Not in a small, measured, reasonable way either.
We're talking extended obsessive licking here.
It almost always exists as a precious brief moment in a high end blowjob, or as a 'nothing better to do' moment in a threesome. WHY?
This is the best thing ever and I need more!
Does anyone know any full doujins, stories, episodes, etc dedicated to that magical union of mouth and testicle?
I came buckets.
Buckets everywhere.
Thousands of buckets.
Beauty is ever to the lonely mind
A shadow fleeting; she is never plain.
She is a visitor who leaves behind
The gift of grief, the souvenir of pain
-Robert Nathan
I look into your face
And wonder what you want with me
‘cause everyone wants something
no one hangs around for free
Your eyes are so sincere
And in your lovely smile I bask
As I wonder all the while
What’s behind your pretty mask?
What underneath do you conceal
Devil, demon, angel, sprite
Are you needy, angry, vicious, lost,
Apathetic, filled with fright?
There’s so many ways to suffer now
And life is so confused
Its no wonder that the bulk of us
are sure we’ve been abused
So why don’t you just spit it out
And lay it on the line?
Take off the guise that hides the truth
Be honest just one time
But the world revolves on bullshit
We all balance on the fence
To risk a fall with honesty
I guess just makes no sense.
-Amneris
>>4215546
Source please.
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
-Robert Frost
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
-William Ernest Henley
[I don't care that this is the cliched favorite poem of every wannabe-stoic teenager. I still fucking love this one.]
>>4215554
I just so happen to have this open at the moment.
http://nhentai.net/g/141494/
What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
-Langston Hughes
For sale:
Baby shoes.
Never worn.
-Ernest Hemmingway
That last one was the last of my /h/ appropriate images in this theme. I'd blown my proverbial load, as it were.
Here's hoping there's something else in the thread when I return.
>>4215531
This gives me faith.
>>4215566
:(
I love these writings.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the boulders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use a spell to make them balance:
"Stay where you are until our backs are turned!"
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of out-door game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only says, "Good fences make good neighbours."
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a notion in his head:
"Why do they make good neighbours? Isn't it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I'd ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offence.
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That wants it down." I could say "Elves" to him,
But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather
He said it for himself. I see him there
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father's saying,
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, "Good fences make good neighbors."
>>4215571
-Robert Frost.
>>4215553
I speak in spears and her of plasma. She say my soul and then I just said no. Is it a gift to let go or a damnation for reasons. I loved her so. I did not even know how much my love and pain would grow and glow with the twisted arcs of plasma I said to strike me with... I wish I could have known what now I know, for then I could protect and preserve her glow. My soul was wicked and rigged so. Full of fear and nonsensical woe. She did not deserve to meet a man so full of uncertainty. But right now I certainly feel I would do anything to protect her and the love we planned, one way, or another. The means, they justify, sometimes they can be cast aside, sometimes we just gotta try, and live with one another. Until we die.
>>4215561
You know, that was an excellent sensory poem.
But you remember I didnt like it lol.
I feel you when you are not there.
Curse or advantage, who is to tell? Maybe her.
My frantic and hard breathing, to your exacerbated voice, of course.
I lock my arms, Entire frame rigid, and my coarse feet extend.
Seems like I find my self searching.
For a feeling that never comes, her warm touch?
How so I wish to hold your small framed body.
And put in, what comes out, back in.
In my mind, it spoke, you know what I would do to you.
Speak to me suddenly, no don’t, you should not.
Why does this voice come to me, with you.
I never felt a love, so strong, that I had pushed you away.
I never lost a love that strong, that it pushed my mind into dangerous bounds.
You know I did what I said I would do.
I can’t just get over someone like you.
What we did, what we do.
You know my mind twists.
It spins the worst, and as protective precaution, same with you, as a means of protection for us.
So sick my mind spins, recesses and with centrifugal force, all the good, and all the darkness.
The truest self is at the surface. Seething and searching.
My love must see and know this. I see her splashing in the distance.
And all this while I fuck myself, alone....
In the garage....
Lol hilarious appropriate.
Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. it does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.
Spring Offensive
By Wilfred Owen
Halted against the shade of a last hill,
They fed, and, lying easy, were at ease
And, finding comfortable chests and knees
Carelessly slept.
But many there stood still
To face the stark, blank sky beyond the ridge,
Knowing their feet had come to the end of the world.
Marvelling they stood, and watched the long grass swirled
By the May breeze, murmurous with wasp and midge,
For though the summer oozed into their veins
Like the injected drug for their bones’ pains,
Sharp on their souls hung the imminent line of grass,
Fearfully flashed the sky’s mysterious glass.
Hour after hour they ponder the warm field
And the far valley behind, where the buttercups
Had blessed with gold their slow boots coming up,
Where even the little brambles would not yield,
But clutched and clung to them like sorrowing hands
They breathe like trees unstirred.
Till like a cold gust thrilled the little word
At which each body and its soul begird
And tighten them for battle. No alarms
Of bugles, no high flags, no clamorous haste—
Only a lift and flare of eyes that faced
The sun, like a friend with whom their love is done.
O larger shone that smile against the sun,—
Mightier than his whose bounty these have spurned.
So, soon they topped the hill, and raced together Over an open stretch of herb and heather Exposed. And instantly the whole sky burned
With fury against them; and soft sudden cups
Opened in thousands for their blood; and the green slopes
Chasmed and steepened sheer to infinite space.
Of them who running on that last high place
Leapt to swift unseen bullets, or went up
On the hot blast and fury of hell’s upsurge,
Or plunged and fell away past this world’s verge,
Some say God caught them even before they fell.
But what say such as from existence’ brink
Ventured but drave too swift to sink.
The few who rushed in the body to enter hell,
And there out-fiending all its fiends and flames
With superhuman inhumanities,
Long-famous glories, immemorial shames—
And crawling slowly back, have by degrees
Regained cool peaceful air in wonder—
Why speak they not of comrades that went under?
New Endymion
By W. S. Di Piero
She visits still too much, dressed in aromas
of fir needles, mango, mold: I still get lost
knowing she’s close, me not getting younger
or more conscious. Sometimes I fantasticate
I’m broad awake: her witchy presence waits
for me to jump into her arms, but then she’s just
an incoherent ache in sleep’s freaked scenes.
I feel her frosty nitrogenous hands and wrists
vaporing nooses around my head and feet
and genitals, conjuring my drab hair
into a party bowl of oiled, desirable locks.
She makes me nervous, but what would I do
without her? So long as I can’t have her,
I want her and this alarming manic frequency.
Then again, who wants to wake to change,
its pulped, smelly suit of meat, drawing flies?
My night-watch hot girl, moon-maiden, mom,
let me get just one night’s sleep without regret,
released from your foxy ticklish fondlings,
your latest smell of windblown fresh-cut grass.
I was looking for poems, to describe my love for you.
When I looked under love, and then first love, there was nothing there to view.
No matter what I say, no matter what I do.
The love I have, it is simply from me to you.
Did it reach its full potential?
Are the days of me and you threw.
I hope you understand, what it would do to me, if it be true.
The love we had was patient.
Though maybe from you to me.
The mind I have escapes me.
It is circumstance, it is cruel to me, as it is to you.
I see this train coming.
And yet, I see the tulips poke through.
As springs rains, lightning, and sunny days shrine.
At the end of this, I feel you, and I hope your mine, as I would be of yours.
We had such great plans in store.
There was so much we wished to do.
Does the sun want to set?
Never again to shine on me.
Am I truly the enemy of society?
I want to see your beautiful soul, and be your counsel, together good things will come.
Together we can rule each other’s love with all the best intentions. - Jacob LaPour.
There is art in this armour. I see it in the reflective skews from sunshine rays. Gleaming, and then...Blindness... Fear... Jump thinking... Dreams of shotguns... No time left to be afraid.
Move forward. In the right direction this time.
Bump for love. It is so natural.
>>4215543
Sauce?
Can't seem to find anything.
>>4215543
>>4215873
second this
>>4216556
>>4216558
Anyone know the source to this?
To sleep, perchance to dream;
aye, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death,
what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil?
-Ol' Billy Shakes
...
...
...
Moar liek 'wet dreams may come' amirite?
>>4217168
Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secrecy the human dress.
The human dress is forged iron,
The human form a fiery forge,
The human face a furnace sealed,
The human heart its hungry gorge.
-William Blake
>>4217171
I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,
And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.
-William Blake (again)
>>4217173
Oh soul,
you worry too much.
You have seen your own strength.
You have seen your own beauty.
You have seen your golden wings.
why do you worry?
-Rumi
>>4215566
>I'd blown my proverbial load, as it were.
kek
>>4217174
I know, I dont know, I knew it anyway, I forgot where I put it, and there it goes again.
Done being afraid.
Now I begin to break the barriers.
I sink my teeth into the corpse I carry.
And my mind does bury.
I cant continue to break my skin and tear within.
It was not a mortal sin, and I was not giving in.
You can hate me, but I would rather love you.
If you would berate me, I would still trust you.
I dont know what I will do...
But what ever I do, I will do.
And I want the son who marks my death.
If you want me dead then I will take my breath.
Your the one who is stuck inside my head, and I will appease or destruct with fanatic misguided lust and questionable trust.
If you hate me, hate me to my face.
I would rather you watch me die over you.
You did well with my legacy, the testament to a different me.
But if you see it, then it is sad to see, if you believe it, then it is true to be.
I love her, I love him. I just was blind. Now I see.
I will leave this place.
I hope she changes where she works.
I hope it comes together.
I hope it pulls all in.
And we get what we need. Even if we dont know what that thing is.
Psychotic. Anti. Cant he? Would he? Does he?
Should we? I stare into the steel. I feel that which can not feel. And I cherish the cold shine of a cruel crime. Dollars and dimes, dont mean shit when your dying. What is the point other then to be pointed. Or to direct, inspect, and dictate. I dont care how the world moves around me when I lost what I thought was found to me. The cold steel feels so real in the schizophrenic sun as I shoot the gun made by my own two hands and I named her Nina. She tore my brain in two and my heart became like a liquid as I melted from the top down. Blood shooting from the visceral wounds and coming apart from the bones. Their shrapnel tearing away years of time and years of chemicals from the earth. Removing and washing over the cancer with a small piece of metal I wish I knew how to work it all out. I wish I didn't need to take my skull apart in front of her to show her I always just always loved her. It was the only thing I wanted her to know this whole time that all I ever wanted was her to know I wanted this one thing more then anything.
