Glancing at the man lying next to me,
nestling into his neck as I run my fingers down his abs
stopping just short of the large bulge in his pants,
straddling his muscular body, kissing his perfect lips.
My companion is so handsome – too good to be true
his name is Adam, 5ft 9in, a lifelike $5,000 worth
30 minutes of intimacy with him every morn
is an empowering relish for a woman.
In a plain brown non-latex
box inscribed ‘Made-in-China’ delivered by FedEx,
my life partner n’ playmate arrived two weeks today
after more than ten days’ delay.
From hair to toe, he is amiably my specs:
broad-chested, chiseled cheeks, his hairless body flex.
He has got an impressive ready for D-day
8.5-inch ‘feel-good’ tool for horseplay
which will permit me to revisit the Kamasutra with ease
reenacting all fantasies I’ve kept in a deep freeze.
When I press the “ON’ n’ “SPEED” button
he is the man; I am the muffin.
It feels good to have a dude I’ve got an affinity
for without the drama of Macho masculinity,
someone it bothers not that my butt is too big for my Levis
or that my melons are more important than my brain size.
Altho’ better in bed but he has an empty look on his face
he can’t do a thing without human grace –
because he is electric-powered – a gimmick
truly, there is something in God’s Adam, Adam can’t mimic.
Maybe that’s what spurs my Ex’s audacity –
“There is no completion! A man’s vivacity
is incomparable to a doll’s touch
I now know that much!”
© Ugo Nkwoala | 2020
Photo credit: Getty Images