By terry
Date: 3 November 2000
Bear Rug
The fire pops lazily, winding down,
Like me;
Bath all done
(scrubbed raw in a sensitive spot or two)
And the cider is steaming in our cups
awaiting the touch of your ruby lips
But with a gleam in my eye
That you call my evil litle boy look,
I roll back the bearskin, pulling it up and over
And I am transformed...
Into a great hairy beast
Laying in wait
To consume
To feed
To eat
Something hot-blooded and wild.
So I lay there watching those long,long tasty legs
As you climb down from the loft
Your breasts flashing a tantalizing whiteness
That makes me drool.
And that sweet smile.
So innocent,
Unaware that a beast lays in waiting
A hairy great beast who intends to eat you whole.
And savor every lick and taste and nibble.
Of you.
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