deepundergroundpoetry.com
Demure You Seemed
Demure you seemed, in glancing oft my way,
So young were you, I set it down to play,
A child’s game, to flirt with older men,
And carnal deeds I thought beyond your ken.
But soon in time I paid you greater heed;
The signs you gave provoked a fleshly need:
A glance of calf you offered from afar,
By letting breezes play with your peignoir.
And then one eve, you called me from the stair,
I looked to see you move above me there,
Your skirts you tossed and lifted for my eyes,
Exposing bare pale youthful muscled thighs.
And then my heart began to pound anew,
For more than thighs I found that I could view.
All naked neath your petticoat you were
And thus did my quiescent member stir.
Like Salome of old, you danced so wickedly,
I did forget thine age was twelve and three!
I fast unbuttoned where I most did swell
To free my gorgéd phallus from its cell.
And thus provoked, I rose upon the stair
To meet you as you fingered soft your hair
Between your thighs, and did begin to moan,
As filled I with emotion ne’er I’d known.
You stroked my prepuce softly when we met,
And tongued the liquid whereof you did get.
Then best to serve our statures, tall and short,
I set you on a hallway davenport.
So moist you were, my cock did slip within;
No hymen hindered, thus did I begin,
And moving slowly, we commenced to fuck,
As both, with lust, we heartily were struck.
We made no haste for climax to be done,
For loathe to part, we clove so long as one,
And with slight swaying, giving each such glee,
We moaned and sighed as if in harmony.
Then with licentious, unrestrainéd voice
You gave a cry that me, it did rejoice.
Then I gave cry almost upon your own
And came within, my sovereign seed now sown.
With kisses sweet, you charmed me, and you smiled,
A warm and grateful smile, so soft, so mild,
Then wept so boldly, why I could not know,
Then laughed, then seemed to me to glow.
Commotion in the hallway gave a start,
And with alacrity we drew apart,
My dripping cock, I quick did reinstall
As from below your guardian gave a call.
“Oh Uncle,” from the landing did you speak,
“I’m here,” you said, “but I am feeling weak.
“’Tis naught, I think,” you said, “but that I’ve read
“Such poetry this day, I’m halfway dead.”
“To bed with you, my girl,” the lord did say,
“I must go hunting now, e’er end of day.
“I shall return,” he said, “by five o’clock,
“When you are rested, and in evening frock.”
And when the oaken door had soundly shut,
Then I, like mad satyric bucks in rut,
Did glove your buttocks, then your vulva taste,
And once more did we love, though more in haste.
Two score and three have passed; I’m old and gray.
No more, but once, that time we thus did play.
You wedded good Lord Arthur years ago,
And of your life, alas, ‘tis naught I know!
I ne’er forgot that blissful time we shared;
And ne’er forgot how that it was you cared
To let a hunchbacked prince of homely mien
The means to fuck a needful, child queen.
So young were you, I set it down to play,
A child’s game, to flirt with older men,
And carnal deeds I thought beyond your ken.
But soon in time I paid you greater heed;
The signs you gave provoked a fleshly need:
A glance of calf you offered from afar,
By letting breezes play with your peignoir.
And then one eve, you called me from the stair,
I looked to see you move above me there,
Your skirts you tossed and lifted for my eyes,
Exposing bare pale youthful muscled thighs.
And then my heart began to pound anew,
For more than thighs I found that I could view.
All naked neath your petticoat you were
And thus did my quiescent member stir.
Like Salome of old, you danced so wickedly,
I did forget thine age was twelve and three!
I fast unbuttoned where I most did swell
To free my gorgéd phallus from its cell.
And thus provoked, I rose upon the stair
To meet you as you fingered soft your hair
Between your thighs, and did begin to moan,
As filled I with emotion ne’er I’d known.
You stroked my prepuce softly when we met,
And tongued the liquid whereof you did get.
Then best to serve our statures, tall and short,
I set you on a hallway davenport.
So moist you were, my cock did slip within;
No hymen hindered, thus did I begin,
And moving slowly, we commenced to fuck,
As both, with lust, we heartily were struck.
We made no haste for climax to be done,
For loathe to part, we clove so long as one,
And with slight swaying, giving each such glee,
We moaned and sighed as if in harmony.
Then with licentious, unrestrainéd voice
You gave a cry that me, it did rejoice.
Then I gave cry almost upon your own
And came within, my sovereign seed now sown.
With kisses sweet, you charmed me, and you smiled,
A warm and grateful smile, so soft, so mild,
Then wept so boldly, why I could not know,
Then laughed, then seemed to me to glow.
Commotion in the hallway gave a start,
And with alacrity we drew apart,
My dripping cock, I quick did reinstall
As from below your guardian gave a call.
“Oh Uncle,” from the landing did you speak,
“I’m here,” you said, “but I am feeling weak.
“’Tis naught, I think,” you said, “but that I’ve read
“Such poetry this day, I’m halfway dead.”
“To bed with you, my girl,” the lord did say,
“I must go hunting now, e’er end of day.
“I shall return,” he said, “by five o’clock,
“When you are rested, and in evening frock.”
And when the oaken door had soundly shut,
Then I, like mad satyric bucks in rut,
Did glove your buttocks, then your vulva taste,
And once more did we love, though more in haste.
Two score and three have passed; I’m old and gray.
No more, but once, that time we thus did play.
You wedded good Lord Arthur years ago,
And of your life, alas, ‘tis naught I know!
I ne’er forgot that blissful time we shared;
And ne’er forgot how that it was you cared
To let a hunchbacked prince of homely mien
The means to fuck a needful, child queen.
Published 27th Nov 2012
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28th Nov 2012 7:58pm
28th Nov 2012 10:41pm
Thank you for the comment, niknshell.
In a rare burst of energy, I chose to give myself the difficult task of maintaining strict iambic pentameter while giving the language an "antiquated" feeling, as if it might have been written in the Middle Ages.
Times were different then, and the idea of a teen getting it on with an adult (a hunchback, to boot) might have been more common certainly than today, when there exists a monumental taboo about such things. I prefer free verse about modern themes, but you'll find me in iambic pentameter when the subject matter is more medieval or Victorian.
My best to you!
In a rare burst of energy, I chose to give myself the difficult task of maintaining strict iambic pentameter while giving the language an "antiquated" feeling, as if it might have been written in the Middle Ages.
Times were different then, and the idea of a teen getting it on with an adult (a hunchback, to boot) might have been more common certainly than today, when there exists a monumental taboo about such things. I prefer free verse about modern themes, but you'll find me in iambic pentameter when the subject matter is more medieval or Victorian.
My best to you!
28th Nov 2012 10:58pm
Although the language is certainly antiquated, I saw something more along the lines of Kipling's fascination with the Etruscan.
and maybe a little bit of "Lolita" thrown in for good measure :)
Enjoyed reading this
and maybe a little bit of "Lolita" thrown in for good measure :)
Enjoyed reading this
28th Nov 2012 11:13pm
Thank you, MaggieG.
BTW, I've started into your "On Any Given American Day" which is, to iterate an apropos though clichéd and hackneyed turn of phrase, fucking brilliant.
I'll finish it anon, comment, like it and add it to my reading list, which is what everyone ought to do, in my view.
You challenge us all to be better at what we do. But you, you're magical.
Of course, only a fool confuses a writer with his or her written works. I remain aware that we each, as writers, are merely facilitators of literary production, thanks to the blessings of mind and body we possess by happenstance...though to be sure, there is something of each of us very definitely in every work to which we give birth.
Fine work. Some of the best I've read anywhere, and I have read much.
BTW, I've started into your "On Any Given American Day" which is, to iterate an apropos though clichéd and hackneyed turn of phrase, fucking brilliant.
I'll finish it anon, comment, like it and add it to my reading list, which is what everyone ought to do, in my view.
You challenge us all to be better at what we do. But you, you're magical.
Of course, only a fool confuses a writer with his or her written works. I remain aware that we each, as writers, are merely facilitators of literary production, thanks to the blessings of mind and body we possess by happenstance...though to be sure, there is something of each of us very definitely in every work to which we give birth.
Fine work. Some of the best I've read anywhere, and I have read much.
Oh Good Lord ! Thank you for such lovely words Hun. I personally like the fact that you are not afraid of odd subjects, and play with them at your discretion. lol If there is anything I despise, censorship ranks at the top of the list. You do not censor yourself, and frankly I find absolutely nothing wrong with that.
and yes... As to the other ? My husband got me to read Edward Lee. a horror writer. After reading him I wondered what might be wrong with ole fella to come up with such twisted shit. lol BUT... The more I read about him the more I found out he is a bit of a prude, and recluse, so...
The imagination is NOT always the give away of one's character is it ? ;)
and yes... As to the other ? My husband got me to read Edward Lee. a horror writer. After reading him I wondered what might be wrong with ole fella to come up with such twisted shit. lol BUT... The more I read about him the more I found out he is a bit of a prude, and recluse, so...
The imagination is NOT always the give away of one's character is it ? ;)
28th Nov 2012 11:42pm
You make an interesting point. In fact, I must say that I suspect that I HAVE censored myself.
Long a fan of Lovecraft and Bloch, and recently, some of Koontz, I've dabbled at horror/thriller fiction. My imagination--occasionally assisted by a certain inhaled facilitator of attitude adjustment and not a little Bourbon--is frighteningly graphic. I could out-gruesome some of our most famous murderers with some of the ideas for human defilement that I dream up...ideas never preserved in black and white, lest another "get ideas."
You encourage me in this vein? Oh, I'll have to take some time with that, lass.
But I do thank you.
And, yes, one cannot be assurred that a written work wholly represents the personality and mind of the writer. Perhaps, deep within, I am a man very desirous of rape and pillaging, but my life to date would not give a hint of that...other than my writings. I'm just a pussy cat who wants to be loved! I think.
Long a fan of Lovecraft and Bloch, and recently, some of Koontz, I've dabbled at horror/thriller fiction. My imagination--occasionally assisted by a certain inhaled facilitator of attitude adjustment and not a little Bourbon--is frighteningly graphic. I could out-gruesome some of our most famous murderers with some of the ideas for human defilement that I dream up...ideas never preserved in black and white, lest another "get ideas."
You encourage me in this vein? Oh, I'll have to take some time with that, lass.
But I do thank you.
And, yes, one cannot be assurred that a written work wholly represents the personality and mind of the writer. Perhaps, deep within, I am a man very desirous of rape and pillaging, but my life to date would not give a hint of that...other than my writings. I'm just a pussy cat who wants to be loved! I think.
28th Nov 2012 11:59pm
LOL !
Why does the Lovecraft mention not surprise me ?
and as far as the other ? What the hell... If the writing keeps people from raping ? I say write on!
*grins* ;)
Why does the Lovecraft mention not surprise me ?
and as far as the other ? What the hell... If the writing keeps people from raping ? I say write on!
*grins* ;)
