I know. Don't think I haven't caught your grin,
your biceps tattoos, chest hair like dark snow.
Aren't ethics always inconvenient, saying no
to student/teacher fucking, unprofessional sin?
You're a threat. I know you'd love to know
this ache to tie you down, take your ass slow.
I'd work your nipples hard, gag your bearded grin,
lap your tattoos, your chest curl's soft snow.
I'd belt your furry ass into a grunting glow.
You're half my age, so how can we begin?
You're a threat, certainly, a boy dying to know
how Daddy would love him long, use him slow.
In class, you stretch and flex, show off young skin,
your bicep, tattoos, chest hair's dark snow.
Sweet delays are how passions grow.
When you graduate, bear kin, maybe then.
You're a threat, yes, a boy dying to know
how we'd mix tattoos, dark fur, semen snow.
See also the previous posts:
• Antinoos
• Ganymede and Zeus
• Bel Homme – January 30, 2017
• Bel Homme – September 5, 2012
• Bel Homme – August 8, 2011
• Bel Homme – May 28, 2011
• The Body: A Holy Place of Romp and Renewal
• Luminous and Safe in Vulnerability
• Mindful Lovemaking
Image: Subject and photographer unknown.
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