So I wrote her a sexy poem, an amazingly trite accumulation of words and images that more or less congealed into something resembling a complete thought. It was something that usually got balled up in a wad of paper and thrown into the trash with my other failed drafts of a poem. I actually had planned to trash it until, upon discovering that I write poetry, she simply had to see something new I had written.
At the time I was in the process of culling a number of names from my friends list on my computer and she was in the group I planned to delete. It was nothing sinister or even mean spirited, it was that after I got to know a number of these people a little better while talking online I found them either rude, overbearing, boring and worst of all, barely literate. Anyway, I was about to delete her name when she asked me to send a poem.
I didn't think much about it, I simply typed up what was on the rumpled paper and sent it to her, figuring she'd recognize it as a half-hearted, incomplete, unimaginative bit of tripe. I actually thought she was kidding when she asked if it was written for her.
"Yes," I typed, "inspired completely by you."
"But we have only talked a bit online and yet you seem to have found something important, beautiful and sexy in me," she replied.
So instead of deleting her name from my list, we began to converse almost constantly over the next few days. I learned her real name, SexySue069 became (big surprise) Susan. As her screen name might imply, Susan enjoyed cybersex while I simply tried to respond with sexy, yet poetic responses culled from the poetry I was writing at the time.
I must admit I was surprised when Susan suggested we meet, but I kept my composure and recommended a public place nearby. She was doing the travelling, apparently for business, and would stay in a motel room not too far from where we planned to meet for dinner. Since she had asked to see some more of my poetry, I held off tossing my more recent false starts and failures, instead I typed them up.
Dinner went well and after she recovered from swooning over my reject poetry we walked arm in arm back to her motel. I prepared myself for an easy lay when she didn't stop at the entrance to the motel and thank me for a wonderful time. Instead she led me in through the lobby and then back to her room.
Stepping into the room, she immediately turned and embraced me, kissing my mouth while her hand grabbed and squeezed my erection. Taking her lead, I let my tongue slide into her mouth while unhooking and unzipping her dress. As her dress folded down from her shoulders, I began working on her bra as she reached down and unfastened my belt.
It took a while but I finally got her bra unhooked and pulled it off her. Her breasts were large and although they sagged a little they felt firm in my hands. Bending over I took her nipples in my mouth, first the right and then the left, sucking them as they became firm. When I moved my head away they poked out from the dark areola circling them like two incredible spires.
In all the time it took me to get her bra off, she had unfastened my belt, unzipped my pants and they were at my ankles. She had also slipped her dress to the floor and now was only wearing a lacy black pair of panties. I pressed my cock over the fabric, feeling the texture of the lace run over my soft skin.
She unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it onto a chair while I knelt down and pulled her panties off, pressing my face up between her legs, breathing in her feminine scent. I began kissing her thighs but she reached down and pulled on my shoulders. Standing, I followed as she pulled me to the bed.
I climbed up onto the bed and she immediately pushed me onto my back. She began stroking my cock up and down. Staring into my eyes she moved over me and then moved her mouth down, slowly taking my cock inch by inch. Thinking to myself, "She is an illiterate twit but damn good in bed," I leaned my head back and simply enjoyed what she was doing to me.
As she continued I felt myself getting closer to coming, so I gently pushed on her head and said, "If you keep that up I won't last for you."
She lifted her head, letting my glistening cock slip out of her mouth and she replied, "Oh I know what I am doing."
I wasn't sure what she had in mind, but when she reached down under the bed I felt an odd tingling in my stomach. Suddenly she grabbed my cock hard with her left hand and then slowly lifted her right hand from under the bed. In her hand was the biggest hunting knife I had ever seen, I mean I always thought my cock was pretty big, but this thing dwarfed me.
She moved it closer to my cock while staring at my face, seemingly enjoying the abject fear I had to be displaying. Holding her knife to where it was almost touching my skin she said, "You illiterate fuck!"
Damn, her words were more shocking than her wielding that knife. "What?" I asked.
"You illiterate fuck, thinking you could impress a woman, hell pick up and actually fuck a woman with that half-witted drivel you sent me."
"This is about my poetry?"
"Yes it's about your poetry you twit."
She was calling me a twit? "My poetry?"
"How could you possibly believe I would think that crap you sent was any good. How stupid do you think I was?"
"I ah... it wasn't my best... ah, I mean..."
"Oh come on, don't give me that. And save me the whole spiel about your style, or being avant-garde, or me not understanding you, it was unmitigated crap. Okay, yeah, maybe if you were in high school, no, make that junior high, but hell I can't believe a woman would fall for that. Do they really do that?"
I nodded and said, "Sometimes."
"That stuff you sent me..."
"I said it wasn't my best."
"Oh, so I'm not worth your best."
"I didn't say that, it's just that..."
"I tell you, I can't believe you have the audacity to call yourself a poet and then try to pick up women based on this drivel."
"I have published some things," I replied defensively.
"Mostly online, but..."
"Online, like where?"
"I don't know, but around."
"Damn," she moaned. Then looking straight into my face she pressed the knife hard onto my cock, but instead of feeling the cold pain of the blade and seeing blood spurting out, I felt the blade bend and my cock kind of rolled over onto my thigh.
"What, a fake knife?"
"Yeah, I'm no psycho bitch ready to castrate you but you fucking deserve it. Even if I was a knife wielding psycho bitch I am not the guilty one here, you are. There is nothing more horrific than a bad poet, a pretentious one at that."
"Look I do write better stuff," I replied.
"Oh yeah, and you have this style and... look just cut the crap, you are an illiterate letch preying on women who simply don't know any better. Well, you may be an illiterate letch but you aren't going to be an illiterate fuck, at least not with me. Now grab that trashy drivel you call poetry, get your ass dressed and go home and try to read a book, you might learn something."
I leapt up, grabbed my clothes and pulled them on, not even buttoning my shirt before I dashed out of the room. Heading toward the lobby, I wadded up the poems and was going to through them in the trash can there, but decided she might find them, so I stuffed them into my pockets and rushed out into the street. I quickly hailed a cab, climbed into the back seat and felt the car pull away.
About halfway home I felt a poem coming on, I grabbed my pen and reached into my pocket. Yeah, the title flashed firmly in my mind: Psycho Bitch. By the time I made it home I had the beginnings of a poem jotted down.