Tantric Sprint

the orgasm that never ends

5/14/20241 min read

We made love the whole morning…

or was it only an hour?

Ten minutes?

Time dissolved in the impassioned grunts, groans, and occasional screams of “CUNT!”

while he spanked my hot boy-40 ass

until I nearly shot my fucking load all over him…

But we saved it all

for Walt Whitman

I pulled Leaves of Grass down off the shelf, as we trod down the steps, then out through a field of clover,

buck-ass naked

to our favorite coffee place

beneath the oaks and hickories.


We call love-making sessions like this one “Tantric sprints”—

fast and fervent,

yet without end.

The fervor and passion of an ass-slapping good time is still fully ALIVE…

even when our bodies touch the cool green Earth.


The book randomly opens to a page Whitman devoted to the human soul…

and I read to him.

Now, I'm crying, holding his hand…

This life is so full, so overflowing

with love


and bounty

Gay-Men and Hallelujah!