POMPA

 

Midnight quickly extends one arm out and he dives into its midst wide awake and mentally charged. Peace like cold strong air has been locked outside the door; the door that is a simple pathway to his world and that at large. This same door doesn’t close all the way leaving a few inches. Constantly hitting the inside of the frame every few seconds on its hinges. Dog noises, rat scratches, ticking sound of the clock, whistling water pipes, music from the nearby nightclubs, and melancholy rush to his ears. Insomnia like a typical parasite hangs around his weary form that lies straight on the bed facing the ceiling, on the side of the face tears. Clingy sheets are no true reflection of the sweat that has perspired from his body, tossing and rustling like coins. Chained in the mind, troubled in the heart, and uncontrollably provoked in the loins. Like a western nation starting war unprovoked, his manhood firmly rises and causes torment on his very being. Hopelessly cornered, her presence in the room abruptly becomes a strong desire, a brutal thing. Evidently if she were there he probably would insert his dick inside her, penetrate her until the morning light. If she were there he would do all sorts of wonderful things to her body and own it for the rest of this night. Lust has been far from love but never once a crime. Tossing vigorously the irritating noise of that night freak of an insect drives mental projections to an earlier time. How did things become so unbelievably numb? When did the fun die? That death was quite silent. Nothing on the news, nothing in the papers. Why? How did someone end up this miserable and lonely after having had it all? Orgasms, skin caresses, oral gratification and stolen pleasure all thrown out the door. Bravery or lack of planning? Has to be the former. Has to be about experience. No man should be allowed to have it that easy. Hardship is the best motivation for sincerity and brilliance. Like a key has been turned to start a motor, the sound of the mini fridge in the depths of the silent room greets his ears. He realises she isn’t going to fuck him tonight, that’s always being among his fears. She takes off his clothes, kisses his chest seductively and asks him to close his visual pair. Then she picks her own clothes from the floor and walks out of there. Blue hairy balls remain behind resting on warm thighs, the comfort they yield indeed false and not much. Then as midnight becomes morning his balls wish his hand was gay, they yearn for its touch.

#LB #CovertTown
(My Intellect’s Loud And Noisy-MILAN)

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