Had to wait until the eating-centered holiday was over to post this one! It was originally for Esoterotica’s first “Co-Ed Naked Twister” event, where everybody’s pieces went in to a hat, then we each pulled out someone else’s poem and read it. So this was written with the fun of seeing someone else read it in mind. They handled the portmanteaus quite well!
The Bold Man and the Sea
by Zach B, but with deniability
Marine biologists like me tend to have certain quirks;
we do not often dance, play ball, or read from Shakespeare’s works.
Instead, my inclinations fall towards physical interests,
what haters who will laugh right now would prob’ly call ‘squidcest.’
Some may consider man/squid love and think it rather gruesome,
but what prudes call horrific, I call simply Architeuthsome!
Each day they swim and coyly tease with benthic bedroom eyes,
while all I do is watch their tank and ice my eager thighs.
Then after shooing tourists out, I get to stay behind,
ostensibly to study, but really to. . . unwind.
That’s when the flirting culminates. Into their tank I slide.
That night’s specimen greets me, arms and tentacles open wide.
Don’t judge me, I’m not in to rape. No Blue Girl for this gent!
In my inky blue/black fantasy, the squid gave her consent.
“How can I please you?” she might ask, if in fact she could speak,
“Don’t dare try going down,” I’d warn, “you always use your beak.”
She wraps me in a fourfold hug, as her tentacles found
they had the length to give a reacharound-around-around.
Her suckers tingle as they probe with each small briney kiss,
I’m gripped against her mantle screaming bubbles full of bliss.
As we climax, she flashes hearts with her chromatophores,
then lifts me to the surface, gasping air and wanting more.
We lie in afterglow (hers literal,) I utter pleased profanity
and promise to return next week for cephalopodlyamory.
A squidanthropist gave me a wink.
Now I’m asking, “Why didn’t I think
that while fooling about
he’d quickly pull out
and cover my face with his ink?”