Warning: Explicit. Don’t read if that bothers you.


From behind, Tristan’s

strong arms envelope Jesse,

X across his chest.


Left arm drops down, Tris

scratches Jesse’s leg, head tilts

over shoulder, bites.


On bed now, they lose

inhibitions, shed clothes, yield

to sexual passion.


Jess takes Tristan’s cock,

fondles, licks at dripping tip,

runs tongue along shaft.


Rolling, shifting, Tris

presses against Jesse hard,

slides in; Jesse rocks.


Thrilling, Jesse cries

out with “voice of a black goose”;

in unison they move.


Together they reach

orgasm, spew white fountains.

Yes, thanks, sex was good.


Note: I am indebted to Jeffrey Hopkins’s book Sex, Orgasm, and the Mind of Clear Light (Berkeley: North Atlantic Books, 1998), from which the quoted line comes, for inspiring this poem.


Copyright 2013

T. Allen Culpepper


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