After Lindsay Hunter
I want Lindsay Hunter to hump me nude. I want her tits to brush my teeth with my eyes wide open. I’m a faggot can appreciate an ample bosom, cause tits is like asses with the cheeks up front. I want Lindsay Hunter to work me with her heavy machinery, her jelly rubber dildo double wide like my daddy’s cab. I want Lindsay Hunter to harness that dildo and pump it with her groin. Pound me like she pounds her language on the page. I want Lindsay Hunter to write me a fuck sonnet. I want Lindsay Hunter to drool a creek across my crack.
And let’s be honest here. I’m a fudge-packed homo with a worn out hole and I got thighs like a hungry donkey and when you donkey punch me I’ll whinny like one too. You can damn sure leave my shit all tore up. Rip a fissure the size of Florida on my rectal wall. Yep you bet I’ll be heels to Jesus and oh could you ever nail my shitter like our savior’s hands onto the cross.
Lindsay Hunter, I’m in the Innertown Pub. I’m shimmying past the bar to the gleam of your whistle. That whistle’s like a shiny mushroom head. Hand me that whistle wet, I’ll give it a healthy, proportionate blow. Cause it ain’t no mistake they call me polesmoker. I want a girl who guzzles milk live on stage and if you ain’t pouring it down my pants, you will be soon. Smother me in your okefenokee and oh I’ll let you rassle my gator.
Let’s make a plaster mold of your privates and you can show me how lady parts work. Hand me over some raw fish and I’ll give it a lick like what used to give me nightmares. I want you to help me out. I want you to scare me shitless. I want you to show me the way around a ladydick and that other part with the flaps.
I can hold a lemon between my cheeks. Watch my man pussy pucker. Strap me in your babyseat and call me Mama’s fancy boy. Figure eight my ass with your slivered tongue. I got two downy globes like Georgia peaches and you can wiggle your tongue in till you hit the pit.
I’m going to deliver your birthday cake out my anus. It’s a marble with chocolate frosting and its name is Burgled Turd. You can paddle my stud cunt. Smack it redder than a woman’s flow. And if you’re any good you can make you somewhere warm to lay your head.
I want a girl who farts on my face. I want a girl who will spin my delicates. I want a girl who’ll kick my butt cleavage. I want a girl who owns tools. I want a girl who gags me and calls my writing ratshit. I want a girl don’t like to let me read. I want a girl who’ll lash my thighs. I want a girl who puts more than just a pinky in my ass.
I’m on your stage. There’s no undies under these overalls and there never will be. You dribble some pussy punch, I’ll bend to drink it. You want a closer look just ask me and I’ll grab my ankles. Give me orders. Leave my fattypart skewered. Shish kabob my loins and pass around the leftovers.
I got reams of sequins you can rip off my face. You can choke me with my getup, stuff my feathers down my throat. Trim my glitter skin with your incisors. Make a pendant from my faggot flesh. Hang me out front by my ankles in the rain until my makeup runs like an oil slick.
I ain’t pretty and you say so. I got shit for brains but that’s the way you like it. I’m a lot you can park your car on. Mark me as your territory. Pull my pants down and brand my asshole with an iron. Fry me like an egg. Cut out my tongue and my liver and I won’t say yes or no or anything, because my tiny lady nipples is yours and I ain’t got no choice in the matter and anyway, Lindsay Hunter, you’re driving.