Precursor: This is a poem I wrote when I was SUPER VENTING. So, take it as that. I'm not looking for advice or anything, just wanted to express my feelings. This may be offensive to some.

STUD

You stud.

When I'd read Western settlement novels, I'd heard of studs, those strong male horses used to inseminate mares.

Their genes were superior, as yours are.

When you inseminated me, I became pregnant with your second offspring.

Yes, you made him in me, and I love him more than life.

You are with me because of his making, and you don't startle at reminding me of this.

Your past mare, you chose to be with her to find out how your cock worked. By he time you were with me you well knew.

With her, you chose to have a baby. You chose me because of a baby.

Your first is the chosen son. Your second is accidental sperm.

The beauty of our son is amazing. Your first son is beautiful and amazing also.

But the verbage 'make' offspring implies not only action, it implies sex.

And since we aren't equines, sex implies not a rancher's management decision but lovemaking.

Thus, when a woman tells you in the store, 'you MAKE beautiful son's, all those boys' and you tell me

Don't expect a happy, easygoing smile, hug or pat-on-the-back,

Expect a sullen stare, my stud. Although you are with this mare, she isn't your Welcome Mat.