Sunday Drive

The shy is blue, still blue

A lonely cloud in the sky, alone in the still blue

Tall luscious green trees all around reaching for the still blue

Long snaking miles of smooth tarmac lay ahead, cutting through the mountainous terrain, cutting through nature’s derrière, nature’s lady lumps.

The snaking tarmac is mans cock.

Man’s man made cock penetrating mother nature herself

I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of a convertible

Man’s man made extension of my cock

An innocent raven haired woman in a yellow flowing dress riding shotgun, the dress rising just enough to reveal her long flowing legs resting softly against my hand atop the stick shift

My hair and scarf blowing in the broken still blue, the still blue broken by my man made cock extension.

The innocent raven woman laughs at all my jokes, plays with her flowing hair, rubs her flowing legs and clutches her flowing yellow dress

She is a nice woman

When I talk she stares at my driving profile

When I return her stare she shyly and submissively looks down touches her lower lip and then looks up ahead at the snaking tarmac, the snaking tarmac raping mother nature

We stop in a little village for a baguette and a glass of wine

She laughs at my jokes and stares at my profile

The profile of the man she wishes for, the profile of the man she dreams of, the profile of the man she has saved herself for, the profile of the man she loves

She is a nice woman

Leaving the village we are miles along the raping snake travelling at speed, cutting through the still blue my hand now on her flowing leg, her head tilted back, raven hair flowing, laughing at my jokes and smiling at her new found confidence.


Up ahead there will be a short blond girl standing on the side of the raping snake

Waiting

She will be wearing short blue denim shorts, a tight red singlet top showing her tight tanned stomach and bare feet.

She will be holding a camera in her left hand

She will be chewing gum, blowing bubbles, loud snapping bubbles

She will have her head tilted to the right, blowing snapping bubbles

Her name will be Cindy; she will not know how to spell her own name

She will have worked as a stripper from the age of consent

We will have a flat tyre twenty metres from where she is standing snapping bubbles

Raven hair will be changing the tyre in her flowing yellow dress, kneeling down with her flowing legs and stealing now insecure glances at her wishing lover’s profile

I will be leaning against a tall luscious green reaching tree, smoking a pipe, my scarf hanging against my chest and I will be smiling down at Cindy’s camera lens



We are miles along the raping snake travelling at speed, cutting through the still blue, my hand on the back of Cindy’s head as it moves the length of my cock

The cars suspension and Cindy’s neck are working as one, absorbing what the raping snake can throw at them

In the rear vision mirror the raven haired yellow dress is now still

Still among the still blue and the luscious green

Still on the side of the raping snake

The lonely cloud in company

She was a nice woman