Consistent with that belly spin

My mind made mad as I watched and prayed

Her transparent short gown screaming ready to be laid

It was close to the original sin.

Sweats so thick, the music all men would choose to listen

Her hands on my hairy chest with moans so displayed

Stolen kisses inevitable with more moans ‘stained

There was no going back, her twin melons claimed all in.

A grip of my keister

The wildness in her eyes, a suspect

Evident that she wanted more than heavy petting and fondling.

Innocent me clearly scared of that encounter

A rabbit hunt in my underpants, a sacral fellatio from an expert

Her conduct matured for the cookie, with lack of balls I sort to running.


                             OKOCHA OBED