Darkmaas' Chamber of Coital Horror

[darkmaas]

Nice place, eh.

We got it cheap … used to be a bomb shelter in the sixties. I know it’s a bit dank and there’s a whiff of something I can’t quite place, but considering the neighbourhood … location, location, location.

Too much erotic poetry is about great sex; sex that twirls your tassels; sex that wakes the neighbours; sex that makes your mother comment on your rosy disposition days afterward. Don’t get me wrong, there is a place for that sort of poetry, but my inner Eeyore makes me think that there is more to life.

This thread is dedicated to bad sex. If you’ve had sex then the chances are you’ve had some bouts of bad sex. Maybe she suppressed a giggle when your boxers came down. Maybe her yen for a well-stuffed beaver tuned out to be a reflection of her love of taxidermy and Canada’s national rodent. For you it’s just a bad memory but to Poetry it’s fodder for the muse.

This is the place to share your flaccid tales of tragedy so that you or others may fashion them into works of timeless art. There is no need to post poems here, in fact we would rather you did not. Save your poems for a thread coming soon to a home on the other side of the tracks. Maybe if common themes emerge we’ll work them into a Same Title Challenge or something equally uplifting.

No Ang, this is not another flatulence thread, but it might be a good place to anonymously share that post-prandial pre-coital moment involving ee and a pot of Boston baked beans.


::

 

[hmmnmm]

Magnificent title!

 

[champagne1982]

Disaster One:

Ok. I would like to mention that air noises during a hot and sweaty bump of doggy style can be very distracting. Consider tookie farts and queefs, the difference being that a queef is a squeaky little puff of air occassioning a pillow-muffled giggle, whereas the tookie side of this usually results in a major falling down sideways sort of guffaw. Men are such pigs and have a way of snorting during even a most dismaying intimate moment, the loveable buggers.

 

[Angeline]

Nice place, eh.

We got it cheap … used to be a bomb shelter in the sixties. I know it’s a bit dank and there’s a whiff of something I can’t quite place, but considering the neighbourhood … location, location, location.

Too much erotic poetry is about great sex; sex that twirls your tassels; sex that wakes the neighbours; sex that makes your mother comment on your rosy disposition days afterward. Don’t get me wrong, there is a place for that sort of poetry, but my inner Eeyore makes me think that there is more to life.

This thread is dedicated to bad sex. If you’ve had sex then the chances are you’ve had some bouts of bad sex. Maybe she suppressed a giggle when your boxers came down. Maybe her yen for a well-stuffed beaver tuned out to be a reflection of her love of taxidermy and Canada’s national rodent. For you it’s just a bad memory but to Poetry it’s fodder for the muse.

This is the place to share your flaccid tales of tragedy so that you or others may fashion them into works of timeless art. There is no need to post poems here, in fact we would rather you did not. Save your poems for a thread coming soon to a home on the other side of the tracks. Maybe if common themes emerge we’ll work them into a Same Title Challenge or something equally uplifting.

No Ang, this is not another flatulence thread, but it might be a good place to anonymously share that post-prandial pre-coital moment involving ee and a pot of Boston baked beans.


::

No subtext, eh? I'll have you to know that one of ee's many sterling qualities is his relatively infrequent fartiness. Anyway, the worst bad sex story I have isn't my own, but one of a former friend. Yes, that former friend. The "S" one. And sorry dearest but I had to poem.

She never much liked sex
or so she claimed. You never
masturbate? I asked her
wide-eyed once so many years

ago (we still remembered how
to share a secret then).
You never even touch yourself?
She doesn't like to feel uncomfortable

or so she said as if exquisite ache
exposes her to failure. She doesn't
like to touch. No hug to make her
awkward, no quick friendly caress

nor helping hand. Those little swells
of solidarity she shies from,
skittish in her skin, a graying grim
and bare it sort of life. How sad.

So was it funny or ironic the night
her gut rebelled its good for you
snack, eight ounces of yogurt,
reconstituted blueberry, slimed

explosively along the length
and girth of Frank who shrunk
in shock, recoiled from his do right,
do gooder girlfriend
the one time she came first.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

oh ange ewwwwwwww! What a great poem!

and an excellent thread title indeed.

I'm happy to say I don't have any bad sex stories in any sort of recent memory. But I'm going through the extensive college files. I may indeed find something.

bj

 

[Angeline]

oh ange ewwwwwwww! What a great poem!

and an excellent thread title indeed.

I'm happy to say I don't have any bad sex stories in any sort of recent memory. But I'm going through the extensive college files. I may indeed find something.

bj

And it's twue, it's twue. Well, I wasn't there, but they both told me. She was chagrined. He was just grossed out.

And yep, it is a great thread idea. Especially when one considers the many permutations of bad.

D'maas is evil. In the best possible way.

 

[UnderYourSpell]

I don't masturbate either !!

 

[Angeline]

I don't masturbate either !!

Yes, but you love being touched. Erm from what I've read here. Do you like blueberry yogurt?

 

[ElmerGlew]

.....

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Phone Sex With a Poet

He does not moan, he intones
round vowels deeply with that hang-
ing at the end, that tattling timber
upspeaking his real interest
which isn't sex and certainly

isn't me, fragile and naked. He
is interested in how his voice sounds
saying these warm sex things, the way
his images build, poetically, toward
a climax and it is only in spite of him

in spite of his upspeaking, his bloodless
diction, his round vowels in spite of
his already wondering what font
he will write this poem in that I come
quietly, not to interrupt.

And he comes too, along with the perfect
people in his porno, because amateurs
aren't attractive enough: they are too real
as I am--too real for him to believe in.

 

[champagne1982]

A Pam By Any Other Name

Oh sweetheart! Don't stop
that sweet roll of your hips
around and down, drawn up
along as if your cunt sips
my shaft in greedy haste...

My God, sweet baby,
keep licking my lips, don't stop.
I can't bear the tension
the thought that I'll drop
off of this cloud...

Cheri, amour, my love.

Wait.

Who in fuck is Sherry?

 

[darkmaas]

Well it's nice to see everyone warming to the place in spite of the decor.

I'm blown away to see everyone posting so poetically, so please ignore the invocation to confine yourselves to prose.

Before we bought the place it was a strip club and body rub parlor. The pole and the couches have been disinfected and pushed into the back room. You can't disturb the neighbours so feel free to indulge yourselves in a bit of "yoga". That's yoga not yogurt.

This week's secret password is "Who in Fuck is Sherry?"

Best make mine a double



::

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Yes, but you love being touched. Erm from what I've read here. Do you like blueberry yogurt?

not 8 ounces worth !

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Attempt at cyber

Well hi there sexy
do you want to talk,
what are you wearing?
I have 12 inches hard
here in my hand
just waiting for you.
I will suck you and fuck you
give you all you ever wanted and more
I'm so good
make you feel like a million dollars.

"Who the hell are you?
fuck off out of my
instant message box!"

Fuck off yourself frigid bitch!

 

[ArnoldSnarb]

Poem Being Some Mash-Up for DM
on Impotence, Classical Conditioning,
Computer Science, and Ballet—
Composed in Iambic Tetrameter
and Quatrains Rhymed ABBA
(Not Referencing the Band),
But Mainly about Bad Sex
and How to Fix It, Maybe

Love can be sad. Love can be strange.
It often is—both tick and tock.
As when she said, I'll suck your cock,
And I began a dreadful change.

My fluffy, gentled heart became
Embarrassing, for One Part late-
Ly swelled with manly lust to great
Proportions promptly came up lame.

Her disappointment she hid well,
For things like that befall betimes.
Psychologist, she rang some chimes
And lo, I re-began to swell!

For sex that is reliable
Especially when parts are scoffed,
Derided, mocked as Microsoft,
Trust A. Pavlova and her bell.


.

 

[darkmaas]

...
Embarrassing, for One Part late-
Ly swelled with manly lust to great
Proportions promptly came up lame.

...is the most egregious use of enjambment that I have ever had to witness ... When the Moderators get around to a Poetry Hall of Fame, you've got my vote.

I could wank on a bit but I've snorted whiskey all over my screen an it's dribbling onto the keys ...

::

 

[PandoraGlitters]

Oh sweetheart! Don't stop
that sweet roll of your hips
around and down, drawn up
along as if your cunt sips
my shaft in greedy haste...

My God, sweet baby,
keep licking my lips, don't stop.
I can't bear the tension
the thought that I'll drop
off of this cloud...

Cheri, amour, my love.

Wait.

Who in fuck is Sherry?

If the guy pronounces Cheri the same as Sherry, maybe he deserves a clobbering. Too bad it interrupted her orgasm, though.

 

[WickedEve]

Consider tookie farts and queefs,

A tookie fart?

I don't have bad sex with Hugo. Well, I don't! But we have "real" moments, like toilet paper clinging to a labia. No woman wants to be spread wide for lover and have him reach down and remove a damp chunk of toilet paper and drop it to the floor like it's a dead albatross. Thud.
Now I'm neurotic about checking for little tissue albatrosses.

 

[unpredictablebijou]

If one goal for this thread was to make my butt pucker in discomfort at least twice a day, well, it's working nicely.

bj

 

[champagne1982]

If one goal for this thread was to make my butt pucker in discomfort at least twice a day, well, it's working nicely.

bj

discomfort or anxiety, darling?

Either way, I think you should clear the obstacles, eat your fibre and ...

Relax

 

[darkmaas]

... drop it to the floor like it's a dead albatross. Thud.
Now I'm neurotic about checking for little tissue albatrosses.

Albatrosses are big, verry wide and smell kinda fishy. Just sayin'.




::

 

[unpredictablebijou]

discomfort or anxiety, darling?

Either way, I think you should clear the obstacles, eat your fibre and ...

Relax

heh heh. No, not that kind of pucker. It's one of those sympathy for embarrassment responses.

But I'll eat fibre anyway. Or fiber, as the case may be. Couldn't hurt.


bj

 

[UnderYourSpell]

Only on Lit could you get from bad sex to tooshie wipes

 

[PandoraGlitters]

On Albatrosses

An annoying burden: “That old car is an albatross around my neck.” Literally, an albatross is a large sea bird. The phrase alludes to Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s poem “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” in which a sailor who shoots a friendly albatross is forced to wear its carcass around his neck as punishment.

Isn't it funny that this old poem still has influence on our language but that the use of the phrase rarely retains the original nuance: the understanding that the albatross around the neck is deserved punishment.

 

[ArnoldSnarb]

...is the most egregious use of enjambment that I have ever had to witness ... When the Moderators get around to a Poetry Hall of Fame, you've got my vote.

I could wank on a bit but I've snorted whiskey all over my screen an it's dribbling onto the keys ...

::

A Short Poem, Really
to Some Someone Other
Than Darkmaas, Although
He Is Also Mentioned
as This Is His Thread
(Bonus: Bad Virtual Sex)

Egregiously, Arnold enjambs
Poor poems¹ and Darkmaas ejects
Fine whiskey. Sorry. No exams
Could save some verse that disrespects

Cher DM's feelings. He's a guy
From North of most of us. He's smart
And very clever and not shy.
Enjambing verse is quite an Art

Though often not about Bad Sex,
However frequently one finds
It's dogging you. It's merely hex
Confined to ties that intertwine.

But as for love, substandard-kind,
I'll knot desire else but You.
What's bad is that it's only Mind,
Dear lovely, that I can but screw.


¹ The word "poem" should be pronounced disyllabically, for example as in the pronunciation guide at The Free Dictionary.