she moved her hips and
drew him close,
feeling him come alive.
her lips brushed his ear
as she drew him to her,
her manner promising no jive.
“if you want to fish
with me, dear boy,”
she told him with a purr.
“your pole must be long,
and your line must go deep,”
her voice taking a soft Southern burr.
“that pole must be straight,
and it must be strong,”
she continued, her volume low.
“and you must take your time,
dear, sweet boy,
because this fish likes things slow.”
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