deepundergroundpoetry.com
sex for quiet guns
he never told her his name, & didn’t ask for hers;
she was just another fuckable woman.
in the dim motel room, she turned on the radio, dialed up
honky-tonk blues: arms full of punctures & tattoos,
a voice spitting gravel.
kinda funny how he found her in that diner. she leaned back in the booth,
so he could read the fancy script on her vee-neck: I sleep with my guns.
he told her what popped into his head. ‘they keep the lights in this joint
low on purpose, but it looks good on you.’ she grinned, just a little. ‘you
better sit down, before you trip in the dark.’
there wasn’t much need for talk, she knew what he wanted, & he figured
she was okay with that by the way she studied his eyes.
he lingered in the stimulus of her disrobing. a woman always removed
her clothes in a casual way with him, even as he was a stranger. it was
an easy rhythm, & without burlesque
she lay belly down on the bed, as if she knew how he wanted it. her
nipples extended slightly against the cool sheets; she felt the beginning
rain in her yearning tart as his hand rubbed her ass.
her beautiful ass, he thought, as he bent to it. his bites were firm but
not vicious. he kissed her thigh & the back of her knee, blazing a damp
trail along it with his tongue.
she reached under to spread herself, & he drove in smoothly. after moments
of ramming, he felt lubed enough to assault her other, more subdued target.
she groaned as she strained to open herself for his brutal thickness. she
thought she couldn’t stand it, she wanted him to stop, & a moment later,
she wanted him not to.
he rode hard for an outlaw’s heaven, uttering obscenities, holding out for as
long as he could. finally, all the white-fire passion in his gut erupted in a
violent deluge. she cried as she felt his thundering rivers filling her insides
entirely, & her euphoria was complete.
…as she slept, he got into his jeans & pulled on his boots, scuffed with miles
of bad road. the night was warm, so he threw his soiled t-shirt over his
shoulder. before he left, he dropped three twenties on the dresser, by her bag.
she was worth that much…
(Art: Stephane Coutelle)
Published 27th Sep 2016
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 16
reading list entries 4
comments 11
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
27th Sep 2016 6:44am
Euphoria in the dim light of a motel room. I can almost see the stains on the dingy carpet and feel the comfortable truth of a fulfilling need being met.
Gritty,yet strangely beautiful in a sense....
Amazing words,amazing art. Such a well written piece,John.
Gritty,yet strangely beautiful in a sense....
Amazing words,amazing art. Such a well written piece,John.
27th Sep 2016 6:49am
John I love when a man buries himself deep in that tightened place and fills me with his seed..
this made me creamy tonight, i'm tingling in my girly parts..
love this..
xo Crim
this made me creamy tonight, i'm tingling in my girly parts..
love this..
xo Crim
27th Sep 2016 3:43pm
This one has the detail and narrative drive of a good short story, and in its hardboiled language reads something like a Bukowski, Fante, or even a Raymond Chandler piece. I enjoyed it. Thank you for the read. - Jack xxx
27th Sep 2016 3:44pm
Ouch. The rawness of reality come morning light will be harsh on her features.
Even a whore wishes for love and a trace of romance inside her hardened heart.
Even a whore wishes for love and a trace of romance inside her hardened heart.
27th Sep 2016 8:49pm
The atmosphere and the picture gives story a film noir setting. The action, if he enjoyed it, would have been well worth the price. The photo reminds me of a 19th century French painting of a naked woman, who has clearly been made love to, sound asleep on a bed while her male visitor has left the door, leaving a pile of money on the dressing table.
27th Sep 2016 11:57pm
guttural and soiled with unapologetic honesty.
Love, love, love this!!!!
Great ink!
Love, love, love this!!!!
Great ink!
28th Sep 2016 6:21am
The picture inspired a literally overnight poetic caption:
She lay on the bed, legs open wide,
Sleeping the sleep of the satisfied,
A look of peace was upon her face
And nothing to hide her secret place,
Now wet from our highly enjoyed night.
I dressed with that view in my sight.
On the bedside table I left dough,
My thank-you for having not said No
To sharing her night time company,
And giving herself so willingly.
She lay on the bed, legs open wide,
Sleeping the sleep of the satisfied,
A look of peace was upon her face
And nothing to hide her secret place,
Now wet from our highly enjoyed night.
I dressed with that view in my sight.
On the bedside table I left dough,
My thank-you for having not said No
To sharing her night time company,
And giving herself so willingly.
Anonymous
29th Sep 2016 4:54am
Oh my....Sir John....you left me grinning and uttering obscenities of the enamored kind of course throughout this piece...incredible ink as usual and this one had me in such suspense with every line...just fabulous....
"her
nipples extended slightly against the cool sheets; she felt the beginning
rain in her yearning tart as his hand rubbed her ass."
~ spine begaaaaaan to twist with this line and upon conclusion, I am resembling a pretzel, ltm...
With love always - Taryn xoxo
"her
nipples extended slightly against the cool sheets; she felt the beginning
rain in her yearning tart as his hand rubbed her ass."
~ spine begaaaaaan to twist with this line and upon conclusion, I am resembling a pretzel, ltm...
With love always - Taryn xoxo
Anonymous
29th Sep 2016 11:10pm
Damn! ... Your endings are like the serial killers of verses ... Straight to the cunt~gut punch! <----------I need to write about that ... my King, you do inspire such noir ... And I gotta love you for it! ... ~Devlin/Doll.
After the latest re-read, favourite lines:
"she
thought she couldn’t stand it, she wanted him to stop, & a moment later,
she wanted him not to. " (could imagine her saying no, no, yes!)
I have thought up another rhyme, based on the tattoo (for sake of the rhyme I have taken liberty with its location on her body):
The inscription runs,
Tattooed on her buns:
I SLEEP WITH MY GUNS.
Not one of life's nuns,
'Midst the Devil's sons,
Virtue's path she shuns.
Her sex appeal stuns.
"she
thought she couldn’t stand it, she wanted him to stop, & a moment later,
she wanted him not to. " (could imagine her saying no, no, yes!)
I have thought up another rhyme, based on the tattoo (for sake of the rhyme I have taken liberty with its location on her body):
The inscription runs,
Tattooed on her buns:
I SLEEP WITH MY GUNS.
Not one of life's nuns,
'Midst the Devil's sons,
Virtue's path she shuns.
Her sex appeal stuns.
2nd Mar 2023 5:58pm
I just want to say your poems have a lot of influence on me as a writer and a poet.
Excellent poem sire!
Excellent poem sire!
