Rick's Poetry Corner. Focus on Male Feet

i see life through the light between his toes


he touched me where some say he shouldn't have
stroking where straighter men shouldn't have
his fingers moved gently
they milked me gently
i had to stand still or they couldn't have


This very strong. It awakens a personal memory that i have carried with for more than 25 years.
 
he probes my nakedness with his two feet,
the heat of passion streams from either sole,
the taste of love the smell so sweet,
can this be love without a friendly hole?
my dick explodes, barefeet take sex down loves less traveled roads.

Soon i also will have the fetish for male feet.
 
Rick, being a poet, you probably live in a garret and have tuberculosis. Am I correct? I do hope you have your 20 years of poetry saved somewhere, even if it's only in a pen-and-paper notebook. You never know where all of this will lead. Just imagine it: The Complete Works of Stustustugoo, 1998-2018.
 
he probes my nakedness with his two feet,
the heat of passion streams from either sole,
the taste of love the smell so sweet,
can this be love without a friendly hole?
my dick explodes, barefeet take sex down loves less traveled roads.

This is soo very sensual, it has some physical effect on me almost like a touch.
 
to all who are reading this thread, remember.........
love is an ocean, its an ongoing motion..........
we all have our own personal quirks which puts
our privates into jerks!
 
it started as a whiff, a little smell,
in the back alleys where his luscious toes,
his awesome soles,
his manly heels as well seduced the fragile senses of my nose.
i find relief sucking his toes like hound dogs with roast beef!











footmaster, teach my dickey bird to sing.
twiddle it with your toes till it shoots.
you are my absolute, my barefoot king,
since you first made me smell your stinking boots.
can this be love?
your twiddling toes say yes, they push, they shove.
 
here are a few that aren't foot related...........


wouldn't you rather be dead? maybe shoot yourself in the head?
the time to kill yourself is at hand.
slicing your wrist is what we recommend.
cut your tong off, don't want to hear you squeal.
blood all over your face is no big deal.
a sword or machete will only pick up the pace.
i want to see your guts pop out of you mid-waist.
contaminated objects is a must
anything to remove your face of disgust.
the easy part is the best because when you're gone we will all feel blessed
the flaw of your existence is what keeps us all in your distance
close your eyes and die, no one wants to hear your cry
you said you wanted to be loved
believe me, you're better off unloved
i say do yourself in
anyways you always had it rough
go ahead and scream, for this is not a dream
now you can see how you make me feel
all i want is for you to end your ugly ordeal
i will praise this day of course
knowing soo you will be a rotting corpse
 
Holy cow, Rick, that final poem is brutal. Nonetheless, it is appropriate for CDG. We've all seen countless unhappy suicides here. The person speaking in the poem is clearly thinking of someone he wishes would do the world a favor and die. One must be careful though not to be too obviously coercive. The law is punishing people these days if they help someone kill himself, or encourage the act, or drive someone to it.

I never used to be much for either poetry or feet, but your versification has made both fun! :D

Finally, I like your current avatar, which emphasizes the new FOCUS ON MALE FEET.
 
thank you all.................

heres one about where my other home is...... T E X A S ! where we do everything B I G !!!!!!!!!




when i die take me to texas and lay me gently in the sand
just dust me off from time to time and softly pat me with your hand

talk to me lowly with that voice that i heard for so many years
and tell me what's been going on since i caused you to shed those tears

then take a cup of texas sand from atop the grave's hallowed spot
and take it to the county line where that old honky tonk was hot

now if that honky tonk is gone just dump that sand out when she pours
but if that place still stands today carry it through the bat winged doors

then set it on the bar my love, and tell them just who lies beneath
that ought to get you a free beer, but you cannot expect a wreath

for those were wild and wholly days
and we were young and out of hand
now i'm gone and lie buried in the farthest western texas sand
 
Great poetry Stu! I look forward to more. Your sensuous prose might convert some into the foot fetish world.
 
Rick, I do believe, if your latest poetic offering were presented to the powers that be in Austin, you would be declared Poet Laureate of Texas!
 
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