(cont.)
agreed to be my canvas for a related project
involving chocolate sauce and whipped cream.
After many drinks,
she slipped into some lingerie,
asking me to attach her garter straps to her hose,
my first indication that there could be
more than art involved.
The shoot went well,
culminating in the scripted punchline
of my rubbing my face
in the sweet and sticky drawings upon her belly.
It was a wrap, so she left to clean up,
then re-emerged with a wet towel
covering her naked bosom bounty.
As her stout nipples were pushing against
the cold terry cloth,
I offered my assistance,
replacing the wet towel with my wet mouth.
The kisses came easily,
but she would not allow me into her bed,
taking me down to the floor instead.
I removed the rest of her garments
and took my time pleasuring her
with lips and tongue and strong, willing hands,
but at length realized that for her, as well,
foreplay was a one-way street,
wanting to participate no more
than simply lie there and be done.
And again my cock refused to serve it up
to someone who offered nothing in return.
I looked at that incredible body spread out before me
like a picnic feast
and told myself not to worry about it and just partake,
but my unit remained stubborn.
I tried manual override,
but the thing was actually recoiling,
upset over the desperate need for attention.
Still, the woman on her back offered no help,
only reminded me that her roommate
was due back soon.
I apologized, blamed the booze,
packed up my equipment and left.
All this I related to Mona
there in the dark,
comprehending that I had been
taken aback by the Bitch Queens’ attitudes
of ‘do me, forget you,’
but I was openly puzzled and worried
about my lack of performance,
as attitude and inebriation had never prevented me
from enjoying a piece of ass before.
I bared to her my fear
that I was becoming dysfunctional.
“But did you care about these girls?” Mona asked.
My answer was a quick ‘no.’
“Well, that’s what you were missing,” she concluded.
“You wanted more than just a body. More than just sex.”
I looked into her eyes and knew she was right.
She looked into my eyes and knew, as she always knew,
that it was her I wanted.
I leaned in to kiss her,
and she graciously suspended the platonic ruling
for one long, tender, caring kiss.
No groping, no heavy breathing,
just a simple expression of love and affection.
Immediately my cock turned to stone
and pointed towards heaven.
“Look!” I shouted. “You cured me! See? Feel for yourself!”
But like the two demon girls I complained about,
Mona wouldn’t touch it, either;
instead she regarded my good standing with eyes alone,
the eyes of my best friend who only wanted my happiness.
“See,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
She allowed me another peck in saying good night,
but as she left my car and disappeared into the darkness,
my tower fell and my heart sank.
No, my love, there was something wrong with me.