Some Edgar Allen Poe-try.

In my bedroom, partner lacking, on my bed as I sat whacking,
Jerking off my throbbing penis, as I’d never jerked before.

Truly did it feel astounding, when all through room came sounding,
Just like someone out there pounding, pounding on my bedroom door.
‘Twas my mom back from the store.

How could I but not remember, that afternoon just last November,
When I stroked my turgid member, ready to shoot upon the floor.
Hopefully she thought me napping, while she stood outside there rapping,
As I sat there, nearly crapping, terror gripped me to the core.
I stroked my cock so hard and fast that sweat dripped out of every pore.
And my balls were getting sore.

Yet I just sat there, couldn’t hide, when all at once the door flew wide,
I couldn’t stop it though I tried, my dick shot its total store.
So I sat, limp cock a holding, ready to receive her scolding,
Truly a site to be beholding, feeling like a boy of four,
But Mom just turned around and left and on that very day I swore,
That I’d start to lock my door.

Comments

E. A. Poe wrote nevermore
Oliver Chothesoff rhymed before door
Then floor pore store swore door
Quoth the Pitbull, where is whore?
 

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