Saturday, December 6, 2008

Poetry Assignment: Phone Book

Not for the easily offended... You have been warned!

Room Service
for cb

I strolled down the hallway
with Ed's wife Sara, her eyes

Together but not together
scatterings of early room
service litter the hallway
bits of old food cling
to chipped hotel china
my stomach rolled

Into the room, silent
undressed under dim
fluorescent light
that cast a pallor over
Sara's pale skin

Sara, her 110 pounds naked
bent in half before me
"Do it!"
I hit her ass with my hand,
hard. And again. And again.

"Hit me!" she screamed
"Harder, you fuck!"
hands clench ankles,
her tight body bent double,
tits dangling from her
chest, swaying gently,
her bare ass flushed
with blows already

From the desk, I grab
a phone book in both hands
and wind up for another shot at
that perfect, round ass. The
sound of contact
paper on flesh
echos off the
dingy walls.

Anonymous paintings by
anonymous painters
gaze down impassively
while we dance
our potent ritual.
"Fucking pussy! I said HARDER!".
"Oh God, YES! YES!
Fuck YES!"

Casting the paper weapon aside I
rammed my stiff cock into her as
far as it would go.

I catch sight of the phone book
laying open on the floor
to the restaurant section.
it's pages a subtle, erotic V

Moving rhythmically
in and out
in and out
in and out
the smell of our sex swirled
around us, cloying, intoxicating,
breathing harder
and harder
and harder

"How about Chinese?"
She moans a vague agreement.
My body shudders as I come hard
inside her.

"Kung Pao Chicken," she gasps.


novelaborate said...

not usually one for much eroticism but this poem, in particular this part:

"Into the room, silent
undressed under dim
fluorescent light
that cast a pallor over
Sara's pale skin"

is amazing, IMO.

Heather said...

I should say that while erotica is not my favorite genre, I can appreciate its place in the spectrum of literature.

That said, I certainly don't hate this poem. I think good writing is what brings up real emotion in the reader. For example (caution: about to utter what most consider to be a blasphemy), I am not a Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan (let the hate mail commence). However,I don't dislike Joss Whedon's work in general (Loved Firefly. There, is that better?) because of the same reason I don't like Buffy: I fucking hate Buffy Summers. She is just an awful person, self-centered, egomaniacal and above all else, a whiny, whiny bitch. Damn, that's some good writing. For me to get so disgusted with such a real, three-dimensional character that I can't even watch her show, I give Whedon & co. my full respect, not that I think they'd take it as a compliment.

That's kind of how I feel about this poem, anyway. It takes a lot to shock me, so I'm not really offended or going to be afflicted with a sudden case of the vapors, but it makes me uncomfortable, because I'm there, in that room, unable to look away from this adulterous and raunchy scene, and I'm relieved when it's over. Good writing indeed for making me squirm so.