The Unshaven

Once upon a midnight peeky, while I scrolled down, sneak and cheeky,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten porn—
    While I nodded, nearly fapping, suddenly there came a clapping,
As of some one gently lapping, lapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “lapping at my chamber door—
            Only this and nothing more.”

    Ah, distinctly I remember mazing on three transgender;
And each separate frying member wrote on the post that was hardcore.
    Eagerly I wished to follow;—vainly I had thought to download
    From my torrent surcease of prologue—prologues of the load of porn—
From the rare and popular home-taken whom the laics name just porn—
            Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken, latex, squirting casting of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic tremors never felt before;
    So that now, to still the beating of my dart, I stood repeating
    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
            This it is and nothing more.”

    Presently my pole grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
    But the fact is I was fapping, and so gently you came clapping,
    And so faintly you came clapping, clapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
            Darkness there and nothing more.

    Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, seeking,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no normal ever dared to dream before;
    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no orgasm,
    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “porn?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “porn!”—
            Merely this and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my pole within me burning,
Soon again I heard a clapping somewhat louder than before.
    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my neighbor, Clarice;
      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my dart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
            ’Tis the thin bitch and nothing more!”

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and mutter,
In there stepped she stately unshaven from the neighbor’s door;
    Not the least obeisance made she; not a minute stopped or stayed she;
    But, with mien of lord or lady, pushed me above my chamber door—
Pushed me upon by my phallus just above my chamber door—
            Pushed me, and sat, and so on more.

Then this ebony girl beguiling my bad fantasy into smiling,
By the greed for sperm decorum on the countenance of this whore,
“Though thy clits should be shaven, thou,” I said, “ah sure, it’s fine unshaven,
Ghastly grim and unsaint maiden wandering into my Night like I adore—
Tell me that thy lord’s name is me, you bohemian dirty whore!”
            Quoth Clarice “Insult me more.”

    Much I marvelled her ungainly howl to hear her cursing so plainly,
Though her swearing little meaning—little relevancy bore;
    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
    Ever yet was blessed with seeing random girl above his chamber door—
Girl with breasts so busty appearing above his chamber door,
            With such name as “Neighbor whore.”

    But the unshaven sitting of the plastic busty, spoke only
Sequences of moan, as if her soul in that one moun did outpour.
    Nothing farther then she uttered—not a flirting then she muttered—
    Till I scarcely more than fluttered “Other friends got gone before—
On the morrow she will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
            Then the girl said “Nevermore.”

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what she utters is only her mock and moan
    Caught from some dirty caster whom subtitles of XHamster
    Followed her mast and followed blaster till the songs burdened this whore—
Till the purges of her Hope that melancholy burden whore
            Of ‘leaving me nevermore’.”

    But the unshaven still beguiling all my fantasy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of the busty girl’s backdoor;
    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
    Phallus in and out, thinking what this onenightstand girl is to moan—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous girl of whore
            Meant in moaning “Nevermore.”

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
From the hole whose fiery juice now burned into her bossom’s core;
    This and more I sat diving, with my head at ease reclining
    On her cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
            She shall press, ah, just a little more!

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed by this lapdancer
Blown by sperm whose drop-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God! who let thee—by these carpets I hath spent no-free
    Respite—respite and swallow from the floor like it hath done in porn;
Quaff, oh quaff this lil serpenthe like I forgot this was not porn!”
            Quoth the unshaven “Ignore the floor.”

    “Clean it!” said I, “thing of evil!—clean it still, before starts to drying!—
What a temptation sent, or what temper tossed here this whore,
    Disgusting yet once charming, on this lonely night enchanted—
    On this home by porn haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there sperm on your floor?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
            Quoth Clarice “I don’t know.”

    “Clean it!” said I, “thing of evil!—clean it still, before starts to drying!
By that Heaven that waits none of us—by that God you adore—
    Tell this slut to swallow later if, within the distant I see her again,
    It shall be more than some clapping and eager for some porn—
Fapping may be cleaner than a floor- spitting neighbor whore.”
            Quoth the unshaven “You disgusting boar!”

    “Be that word our sign of parting, girl or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into thy nest where’s the Night’s vendible whore!
    Leave your black fumed ass out of my room as we have never spoken!
    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit your busty chest above my door!
Take thy sole blouse from my bed, and wipe thy splotch off from my floor!”
            Quith the unshaven “Asshole.”

    And the unshaven, never flirting, still is sulking, still is sulking
On her busty ass far from my phallus just next to my chamber door;
    And her eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
    To kill me once for what I told her to swallow my sperm from the floor;
But my soul is free from her and her quoating to be my girl and own my room
            She shall not said—nevermore!

Parody of Edgar Allan Poe’s poem, The Raven (1845).

Benyamin Bensalah