The plot thickens

This is the continuation of a previous post. Be sure to read that one first.

Ass Dicks (Part Two)

It’s hard to put one over on me.
This wasn’t my first time
at the rodeo,
but that peckerhead Rufus
had managed to do it.
I’d been set up,
like a cow walking down
the long winding tunnel
he thinks leads to some sort of
bovine amusement park ride
but really climaxes with a
steel bolt through the skull.
My head didn’t feel too good, either.
That cock wouldn’t have the balls
to doodle-do this kind of number on
someone my size.
No, the chicken was only a side dish,
not the entree.
It was so dark where I found myself
that I wasn’t sure my eyes were open.
I was on my side in my stall.
If my head hadn’t been pounding
like Farmer Johnson’s bull
on a Friday night in May,
I would have assumed
this was just a dream brought on
by eating fermented apples.
I tried to move my legs
to get them under me
but I was less steady than
that three-legged dog on
the next farm over.
I couldn’t stand up.
I fell into the wall
and banged my head again.
My movement attracted attention.
I heard a short yap from the stall door–
one of those bitches for sure–then
the clip-clop of company coming.
Clover.
For the first time since we met
I wasn’t eager for a piece of that ass.
She tried playing nursemaid
nuzzling my neck
and whispering sweet nothings
in my still-ringing ears.
I was silent and stiff
but not in the way she expected.
“Come on, Sugarcubes,” she brayed
her voice husky with lust.
“I bet you’re hung like a mule…”
She’d really stepped in it,
and I don’t mean my dung.
I pulled away from her,
my head burning like
freshly branded cowhide.
She looked hurt,
like I’d gotten her into this mess.
“Don’t you want me?,” she asked.
But I didn’t. Something was wrong.
Since she’d trotted into my life,
I’d been
lied to
set up
and knocked out.
Usually, I just need to
take a broad for a stroll
through the meadow
to get a roll in the hay.
This one was trouble.
Tears welled up in her big brown eyes
and she collapsed
in the corner
of my stall.
“You might not want to do that,”
I advised her. “I pee there.”
She kept sobbing
and I started to feel like a heel
(which is rare for those with hooves)
so I laid a little sugar on her
and hoped she wasn’t diabetic.
One thing led to another
and soon she was
fulfilling every fantasy
I’d had since meeting her.
I mean, she was standing still
letting me do all the work
just the way I like it
and I was just about to
make her a brood mare when
a stranger hee-hawed behind me.
Needless to say
the mood was completely ruined.
A donkey I’d never seen before
stepped out of the shadows.
Clover ran to him
and licked his cheek.
She looked back at me
and smiled like
a barn cat who’s just
found a nest of mice
in the grain bin.
Her voice dripped with
contempt for me:
“This is Don…”

(To be continued…)

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About semiblind

Bringing you stark existentialism since 1981.
This entry was posted in entertainment, poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to The plot thickens

  1. Pingback: The Trilogy Concludes (Day Nine) | …said the blind man…

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