...The Thrust of the Matter... 

As she lay there beneath him, 

she could not help but feel that 

he was trying to make a statement 

via his over energetic thrusting. 

Yes, thrusting was the best word to 

describe what he was doing. 

No doubt about it. 

 

Here as self-defined pin cushion,  

she found herself dwelling on the 

exact definition of thrusting. 

This, both as a way to 

better understand what he was 

succinctly trying to express, 

and as a form of distraction 

from that which he as machine 

was here to concussive convey. 

 

“Thrust”:   To push or 

drive quickly and forcibly. 

To stab.   To pierce. 

To force oneself or another into 

a specified condition or situation. 

To put in;   interject. 

To shove into something; 

to push.   To pierce or 

stab with a pointed weapon. 

To force one’s way. 

 

It occurred to her that 

none of these definitions 

seemed very endearing. 

Surely there had to be an 

alternative message being conveyed. 

How about: The forward-directed force 

developed in a jet or rocket as a 

reaction to the rearward ejection 

of fuel gas at high velocities. 

 

“Well,” she thought. 

“Now that I think about it, 

that might just explain some of the 

facial expressions he’s been making. 

It might also explain all those 

assorted sounds that 

his body has made 

during this drastic spastic act 

of convulsive coital exertion.” 

 

Oh yes. 

If he was a rocket, 

then surely she was his 

realm of vacuous cosmos, 

patiently awaiting his 

sizzling shower of stars. 

Yes. Oh yes. 

The long awaited arrival of 

the great Milky Way. 

 

Was this love? 

     Was this truly love? 

 

Nah. The true

thrust of the matter 

equates to nothing more 

than one 

lousy 

f…

 

Ó 05 Jack David Hubbell