Gushing LiquidsA Poem by Deep MeaningWhat a feast.
The sun was setting.
The room was filled with red. It was enchanting. We were sitting alone. Nervous, cautious as always. I wanted her. I looked into her eyes. She looks at mine only briefly. It was awkward. I turned her head toward me. Here eyes were shining. It was magical. Here eyes were like the ocean's waves. Blue and soft. Yet strong. I ran my hand down her cheek. She let out her breath. How cute. I grabbed the back of her neck. I moved it close to me. Our lips almost touch. She hesitates and hovers her lips. I bring out my tongue. I lick her lips. She moans and lays down. I move with her. I'm on top of her. My lips, strong and firm. Kissing hers, soft and supple. It was delicious. And then just when I got a little hungrier. She let out a little. Mmm, dinner. Keep going, baby. More follows. I was still hungry. Don't hold back. It was coming, I could feel it. She almost did it. Get on top of me, it will be easier. She gets on top and lets it go. I want the main course. I punch her in the stomach. A lot comes out. Oh, delicious. "I don't think I have any left in me!" Please keep going baby, I'm so hungry. Don't stop. It's coming out of her like a stream. So delicious with a pungent smell. I could not get enough. Is it coming, baby? "Yes it's on the w-" It came out all at once. Like a waterfall it came gushing down. It covered my body. I was soaked. Anna, what is this? "Pieces of corn." Oh, yeah? Not bad, but where is the usual stuff?" "Oh the carrots?" Yeah and the asparagus and the soggy corn flakes? "It absorbs too much moisture. My vomit's quality goes down." Oh how I love her sour stews. Oh how the heat of the chunky pieces felt on my body. They are still stuck in my naval. She is currently eating. Tonight we will dine once more. She should drink more milk, for creaminess. -Fin © 2013 Deep MeaningFeatured Review
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Added on December 17, 2013Last Updated on December 17, 2013 Tags: gushing liquids hot messy juices AuthorDeep MeaningBrooklyn, NYAboutI am a simple teenage boy with the love for words. I make love to the paper. The pencil is my shaft and the paper, of course, is the vagina. Sometimes I hide my feelings, which can be related to a .. more..Writing
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