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deepundergroundpoetry.com

WHEN THE BBQ IS OVER

BBQ's over, drinks, glasses to one side,  
our guests have departed. That match was a ride.  
When all's been gathered in, our front door on latch,  
we have a wind-down discussion of the match.  
You complement me for BBQ's success,  
how I dished out the burgers, didn't make mess.  
With such words from your lips my ego's massaged.  
Something else than my head is getting enlarged.  

I draw up to full height, look you up and down.  
Your toned midriff, between shorts and top, is brown  
after the tanning from the late heatwave sun  
turned your skin a shade of a mild toasted bun.  

I gaze into your loving and eager eyes  
as I run my hands down your sides to your thighs.  
We embrace for a kiss, I lift your behind,  
perch you on the table, then pull down the blind.  
I gaze at the shape of you sat before me,  
close in for another kiss, draw apart your knee.  
so your crotch faces straight the bulge in my shorts,
barely contained by my underwear supports.
 
I unbutton your top and unhook your bra,  
kiss and suck on each nipple, as you moan 'aaahhh'.  
It gets you more eager, you push off my shirt,  
now my torso bare faces your nipples pert.  
Our topless bodies we artfully caress  
before our bottom halves we start to undress.  
You shift off your shorts and England flag panties  
so you're naked before me, upping antes.  
Our hands work together my shorts to undo.  
unbelted they drop. Underpants bulge in view.  
 
You eagerly reach to start pulling them down,  
see my manhood spring up from my bush of brown.  
The feel of fresher air around my man bit  
briefly cools, but hot blood keeps me up for it.  
I move closer towards the table's edge,  
flip myself into you as your thighs round me wedge.  
I push you onto your back so my balls are clear  
of the edge so sharp that it could cost me dear. (LOL)  
Over my shoulders your bent knees you then draw,  
anchoring me more firmly in your wet core.  
Outside blinded windows the sun's going down,  
while on top of the table we go to town,  
a race to be first to cum and thus score  
while our clothes idly lie on the kitchen floor.  
 
 
Solomon_Song
Written by Solomon_Song
Published | Edited 9th Sep 2022
Author's Note
This was written some 12 months ago when the Euro Soccer Championships were on, the weather was about the same as now leading to BBQ parties at some homes to watch some matches. An imagined apres-BBQ...
This was written some 12 months ago when the Euro Soccer Championships were on, the weather was about the same as now leading to BBQ parties at some homes to watch some matches. An imagined apres-BBQ 'scoring' session.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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