watching the pool at the great Bellagio.
We were standing hip to hip,
while the waters did their adagio.
We were pressed against the wall,
made of cement and/or of stone,
and i pressed my crotch against it,
to stimulate my bone.
It pushed back against my cock and balls,
and my deflated pecker dowel,
but it did not yet arouse me,
But your hand then did in fact intrude,
between the wall and, yes, my crotch,
and I knew that something lewd,
was going to kick things up a notch.
Down my pants your hand then swam,
while mine went down against your clam,
your fingers canoodled my cock and balls,
while my hand inside your overalls,
used its fingers to press and then release,
I squeezed two hills then let them go,
a thousand times all kinda slow,
and the grease that slicks the paths of jizzes,
when they through twat fishtail their whizzes,
to the nestled egg that is their goal,
once on their way from your open hole,
this greasy ooze then drowned my finger,
as i laid it flat and let it linger,
within your twat-hills like a digit-log,
your cunt then looked like a small hotdog,
with my finger nestled between the hills,
of your sacred-taco pussy-rills.
your hand too was creating a tizzy
within my head, for upon my balls
of hairless flesh i felt the crawls
of your gentle fingers caressing my sac,
while my fingers too caressed your crack.
My balls were lifted, your fingers beneath them,
in your upturned hand my balls bequeathed them-
selves in sacred loving trust,
that my two nuts you would not bust,
but would instead inspire them,
to create some sperm and fire them,
up through my clothes and your clothes too,
and up your tube to drown with goo
your egg collection all at once,
an overwhelming of your cunt’s
entire reproductive status.
atmospheres of tortured joyous-
ness that Steve Wynn might employ us,
to perform a love fuck every night,
to keep his bank account shining bright,
and to show the world what groins are for,
when hands that like a carnivore,
are seeking groinal crotchal flesh,
for fingers to lustily enmesh
themselves against a pelvic feast,
that unchains then the lust-filled beast,
of wanton sexual hot desire,
that’s worth the threat of eternal fire.
To have that one experience,
that dwarfs all Life’s long drearience.
from ordinary lust-romps of the crotch:
for TWO DUPLICATES OF US did appear,
you, a greek goddess…and I – a buccaneer
was the image of myself, and we –
these images of ourselves, you see,
they stripped us of our clothing now,
and the crowd was shocked to see just how,
much juice and jizz was gushing from,
our fingers seeking splooge and cum,
and our mutually masturbating hands,
each upon the other’s glands,
and nads and crevices and tools of lust,
that shocked both sinners and the Just
who saw us naked now employed,
in mutual hand-sex with overjoyed,
expressions on our happy faces,
that thrilled the crowd of all the races.
us to the fountains that were there moated.
The gushing waters that had been shooting,
were now in the processes of muting,
their gushing to just gentle squirting,
while you and me were one-hand flirting,
with each other’s sex-tools still,
ignoring all the shouting, shrill,
excitement from the distant throng,
cheering your wet hand on my squirting dong,
and my hand’s swathing of your wondrous crotcher,
they laid us down, my cock, your crack,
completely visible to the crowd,
that watched enrapt and screaming loud,
at all this magic and sexual circus,
that had them all going berserkus.
The additional me and the additional you,
they removed their clothing which sideways flew,
then disappeared into thin air,
then on our backs atop a water lair,
they laid us down and the one that was you,
letting no more time accrue,
laid her pussy on my face,
and then leaned forward there to place,
her hand upon my erected pud,
and began to pump while I slurped her bud,
of erected clit like a ravenous otter,
as we lay floating on the water,
this duplicate of you from nowhere,
started my semen flying high in the air
meanwhile the other me with you,
knelt and lifting your both legs – two –
upright so your twat was now available,
proceeded with a boner unassailable,
via any kind of normal criticism,
pumped your twat with his tool of jism,
meanwhile a stream of cuntal liquid,
shot up high from your be-fucked groin-squid,
and all the crowd began to shout,
for the additional Me to not take out,
my ramming thrusts that were creating fountains,
of gushing joy-juice in endless mountains,
skyward in pillars of radiant sheen,
more wondrous than anything ever seen.
was astride my face but also who,
was leaning forward to jack my meat,
into erupting gysers of gleaming sleet,
that matched in sheen and altitude,
the splooge in fact the other dude,
was coaxing from your sacred twat,
while fucking with everything he’s got,
your equal bounty of groinal gusher,
that would have floated the House of Usher,
as was the duplicate of you,
that was jacking jizz high out of view,
from me, as we, both on our backs,
were now surrounded by cocks and cracks,
for hundreds more of me and you,
floated magically into view,
all of them completely nude,
and in a short short interlude,
we all were lined up on the lake,
a hundred me’s and you’s, all nake-
ed and all being jacked and fucked,
“I Am The Walrus” was in fact the song,
and now in ballet terpsichore,
100 fountains of reproductive gore,
were dancing upward toward the skies,
in unison with thrusting thighs,
a hundred tongues spreading saliva,
on a hundred twats that, like godiva,
hypnotized all who stared to see,
the wondrous place where you make pee.
50 cocks in 50 slots,
and fifty tongues in 50 twats,
and 50 hands jacking 50 boners –
so much filth even the I-Phoners,
looked up from their screen to gawk,
at all the tits and twats and cock,
that you and me and all the slew,
of doppelgangers of ourselves would do,
to outrage heaven and outrage hell,
in carnal outbursts without the smell.
50 of me fucked now you slow,
your legs as high as they would go,
100 legs up in the air,
and no where any underwear,
the other fifty of me getting,
fifty of your handjobs jetting,
semen pillars to the clouds,
relentless booms from twats and cocks,
rattling the distant rocks,
a bodily-fluid fountain display,
that covered the spectators in seminal spray,
and twatinal blastings rocketing high,
from a goddess’s hole being fucked by a guy,
in fact fucked by 50 of them all in a row,
changing the pace from fast into slow,
with the “I am the eggman” in 4/4 time,
giving tempo to blasts of the groinigial slime,
with 50 more You’s also there in the pool,
jacking off 50 cocks while in back there is drool,
being slathered on pussies, all of them yours,
by 50 crazed tongues doing vaginal tours,
of your tightly squeezed hillocks of parallel mounds,
being cleaved as by tongues of wild ravenous hounds,
thirsty for drink at your vertical slit,
times 50 and never intending to quit.
200 of us, thus, stretched across the pool,
100, thus, geysers of bodily drool,
firing high in the air, all staccato and random,
and giving new meaning to cheers and to fandom,
for all of the people who gathered to gaze,
experienced more than the mere word “amaze,”
could ever describe this outpouring of sex,
that had thousands of onlookers emotional wrecks.
were now exploding sons and daughters,
who would never become some nice little babies,
and that is a fact, no ifs, ands, or maybe’s,
and yet as short-lived jizz and splooge,
they lived a life Trump would call yuuudj,
and all who saw our crotch-fueled columns,
were they uglier than a thousand Golums,
or more beauteous than a thousand teens,
in a thousand pair of too-tight jeans,
all would agree our sperm and spray,
lived a better life in their short day,
than actual people at work or play.
and the jizz/splooge columns had descended,
traffic on the vegas strip,
was bumpertip to bumpertip.
Not a car had moved at all,
and pedestrian traffic was at a crawl,
with men and women wiping off their brows,
and muttering “Good lord” and “Wow”s,
and saying “What the hell did we just see.”
In fact it was a hundred each of you and me,
lick-fuck-sliding in slobber of our fluids,
like maniacal ferrets and barn cats and druids,
with slime and saliva and cries of delirious,
happiness, lust and erotic, mysterious,
roadways and pathways and highways of bliss,
that even the demons said “We can’t stand this:
they’ve turned sin into righteousness, filth into wine,
this is all out of normal, familiar design.”
while we and our images squirted higher and higher,
in time to the music’s relentless insistence,
that my cock and your twat keep shooting for distance,
and as the musical song that inspired the fountains,
trailed their last notes off toward the mountains,
all of the throng, before in behavement,
started to fuck all over the pavement,
and into the streets and on top of cars,
and into the strip joints and into the bars,
all of Las Vegas had dicks and clits rising,
which, based on OUR dalliance was not that surprising.
as though nothing odd had happened at all,
but your hand was still down in my pants and embracing,
my groinals and my hand your twat was hungrily tracing.
You said “If we’re in it, I guess that’s ok,
but right now let’s secretly engage in some play.”
And my dick came out and my fingers went in,
and we quietly handfucked in the City of Sin.
