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Exhibit A, Poem Format

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You are Dave Strider and you are occupied
With depriving your boyfriend of air,
His fists within your hair are entwined,
As he pants, "Stop, Dave, not there..."

You bite down at his neck with ease
As you're pinning his back to a wall.
He tries to convince you, "C'mon, quit it, please!"
But you do not desist at all.

His pale skin is flushing your favorite red,
As, biting and licking, you play.
You then sink to your knees to give him head
And hope you'll get laid today.

As you suck him and lick him and strip his ass nude,
You plot out a plan as we ==> Be the other dude.


You are now John Egbert, and holy fucking shit,
You can't think straight right now--
Because, well, Dave is, um, sucking... it,
And you've ceased to resist, somehow.

You thrust up your hips as he fondles your ass
Because holy shit damn, that feels great...
And the club is still pounding with quaking bass,
While mentally you keep your debate--

You probably shouldn't be doing stuff
On a very public dance floor,
But the things Dave is doing are more than enough
To make you cry out for more.

You try to hide your horny moans with the palm of your hand,
Will you succeed? Well, let's find out. Let's ==> Be the other man.


You're again Dave Strider, and fuck, that's hot,
To see his need so clear.
Because John's totally quiet-- NOT!
Pfft, good thing that you're here.

You take your mouth off his turgid cock,
And he lets out a soft groan.
There's no need for words and there's no need for talk
As you cover his lips with your own.

Only your hands are shielding his rear
From the view of hungry strangers' eyes
As he frots against you, it's abundantly clear
That all his protests were lies.

You rub your digit against his ass; he lets out a quiet squeak,
It probably feels good, so let us ==> Be the other sheik*.

((*see definition 2))


You are John Egbert, and you can't speak
As Dave toys with your entrance.
You're so fucking close to your goddamn peak
And he's put you in some trance.

The hypnotizing sounds that blare
Forth from speakers loud.
His dick on yours, your hands in his hair--
And you're in the middle of a crowd.

You're terrified you might get caught,
Which gives you little thrills
You're sure that everyone's focus is not
On you, and you're scared it will.

Then, you're taken by Dave's finger and feel the hardness on his lap
You'll be fine for a while, so let us ==> Be the other chap.


You are Dave Strider and you undo
Your pants; they are too tight.
John's lust-glazed eyes shine glassy blue
Under the club's strobe lights.

You're well aware you're swag as hell
And could do this at home,
But frankly (and John knows this as well)
It's not as fun alone.

You move your finger in his derriere
In search of that special gland,
His breath is hot, orgasm near,
As he thrusts against your hand.

You add another finger in, and knead his rump like dough,
He's lucky to have a guy like you; let's ==> Be the other bro.


You are Bro Strider, DJ of the joint,
And you're laughing at the deck.
You think your bro has missed the point;
The club is now a wreck.

The point of public sex, you see,
Is clearly, "Don't get caught."
But if this is the way Dave wants to be,
Then you guess that was for naught,

Because no-one seems to want to stop
This sexy, class-two crime.
And since nobody's yet called the cops,
Perhaps your sweetheart can "come" next time. 

Everyone can see him as he fucks his little friend;
You feel great pride as now you watch ==> John: Take it in the end.


You, John Egbert, slide a condom (pre-lubed)
Over your boyfriend's erection.
You may be out in the public nude,
But it's important to use protection!

He removes his fingers from your anal passage,
And you softly whine from the loss.
But he aligns his dick, for he got the message
That you tried to get across.

He pushes into your hot, tight butt
Slowly, like sweet molasses--
Until you're ready. And, then, he ruts;
You think you lost your glasses.

It feels amazing until he hits that spot that's inside you;
Then, you go completely crazy, and make ==> Dave: Orgasm, too.


You are Dave Strider, and you're on fire,
Burning from inside out.
Your cock's supercharged and overwired
It's amazing, without a doubt.

You take John's penis in your grip,
Stroking efficiently and fast,
His head flies back like the lash of a whip
As he spends his load at last.

His soft, lube-slickened walls contract
And convulse around your dick
You moan your finish into his back,
You've climaxed in half a tick.

You pull out of his aching rear, because you now both yearn
For a bed to sleep upon, so you ==> Go home, return.