. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

The French House Affair

Some personal erotica from those wayward, youthful college days, albeit written in Dr. Seuss'esque rhymes. Glad to know my poetry has gotten better, even if my penchant for sneaking into places I shouldn't be in hasn't...


The French House deserves her secrets
but it's time that this one's been told
of the day she opened her doors
to two lovers horny and bold,

The Freshman were served their gumbo
on the French House grounds outside,
the two lovers mingled among them
under blue skies and perfect sunshine,

He kept his flip-flops in his pockets
and ate in the grass and the sun,
she leaned close and she kissed him,
so was the French House legend begun,

They bade their own friends goodbye
and slipped in through the downstairs doors,
their passion turned hot in the shadows
but there were no empty rooms on that floor,

Her lips on the back of his neck as they searched
from one locked door to the next,
until they found their way up a staircase
and the kisses became more than quick pecks,

The conference room had a comfortable couch
and under the windows a long table and chairs,
the two became slaves to their lusts -
that wiliest of all human snares,

He threw her down onto the sofa
and made good use of his hands,
finding hiding places under her clothing,
his fingers performing a dance,

She threw her head back and sighed at his touch
as his lips found those of her own,
when he lifted her shirt and unstrapped her bra
she arched her back towards him and moaned,

The French House must have secretly smiled
as unbeknownst to the Freshman below
the two lovers found more delight on the floor
and discarded all of their clothes,

She was dripping with sweat and much more
as he pinned her down from above,
their hips moved in one rhythmic motion,
on a dirty conference room floor they made love,

Suddenly,

In the madness of climax between them
a soft hand knocked at the door,
the two were naked, on fire and praying
that the knock wouldn't lead to much more,

But before their hearts could slow down
and the sweat could dry on their skin
the door to the conference room opened
and a pair of high quality loafers walked in,

The two lovers were hidden from sight
and remained as still as the table,
but the stranger would not be deterred
and without him would not be this fable,

He followed the disheveled clothes,
no doubt curious where the trail led,
until two naked kids stared up at him,
"give us five more minutes," the boy said,

The fact that the stranger consented
is perhaps God's greatest gift,
wide-eyed he wordlessly nodded,
quietly retraced his steps and then left,

The French House goes on to say
that no two people ever dressed faster,
before their deadline was up
the two lovers vanished without further disaster,

The French House deserves her secrets
but it's time that this one's been told
of the day she opened her doors
to two lovers horny and bold.

6.2007

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