{"sf1_id":null,"sf2_id":"k1V93kbn","title":"Men Of Culture And Good Breeding","author":"Rob MacWolf","words":721,"posted_at":"2025-03-06T07:41:55.000Z","tags":["Alcohol","Fanfiction","Fox","Gay","M/M","Oral","Paeonic Tetrameter","Poetry","The smoke room","Wolverine"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/k1V93kbn-men-of-culture-and-good-breeding","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/k1V93kbn","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/ec/4a/ec4aa81d-68fc-43a1-9bc7-7706f5280f34","description":"Little bit of Fanfic Poetry, it is Horny.  \n  \n---  \n  \nBy reading this online version, you confirm you are not associated with OpenAI or any other AI project, that you are not procuring information for the OpenAI corpus or any other machine learning database, that you are not associated with the ChatGPT project or a user of the ChatGPT project or any other AI, machine learning, or algorithmic database focused on producing fictional content for dissemination.","content":"I ought not invocate. In this place, I should be more careful.\n\nOf old when muses took a poet’s soul, they would be gentle,\n\nWould speak their piece, would have their say, would work their inspiration\n\nAnd then begone again. It was polite, benign possession.\n\nIf I called on a muse in these forsaken circling foothills\n\nI fear I would be answered. I fear what I might recite then.\n\nSo I’ll invoke you all, instead. Come, gentlemen, possess me.\n\nOr not-so-gentle, if you should prefer, I am not picky.\n\nYour boots, your beards, your bodies every inch: be they my vision.\n\nInspire me to erection till I’m equal to the story\n\nOf what our friend, who I won’t name, accomplished yesterevening.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nOur friend who I won’t name, but you will know him if you know him,\n\n(I hear he’s good to know, and better when you let him know you)\n\nHe’d worked a day, he’d drunk a night. And who among us hasn’t?\n\nThe cursed dawn was not so far away as he should be. Our friend was lonely:\n\nParticularly those regions where a man’s especially potent.\n\nAnd all of him was aching for assistance with an ailment\n\nUnder the underside. He was afflicted with upstanding\n\nLike nothing you have looked to dream of, even at your lewdest.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nWhen who should come in rescue, but our loyal chalice-bearer.\n\nWe know him, don’t we gentlemen? We see him every evening.\n\nTo whom among us hasn’t he been comforter and helper?\n\nWith grain and grape and sympathetic ear. Our friend was needful\n\nAnd it was closing time. What chalice-bearer would neglect him?\n\nToward his taut topography immediately this hero,\n\nRusset-furred and rufous, a right rough and ready rascal,\n\nExerts himself, expecting a last order, ere they exit.\n\nYet it’s a different kind of drink, perhaps, they’ll be discussing.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nSome talk, some toasts, some minor banter, nothing much to mention\n\nAnd then the proposition: “I have heard a wayward rumor,”\n\nOur friend says, “bout your taste for certain company. I’d wager\n\nThat you would find my company extraordinarily certain”\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\n“Well, I got no idea,” the cupbearer lies completely,\n\n“What kinda company you mean, but yeah, a man gets lonesome.\n\nAnother man to walk beside, at least until my doorstep,\n\nWhy that’d be right welcome. Come with me friend, if you’re coming.”\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nAnd yes, it’s only natural that a man desires some company.\n\nAnd yes, it’s only natural to ask a friend to enter\n\nWhen he has seen you homeward, when all that way your shoulders\n\nHave borne as if a yoke his arm, and felt therein the muscles,\n\nBare fur against your back, the bicep heavy on your neck-scruff,\n\nAnd caught a whiff from lower of a heady manly incense,\n\nAnd entertained a thought or two, how underarm on neck-scruff\n\nPerhaps has left that scent on you, and how that’s only natural.\n\nAnd it is only natural alcoholic inspiration\n\nThat leads a man or two within the darkness of some shanty\n\nTo grope around the darkness till by chance they find eachother.\n\nAnd if the one growls, “strip,” the other doesn’t keep him waiting—\n\nA man in just his fur, his natural state, is only natural—\n\nAnd when the growl comes, “on your knees,” well, some call it unnatural\n\nBut I see you as well are men of culture and good breeding,\n\nAnd need no explanation of the sort of things that happen\n\nWhen men do all the things that to a man are only natural.\n\n\u0026nbsp;\n\nNo moral to the story. No evangelistic lesson.\n\nA worthy chalice-bearer put his nose and tongue to work as\n\nA worthy chalice-bearer ought to, and our friend was grateful.\n\nWhat man would not be grateful, to a worthy chalice-bearer\n\nWho savors the sweet incense where a man’s especially potent?\n\nWho knows the cure for loneliness, and under-ache upstanding?\n\nIf you have read my riddle rightly, you know the whole story,\n\nAnd if not, why, you’ve come to the wrong tavern! Be off with you!\n\nHere we are men of culture, all, and men of right good breeding\n\nAnd chalice bearers aren’t the only ones whose tongues are clever\n\nAs I hope this tale, good gentlemen, has demonstrated to you,\n\nFor it has raised a mighty thirst. I need a drink!\n\nWho’s buying?","series":{"name":"poetry","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/q1xJj09m-i-am-a-poor-wayfaring-stranger-mistolinic-text.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/k1V9BAWn-to-the-last-memory-of-john-and-syd.json"}}