I think you should confess to a priest that you wiped your cock on the curtains because she didn’t have a tissue. It doesn’t work as a poem; It isn’t art – that’s the issue. I know the blowjob was intense for you but posting a description devoid of irony suggests, braggadocio, you’d like one from me. I’m sorry, I’m taken; your oeuvre is mistaken. Orgasm by stimulating genitals with genitals objects, fingers, tongues and body parts holds a clear fascination for you. But describing how you practice on your own is not art at all, I have read better poetry on a lavatory wall. All holes filled. No holes barred. These clichés I can read in an escort ad, but you pad them out and hope that I ‘like’’ am I getting old, or is this sad?