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deepundergroundpoetry.com
Window Etiquette
Shuffling through
some old photographs,
stopped in an instant
with one from the past.
A posed family portrait
from ten years ago,
the ex-wife and parents,
I no longer know.
Planted between them,
daughter and mom,
perhaps a slight suggestion
as father looks on.
It lasted so briefly,
it rarely comes up,
but stirs a strange feeling,
an impression that stuck.
For in our acquaintance,
I recall with a grin,
something unexpected,
really happened.
They rented a cottage,
that summer that we wed
a boisterous party
led us early to bed.
The father was known
to go out like a light,
while mother and daughter
took it into the night.
Of course, I had joined them
and listened and laughed,
my lover was slurring
while mother went for a bath.
My bride, she protested,
beneath the sliver of moon
but I managed to help her
get back to our room.
I tucked her in,
gave a peck to her cheek
and when I crawled in beside her
she was fast asleep.
* * *
I hear a light tapping
upon the closed door,
beneath the old buzz saw
of her father's snore.
I hop out of bed
pull on boxer shorts,
her mother steps in
"Goodnight!", she purports.
"But before I retire,
could you give a hand?"
I follow plush robe,
and calves slightly tanned.
Inside the bathroom,
she points to the spot,
her robe parts open
and I'm instantly caught.
"The window got lodged,
and I can't get it down."
She demonstrates her dilemma
turning body around.
"Could you come and help me?
I bet it will work."
I slide in beside her
to give it a jerk.
A citrus concoction,
is the prevalent scent,
I wrestle it loose
with some energy spent.
My duty fulfilled,
intent to hurry back,
but she closes the door
and I submit to the trap.
She coerces the robe,
to fall from her shoulders
exposing her curves
and the craving that smolders.
"My husband won't fuck me,
so I hope that you will."
She admits with a whisper,
"I'm not over the hill."
Her mature seasoned body,
eradicates all of my sense
and a surge rises through me
that can't provide a defense.
"Just our little secret."
She nibbles at my neck.
She circles my nipple,
and teases, "I'm wet!"
Her hand flat on boxers,
palm rubs me awake,
and she motions to her pussy,
"I'm in such a state."
Certain textures remind me
of the feel of my bride,
when she guides my hard prick
into her confident ride.
I grab at her bottom,
and she squirms up and down
speaking hushed naughty secrets
while I continue to pound.
Delight, each sensation,
cheeks red from the race,
dips my diligent stallion
into maturity and grace.
I blow so completely,
the racing tension within,
she collects a few years
to nourish passion and skin.
* * *
He returns to the present,
in the last final act,
luscious lips that command him,
"You must never come back."
So he locks this engagement
in his drawer of taboos,
and returns to his wife
and a most pleasant snooze.
As far as their marriage,
it never had a good start
her continued infidelities
quickly ended their spark.
If there was guilt,
it found a sudden end,
a mother's carnal desire
became the perfect revenge.
* Inspired by the "Taboo" Competition.
,
some old photographs,
stopped in an instant
with one from the past.
A posed family portrait
from ten years ago,
the ex-wife and parents,
I no longer know.
Planted between them,
daughter and mom,
perhaps a slight suggestion
as father looks on.
It lasted so briefly,
it rarely comes up,
but stirs a strange feeling,
an impression that stuck.
For in our acquaintance,
I recall with a grin,
something unexpected,
really happened.
They rented a cottage,
that summer that we wed
a boisterous party
led us early to bed.
The father was known
to go out like a light,
while mother and daughter
took it into the night.
Of course, I had joined them
and listened and laughed,
my lover was slurring
while mother went for a bath.
My bride, she protested,
beneath the sliver of moon
but I managed to help her
get back to our room.
I tucked her in,
gave a peck to her cheek
and when I crawled in beside her
she was fast asleep.
* * *
I hear a light tapping
upon the closed door,
beneath the old buzz saw
of her father's snore.
I hop out of bed
pull on boxer shorts,
her mother steps in
"Goodnight!", she purports.
"But before I retire,
could you give a hand?"
I follow plush robe,
and calves slightly tanned.
Inside the bathroom,
she points to the spot,
her robe parts open
and I'm instantly caught.
"The window got lodged,
and I can't get it down."
She demonstrates her dilemma
turning body around.
"Could you come and help me?
I bet it will work."
I slide in beside her
to give it a jerk.
A citrus concoction,
is the prevalent scent,
I wrestle it loose
with some energy spent.
My duty fulfilled,
intent to hurry back,
but she closes the door
and I submit to the trap.
She coerces the robe,
to fall from her shoulders
exposing her curves
and the craving that smolders.
"My husband won't fuck me,
so I hope that you will."
She admits with a whisper,
"I'm not over the hill."
Her mature seasoned body,
eradicates all of my sense
and a surge rises through me
that can't provide a defense.
"Just our little secret."
She nibbles at my neck.
She circles my nipple,
and teases, "I'm wet!"
Her hand flat on boxers,
palm rubs me awake,
and she motions to her pussy,
"I'm in such a state."
Certain textures remind me
of the feel of my bride,
when she guides my hard prick
into her confident ride.
I grab at her bottom,
and she squirms up and down
speaking hushed naughty secrets
while I continue to pound.
Delight, each sensation,
cheeks red from the race,
dips my diligent stallion
into maturity and grace.
I blow so completely,
the racing tension within,
she collects a few years
to nourish passion and skin.
* * *
He returns to the present,
in the last final act,
luscious lips that command him,
"You must never come back."
So he locks this engagement
in his drawer of taboos,
and returns to his wife
and a most pleasant snooze.
As far as their marriage,
it never had a good start
her continued infidelities
quickly ended their spark.
If there was guilt,
it found a sudden end,
a mother's carnal desire
became the perfect revenge.
* Inspired by the "Taboo" Competition.
,
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