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terry-collettPoems
Delia who had bedded her French nanny at fourteen and had hot *** with the head girl at boarding school, now lies beside the arts tutor named Ms Shopton in college. She has explored the woman’s body from top to toe. Invaded each orifice and landed her ninety ninth plus umpteenth kiss. Sunlight pours through the high window, the woman’s scent and body odour invades the bed. She has kissed most parts that can be kissed, scanned the woman’s skin, taking in the freckles, the spots, the mole inside the left thigh, run her finger along the spine. She watches the woman sleep, the mouth slightly ajar, the perfect teeth, the tongue (who knows where that has been) touching the corner of the lips. She may well get a high A for this piece of art work, the effort put in, the juices taken out, the ********* and touching, the final lay. She breathes in the air, runs her tongue across her own damp lips. She hears the college bell, the time to get up, the breakfast call, the wide awake stare. The woman beside her sleeps on, lying worn out, out for the count, lying there.
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Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 3:47 AM UTC
DELIA AND THE ART TUTOR.
Delia who had bedded her French nanny at fourteen and had hot *** with the head girl at boarding school, now lies beside the arts tutor named Ms Shopton in college. She has explored the woman’s body from top to toe. Invaded each orifice and landed her ninety ninth plus umpteenth kiss. Sunlight pours through the high window, the woman’s scent and body odour invades the bed. She has kissed most parts that can be kissed, scanned the woman’s skin, taking in the freckles, the spots, the mole inside the left thigh, run her finger along the spine. She watches the woman sleep, the mouth slightly ajar, the perfect teeth, the tongue (who knows where that has been) touching the corner of the lips. She may well get a high A for this piece of art work, the effort put in, the juices taken out, the ********* and touching, the final lay. She breathes in the air, runs her tongue across her own damp lips. She hears the college bell, the time to get up, the breakfast call, the wide awake stare. The woman beside her sleeps on, lying worn out, out for the count, lying there.
terry-collett
Written by
terry-collett
English
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 3:47 AM UTC
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