Word Porn: Haiku Erotica [Advisory: Sexually explicit]

Advisory: This one is sexually explicit. Please don’t read it if that is inappropriate for you.

1

Like feral gazelles,

the slender youths conjoining

for the sport of it.

2

Mohawked Sebastian’s

tongue approaching Nigel’s lips,

open to receive.

3

Open at both ends,

he hungrily takes their cocks,

one sucked, one fucking.

4

Foot up on the chair,

displaying stretched cock and balls

between his spread legs.

5

Bound up in the sling,

slave takes his master’s lashes,

saying, “Thank you, sir!!”

Copyright 2015

T. Allen Culpepper

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Shag Me at the Door

Advisory: This one is sexually explicit. Please don’t read it if that bothers you.

For F. W., whose encouraging comments have kept me motivated to write the new erotic series this week.

I hear the door open and rush toward it;

he’s coming home from the gym,

and I want to intercept him

before he makes it to the shower

so I can lick the salty sweat

off his just-pumped muscles,

so I arrest him with a hard-tongued kiss

and hands firmly planted on his hips

down inside the dampened fabric of his shorts,

and before he has a chance to argue,

I begin to like my way down his chest,

tonguing the juice off every hair

as I move one hand to his cock and squeeze

while a finger of the other moves toward

his hole, and the shorts slide off,

and soon we are both naked on the floor,

flip-fucking on the cold, hard tile of the entryway

until he’s all sweaty again and I am covered

in cum. And then we take a shower.

Copyright 2015

T. Allen Culpepper

Extraordinary Object

Advisory: This one is sexually explicit (and possibly disturbing). Please don’t read it if you’re squeamish about that sort of thing.

I was ordinary, but

my husband has made me hot:

had every hair lasered off

so that my body’s as smooth

as any statue in a museum;

pierced the parts I wanted,

nipples, ears, a triple guiche,

and the ones I didn’t–

I resisted the pig ring in my nose,

but now I’ve learned to love it;

had me tattooed with a

two-headed snake that

slithers all around me,

its tongues licking

my right tit and my asshole;

had my nails all brightly painted.

At home he keeps me naked, on display,

but plugged and caged

to keep me away from trouble.

He likes to take me out, though,

dressed in skimpy outfits that

always show some fresh,

a flash of midriff maybe,

one of my ringed nipples,

the bottom inch or two

of ass cheek. But, not,

never women’s clothes,

always men’s, even

if they been hacked up

with scissors; he says

he wouldn’t want anyone

to take me for a girl because

that’s socially acceptable;

he wants the world to know

I’m just a pussy boi dressing

down to please my man.

Disclaimer: The speaker is a fictional character. Please don’t assume that he is me (or any other real person) or that I share his point of view.

Copyright 2015

T. Allen Culpepper

Slut, Not Slave

Advisory: This one is sexually explicit. Please don’t read it if your not into that.

Not into leather–

harnesses just leave me cold–

but when he bends me forward

and rams his hot ten inches

up my shaved boi cunt

and calls me his pussy

and threatens to breed

me until my hole’s so sore

I can hardly walk–

that I like.

Note: I’m sure I don’t have to tell my fellow poets this, but my speakers are characters, and they don’t necessarily share my own perspectives.

Copyright 2015

T. Allen Culpepper

Sex

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