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Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet

~ Words For You, Just Ask

Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet

Category Archives: Sexual

The Crack

18 Saturday Aug 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Sex, Sexual, Sexy

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Peace, Poem, Poetry, Sex, Sexy

The beginning is the end, the
behind in front until all we have
in our mind is a poke in the butt.

It doesn’t matter, the skin and
prose before God, life and heaven
knows the fantasy can be better

than the real thing, g-strings,
blocking out all but a perfectly
composed rear, we all pause to

take in the glory of that which
got us here.  We can rise above
the instinct to love, but would we

ever want to submerge in anything
not on the verge, the creative urge,
the song called death that life needs

to truly purge, the end the beginning
as covered, take it off, show me the
thing I know but forget, the thing that

ties me in knots, dictates movement
and makes you wet, slippery to get,
sunshine in the crack like a jungle

for cat on cat, wild that, this on
and off punch through the page victory
of clouds over rain, smiling again

like a batman punch, “Wow” and
“Zam” in quotes, seventies colors and
sixties ‘do’s, eighties synthesizers and

fu manchu’s, underage drinking
bar-b-ques, nothing new, drinking
a flammable liquid, calling it “what

others do?”  We come back, though,
we come back to the darkest place,
the beginning, the inspiration for songs,

dreams and late night phone calls,
as God the creator created, we come back
to that which keeps us creating, curling

and whirling in a never-ending story of
humans populating a moon of the sun
called earth, we come back to the crack.

I love it.

Love in a Greyhound Bus

06 Monday Nov 2017

Posted by Bill Watkins in Erotic, Explicit, Love, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Sex, Sexual, Sexuality

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

God, Love, Sex, Truth

I was not looking for love;

She sat down, an older lady by far,
maybe Persian, which would fit,
because the only Farsi words I know
mean “I love you.”

I probably told her this.  She giggled.
Traveling alone from Orange County
to meet family in Las Vegas.

I was heading back to a lonely motel
room, after a Los Angeles date fell through.

We spoke to each other a little, me never
thinking anything big would happen.

I had near hits on the bus; a young blonde
woman telling me some words seemed
silly to her, like “direction,” an obvious
play on male arousal.

That lady just bundled up, and we giggled
at each other across the aisle.

But the Farsi lady was next to me on
the window seat.  Both of us unattached,
but if you went by age, you would think
“Oh, she’s too old to think like that…”

But there we were talking, halfway into
the five-hour trip.  It was dark, only car
lights and shadows whizzing by in the loneliness
of our lives.

Travel-high, we shared stories, and talked
and talked.  She had a nice smile, dark hair—
short, a free lady from a part of the world
women struggled to express.

She said I was “nice.”  This with a big smile,
and frankly said it in a way that said
“I really like you…”

Eyebrows might rise, as a tingle forms in
pants at connecting hearts, a mind together
forming for an interlude of gentle unknowns
and touch—

I said, “If you call me nice again, I might have
to kiss you.”

And she said, “I wouldn’t mind that.”

She smiled, and I leaned in to kiss her.

A first kiss, yielding to open-mouthed second,
for a second both of us one in focus
on the wonders of sex.  The precursor to
creative romps electric, tongue on tongue,
sticky and clinging, messy—it’s not a skill,
it’s surrender to life and love that matters!

Hands grabbed at breasts, all was available,
the key in the door.

I asked her some questions, hoping she
thought what I thought, and the rub and
kiss continued to open a new place for her.

We seemed at a breaking point, me aware of
a slightly disabled teenage girl across the aisle to my right,
this exotic older lover, with some scruples
but not many.

She wanted me, so placed a sweater over
her crotch, unzipped her jeans.

God bless her for it, I was fine to help,
so entered her area with my right hand,
smoothing over her curling black hair, finding
a wet reception in the hot pleasure zone
of fire—life inside, I gave it to her, with

a finger used at times to tell a stranger
to get back in his lane on the freeway.

Our mouths and tongues locked as I
pumped her pleasure crevasse.  God I love
a good bus ride!!

She grunted light sounds into my lungs,
as I tired.  She came and zipped up slowly.

She promised she’d call me, as she rode off
into the night later with family members.

I waved at her good bye, and she pretended
I was no big deal.

She never called, but sometimes I hear her
gasping in my dreams, the pleasure
that makes a painful night interesting,
the memory its own cavern of wonder,
more and more important a place with
every day lived toward greying hair, old
age and stunted libidos.

Whew!

Never judge a book by its cover, go with
the flow, and find a friendly memory as a
companion for life—the next best thing
to a physical place to rest your heart by
the fire at night.

Love in a Greyhound bus.  You never know
where it’s going to go right!

Becoming Sexual

13 Wednesday Sep 2017

Posted by Bill Watkins in Poem, Poems, Poetry, Sex, Sexual, Sexuality

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Peace, Sex

To know who you are takes years,
layers of who you are not shed like
clothes to get to truth’s bottom,

Even the socks come off—we start
with the physical, then the emotional,
then some get to the Spiritual, olé!

First there were those naked Barbie
dolls for me, even Ken got shagged,
what a thrill or rush in the shorts,

We had to hide their naked bodies
under the dining room table between
meals when no one looked.

The minute we were found out, a
sibling and I, we were reprimanded
for being human and never told

what the hell was going on with our
body, and our curiosities!  I used to
put sugar on my Frosted Flakes and

Fruit Loops, but that’s not important
right now, the next sexual escapade was
me checking myself out in the mirror,

wearing only underwear, I wasn’t fully
aware of erection, just a growing sense
of “what an awesome sensation,” so

I recall scheduling these mirror dates
every so often.  Jump to years later, after
chasing X-rated flicks on ON-TV with

friends or alone, uncomfortable boners
without remedy… it finally came.  “What
the heck was that,” I asked myself,

totally alone in these new experiments,
thinking for a moment that I may have
been the first person ever to, yes,

Break my penis.  Puberty for me was delayed
way past normal dates, I was old according
to most calendars to not know stuff,

experience stuff, but there I was having
heard about “wet dreams” and semen in
school, but who thought all that would

actually happen to me!  Especially, without
warning or my body or dad or someone
telling me!!  A strange sensation that first

time in bed, I thought I might burn off
my johnson, wind up dead—was I trying
to make fire from wood?  Basically… yes,

in a way, heat created liquid, and all did
their job, now looking back—but at the
time I thought I had a sprain, so went back

to it a few days later, let it out, then added
this event in some way to my schedule for
thirty years until recently, when I gave up

sex completely, so that I could be a responsible
human being, in control and able to
commit to one person for life, the dreams

and thoughts of love still arise, the body
still wants and craves, I just pray it out
and walk away, make a bunch of poems,

try to sell a screenplay.  There was a weird
time in my life going to 12-step meetings,
sexuality on a hold—I was a failure at sex and

intimacy with girls, a virgin until thirty-three.
It was cool and difficult when the valves
broke open, as humanity felt good, but

those meetings became a way to go for
chicks, I had lost an ability for platonic
female friendship!  Cool and uncomfortable

all at once, I learned the language of love
and got a few gals to bed, but as I said, I
am withdrawing my career so I can commit

to one, be responsible and not be that middle-
aged dude breaking up families and creeping
around, making folks say, “How sad, that guy

is a desperado, doesn’t he know he’s too
old for that kind of thing?”  And I say, “Ah,
man, are you saying I should totally put my

naked Barbie doll away?  Just kidding,” and there
you go, an amazing thing is sex and its drive,
I wonder how it affected and came to you,

for me it was a wild ride.  I do wish I had
had a conversation with a loved one, that
sex and love be celebrated not under the gun.

When I smiled at Anne, and she smiled back
I had family members at home laughing in
front of and behind my back—and that, people,

is the very serious note of this joke: Never
get in the way of someone’s love, be they eight,
four, fourteen or forty-seven years old, read

the bible—Proverbs and Malachi touting
the Wives of our Youth, that line could have
been for you.  We grow up often in ignorance,

going from flower to flower, forgetting to be
a follower of the Tao or God or tradition.  Some
have that, and are lucky for it, some must fly

around, figure it out for themselves, do
experiments like I did, survive.  There’s a better
way, I say even while grateful I didn’t die,

Have today, my favorite one, on the way
to peace of mind—putting a Power greater
than myself in charge of Sex!

Yes, it’s powerful, and fun and cool,
sometimes uncomfortable.  Make a prayer
and decide with God what you want with it

before it eats you alive like drugs and
alcohol, the diet of every vice, addiction
edging spirit out, selfishness killing our

children trying to explain to them not
love and sex.  But how your mom and I
transgressed God and vows, split up,

called it a divorce against reason.  Man
can’t separate what the LORD has bound,
so grab your private parts, pray, let go

forever and give them to Truth!!

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