The noises that he made were quite amazing, rather
like a train accelerating from a station under heavy
load; he huffed and groaned and chuffed and snuffed
with fierce intensity while building steam and heat,
the object of his energy conspired in metronomic
beat as he settled in his task, an artful task of making
love – though charmless sounds she would relate.
And as his hairy butt rebounded in the mirror of their
night of mutual lust, described in action as a trite and
comic act, delightful as it was, aroused innate hilarity;
she laughed so loud he opened up his eyes surprised
she’d found his efforts were distracting.
Said later that he’d stopped because his concentration
was impaired, declared she’d joggled when he jiggled,
sniggered when he quivered, shuddered when he’d
thought she’d never get so far beyond a point where
she’d implode along their road of no return.
When asked he said he wouldn’t yearn to play these
adult games her way again.
© I.D. Carswell