Some people might think it’s lazy for me to recycle content from a newsletter that I write, and it very well could but I’m going to repost it anyway. This particular piece came from the third issue of the Quarterly Misanthrope.
I love America. I’m not ashamed to say it. I am also not ashamed to think that America is a really classy girl from the country who is new in town and needs a big bear to protect her. I’d like to think that America is shy at first to my swarthy good looks and animal like charisma. She’s a classy girl who promised to save herself for marriage, and I look at her while caressing her smooth delicate hands and say cool. I admire you integrity I say after taking a deliberate drag on my Newport, I wish more girls were like you. She giggles her face glowing bright red, she doesn’t quite know what to make of the situation, but she feels strangely compelled to listen to me.
I can’t help but notice America is wearing a low cut floral blouse; the soft pinks hues and silk material complement her pale white skin. I steel a glance at the tops of her two perfect breasts and pray silently to my god that I can see her again. I sit intently as she talks in that sweet voice of hers about how she wanted to go to FSU to get a degree in Women’s studies and change the world. I gladly pay the bill and tell her that there is always time to change the world. I am an idealist to; I explain and talk about how frustrating it is to keep my spirits up. Her smile widens, so many men just laugh at my dreams she says in a hushed whisper. I’m not like other men I tell her. I walk her out to her 97 Honda Accord, and we pleasantly talk about our shared hatred of Michael Bay films. I open the driver side door and we stand awkwardly in silence. My hand shakes uncontrollably as I lean forward and deeply inhale the sweet cloud of perfume that has hung about her neck. Her eyes remain closed as my left hand tilts her face up towards mine as my lips gently make contact with hers. It was nice she said, but all I can think to do is to I apologize for my forwardness. I live right around the corner she says, you can apologize to me there.
The drive home is a blur, we are in her car and NOFX is blaring loudly. I touch her hand. I am in heaven. In the shadow of her front door we kiss. America’s lips taste like a wet spring morning, she tells me to wait until we are inside. The door closes behind me and I notice what a fantastic buttocks America has. Books of poetry should be dedicated to the two immaculate spheres that pulsate as she walks me up to her room. We stand next to her bed, I struggle with my belt but she’s removed all her clothing. I suddenly feel my inadequacies burst to the surface, she never acts as if my body is shameful. I sit on her bed, and marvel and the statuesque beauty in front of me wearing only a lacey black bra, matching black panties, and bright red heels. I don’t have time to let their little details like the panties faint floral design imprint themselves into my memory. She pushes me down on to her bed and straddles atop me. Her kiss is like the soft explosion of a firework. Pleasure races throughout my body. I slip my tongue into America’s mouth while my hands, acting on their own will fumble with releasing those two perfect hanging peaches from their silky captors. As I throw the bra off the bed it glides slowly to the ground like a leaf at the start of autumn. America arcs her body backwards as if she was a languid feline. I remain in awe at the full glory of her splendor. My hands race up from her hips, past the little bit of puppy fat on her belly driven towards her creamy bosom. They are as bewitched as I am. I lean forward and like a lamprey clamp down upon the springy flesh of her breasts. Her fingers become tangled the tendrils of dirty blond hair affixed upon my scalp. Grasping tighter she pulls me free from my task and I am forced to stare into the opulence of her turquoise eyes. By the time the night is over our bodies will be exhausted by the flames of our passion. I will want to see her again. There can be only be America in my heart. All is right with the world. That is what I think of when I think about my deeply patriotic love for America.
That is what I think about when I think of my deeply patriotic love for America.
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