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THE WET DREAMS
THE WET DREAMS
The man had grown tired of touching himself
No longer was he fulfilled only from fantasy
His playboy magazine’s lay dusty on the shelf
He wished for a woman, one who is erotic, sexy
He closed his eyes and tried to visualize her
The setting is in the open, public, maybe a park
She lies, near naked under a tree, the Great Fir
The time is just right, verging to night, on dark
She awaits for him, only him, for his pleasure
His excitement begins to grow, he becomes bold
She is his to touch, kiss and caress, to treasure
He nears her side, now to embrace her, his to hold
Lying there, blonde hair spread across her shoulder
She is lovely, creamy skin, fair of face and body
Breasts, ample, beauteous in the eye of the beholder
Nipples barely covered by material that is skimpy
He knows just what he wants to do in his fantasy
The plot is all planned out, his way , as it must
He wants to worship her, embrace touch her, slowly
The man responds to this womanly visage with lust
His penis now arouses from it's treasured slumber
Wishing to thrust, to probe into her inner being
He wants to ride her, stroke her, again, stroke her
Blind to all other things, his senses are numbing
But just as he was to touch caress this sexy lady
She vanished, disappeared, she; nowhere to be seen.
What has happened to our young man's sexy fantasy?
She dissolved, into ether, not real, nor to have been
To have ridden, again he thinks to himself, does he.
The image of invisibility, the sexy, erotic ghost
Of the woman he hopes to one day mount, who is she?
This vision, wet dream, welcoming, his sperm host
This something undone, a wet spot upon the sheet
Closer to his sexy woman, seen, but not in her spent
Leaving him feeling alone and very much uncompleted
Actions not properly done, words not said and meant
She continues to be a figment of his imagination.
Someone not real, ghostly, his sperm truly wasted
He needs to have sex, a real coupling, realization.
Of erotic imagery, listings’ but not yet tasted
By nutbuster
The man had grown tired of touching himself
No longer was he fulfilled only from fantasy
His playboy magazine’s lay dusty on the shelf
He wished for a woman, one who is erotic, sexy
He closed his eyes and tried to visualize her
The setting is in the open, public, maybe a park
She lies, near naked under a tree, the Great Fir
The time is just right, verging to night, on dark
She awaits for him, only him, for his pleasure
His excitement begins to grow, he becomes bold
She is his to touch, kiss and caress, to treasure
He nears her side, now to embrace her, his to hold
Lying there, blonde hair spread across her shoulder
She is lovely, creamy skin, fair of face and body
Breasts, ample, beauteous in the eye of the beholder
Nipples barely covered by material that is skimpy
He knows just what he wants to do in his fantasy
The plot is all planned out, his way , as it must
He wants to worship her, embrace touch her, slowly
The man responds to this womanly visage with lust
His penis now arouses from it's treasured slumber
Wishing to thrust, to probe into her inner being
He wants to ride her, stroke her, again, stroke her
Blind to all other things, his senses are numbing
But just as he was to touch caress this sexy lady
She vanished, disappeared, she; nowhere to be seen.
What has happened to our young man's sexy fantasy?
She dissolved, into ether, not real, nor to have been
To have ridden, again he thinks to himself, does he.
The image of invisibility, the sexy, erotic ghost
Of the woman he hopes to one day mount, who is she?
This vision, wet dream, welcoming, his sperm host
This something undone, a wet spot upon the sheet
Closer to his sexy woman, seen, but not in her spent
Leaving him feeling alone and very much uncompleted
Actions not properly done, words not said and meant
She continues to be a figment of his imagination.
Someone not real, ghostly, his sperm truly wasted
He needs to have sex, a real coupling, realization.
Of erotic imagery, listings’ but not yet tasted
By nutbuster
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