xTx  
xTx

xTx has only recently allowed herself to feel comfortable being called a writer even thought she has been doing it for over half her life.  She is pleased and thankful to have been published in places like Thieves Jargon, Cherry Bleeds, decomP, Dogzplot, Zygote, Rumble and others.  She is going to switch from third to first person now.  If you have read this far, you must really be committed to finding out more about me so you should Google me…I have a really neat blog.

Two Poems (Issue 15)

A Delicate Harvest

Ted Loved Hiking. His Wife Did Not.

   
   

Two Poems (March 20, 2010. Issue 15. The DirtyDirty.)

The Apple

We are naked with our perfect bodies
fucking on his living room floor,
the ottoman.
We are beautiful and fucking like
porn stars
It’s so hot, I have long hair
the greatest tits and ass
my pussy is tight and wet
he has a huge cock
light veins
a perfect sack.
you know you want to watch us fuck
Just kidding about all of that
We were just fucking
with average bodies
watching porn stars fuck
with their perfect ones

This is not a poem

He makes me kneel and
he goes to the kitchen and gets
an apple
he comes back and
jacks his dick
with his hand and
my mouth
and then he cums
on the apple
the red apple
then he makes me eat it
eat the part with his cum
I eat it

This is not a poem

It’s a poster on the wall of your garage
an idea given to you now
as a gift
open it
feed your babygirl

Yeah

you come to L.A.
Yeah, let’s do all that filthy shit
we email
back and forth
Subject lines always starting off with
good intentions
benign and
normal
the bodies of them quickly
devolving
into
I wanna fuck you’s and
Wanna fucking sit on your cock and
Wanna taste your little pussy and
We writhe in our office chairs
time zones apart
pathetic
and starved
and insane
or at least I am
and after I make myself cum
your visit seems less necessary
or more
I’m never sure
except for one thing
when and if we ever meet
it’s never
gonna be as good
as what we script
and what brings me to fruition
when my back is on a bathroom floor
fingers wet and moving

Table of Contents

A Delicate Harvest (July 20, 2009. Issue 7.)

On his first trip to the bathroom, Dan didn’t see the pubes; he was too busy unloading the gallon of piss from his bladder.  The stream was a powerful one; a roaring yellow lightsaber piercing the toilet water and erupting in foam - a stream to be proud of.  It made Dan feel manly…something he hadn’t felt in a while. 

Look at how much piss is coming out of my dick, he thought to no one.  I just took a man’s man piss, he thought again. Random images of Butch from Little Rascals and Russell Crowe’s Maximus flashed in his brain.

After the shake, tuck and zip Dan flushed his manly piss away, washed his hands and went back to the party.

He hated his boss.  He didn’t want to come to the party, but the entire staff was going and if he didn’t show he’d be missed.  It was one of those lame ‘team building’ gatherings.  You know…come to the house, his perfect size 6 wife with her designer shoes and her big fake tits serves you drinks while making all the women wish they were her, and making all the men wish she was warming their sheets, the fronts of their thighs...

He didn’t, however, mind the free booze and was going to milk every drop that he could.  He also didn’t mind his boss’s wife’s fake tits and she sure seemed to like showing them…thank God for button front blouses.

Dan made the rounds, making as much small talk as possible, not wanting to be singled out…playing the game.  When jokes were made, he laughed, offering his own witticisms.  He chewed with his mouth closed. He said please and thank you when appropriate. He complimented the wife on shit in the house.  He had three more scotches, and two beers. 

He had to piss again.

On Dan’s second trip to the bathroom he saw the pubes…this was a different bathroom than the first.  He made a left where he should’ve made a right, went up some stairs to a hallway where he most certainly shouldn’t have been, and found it.  It was larger than the first, and decorated in sophisticated pinks and creams.  The countertop was full of feminine beauty products; hairsprays, makeup, etc.  There was a flat iron over to the side.  He touched it.  Cold. 

Must be his daughters’ bathroom, Dan thought.  His boss had two daughters; one he knew was 14, the other, maybe 17 now.  Both uptight-looking little bitches…much like their mother.  Faces that will never know the word ‘no’, perfect straight white teeth framed on top by long blonde hair, and bolstered from behind by perfect apple asses.  Whenever they came into the office, it always seemed like they were looking down their noses at everyone, like they knew their dad had all of their nuts in a vice and, with one gentle but firm squeeze, could have them all singing soprano for their supper.  Dan didn’t like these girls and didn’t like that he couldn’t stop staring at their ripe young bodies and didn’t like that he wanted to be able to do things to them, despite his hating. It made him feel dirty…rape dirty.

A floor below, he heard the bellowing laugh of his tormentor and it made him shudder involuntarily.  This very laugh was usually preceding or following his douche boss telling him how he needs to ‘be more on the ball’ or how he needs to, ‘get his shit together like Robert’...Robert being the office kiss-ass. Robert, with his corner office, Robert with his company car, Robert with his perfect fucking wife.

Dan’s wife used to be decent before the kids, now her hips could block out the sun…her breasts dragging like monkey knuckles.

Dan’s stomach suddenly turned sour.  He puked into the sink.  The bowl sat on top of the counter…not recessed.  With the puke sitting in it, it looked like a bowl of soggy breakfast cereal.  He flicked on the water and mushed the last chunky bits down the drain with his fingertips.

After rinsing his mouth and pissing, Dan sat on the edge of the bathtub.  Look at that lucky toilet, he thought drunkenly.  It gets hot teenage ass all day ha ha. He thought of his boss’s wife’s ass…Robert’s wife’s ass.  He thought of his wife’s ass. Dan’s stomach felt sick again.  He closed his eyes and breathed deep. 

It was when he opened them that he saw them; three blonde pubic hairs…at his feet.  Like they had crawled there, face down in worship. Hello little pubic hairs, Dan thought, studying them intently.  Where did you come from?  What do you want from me?  The three hairs lay silent, as if in prayer.  Yes, I am divine, worship me…he ordered.  Did you just see the manly piss I took?  My dick is powerful and godlike.  My bladder can hold volumes of beer and scotch.  

The hairs remained silent…unimpressed.  They sat in a pyramid pattern; two on the bottom and one above, in the center.  The base two were less kinky than the one at the top.  The colors were all in the same family, but the overt curliness of the one at point made Dan think it had a different owner than the bottom two.

Which lovely cunt did you come from? Dan wondered, amused.  He felt great satisfaction in staring at his boss’s daughters’ pubic hairs.  It made him feel powerful for some reason.  He picked them up, and held them pinched between his fingers: a delicate harvest.

Dan made his away back to the party, switching from scotch to water.  He saw his boss talking with his hot fuck of a wife.  Dan told them he wanted to make them his special drink.  They said that would be wonderful.  He made them his special drinks with his super secret ingredient.

They toasted to team building.  He watched as they drank the special drinks…every drop.  Dan felt a secret happiness and later, before he left, made sure to wish them well and thanked perfect size six wife with the big fake tits for such a lovely evening.

Dan ate the last pubic hair before he went to bed.  It felt like fuck you in his throat.

Table of Contents

Ted Loved Hiking. His Wife Did Not. (March 26, 2009. New Moon. Issue 2)

The parking lot was dirt and dust. Emerging from the car was walking into a furnace. Ted kicked the ground. A bird made a noise. The sound of an approaching car reached his ears, getting louder. Then the car appeared, like a player, off-screen, and then made its quick exit, like a hurried mistake.

The trail was shrouded in shade...the trees. Respite from the pelting heat. The trees were giants. He walked amongst them. Ted kicked the ground. A bird made noise. He crossed a wooden bridge and came upon an outhouse. It was creaky and brown. He circled it for no reason. Looking around, he noticed the trail went uphill. He patted his side pocket where a full water bottle resided. "I'm ready for this..." he said to nobody at all. A bird made noise again.

The trail went up and up. Sweat trailed down Ted's spine, filtering down the crevasse of his ass. He had to stop several times to catch his breath. A bird made noise. The top of the trail brought a downhill path. Ted thought, "Whew." and then thought, 'whew' was a lame expression. He made his way down.

The reward at the bottom of the trail was a meadow covered in a green carpet of moss, fern and clover. Nothing stirred. Bottoms of trees the width of hot tubs carried up into the sky which still, could not be seen. Ted walked into the grove on a path made from others that came before him. He knew he was not the first, but felt like it. The path ended at a wilted creek where two frogs jumped in at his arrival. He looked for them in the dark but clear water but could not find them.

Ted explored the meadow and took pictures of many of the giant trees. From time to time he held his breath and listened to the heavy silence and thought about the city where he was from and the cars and trucks taking his recyclables and the harsh noise they would make in the process. He tried to memorize it....the sound...of the silence.

Time went by after the pictures, and after he thought he memorized the silence sufficiently. He looked at his watch. It wasn't there. A bird made noise. He turned back to the trail he came from. Ted came to a tree a breadth bigger than his arms length and wrapped his arms around it tightly. Face pressed against it, chest tight, constricting his breath, he said aloud to the tree, "I love you tree. Thank you." for no real reason other than the admiration of the beauty he'd witnessed wandering the grove.

When it felt right, he let go and walked up the trail.

Ted loved hiking. His wife did not.

+++

In the hot tub, she raised her pussy above the waterline so he could see it better.

"Rub it." he commanded, hand jerking his cock.

She complied.

"Show me your tits" he said.

She pulled the top of her swimsuit down until the fullness of her chest overflowed from the spandex. She looked down at them, and then at him…jerking off on the side of the tub. They looked impressive...her tits...wet, with hard, pink nipples bobbing.

"Yeah..." he whispered, breath unsteady and staggered, working himself faster.

Wanting it to be over with, she rubbed herself more…no matter that she had already finished herself minutes earlier with one of the jets. She had to be enthusiastic for him.  She raised her hips, pulling her swimsuit to the side, rubbing with one hand. Look at my pussy, she thinks, the water washing over it. It's submerged…a pussy submarine.

He shuffled over to the side of the hot tub when he came. Most of the load dribbled down his fingers making up his jerking fist. She whispered, "Hurry up...."

After his last involuntary spasm, he got up, walked over to the hose, and sprayed everything away.

She moved her swimsuit back to where it belonged. 

“We have 33 minutes left….roughly,” she reminded him.

A bird made noise.

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