The Spirit of Love: A Blank-Verse Sonnet

Two male lovers intertwined in a Celtic know

of fuckery: a mythical amalgam of two heads,

two backs, four arms, four legs, four dangling balls,

and two erect penis, one inside

the other man from behind, pumping away,

filling his yearning void with love’s expanse,

building toward the gradual but still sudden

convulsed transfusion of spirt pure and white

in this all-consuming consummation,

the physical enactment of urges probably resulting

from a chemical imbalance in their brains

that has soften hearts and hardened cocks.

And what will happen after the spirit’s spent?

They’ll say, “Our love came quickly; then it went.”

Copyright 2015

T. Allen Culpepper


First Ride: Mixed Emotions [Advisory: Sexually Explicit}

Advisory: This one is sexually explicit, so please don’t read it if that bothers you. There are plenty of clean ones posted for you choose from.

Desperate and tired of depending

on others to address his needs,

he decided to do it himself,

but he needs the proper tool,

so he searched some Web sites.

The dildo he ordered online

arrived on the truck today,

and he got hyper-excited

just hearing the truck rumble up,

the driver, kind of hot,

sliding open the door.

He knows he’s dripping in his shorts

as he signs the delivery receipt,

his voice wavering as he thanks the driver,

wishing he were brave

enough to ask for company.

Ripping open the package

and stripping off his clothes,

he grabs a bottle of lube

and gets ready for a trial run

The dildo’s a rippled jelly one,

coloured translucent pink,

knobs increasing in size

from tip to base.

Rubbing it with lube

and squirting some up his hole,

he suctions the toy to the floor

and lowers into a squat

until the first of the knobs

prods his reluctant sphincter.

Imagining some handsome stud

attached to the other end,

he presses himself down,

trying to relax,

but still it hurts like hell

as it finally pops through.


But once inside, it feels

so fucking good filling

his cock-hungry ass,

rubbing against his prostate,

and though solo can be lonely,

he like being able to direct

the action without the need

to express himself in words.

Getting into it now,

he collects oozing

pre-cum on fingertips

and slowly licks them clean

as the toy slides in

all the way to its base,

and then he lubes up one hand

and starts stroking his dick

while he pumps his ass,

breeding himself faster and harder

with the plastic phallus,

raising the other hand overhead

like a barroom cowboy

riding a mechanical bull,

and then too soon it’s over,

his load of warm, white jizz

spewing over his chest and pubes.

He wipes some up with one hand

and eats it from his palm,

while the other hand massages

the rest over his belly,

and then he stretches his legs out

and leans back against the bed,

too spent to feel the shame

they all tried to teach him,

but, still, overcome by something

more like an emotional vacuum.

The tool has done the job,

but he wishes that now

it could hold him tight

in strong arms and breathe

softly on his neck.

But since he can’t,

he pulls it out of him

with a final gasp,

and climbs into bed,

curling up like a child.

Hugging a pillow to his chest

and wrapping himself in a blanket,

he falls into sleep and dreams.

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


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

Well, of course, I set the alarm,

but it has stopped, and I’m feeling something

against me, and not being fully awake,

I at first suspect the cat and reach

back to brush her away, but, no,

it is Colin, who has manoeuvred himself

into something like a reversed spoon position

and is sucking on my balls from behind

as I lie there half on my stomach, half

on my side, using his teeth just enough

to be annoying, not enough to hurt,

and I am sleep-groggy, morning-grumpy,

and not really in the mood, but still,

I can’t help starting to get a little hard

as he slides his warm wet tongue

along my perineum, reaching his left

hand over my belly, fingers slowly

massaging their way down toward

my pubes, and then pins me with

a hairy, muscular leg draped across

my chest, ankle at my chin and knee

at my navel, and then suddenly,

you know, I’m really into as well,

and various acrobatic acts ensue,

and then I can’t find my trousers

and miss the first train so that I

have to take the later one in,

and, of course, I had to have

my tea at some point, and so,

naturally, I simply couldn’t

avoid being just slightly late.

Copyright 2015

  1. Allen Culpepper