Rubber Band Man Redux

As a young Turk
I was Gumby, damn it,
limber as a maple sapling
in a cool April breeze.
I made love like the daring
young men in the flying trapeze
hanging from the ceiling fan
in her parent's bedroom
while they celebrated twenty
years of marriage and bliss
on their second honeymoon
on the beaches of Cancun.

I was eighteen and I could fuck
like a chimpanzee in a monkey see,
monkey do me orgy with my cock
swelling like a balloon animal blowing
up at my little brother's birthday party.

I was greener than a preacher's son
at first practicing a curve ball grip
on Betty Mae's boobs, my fingers
going numb under the wires of her bra
till we both came from the genital
gyrations underneath our blue jeans.

When we finally got the ins and outs
down we'd lock together for hours
on end like my hound dog, Chester,
molesting my neighbor's chihuahua.

Fast forward forty years and the fucking
outside of my mind ain't what it used to be.
Lots of libido in the tank but the gas
ain't getting to this flaccid piece of flesh
between my legs and I'm so fucking lonely.

The only things stretching these days
are my imagination as I scour the late night
infomercials for hard on happy drugs
discrete and tout de suite and my hamstrings
as I kneel like I'm praying to the goddess
of vee jay jay with my mouth muzzled
by the shaved pussy of a prostitute,
licking as fast as I can before the vagina melts
into a puddle of what once was spice
and vice and everything so fucking nice.

And for seven minutes or so  I feel
like the rubber band man again as Sparky
does his best to prove he ain't a dud dick
getting up the courage to enter the mouth
of the whale grabbing that bitch by the tail
till I hear a snap and I feel nothing as the whore
shows no heart golden at all rolling out of bed
with her hand out while wiping cum off her leg
and my pride off what's left of her conscience.