Sex is a sticky, wet, copious, glorious mess.

Deceived when younger by parents, Hollywood and hype.

Copulating partners finish off, the female gets up to redress.

She returns to her activities with nary a gripe.

Imagine that first encounter ending. Standing by the bed when the realization grows.
 
Everything is now dripping, running like a river that flows.

Unsure what was the right thing to do. Run to the bathroom and rectify the mess?

Or pull on your clothes hoping they can contain the river and it slows?

Movies lied, books glossed over this part. Where's the how to, the directions, we just had to guess?

Like most things, you learned to adapt after having more than one partner or lover.

A few teaspoons or tablespoons, my ass!

You realize the first lover was not an unnatural gusher.

Although I think that particular man could fill a glass.

Maybe that's why after all these years, I prefer to end with oral, drinking it down.

Swallowing once, twice or however many I need or more.

It always please my lover and he never leaves with a frown.

It's a whole lot more fun and nobody has to clean up that mess off the bed or the floor.