Like The Trojan Horse
It started with the snap of the buckle
The grating whisper of the zipper
It unleashed the scent – the musky, heady smell
Cramped in tight confines is the horse’s head
It wobbled slightly, getting ready for the journey
Itching to be free, like the armies of Greece
In the Trojan horse
*
Cupping his left cheek, I teased open a door
Moist and needy as my trained fingers find
I let myself in . . . and out
It became a mission to find the spot, I probe again.
And I invade like the army from the Trojan horse.
*
Peeling off black clothing, the horse is let loose
It races into the black tunnel
Enveloped by its moist warmth
Like the fire the army from the Trojan horse started
With every skill learnt in the training field
I get to work, unleashing fire
Urged on by the battle cry of my victim
*
Then I stopped
Suddenly
Sitting back on my knee
To savour the look on his face
Because a really good blowjob is like making a cake
The gathering of ingredients
The mixing and stirring
The slow baking in the warm oven of your mouth
Timing is everything.
So is the variety of flicks
The smooth feel of every lick
The gentle pull of the nicks
And the kisses that culminate with gentle persistent pressure
*
Then I leaned forward
And opened my mouth again
Wide enough for it to fill me up
It reached the back of my throat
Where I made gagging sounds
I unsheathed it from the safe keeping of my mouth
And held it
He let out a groan . . . of frustration
I held it in my hand, I kissed it again
And beat it against my left cheek severally
Before I tucked it safely in my mouth
*
And with a surge of excitement
Like several soldiers crying with one voice
The enemy trembled and let out battle cries
Spoils of war found their way into mouth
With a last pull, he is licked dry
And like a pack of cards
My chocolate truffle crumbled
His rigid erection from seconds before fell limp
Like the city of Troy
*
Everything with me is either worship and passion
Or pity and understanding
Some men eat flesh with silverware
Some use their hands
Some scrape flesh with knives
But me . . .
I prefer zippers – the meal nestled behind the zippers
Because to successively rule a kingdom
You’d do as you would cook a small fish.
*
So when he asked, “Will I see you again?”
I smiled
Because I realised
He was already a footstool.
Written by Vhar
About author
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11 Comments
Max 2.1
February 25, 06:46All this poem for a beejay? Hmmm
Kenny
February 25, 07:28This is porn! Hian!
Pink Panther
February 25, 07:28Hehehee! You sound startled.
Mitch
February 25, 08:57Bia OluwaVhar, abeg I have an exam today. Don’t make me start having fantasies when I’m meant to be writing.
Ruby
February 25, 10:46Issorait oh!!!!
Vhar!!!!
It have do you hear!!!!
Tanchu!!!!
bruno
February 25, 12:34the person who is actually a footstool here is a matter of perspective though ?
tboixy
February 25, 13:07Hmmmmm, You are Just Intimidating Us Virgins, with this, Abeg!!!!!, My Mouth is Not Ready for A Trojan Horse or wetin you call am
Candy Man
February 25, 17:44I like this poem.
Black
February 25, 18:39Hmm very clever. Very good writing skill.
bountyhunter
February 25, 21:27Stolen!!!
Brian Collins
February 26, 00:37Went from serious poetry to real porn and back. Loved it. Blowjobs for me is like making pancakes. The gathering the ingredients, the mixing, the pouring of small quantities of the mixture into the pan, flipping on to the other side and the finality of sliding a perfect pancake unto a plate.