because he showed up the dark things the Shadow People did,
And when he shone he showed the places where the Shadow People hid,
So the Shadow People had an evil plan to get rid of him,
First up — they made fun of his sunspots,
Shooting his dreams from the sky, their words were gunshots,
Designed to remind him he wasn’t very cool
And he didn’t fit in with any popular kids at school.
They said his head was up in space and they would bring him down to Earth,
Essentially he came from nothing and that is what he was worth,
He’d never get to go to university to learn,
Only degrees he’d ever show would be the first degree burns
From those that came too close,
they told him he was too bright,
That’s why no one ever looked him in the eyes,
His judgment became clouded
So did the sky, With evaporated tears
as the sun started to cry.

Because the sunshine kid was bright, with a warm personality,
And inside he burned savagely
Hurt by the words and curses of the shadowy folk
who spoke holes in his soul and left cavities,
And as his heart hardened, his spark darkened,
Every time they called him names it cooled his flames,
He thought they might like him if he kept his light dim
But they were busy telling lightning she had terrible aim,
He couldn’t quite get to grips with what they said,
So he let his light be eclipsed by what they said,

He fell into a Lone Star State like Texas,
And felt like he’d been punched in his solar plexus.
But that’s when Little Miss Sunshine came along
Singing her favorite song about how we’re made to be strong,
And you don’t have to be wrong to belong, Just be true to who you are,
because we are all stars at heart.
Little Miss Sunshine was hot stuff,
The kind of girl when you looked at her
you forgot stuff,

But for him, there was no forgetting her,
The minute he saw her her image burned in his retina,
She was out of this world, and she accepted him,
Something about this girl meant he knew whenever she was next to him,
Things weren’t as dark as they seemed, and he dared to dream,
Shadows were nowhere to be seen; when she was there he beamed,
His eyes would light up in ways that can’t be faked,

When she grinned her rays erased the razor-tipped words of hate,
They gave each other nicknames, they were “cool star” and “fun sun,”
And gradually the shadowy damage became undone,
She was one in a septillion, and she was brilliant,
Could turn the coldest blooded reptilians vermillion,
Loved by billions, from Chileans to Brazilians,
And taught the Sunshine Kid the meaning of resilience.
She said: “All the darkness in the world
cannot put out the light from a single candle
So how the hell can they handle your light?
Only you can choose to dim it, and the sky is the limit,
so silence the critics by burning.”
And if eyes are windows to the soul then she drew back the curtains
And let the sun shine through the hurting.

In a universe of adversity these stars stuck together,
And though days became nights the memories would last forever,
Whether the weatherman said it or not, it would be fine,
‘Cause even behind the clouds the kid could still shine.
Yes, the Sunshine Kid was bright, with a warm personality,
And inside he burned savagely,
Fueled by the fire inspired across galaxies
By the girl who showed him belief.

AOM TV: Paper People by Harry Baker

Paper People 

by 

Harry Baker

Animated by Suleman Khalid
Music by Callum Isaac

Paper People is a poem written by World Grand Slam Poetry Champion Harry Baker. It re-imagines the joys and struggles of life, in a paper-crafted world.

Note: It may help to read the poem below while you listen
Because some words go bay super fast

YouTube Direct Link: https://youtu.be/nQBzOfIAgXU

~*~

I like people.
I like some paper people.
They’d be purple paper people.
Maybe pop up purple paper people.
Proper pop up purple paper people.
‘How do you prop up pop up purple paper people?’
I hear you cry. Well I…

I’d probably prop up proper pop up purple paper people
with a proper pop up purple people paperclip,
but I’d pre-prepare appropriate adhesives as alternatives,
a cheeky pack of blue tack just in case the paper slipped.
I could build a pop up metropolis.
but i wouldn’t wanna deal with all the paper people politics.
paper politicians with their paper-thin policies,
broken promises without appropriate apologies.
there’d be a little paper me, and a little paper you,
and we’d watch paper TV and it would all be paper view.
we’d watch the poppy paper rappers rap about their paper package
or watch paper people carriers get stuck in paper traffic on the A4.
There’d be a paper princess Kate but we’d all stare at paper Pippa,
and then we’d all live in fear of killer Jack the paper ripper.
cause the paper propaganda propagates the peoples prejudices,
papers printing pictures of the photogenic terrorists.

There’d be a little paper me, and a little paper you,
but in a pop up population people’s problems pop up too.
there’d be a pompous paper parliament who remained out of touch,
and who ignored the peoples protests about all the paper cuts,
then the peaceful paper protests would get blown to paper pieces,
by the confetti cannons manned by preemptive police.
and there’s still be paper money, so there’d still be paper greed,
and the paper piggy bankers pocketing more than they need.
purchasing the potpourri to pepper their paper properties,
while others live in poverty and ain’t acknowledged properly,
a proper poor economy where so many are proper poor,
but while their needs are ignored the money goes to big wars,
funding origami armies building paper planes
while we remain imprisoned by our own paper chains,
and the greater shame, is that we always seem to stay the same,
what changes is who’s in power choosing how to lay the blame,
they’re naming names, forgetting these are names of people,
cause in the end it all comes down to people.

I like people. cause even when the situation’s dire,
it is only ever people who are able to inspire,
and on paper – it’s hard to see how we all cope,
but in the bottom of Pandora’s box there’s still hope,
and i still hope cause i believe in people.

People like my Grandparents. who every single day since i was born have taken time out of their morning to pray for me.
that’s 7892 days straight of someone checking i’m okay and that’s amazing.
people like my aunt who puts on plays for prisoners.
people who are capable of genuine forgiveness.
People like the persecuted Palestinians
people who go out of their way to make your life better and expect nothing in return.
people have potential to be powerful.
and just because the people in power tend to pretend to be victims, we don’t all need to succumb to the system.
a paper population is no different.
there’s a little paper me and a little paper you,
and in a pop up population peoples problems pop up too
but even if the whole world fell apart then we’d still make it through
because we’re people

AOM TV: "Ulysses" by Alfred Tennyson

Alfred Tennyson

"Ulysses"

Here is the entire poem by Tennyson

Only the very last part is spoken in the video below

I am adding the first part just in case you'd like to read it

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It little profits that an idle king,

By this still hearth, among these barren crags,

Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole

Unequal laws unto a savage race,

That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

I cannot rest from travel: I will drink

Life to the lees: All times I have enjoy'd

Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those

That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when

Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades

Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;

For always roaming with a hungry heart

Much have I seen and known; cities of men

And manners, climates, councils, governments,

Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;

And drunk delight of battle with my peers,

Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.

I am a part of all that I have met;

Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'

Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades

For ever and forever when I move.

How dull it is to pause, to make an end,

To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!

As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life

Were all too little, and of one to me

Little remains: but every hour is saved

From that eternal silence, something more,

A bringer of new things; and vile it were

For some three suns to store and hoard myself,

And this gray spirit yearning in desire

To follow knowledge like a sinking star,

Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

         This is my son, mine own Telemachus,

To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,—

Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil

This labour, by slow prudence to make mild

A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees

Subdue them to the useful and the good.

Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere

Of common duties, decent not to fail

In offices of tenderness, and pay

Meet adoration to my household gods,

When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

         There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:

There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,

Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me—

That ever with a frolic welcome took

The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed

Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

These are the lines spoken in the video below

Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;

Death closes all: but something ere the end,

Some work of noble note, may yet be done,

Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.

The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:

The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep

Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,

'T is not too late to seek a newer world.

Push off, and sitting well in order smite

The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds

To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths

Of all the western stars, until I die.

It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:

It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,

And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.

Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

"In Tennyson's "Ulysses," an old adventurer is frustrated with domestic life and yearns to set sail again to explore the world. Throughout the poem, Ulysses rails against his advanced years, and declares that although he and his fellow men are old, they still have the potential to do something noble and honourable before “the long day wanes.”

In this extract from the poem, he encourages his men to make use of their old age because “?’tis not too late to seek a newer world.” He declares that his goal is to sail onward “beyond the sunset” until his death.  Perhaps, he suggests, they may even reach the “Happy Isles,” or the paradise of perpetual summer described in Greek mythology where great heroes like the warrior Achilles were believed to have been taken after their deaths." (YouTube Description)

Alfred Tennyson

"Ulysses"

A powerful poem on finding new purpose as we grow older.

Read by Victor Vertunni

YouTube Direct Link: https://youtu.be/BRLX8y3uka0

Walt Whitman: "Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore"

Uncle Walt Whitman

Song of Myself: Section 11

Music: 

Concerto for Bass Tuba and Orchestra in F Minor, 

IRV. 92: II. Romanza 

by 

Vaughan Williams

conducted by

André Previn

YouTube Direct Link: https://youtu.be/edmZLBeNAIY

Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore,

Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly;

Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.

She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank,

She hides handsome and richly drest 

aft the blinds of the window.

Which of the young men does she like the best?

Ah the homeliest of them is beautiful to her.

Where are you off to, lady? for I see you,

You splash in the water there, 

yet stay stock still in your room.

Dancing and laughing along the beach 

came the twenty-ninth bather,

The rest did not see her, 

but she saw them and loved them.

The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, 

it ran from their long hair,

Little streams pass'd all over their bodies.

An unseen hand also pass'd over their bodies,

It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs.

The young men float on their backs, 

their white bellies bulge to the sun, 

they do not ask who seizes fast to them,

They do not know who puffs and declines 

with pendant and bending arch,

They do not think whom they souse with spray.

~*~

AOM TV: State of Mind by Walter D. Wintle

One of my favorites

State of Mind

Written by

Walter D. Wintle

Read by 

Shane Morris

YouTube Direct Link: https://youtu.be/m5HKMfRzEgM

"If you think you are beaten, you are;

If you think you dare not, you don't.

If you'd like to win, but you think you can't,

It is almost a cinch you won't.

If you think you'll lose, you've lost;

For out in this world we find

Success begins with a person's will

It's all in the state of mind.

If you think you're outclassed, you are;

You've got to think high to rise.

You've got to be sure of yourself before

You can ever win the prize.

Life's battles don't always go

To the stronger or faster man;

But sooner or later the person who wins

Is the one who thinks he can!"

AOM TV: "The Platonic Blow" by W.H. Auden

 HANDS IN YOUR PANTS READING

:  )

Now this is how to write erotica

WOW!

I must confess

Reading this did tighten my crotch

Not long after

My hands found their way

Between my legs as I read

If you'd like to hear this read aloud

Here's one I found on YouTube

Reading : The Platonic Blow by W.H.Auden 

YouTube Direct Link: https://youtu.be/3fxcDjgwMZ8

The Platonic Blow

W. H. Auden

It was a spring day, a day for a lay, when the air

Smelled like a locker-room, a day to blow or get blown;

Returning from lunch I turned my corner and there

On a near-by stoop I saw him standing alone.

I glanced as I advanced. The clean white T-shirt outlined

A forceful torso, the light-blue denims divulged

Much. I observed the snug curves where they hugged the behind,

I watched the crotch where the cloth intriguingly bulged.

Our eyes met. I felt sick. My knees turned weak.

I couldn’t move. I didn’t know what to say.

In a blur I heard words, myself like a stranger speak

“Will you come to my room?” Then a husky voice, “O.K.”

I produced some beer and we talked. Like a little boy

He told me his story. Present address: next door.

Half Polish, half Irish. The youngest. From Illinois.

Profession: mechanic. Name: Bud. Age: twenty-four.

He put down his glass and stretched his bare arms along

The back of my sofa. The afternoon sunlight struck

The blond hairs on the wrist near my head. His chin was strong.

His mouth sucky. I could hardly believe my luck.

And here he was sitting beside me, legs apart.

I could bear it no longer. I touched the inside of his thigh.

His reply was to move closer. I trembled, my heart

Thumped and jumped as my fingers went to his fly.

I opened a gap in the flap. I went in there.

I sought for a slit in the gripper shorts that had charge

Of the basket I asked for. I came to warm flesh then to hair.

I went on. I found what I hoped. I groped. It was large.

He responded to my fondling in a charming, disarming way:

Without a word he unbuckled his belt while I felt.

And lolled back, stretching his legs. His pants fell away.

Carefully drawing it out, I beheld what I held.

The circumcised head was a work of mastercraft

With perfectly beveled rim of unusual weight

And the friendliest red. Even relaxed, the shaft

Was of noble dimensions with the wrinkles that indicate

Singular powers of extension. For a second or two,

It lay there inert, then suddenly stirred in my hand,

Then paused as if frightened or doubtful of what to do.

And then with a violent jerk began to expand.

By soundless bounds it extended and distended, by quick

Great leaps it rose, it flushed, it rushed to its full size.

Nearly nine inches long and three inches thick,

A royal column, ineffably solemn and wise.

I tested its length and strength with a manual squeeze.

I bunched my fingers and twirled them about the knob.

I stroked it from top to bottom. I got on my knees.

I lowered my head. I opened my mouth for the job.

But he pushed me gently away. He bent down. He unlaced

His shoes. He removed his socks. Stood up. Shed

His pants altogether. Muscles in arms and waist

Rippled as he whipped his T-shirt over his head.

I scanned his tan, enjoyed the contrast of brown

Trunk against white shorts taut around small

Hips. With a dig and a wriggle he peeled them down.

I tore off my clothes. He faced me, smiling. I saw all.

The gorgeous organ stood stiffly and straightly out

With a slight flare upwards. At each beat of his heart it threw

An odd little nod my way. From the slot of the spout

Exuded a drop of transparent viscous goo.

The lair of hair was fair, the grove of a young man,

A tangle of curls and whorls, luxuriant but couth.

Except for a spur of golden hairs that fan

To the neat navel, the rest of the belly was smooth.

Well hung, slung from the fork of the muscular legs,

The firm vase of his sperm, like a bulging pear,

Cradling its handsome glands, two herculean eggs,

Swung as he came towards me, shameless, bare.

We aligned mouths. We entwined. All act was clutch,

All fact contact, the attack and the interlock

Of tongues, the charms of arms. I shook at the touch

Of his fresh flesh, I rocked at the shock of his cock.

Straddling my legs a little I inserted his divine

Person between and closed on it tight as I could.

The upright warmth of his belly lay all along mine.

Nude, glued together for a minute, we stood.

I stroked the lobes of his ears, the back of his head

And the broad shoulders. I took bold hold of the compact

Globes of his bottom. We tottered. He fell on the bed.

Lips parted, eyes closed, he lay there, ripe for the act.

Mad to be had, to be felt and smelled. My lips

Explored the adorable masculine tits. My eyes

Assessed the chest. I caressed the athletic hips

And the slim limbs. I approved the grooves of the thighs.

I hugged, I snuggled into an armpit. I sniffed

The subtle whiff of its tuft. I lapped up the taste

Of its hot hollow. My fingers began to drift

On a trek of inspection, a leisurely tour of the waist.

Downward in narrowing circles they playfully strayed.

Encroached on his privates like poachers, approached the prick,

But teasingly swerved, retreated from meeting. It betrayed

Its pleading need by a pretty imploring kick.

“Shall I rim you?” I whispered. He shifted his limbs in assent.

Turned on his side and opened his legs, let me pass

To the dark parts behind. I kissed as I went

The great thick cord that ran back from his balls to his arse.

Prying the buttocks aside, I nosed my way in

Down the shaggy slopes. I came to the puckered goal.

It was quick to my licking. He pressed his crotch to my chin.

His thighs squirmed as my tongue wormed in his hole.

His sensations yearned for consummation. He untucked

His legs and lay panting, hot as a teen-age boy.

Naked, enlarged, charged, aching to get sucked,

Clawing the sheet, all his pores open to joy.

I inspected his erection. I surveyed his parts with a stare

From scrotum level. Sighting along the underside

Of his cock, I looked through the forest of pubic hair

To the range of the chest beyond rising lofty and wide.

I admired the texture, the delicate wrinkles and the neat

Sutures of the capacious bag. I adored the grace

Of the male genitalia. I raised the delicious meat

Up to my mouth, brought the face of its hard-on to my face.

Slipping my lips round the Byzantine dome of the head,

With the tip of my tongue I caressed the sensitive groove.

He thrilled to the trill. “That’s lovely!” he hoarsely said.

“Go on! Go on!” Very slowly I started to move.

Gently, intently, I slid to the massive base

Of his tower of power, paused there a moment down

In the warm moist thicket, then began to retrace

Inch by inch the smooth way to the throbbing crown.

Indwelling excitements swelled at delights to come

As I descended and ascended those thick distended walls.

I grasped his root between left forefinger and thumb

And with my right hand tickled his heavy voluminous balls.

I plunged with a rhythmical lunge steady and slow,

And at every stroke made a corkscrew roll with my tongue.

His soul reeled in the feeling. He whimpered “Oh!”

As I tongued and squeezed and rolled and tickled and swung.

Then I pressed on the spot where the groin is joined to the cock,

Slipped a finger into his arse and massaged him from inside.

The secret sluices of his juices began to unlock.

He melted into what he felt. “O Jesus!” he cried.

Waves of immeasurable pleasures mounted his member in quick

Spasms. I lay still in the notch of his crotch inhaling his sweat.

His ring convulsed round my finger. Into me, rich and thick,

His hot spunk spouted in gouts, spurted in jet after jet.

Reading is FUN and Mental!