Porter Stone

random

it happens against my will, but never at a good time.
the signs of its affliction are always the same:
the front of my pants pulls,
underwear ride up,
the pressure from all the blood rushing to the tip
makes the whole thing pulse, throb.

right now my boss is standing in my cubicle, talking to me
about shit i do not give a single fuck about.
all thats on my mind is if his eyes
for some reason crawl their way
towards my crotch,
he’ll see the bulge in my pants.

its embarrassing to still get random erections.
i’m an adult still struggling with
the same issues I had when I was ten and
i don’t know if i should accept the random boners,
live to bust, and stop asking questions or dissect every
little vein on the shaft until I have a PhD in
blood and jizz interconnectivity studies

and when i say it happens at the worst times,
i mean the worst times.

and it doesn’t go away until its pleased.

i’ve succumbed to its demands in places you wouldn’t believe.
grocery store family bathrooms, my cum all over the floors beneath the diaper station.
the basement bathroom at work, semen splattered on the walls and handicap shower chair.
the driver seat of my parents’ truck during Christmas when i was twelve, me frantically scraping off dried splooge from cloth seats while everybody else was inside opening presents.

It doesn’t waste time on the basics like milf, big naturals, or anything that has missionary involved.

no, no, no.

it wants to watch a cute boy suck some dick and i’m not even gay.
it wants me to aim it so the cum shoots into my mouth
while it watches either girls piss their pants in public or
femboys with a little tail plugged into their ass.

my boss is talking and talking and talking and there’s no end in sight.

it throbs stronger, angrier.

it shows me visions of what it wants:
hentai, pegging, scat, armpit, bush, public.

it needs at least a dozen screens at once to satisfy every desire it has.

my hand slides towards my crotch like it’s receiving orders from my dick through a secret communication frequency.

my boss’s eyebrows scrunch and voice dies as a small moan escapes me
while my hand gently rubs the top of my pants.