Size doesn’t matter,
Or maybe it does
But it’s been a while
Since it mattered to me
Like if a genie,
Granted me a consequence free
Size increase, I would say
YES. (Maybe finally get to 4 inches).
Sex is an evolutionary joke,
A cosmic paradox,
No way the pleasure justifies the pain.
Am I kissing right?
I gotta watch my saliva,
What do I do with my tongue?
I don’t want to be over eager,
Don’t want to be a dead dog either.
This is alright and all,
But where’s the fucking fireworks
This is just a saliva swap.
Am I kneading her tits too forcefully?
Or am I being too lax.
What do I do with these nipples?
Am I spending too much time on her breasts?
Where’s the little man on the boat,
Or the spot de G,
Is she even enjoying this?
Why does she seem bored?
What is that laughter that I hear?
Is that god laughing at my ass?
I can understand, if I could see myself
I would probably laugh too.
I hope I don’t burst too early,
Or get tired to quickly
But most importantly,
I hope she doesn’t mind
Being drenched in the sweat
Dripping off my face.
This actually isn’t too bad
I can almost see the point
I think am about to come.
Is it okay if I yell out
I’M THE KING OF FUCK MOUNTAIN!
Or would that be too weird?
Okay now it’s over,
But why do I feel this vague emptiness
Should there not be a sense of catharsis
Or at least the peace of worldly disconnect
Fuck, now I’m sad and I want to cuddle
Would it be gay if I asked her?
Would she think I was in love?
I hope she had fun at least
But if I was gonna bet
SHE DID. (Because I’m the king of fuck mountain).