The Many Hues of Ted Cruz: A Crayon Erotica Parody
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Here's the synopsis...
Senator Ted Cruz is on the Presidential campaign trail, but losing focus and fast thanks to a blossoming sexual obsession with the colors of the rainbow pride flag. While at wits' end for satisfaction, he crosses paths with a box of crayons in a convenience store and a night of passion ensues. Can these waxy lovers sate his colorful needs?
And here's a scintillating excerpt...
His hotel suite met his personal approval rating. His suits hung pristinely in the closet like flat, headless Teds standing single file. The Gideon Bible had been removed from the drawer and placed on the pillow because no Bible deserved to be hidden in a drawer. The scene was very pedestrian. It was Tedestrian.
Clean, white sheets hugged the mattress like the palest of sausage skins. He winced. So plain. So blank. He closed his eyes and dreamt of something better than white. Something prismatic.
Swatches of color assaulted his imagination. A prism of pride dashed before his tightly clenched eyes. His teeth sparked. His heart pumped ultraviolet. His saliva glands ejaculated; not just with saliva, but with pleasurable pain. Ted’s eyelids lifted to reveal he had fallen back onto the crisp white sheets. A tacky wetness inflicted the front of his trousers. He had come. He was furious with himself for dropping the milk. Ted Time is supposed to happen on *Ted’s* Time!
This stallion had lapped him. He’d missed it. Long gone. Yet, he knew the horse could be brought back around the track. He had been there many times before, so he knew he needed to work with it. He needed more than himself.
And here is another excerpt to tickle them goods...
He grabbed a pen and notebook from his brief case. Perhaps, I should pretend to be Presidential. From the edge of the bed, he force-imagined himself seated on the big chair in the oval office signing an executive order to abolish the I.R.S., but like a sexy wild salmon caught in a net of seduction, his attention was vetoed by the flirtatious phallics poised inside the small box on the table nearby.
Imagination failed him. Clearly, this night was not for pretend, but for passion. As he felt his stomach settle he seated himself at the small table. He closed his eyes and stretched his hands longingly towards the box, clasping its posterior firmly in his palm, then cupping the top. He caressed the unopened crease on the front, his pulse quickening with each pass of his thumb pressing ever so slightly to tease, then pause, then tease, then pause. Teeth grit, breath swallowed, he flexed the lid from its chaste perforation in a pained, chiropractic flash. The audible crack and tactile vibrations imbued upon him a golden gooseflesh. The lid had given way and spread eagle to reveal its inner privacies. He pursed his lips unintentionally letting out a little whimper that only the box could hear.
“Cruuuuz,” the little box heard.
And one more if you can handle it...
Senator Cruz proudly gesticulated his razzle-dazzle-rose before the rainbow and the rainbow responded with a sexual deference that only an experienced and mature set of crayons could display. Ted’s was the POTUS of cocks. A county fair award-winning plantain of Presidential might. A Tedwurst cooked perfectly plump in the microwave. Micro pills of sweat bloomed upon it in a hexametric pattern that defied biological explanation. His four inches of steely veal was the elusive muskie they never dreamed could be reeled in.
Like a hot-air balloon descending on a valley, he lowered his corncob onto the crayons and swayed back and forth waving his baby arm like a pageant queen. It was warm and heterosexual. Very heterosexual. Just grazin’ in the pasture said Ted’s calf-size brain. The slight buffing of his tip advanced into a dry hump. The kind of hump that dry humpback whales hump.
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