Hello weary friend, I know it's been awhile since we last met. Well, I've been busy, as I'm sure you have. After all, it's not like you checked the blog everyday for almost a year to see if I posted something new, right? Right??? Anywho, here's a little snipit I did for class. It's nothing fancy, but apparently my exploitation of an older, more regal language casts premature ejaculation in a beautiful, poetic light. Enjoy.
Rapture
By: Michael T. Flanders
It
was supposed to be a simple deed in the darkness, a fevered feast of gluttony
upon my person which would be consumed within moments. Valor and virtue would
be swallowed by the rosy gale that enveloped the whole of myself, leaving my
youth unchecked at the door. To my dismay, the efforts of my defense and
self-control were for naught, as a quick tidal effect washed over me, stripping
away the promises of pleasure in a sea of euphoria. Instead, my manhood is
tested, only to falter against the ecstasy beat of her rhythmic sin and I find
myself reminded of something not dissimilar, when the trigger of my hunting
rifle was teased and a small ball of lead tore through the air prematurely,
like a pheasant flying away from its stalker well before the game began. And
like the pheasant, my mind raced in a million different directions, floundering
for the best escape. The bird for survival, myself for shameful brashness.
My eyes fluttered everywhere, drinking in
the sights of my host’s abode, refusing to look at her in this frozen moment of
hushed awkwardness. Warm, pulsing contractions continued to vibrate below, yet
her body did not move after its third gallop, assuring me the steed I brought
her was no more than the jackass she expected. A whispering wind billowed
through the cruddy cloth the tart hung as curtains, a hint of bitter ale
sweeping along with it. It clung to the air, the intoxicating smell mixing with
the ripe odor of feminine exertion, crafting the perfect atmosphere one would
anticipate a whorehouse to possess. And without warning, the same exact feeling
I experienced seconds ago with the explosion of indignity, she plucked herself
from the sticky mound that was my lower half and went about cleaning as if it
were the norm. On her bed, a slim pad of grime and uncomfortable displacement,
I lay exposed and drenched in the juices of my very first experience with a
woman. I came expecting a lion’s roar, but was given the soft caw of a
pheasant. Without hesitation I retrieved my trousers from the bottoms of my
ankles and rested them back at the base of my hips, then walked out without
ever giving the woman a second glance. Her shillings rested nicely on her nightstand,
there was no need for more false pleasantries.
