A Good Shine

No one had come all day. A chilly wind yawned through the tunnel and over the platform, as the last trains in what passed for a rush hour came and went. The whole station was slow, owing to the holiday. The attendants in the booth up on the ground level had just left for the day, and as the trains clanged away the whole place became silent. Silence makes for a long day at the stand. This is the kind of day that you close, at least in the afternoon, if you have somewhere to be. Too bad I don’t. And no one to talk to means talking to yourself all day, at least in your head; you start worrying, stewing over all the bills you can’t pay, the work that needs done and just how long has it been now since you’ve gotten laid? It’s always too many, too much, and too long. Far too long.

That’s not even going into what happened yesterday. My ex-wife’s divorce attorney, a creep named Lutschenbach, came by for a shoe shine. Can you imagine? I could feel him gloating the whole time. The divorce was almost a year ago; I don’t know how he could possibly know that I was laid off, or why he would care. He didn’t say a word the whole time, just sat there thumbing through his newspaper. I knew what he was up to, though. I treated the asshole like any other customer. No way I’m going to let on that he’s getting to me. I was proud of getting through it without losing my cool, but for how I felt at the end, you’d think I had blown the bastard.

Anyhow, a slow day isn’t just a bunch of bad thoughts, it’s also a lot of standing around for nothing. I was wondering just when I should pack it in, and I thought that I should give it a few more minutes. I decided to have a Coke and then head out, so I started over toward the steps. The click of heels echoed across the platform from behind me. Thinking I might have a customer, I looked back and saw a woman who I had seen several times before. She must have gotten off the train further down the tunnel. She wore her usual uniform: a long, light beige trench coat and high-heeled black boots up to her knee; a real piece, too old to be a kitten and too young to be a cougar. I had been working up the nerve to try to get her number, or at least a name. I always held back, though, thinking, maybe next time. I was in no mood to try now, and I didn’t take her for wanting a shine, so I went on up to get a Coke. Too bad the machine ate my only quarters.

When I went back down to the stand, lo and behold, there she is, sitting in the chair with her feet in the footrests.

“Aren’t you the shoe shine boy?”

“I shine shoes,” I said. “But it’s been a few years since I was a boy.”

“I need a shine,” she said, looking me up and down. She smiled. “You’ll do.”

“Sure enough, then,” I said. I sat down and started to go to work. Now’s my chance to get a number, I thought, but this seemed like the worst possible time. Should I try for it? Or will I blow my chance? As I worry, I happen to see her out of the corner of my eye. Her coat had fallen open, revealing her outfit underneath: she wore a suit jacket with a matching skirt, both gray and form fitting, with a dark green shimmery blouse. I realized that, with her high heeled boots in the footrests, I just might be able to catch a glimpse of her front lawn, if her skirt wasn’t too long.

Son of a bitch, I thought to myself, this honey’s honey pot is like two feet away, right? But I can’t just look at it. I was getting worked up, but thought, what’s the point? She’s probably wearing old granny panties anyway. Or pantyhose. More than likely I won’t get a glimpse of anything, and then she’ll just run off without paying.

“Have you been a shoe shine boy long?”

“I told you it’s been awhile since I was a boy.”

“Oh yeah,” she says. “What if I want to call you my shoe shine boy?”

What the hell was I supposed to say to that?

“Are you my shoe shine boy if I pay double?”

“You gotta be kiddin’.” I looked up at her, real quick, so my gaze wouldn’t get hung up between her shoes and her eyes. Our eyes met. She smiled and said nothing; she just looked down at me, waiting, challenging me with her gaze to continue or reply. I went back to work. She picked up a newspaper that someone had left the day before, and started thumbing through it.

This is going to take forever, I thought. There was a hell of a lot more work to do than your usual pair of wingtips; these boots were huge. All the way up to the knee and the heels were twice as high as I might have guessed. The way she walked she could just as well have been wearing sneakers. On the up side, this would give me plenty of time to work her for a number. But, then, this also gave me plenty of time to prolong the agony of trying to figure out how to go about trying, only to chicken out.

“Whaddya do?” I ask.

“I’m an attorney.”

“Is that so?”


“Divorces?” I asked. God, wouldn’t that be a turn off?

“No.” She didn’t take her eyes off of the newspaper. At first this made me think I should back off, but then I started to wonder if I should try harder to get her attention.

“Are you one of those rock star defense attorneys?”

She shook her head no, without looking up.

“A prosecutor, then?”

“I’m not a criminal lawyer.” She still didn’t look up.

“Aren’t all lawyers criminal?”


I expected at least a nervous giggle, even if it was only to be polite. “Tough room, I guess.”

Maybe I should just forget about it, I thought. But what if I never get another chance?

“What kind of lawyer are you then?”

“Tax law,” she said. “If you have to know.”

“Just asking.”

“Nothing sexy, I know.” She had put an undue emphasis on that word: sexy. Or did I imagine it? She sure was sexy, even though she was starting to piss me off.

“Neither is shinin’ shoes,” I said, “but like they say, it’s a living.”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Shining shoes seems like it could be very sexy.”

“Is that so?” I laughed.

“Come on,” she said, finally putting down the newspaper. “You’re down on your knees. At someone’s feet. They sit up here, above you, like on a throne, but with their feet in the air, almost up in stirrups, like in a clinic. You buff that polish with your rag, back and forth, over and over, and get all messy in the process. What’s not sexy?”

“If you say so.”

“I bet you’ve peeped up a lot of skirts.”

“Tell you the truth”—I fixed my eyes on her boot—“not a lot of chicks go for a shoe shine.”

“Too bad,” she said. “You’re such a perfect gentleman.”

“Why thank you.”

“I bet, even if a lady, with the longest legs imaginable, in the shortest skirt you’d ever seen, drop dead gorgeous, sat down right here for a shine, you wouldn’t peek would you?”

“You’re drop dead gorgeous,” I said, almost grinding my teeth, “and I haven’t peeped up your skirt.”

“I know”—she laughed—“It’s so cute. You haven’t attempted to take any liberties at all.”

“You said I was a gentleman.”

“Maybe,” she said, “Or maybe I just don’t have the proper equipment to suit your taste.”

“Funny”—I chuckled—“Believe you me, I can’t imagine anyone more properly equipped.”

“What would it take for you to give in and peek?”

I didn’t know what to say. I buffed her boot harder and harder.

“What would it take?” she repeated, “You have to be wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“If I am wearing panties. What they look like if I am. What I look like down there if I’m not. How much you might be able to see, without me seeing.”

“You are one weird chick,” I said, eyes still glued to her feet.

“That word again.”

“Whaddya’ mean”

“I’m a chick, but you’re not a boy?”

“Touché,” I said, “or whatever.”

“It’s not very gentlemanly to call a lady a chick.”

“Well all apologies to her ladyship,” I said.

“That’s better.”

“Yeah? Well you’re welcome.”

My heart was pounding and a dizzy rush of blood went to my head. I wouldn’t get anywhere if things kept going like that. I had to think of some way to respond, to bring the conversation around somehow so I had an opening to ask her real, practical questions. I mulled this over for awhile, as I finished her right boot. I hadn’t resolved anything, and was just about to turn my attention to her left boot when she spoke again.

“You’ll shine that one with your tongue.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me, boy.” Her eyes narrowed. “Shine my other boot with your tongue.”

“Okay, lady”—I threw down the rag—“I’ve had it. We don’t have to talk. Why don’t you just stick a sock in it until I’m finished?”

“Fine.” She smiled. “Did I touch a nerve?”

I picked up the rag and dipped it once again into the polish.

“My apologies,” she continued. “You’ve been such a gentleman. Why don’t you help yourself to a peek up my skirt?”

I couldn’t fucking believe my ears. All I could do was sit there and blink.

“Go ahead, boy”—she shifted her hips forward and parted her knees a bit—“Take a peak”

A rush of heat. Shoulders tensed. I was holding my breath.

“Go ahead.” She pulled her skirt up a little.

“Are you fuckin’ serious?” I looked her in the eyes. She was smiling, massaging the bunched up fabric of her skirt, and lookin’ at me like no woman has looked at me before. She was dead serious. I lowered my gaze real quick.

“Yes I am, boy.” The pitch of her voice lowered. She pushed her knees further apart. I didn’t even care anymore that she was calling me boy.

“Go ahead. Take a peak. You’ve earned it.”

I swallowed hard. I looked around, to make sure we were alone. She could see that I was nervous. She laughed at me.

“Rush hour’s over, boy.”

What the fuck is the malfunction here? I thought to myself, Here is this chick, right? Letting me—hell, inviting me to—look up her skirt, right? And here I am hemmin’ and hawin’? What the hell is wrong with this picture? She’s weird, for sure, but who cares? It is embarrassing to admit how long it took to get up the courage just to take a peak. Shit, it’s not like I was rushing the beaches at Normandy.

So I looked. Real sudden, like tearing off a bandage. It took a second for it all to come into focus, and when it did I almost had a dizzy spell. She wasn’t wearing old granny panties, or any panties at all, for that matter, or pantyhose either. She had those high up stockings, nude colored, with a bunch of white straps with glittering silver clasps holding them up. She wasn’t just letting me look, she was puttin’ it on display. She pulled her gray skirt up even more, flaunting it even harder. And what a picture. Her pussy, more naked than naked, was completely shaved. I could see every thin, rose-tinted fold of flesh.

“You’re blushing,” she said.

“What about it?”

“Maybe rush hour has just begun.” She grinned.


“It’s so cute.” She laughed. “You’re beet red. I bet you’d love to sit and stare all day, but you’ve got work to do.” She put her knees together and pulled her skirt back down, but not quite all the way. I could still see, just not as good.

“So I do,” I was almost whispering.

I went to pick up the rag, my hands shaking, trying to peel my gaze off of her beautiful pussy to get back to work. Later that day, I would think of what I should have said: “Too bad the traffic on the freeway is stop and go.” But the moment was long gone.

“Tsk, tsk,” she said. She wagged her finger and leaned forward to obstruct my view. “Shine my boot with your tongue and you can look all you like.”

I had forgotten she told me to do that. I felt like I should produce a sharp response, but I was totally blank. My dick was so hard it hurt. My whole lower belly was hot and I could feel the butterflies. The moment for a good response passed, and I sat there totally at a loss for how to respond. She leaned back, parted her knees and pulled up her skirt again.

“Maybe you didn’t get a good enough preview.”

I thought I was going to hyperventilate, or have an asthma attack or something. She pushed her hips forward again. Her pussy glistened. It was already more red and puckered than even a second ago. She displayed herself for a few seconds, and then covered herself again.

“Don’t you want another look?”

I could fucking smell it. She pulled her hips back and pulled her skirt down in such a way that the only way I could get a glimpse was by bending over, which I did. My face was inches away from her boot, my eyes dead locked on that beautiful mound. I swallowed hard, and looked up at her. My eyes questioned her. She only nodded and pushed her hips forward again, just a little. My eyes went back to her mound. If I play this right, I thought, I won’t just get a number, I’ll get laid. I was worried about getting her name, now she wants to fuck! She is begging for it. All I have to do is not screw it up. She’s probably just daring me to lick her boots, and once I do we’ll get on with it. My lips parted and I stuck my tongue out.

It was almost like I was watching myself from outside. I could hear a voice somewhere saying that this should be disgusting, but I just couldn’t stop myself. The tip of my tongue touched the cold, smooth toe of her boot. I started licking at it, wondering how she expected me to do this exactly. I expected at any minute that she would laugh and we could get on with it, but that didn’t happen.

I heard the clang of the turn style just upstairs, and it made me jump backward. I looked toward the stairs and then up at her. She didn’t move.

“Don’t worry, boy,” she said, “I’ll tell you if anyone comes.”

I looked at her shaking, wondering if I should just tell her to go to hell.

“Don’t stop,” she said, “Or…” She pushed her knees together, and pushed her skirt down over them. I went back to licking, and she resumed her previous generous position.

I lowered my head back down and touched my tongue to her boot again. It was wet with my spit from before. I looked back up at her sweet pussy and my mouth watered.

“Don’t just lap at that same spot, boy, shine the whole boot.”

I obeyed immediately. I could smell her spice tea real strong now, and without even realizing it I had closed my eyes. Seeing that pussy gave a charge, but that smell was making my head throb and giving me shivers. I had lapped my tongue over the toe of her boot and continued along one side, then the other. My lapping became quicker and harder. My tongue felt dry and salty. I had to pause and spit out some grains of sand. As I went back to work I looked up between her legs again. What I say drove me even further out of my mind. She was masturbating! Her finger slowly massaged her clit, in small circles. She reclined her head against the chair and her chest was heaving. She happened to look up and saw me staring up at her.

“Get to work, boy!” she snarled, putting her right boot on my shoulder and pushing my head toward her left. I started licking her boot again. Almost right away her hips started convulsing and she moaned louder. She pushed her back against the back of the chair and pushed her hips up real high.

“Look out, boy, I think someone’s coming!” She laughed through moans, and proceeded to come, crying out so loud it echoed through the cavernous station. I wanted to just whip it out and give it to her right then and there, but I didn’t think this would be well received. What if someone saw us? I looked around and didn’t see anyone. Before I could resolve to take the plunge, she collapsed back on the chair.

“Don’t you have work to do boy?” she chided.

I went back to licking her boot, up the sides now.

“I bet your little dick is about to burst our of your pants, isn’t it, boy?”

“Little?” I stopped licking to answer.

“Answer me without interrupting your work. Or…” She started to close her legs again. I dutifully resumed licking her boot.

“So tell me boy,” she asked, “Is that dick hard?”

“Yuhhh,” I said, as clear as I could.

“What was that boy? And don’t stop working”

“I thed yeth!” I almost yelled. It was like my tongue was pinned to her boot. For some odd reason I was afraid to stop. I licked and lapped like a thirsty dog, trying to clean her whole boot. She laughed.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

Finally! I nodded and continued to lick her boot.


“Was that a yes? Yes what?” she scolded, “What the fuck do you want?”

“I wuu-ah fut yew,” I cried, as best I could. She laughed again.

“Finish my boot, boy.”

I did as ordered. I was almost done anyway. I kept on licking, my tongue flapping like a machine.

“That’s enough, boy.”

I stopped. I didn’t know what to do so I just sat there. I glanced down at the bulge in my crotch; then to her pussy. My eyes traced a wandering path up to meet hers. She was smiling.

“Let’s see that little dick of yours, boy.”

I unbuttoned and unzipped my pants like a zombie. My erect cock fell out, glistening with precum and throbbing to release its full load. I reached for it to start jerking it a little, but she intercepted my hand with her foot.

“You can take care of yourself when you’ve taken care of me, boy.”

“Whatever you say,” I said, panting, “I am just getting warmed up. Do you want to go somewhere more comfortable?” I was thinking one of the cheap motels around the entrance to the station would do nicely, but I didn’t want to put her off. I wanted her to decide where to go.

“I’m perfectly comfortable.”

I stared up at her, cock throbbing, perplexed.

“How can I take care of you, then?”

“Well, boy, I just can’t come hard enough if my pussy isn’t squeaky clean. Now you did such a good job on my boot, it recommends your services for spit shining my pussy.”

I gulped. I couldn’t believe my ears. She even pushed her hips further forward and pulled her skirt up higher.


“Go to it boy.”

I immediately rushed forward plunging my tongue into her. I’ll warm her up a little more, and then see if she wants to get out of here. She grabbed my hair with one hand and pulled the hood of her clit back with the other. I encircled it with my tongue. I slid two fingers into her and twisted them in and out. I could feel her quick, hard pulse. I didn’t even think about the passersby anymore. She rocked her hips, polishing my face. It ran down my face and down my throat. I sucked it hard and swallowed it. She started to come again. Her cries echoed all through the station, as before. She squeezed my head between her legs and pulled my hair harder and harder until her grip finally relaxed. She collapsed into the chair, panting. I swallowed the last bit of of juice.

“Does that mean you are taken care of?” I asked. My dick was throbbing.

“Almost. You didn’t do a good enough job with your tongue. Finish the job on my boot with your cum.”


“Jesus, boy,” she snapped, “Polish my boot with your cum. You want to come, don’t you?”

I couldn’t believe the way she was talking to me, her demeanor, everything was more than I could take. I stared at her, expecting to her to come to me, or to beckon me to come to her, but she didn’t move.

“Well,” she asked, “Don’t you?”

“Uh,” I stuttered, “yeah, but aren’t you, uh, aren’t we?”

“Aren’t I what?”

“Aren’t you going to, uh, help me out here?”

“It doesn’t appear that you need any further assistance.”

“But, aren’t you, uh, don’t you…”

“Spit it out, boy.”

“Don’t you want to fuck?” I was so embarrassed at asking this outright that I could barely whisper. She threw her head back with laughter.

“I’m not going to fuck your shoe shine boy dick.”

Those words hurt.

“But you asked…”

“I asked if you wanted to fuck me. I didn’t say I wanted to fuck you.”


“I didn’t say you couldn’t come.”


“But I guess if you don’t want to, I won’t make you. Do you want to come?”


“Then jerk off, boy.”

“Come on now,” I said, “What a fucking joke. You better tell me where you are going with this.”

“Oh?” She asked.

“Yeah,” I said, gaining confidence, “Let’s get out of here and go somewhere where we can have some privacy. Unless you’re just a fucking tease.”

“Well if you are going to get angry,” she said, “I’ll just have to find a shoe shine boy with a more genial temperament.” She pushed her skirt down, and took her feet out of the footrests. She stood up and started buttoning her coat. I couldn’t believe that she would just walk away. It had to be a bluff.

“Excuse me,” she said. I moved out of her way, and she stepped down off the platform.

“Just like that, huh?”

She walked away with no reply. My dick throbbed. Any possibility of anything more was crashing and burning. As she approached the stairs, I realized that if she turned that corner now, I may never see her again. And even if I did, what would I say to her after this?

“Wait!” I cried. She stopped with one foot on the bottom stair, but didn’t turn around.”

“I’ll finish the job,” I said, “However you like.”

She turned around slowly, and smiled. She walked back over to the seat, sat back down and put her feet in the footrests. I knelt down again in front of her, heart pounding. My cock hadn’t softened for a second. I was still hesitant, even though I had agreed. She had to be joking. Surely she wants to fuck. I sat there with dick throbbing and bouncing, expecting her to do something different. She just looked at me and blinked.

“You know how don’t you?” She asked after a moment, “I don’t have to show you how do I?”

She stared at me and smirked. It was humiliating but I was so turned on there was nothing else I could do. The bitch. I started jerking it. I was at the edge already. I could still taste her. She held her knees apart and pulled up her skirt so I could see her glistening pussy. I was drunk on that scent. That took me over the top.

“Come on my boot,” she said, and I was about to oblige, when we heard the echoes of footsteps coming down the stairs. “Hold it!” She hissed, “Put it back in your pants, and act like you are shining my boot!”

I pushed my throbbing cock back into my pants and zipped up as quickly as I could, a little to quick. It was more jostling than I could take. I was about to come. I squeezed and tensed, terrified that I would let loose my whole load right into my pants. It felt like I wouldn’t be able to stop.

“You better fucking hold it,” she whispered, as a middle aged guy and an old lady with a walker emerged from the doorway. I was doubled over, all my efforts concentrated on holding it. The man helped the lady over to a place behind me on the platform.

After several moments of complete agony, I picked up the rag, and wetted it again with polish. I was moving toward her left boot, but she pulled it back. She reminded me to shine the other one, the one I had done already.

“You’re using a different polish on that one,” she whispered, “at least if there is any left. Did you spill it in your pants?

I shook my head no, and started redoing her right boot. She picked up the newspaper and held it up as if she was reading, but she kept her eyes on me the whole time. I was sweating and squirming, shaking and panting. She smirked. Just as I struggled to suppress the flood of cum, she struggled to suppress outright laughter. I think I did a better job; as the slightest glints of precum forced their way out of my cock, he snickered and chortled, barely avoiding making so much noise that the people on the platform looked over. For me, the wave subsided after a moment, and though my dick throbbed, I knew that the pressure was past. She seemed to need to laugh harder the longer she attempted to hold back, her chest heaving and the newspaper shaking in her hands. Eventually I could hear the grinding of wheels on rails, and a train rolled in. The doors opened, and the lady hobbled on with her man. Two or three people got out, it sounded like, I couldn’t see them. I watched the look on my customer’s face, as she traced their path to the door. After she was sure they disappeared, she took a big deep breath, and looked back to me.

“Is it still hard, boy?”

I shook my head yes. She was still letting out little convulsive aftershocks of laughter.

“Get it out and jerk it.”

I unzipped my pants and did as she instructed. I let loose my gushing cum almost immediately. I almost fainted. It shot out much farther than I expected.

¨On my boot, boy,” she commanded, “Only on my boot. Don’t spill a drop!”

I brought my gushing cock closer, aiming as best I could to not spill a drop. I was amazed at the volume. I was shaking when I finished. I looked down and saw white beads streaked all up and down her boot, some on her leg.

I started to zip back up, but that pissed her off. She insisted that I finish shining her right boot with the cum I had just doused all over it, with my limp, dripping cock just hanging out there. I was trembling and tense. I wanted to stop, but she was insistent and I felt compelled to obey her, despite feeling disgusted and humiliated. She didn’t even have to command me at this point; she only had to voice a desire and I would carry it out. After she saw that I was complying with her demands, she relaxed.

I went to work shining her boot, with my own thick, slippery cum. She picked up the newspaper again and started reading. From then on, she didn’t say a word. I kept looking up at her, expecting some kind of something, a word, a look, I don’t really know. Nothing came.

When I finished she stood up. She opened her little black purse and pulled out three hundred dollar bills. She tossed them off onto the floor in front of me, like you would discard a crumpled receipt or gum wrapper.

“No way, lady,” I said, shaking my head no and waving my hands to take the point home. “What am I, some hooker?”

“Fine,” she said. “Let them blow down the tunnel then.”

She stepped down from the seat. She sauntered off, buttoning her coat up all the way. I stared at her for a second, fuming. She paid no attention to my protest, so I finally gave in. By then, the bills were actually blowing down the tunnel, and I scurried after and snatched them up. After all, I couldn’t really refuse so much money. I was pissed, but I still wanted her number. I still wanted more. I walked toward her.

“Hey, wait,” I yelled. She didn’t turn around, or even slow down. “Can I call you?”

She laughed, not slowing a bit. She yelled back: “I’ll drop in when I need a good shine.”

A Devoted Wife

A Triolet

You’re lucky I make do with just this cock
When I could have any as many as I please!
I could line men up, around the block
You’re lucky I make do with just this cock
You better give it all you’ve got,
Unless you’d rather be relieved
You’re lucky I make do with just this cock
I could have any as many as I please!


© 2017 Will Aaton, All Rights Reserved

Waiting for Her Command

A Petrarchan Sonnet

I wrap my fingers ‘round your fluttering cock
You’ve been so good, fulfilling my demands
Now raring for reward, in my firm hand
You would be begging if I let you talk

It would be cruel, now, to stop
I flex my fist around your throbbing gland
You hold your cum and wait for my command
About to burst, your knees and elbows lock

But I won’t milk your eager cum today
And not tomorrow either if you pout
I’ll jerk your dick until I’m bored of play
You’ll just cum harder after holding out
‘Til then you’ll be attentive and obey
To earn reward you’ll prove yourself devout


© 2017 Will Aaton, All Rights Reserved

Don’t Forget What You Are For

A triolet, in which a haughty Mistress reminds her slave of his obligations. Maybe he forgot himself and selfishly sought his own pleasure at the expense of hers? Or maybe she is just having a little fun at his expense?

Don’t forget what you are for,
my horny little boy
You are my dildo, nothing more
Don’t forget what you are for!
You’re lucky just to be my whore,
to bring me joy, to be my toy
Don’t forget what you are for
My horny little boy!


© 2017 Will Aaton, All Rights Reserved

Tsaritza Might Put Me In My Place

A villanelle

Tsaritza might put me in my place
Beneath her merciful majesty
And her throne might be my face

Enthroned upon her purple chaise
I’ll wait, before her, on my knees
Tsaritza might put me in my place

Might my reward be just to taste
And savor her divinity
Please, her throne might be my face

I know I’m nothing, so dim and plain
Beneath such radiant royalty,
Tsaritza, still, might put me in my place

I’ll beg to do whatever it takes
I’ll suffer any indignity
O please, her throne might be my face

Let her lock me in a cage
‘Til royal pleasure has use for me!
Tsaritza might put me in my place
And please! O, please her throne might be my face

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© 2017 Will Aaton, All Rights Reserved

The Lioness

The Lioness gives a tortured roar
Her lust is dangerous to deny
She bats her tail, but bears her claws
from the ache that boils between her thighs

She stalks from here to there and back
In penned desire’s unrelenting cage
Burning for the cooling balm
That soothes the pangs that turn to rage

Delirious pleasure, delirious rage
He knows there is no other choice,
when she pants in painful wanting
With that cracking in her voice

Her scruff is bristling, her back is bent
In heat for love or war
The lion now will have no rest
Until she purrs or roars

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© 2017 Will Aaton, All Rights Reserved

John Donne’s Mistress Replies

John Donne sure is hot to trot in his Elegy to his Mistress Going to Bed. What might she have to say about it?

COME, sir? Have I not heard this panting plea before?
And then been left to hunger while you snore?
Left, like an apple bitten, but only once or twice
It’s flesh left wet and withering; once enticed
You lose your pace quicker than a hasty horse
The rider takes her mount, you’ve run the course
I’ve seen your lightening flashing, and heard your thunder pound
Then drip such drops that barely mist the ground!
The dancer knows the wooden stage can bear her sport
Without withdraw, or slacking its support
As long as needed to exhaust her energies
The flame atop the wick burns ’til she’s pleased
The steadfast candle fuels her, far into the night
It gives whatever’s needed to shine her light
Unlike your firecracker’s short impatient fuse
That’s fizzle flash snap, then powder fumes!
The care that must be taken to step on broken boards
Makes dancing awkward
The candle, drained of wax, may blamelessly burn out
And not just leave the thirsty flame to pout
So hold the rain for me, though the storm clouds nearly burst
To cool the dying embers of my thirst
Unless you want the orchard gates forever shut
Wait for my spur, and meanwhile, hold your nut!

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