Should I Be A Fool To Cry?

Late last night, after a slight of hand and a bit of silken mumbo jumbo, I found myself in the throes of a magician’s act.  His wand playing tricks inside my magic hatch, and OH, what tricks they were; mirrors a smoke’n, his big dick a stroke’n, not once did his token EVER stop poke’n!

Abracadabra! He sluices me in half as I’m parted and moved. 

Hocus Pocus! He puts fire in my loins and an insatiable itch in my ass. 

Kalamazam!  He Juggles my balls and plays such games with my ring; I’m a hypnotized whore, barking like a dog, purring like a pampered puss and bouncing about like a hen with its rooster chopped off!   

But…, as with all his silly acts, it all ends with his rabbit done dying up my gas chamber and disappearing into a stream of blustering blow.  Then, both he and his withering wand leave me for another space and time.

Should I be a fool to cry?

I’ve got such a beautiful man

He comes and he goes, through my highs and my lows

He may travel and roam, but he always knows home

When he comes back, and we’re done in the sack

I break like a bubble and tell him my trouble

He holds me so fine as I mumble and whine

You know what he says? He says…

Rafi, you’re a fool to cry!

I love you so much

and I don’t wonder why

Look at me, Baby, I won’t tell a lie!

Should I be a fool to cry?

RafeDe