when packing up a suitcase,
there may be a moment of profuse profanity,
gnashing teeth, and grave indecision.
at least,
that’s the way it was for
the sexy big-dicked teenage boy,
a college freshman,
going off to visit his boyfriend.
what was he going to be doing
with his boyfriend, other than
having sex with him, that is?
where were they going to go?
what kinds of clothes should
he bring? and should he choose
the standard toiletries, or something
extra? a new flavor of toothpaste,
perhaps? an extra-zingy one?
the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
stood beside his bed, his suitcase
on top of it,
and looked at the contents:
shirts, underpants, socks,
pants, t-shirts,
this, that, the other. then
the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
actually whimpered.
how could he be expected to make
these kinds of decisions?
decisions about packing a suitcase.
decisions about ANYTHING?
the sexy big-dicked teenage boy
sat down on the chair beside
his bed.
he stared at his suitcase.
his boyfriend was sure
hot, and a nice guy, too.
it would be good to see him.
good to have sex with him. REAL good.
once he was there.
but, this, the preparation,
the packing of the suitcase, the
deciding and indeciding
and re-deciding,
was just obnoxious.
suddenly,
the sexy big-dicked teenage boy stood up,
left everything where
it was, on the bed,
and went out to his
car, and started driving.
no suitcase! no toiletries!
those kinds of decisions, no longer
necessary! he breathed in the
fresh air, and sighed a real big sigh.
he was driving pretty darn fast, and,
every now and then, in a final act
of decision, he took off an
article of clothing, and tossed it
out the window.
**
by the time he got there,
the utter foolishness of
love — young & stark & ultra dick-friendly —
just made it all,
even more friendly,
home of the land-scrubbers,
greasy on the tip
of that golly dang
slick and slippery tweak on
the nipples, the
taste of silence, the
shy shimmy thrust of that quick,
gooey,
slime-drippy
spoon.
–Carl Miller Daniels