Becoming a Bee

Brown bag bologna and cheese sandwiches
for three months to save up a buck and a quarter
for a professional fuck to validate the volume
of a wet dream cause virgins ain’t never in vogue
and Muriel, the beautiful barkeep at the Fisherman’s
Bounty by the bay, surely won’t play with a boy  
who ain’t never been touched but by his right
hand and never  kissed by anybody so down go three
boilermakers of Pabst Blue Ribbon and Fighting Cock
for courage to drive across the freight train tracks
to Esperanza, originally from Tijuana, setting up shop
in a two room trailer with rat holes for windows.

I knock on her dry rotted door, a belly full of butterflies
like monarchs bound for Mexico seeking sanctuary.
Her cleavage  tanned like a honey cashew spread
and busting out the black lace bustiere below
billowy frills of a sassy senorita sangria red dress.
I put ten tens and twenty five singles in a sombrero
shaped ash tray with salvation stamped on it .
The hispanic harlot pulled down my zipper,
snapped a leather cock ring around ol’ Sparky and led
me in on a rusted chain and I’m thinking lockjaw
and the clinic’s policy on tetanus shots and penicillin.
She yanked me to a radiator where I was padlocked.

The dress fell to the floor during a wobbly pirouette
as a sad mariachi melody played on a transistor radio.
Her pink tongue like a desert gecko flicking for food
before slowing the tempo to match the song and licking
her lips from edge to edge over and over again
while pressing her caramel colored double d cup
breasts together within the mesh confines of her lingerie.
She pushed her busom against my face and my crotch
swelled as she wiggled the ring about to allow the blood
to flow through the gates of muscle tissue and raise the dead.
She took three short steps back and unhooked the bustiere,
plump nipples like raspberry buoys bobbing in an areola sea.

A shrilling roll of an R and she pounced on me grabbing
my hips, guiding my now bulging with veins dick
and thrusting me in with her vagina squeezing me
like wee winged vermin caught in a venus flytrap.
Raven black hair whipping around like a lariat
in a rodeo and she started screaming ay carambas
though I thought of only Muriel and came within
a minute though she rode for a guilt ridden fifteen .
She left with no fanfare, a chihuahua dropping off
the key and I left in a nectar drenched buzz smelling
the ebony air for a wildflower growing in a seaside
tavern beckoning the night for a man confidant as a bee.