ISSUE 3: WINTER 2016 / POETRY

“I can not fuck” by James The Zombie

BY JAMES THE ZOMBIE

Fucking half naked
in a bed with
crumbs and
spilt alcohol
Trying to control
my breathing
slowing my heart
trying stop the trembling.
I stare at the ceiling
feigning some deep thought
acting as if a teacher
was about to call on me
and I wouldn’t know
the answer.

 Where do I put my hands.
Should I grab and spank her ass
I think I saw that in a porno
should I rub her tits
or is that obvious and cliche
but sex is the only unchanging
thing in human history
it is all cliche it has been all
been done before but is some how
is reinvented with each new partner

I grab a tit and one side of her hip
she screams that she is cumming
that I made her cum
and her quivering
is not brought on by
the fear that mine is
my cock is in her and I can
feel the pulsing wetness
contracting around my own
throbbing cock spurting
a think pearly paste
I would rather have seen
paint on her pretty pale face
she kisses me while the cum
spills out over my balls.
I would not want her to
see my nervousness
how my legs twitch and
fail me
by body betrays me
the speak my inadequacies
telling of my lack of sexual
prowess
and I will not have anyone
see me like this
This humiliation isn’t worth it

How did I accomplish this
I should have google mapped
the route to her clit
who knows the long
hidden road to the female
orgasm, I don’t
but I found it
by chance it was like being lost
in a forest and just before freaking
out you stumble across a path
I stubbed my cock
on the small area between her pussy and thighs
trying to furiously fuck
atoning for any frailty (as is weakness of moral character)
and lack of stimulation

She cleans me up
first with her mouth
licking the free flowing
fluids fleeing the epicenter
our fucking, hungrily
lapping around my weakened self
taking sweeps with her tongue
toward my ass
still high from the orgasm
I slipped her
then lovingly with a towel
she wipes me off
it is affectionate
appreciative
she rubs her hands around
my half hard on
checking to see if she missed anything
letting her nails run over me
playfully scratching the tip
causing me to twitch

she hides
slightly
in the darker parts
of my room
dressing herself
veiling her insecurities
the waistband of her thong
is rolled over itself and uneven
not like when she first pulled down
her jeans reveling a perfectly positioned
piece of lingerie waiting patiently

we must act now
pretending we have never
seen each other
naked, a second glance,
a whisper, an extended hug
must never expose us
this is the problem
with sleeping with
your best friend’s
little sister

I kiss her
before she leaves
standing on my porch
some small attempt at romanticism
but was it for her or me
I don’t know
her lips tasted like the anticipation for Christmas
the big pay off at the end of a hard year
this is what she thought she paid
for letting me cum inside her
I wondered if mine tasted like contrition

 


My name is James the Zombie. 29. Male. I write poetry.  I don’t do drugs. I live a deep inner life. I have built a house from introspection.

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