For The Birds

Indigo Bunting leaned against the bar and surveyed the lounge with her usual indolence. There he was resplendent in his ultra violet suit wearing his yellow  hair all brushed up to a point like the big ol prissy Cockatiel she was looking for.

He seemed the likely eager green volunteer to her next sensuous hoax. But he was anything but a nookie novice.

She did not know then that he used the nam de plume of Nymphicus Hollandicus for his extensive erotic writings all drawn on first wing exploits. Yes his quill had penned many a blue tail.

His beak had been around the block, so to speak.

Indigo was soon to find out that her’s had bitten off more than she could chew.

So she sidled over to the great bird as she lowered the front zipper of her feather tight red  jump suit knowing intimately the effect her astonishing cuttlebone cleavage had. Other fowls would flock to cuddle, yet this one just pecked distractedly at the seed scattered on the bar.

In she swooped and she cooed into the colorful spot on the side of his head, “I am going to squeeze you like an orange.”

“I hope so.” Nymphicus Hollandicus replied with a flapping of wings and an early spring preen.

So they flapped and they soared and they warbled and they twittered and they chirped and they trilled each other until the next morn.

But when the rainbow appeared with the sun it was clear, that Nymphicus Hollandicus had taken it on the wing leaving Inigo Bunting perch-less and seed-less.

Oh dear


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