Fire in My Loins

Fire in My Loins (A humorous love note)

Hidden in the rolling green hills of Kentucky is a small house, fenced in on all sides by the grazing pastures and room for horses. The door to this house stands ajar, standing open a few inches. This opening allowed a curious fly to enter the premise and survey the scene. While obvious to any human who has been apart from the love of their life for a significant period of time, the trail of clothes leading up to a shut door provided no implications to the fly. It perched upon a custom-made brassiere, 26HHH. It was satisfied for a time but quickly became distracted with a scent from behind the door.

Now, a wise human would hesitate to open the door and bear witness to the vigorous passions for fear of bringing them to a halt. The human voyeur would merely open it a crack whilst gazing inside. A fly has not such qualms and simply flew under the door to investigate a potential source of food. If it had the capacity for emotions, the fly may have been disappointed that there were no dead things to eat here. In fact, the opposite of death was occurring in place, the mating ritual of life.

"Oh Bertram," She cried out betwixt gasps of pleasure, "You mustn't stop, please do not stop!"

"Charlotte, you are the fire in my loins! I couldn't stop now even if your father's guards found us." Bertram replied while gripping her glistening breast, feet firmly planted despite the sweat drops that fell from each thrust. The fly was interested in the small pool that had formed beneath Bertram and was occupied for a time.

"Oh, Oh, OOOHHH!" The bed rattled as her frame shook and spasmed with the delights of dopamine. Bertram's will was already wicked away from pleasing her. He pressed his staff deeper into her and shuddered.

"UHHHHH!" His knees nearly collapsed. This disturbed the fly's enjoyment of the sweaty pool beneath Bertram. It flew into the air. The fly failed to notice the stark difference between their physiques. Her pale unblemished skin vs his weather washed face and scarred hands. Each breast was larger than Bertram's head but had they been removed. Charlotte was smaller than Bertram's Pot belly. It was this flight that made the fly notice the jackpot laid out before him. It flew upward landed upon the jostling mass of flesh called testicles.

"OWWW!" He leapt forward deeper in to Charlotte. The fly however persi...

The laughter interrupted my narration of the ridiculous tale of Charlotte and Bertram, 19th century heiress to a horse breeding fortune, equipped with sweet beauty and a bosom to match, and her burly potbellied stable hand whose 9" rod of lordly might was currently thrusting in between her thighs.

I looked through the screen to watch her face. Her attempts at suppressing her laughter finally falling victim to my incessant humor. I loved to make her laugh.

She needs no pain-staking description of her beauty here, dear readers. You must simply take me at my word when I say that every laugh makes me fall in love with her more.

Each smile told me how much she cared for me and appreciated my stories. Stories are the reason for living. Each person gets the ability to try to pull the pen across the page and claim authorship of their life. For as long as I could remember, I always imagined the end of my story to be the heroic sacrifice. One man alone against all evil. A genius whose devotion towards creation saved the lives of others and left him wealthy but alone. I was to be the ruler of the world, fixing all the ills of the world through science and logic.

However, she tempers my desire for fame and glory at the cost of all. How could I seek being alone when I could instead hear her laughter? How much is wealth worth when I would never get to feel her love for me? She, she makes me crave a different ending. I want to be with her. I want to be the man who sacrificed the world to be with her and a family we built together.

I am terrified and thrilled and falling so deeply, so quickly that the air is being driven from my lungs and I cannot say all that I want to. I temper it with humor and all the charm that I can muster.

She fills me with desires: to love her, for her love, to be with her, in her, and to be a better man than I ever was before.

To my love, I know we are apart for now but love conquers all. You are mine and I am yours.

Signed, TheSonglessBard