Stalled Ecstasy
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Stalled Ecstasy

 Craig Firsdon
 Craig Firsdon
Stalled Ecstasy
by Craig Firsdon  FollowFollow
Craig Anthony Firsdon is a disabled wheelchair bound poet and artist from Toledo, Ohio and is a fiction editor at Red Fez. He began to more write in 1997 and read/feature in 2009. In 2011 he had his first art show. Since then Craig has been published in many publications including Thirteen Myna Birds (Blood Pudding Press), GFT Press, Red Fez, Zygote In My Coffee, Degenerate Literature, Rusty Truck, The New Beatnik, DryLandLit_Lit, Asphodel Madness and others. He has also been in many anthologies such as The Squire: 1000 Paper Cranes, Delirious: A Poetic Tribute+ To Prince and Working Stiff and has been a part of A.S. Coomer's Lost Long Gone Forgotten Records label. Craig will be a guest reading at the Underground Lit Fest on August 6, 2017. In 2016 Craig had a collection of poetry published called Requiem. He also created the cover art for a collection from Zygote In My Coffee, his own book and Michael Grover's upcoming book Fuck Cancer Poems. His next book will be poetry about his life with a disability.
More work by Craig Firsdon:
Stalled Ecstasy
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Have you ever had to take a piss so bad it burns?
You fell it welling up in your abdomen,
fiery and unforgiving,
every water-like sound, every jostle,
every single move you make
adding to your agony
and your growing inability to hold it off.

Then it's time, holding it is no longer an option.
Do you try to hold it,
or rudely run off leaving your friends behind?
Of course you run
like a spanked ferret looking for payback
to the nearest stall you can find.

If you're a guy
going solo is the key
to the whole experience.
But if you're a woman
you would most likely bring that friend along.
I've never understood the feminine need
to invite their friends to the peepee party,
as long as they don't share the party favors.

Once you're in your favorite position
you unzip.
That zzzzt sound a heavenly bugle
ushering in incoming salvation.

Finally you whip it out,
or sit,
I'm not judging,
and let loose that hot,
yellow, steaming river of pleasure.
It burns a bit at first
but following that slight pain
is pure ecstacy,
orgasmic, porno blowjob, moaning ecstacy.
It feels so good that you could swear
Jenna Jameson was down there,
yet you hope not
because you definately wouldn't want to pee on her.
Unless you would,
which is rather nasty,
again I'm not judging.

As it winds down,
the stream a mere trickle,
the sputter of your neighbors 1971 VW Wagon,
sputter, squirt, sputter, the end,
and, although that feeling of awe
unequal to any high
is now gone,
you know that it's just a few beers,
a pot of coffee,
or some cans of Mountain Dew
and a couple of unbearable hours
of waiting away.



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