I've been curious about ai and its ability to write something about our favorite pastime, so I tried Google AI Studio challenging it to write a song about autofellatio. Here's what it wrote:
(Verse 1)
The midnight oil is burning low
Mirrored walls begin to glow
A lonely night, a curious thought
A legend told, a battle fought
Not with a partner, not with a hand
A challenge whispered across the land
It takes a spine of rubber, a will of steel
To make a myth become unreal
(Chorus)
They call me Ouroboros in the flesh
A self-fulfilling, warm, wet mesh
A closed-loop caress, a singular quest
Putting my own body to the test
No partner's gaze, no one to impress
Just a monument to selfishness
I'm the lock and I'm my own key
Curving back to welcome me
(Verse 2)
Legs behind my head, a slow descent
My lower back begins to vent
A silent scream, a focused strain
Pushing through the pleasant pain
Like a yogi in a fever dream
I'm navigating my own stream
Inch by inch, the goal is met
Tasting salt and my own sweat
(Chorus)
They call me Ouroboros in the flesh
A self-fulfilling, warm, wet mesh
A closed-loop caress, a singular quest
Putting my own body to the test
No partner's gaze, no one to impress
Just a monument to selfishness
I'm the lock and I'm my own key
Curving back to welcome me
(Bridge)
Is this loneliness or is this power?
In this quiet, final hour
No whispered words, no lover's sigh
Just the primal echo of my 'I'
I am the question and the answer, blow by blow
The only seed I need to sow
The alpha and omega in a single breath
Cheating loneliness and cheating death
(Guitar Solo - slow, slinky, and indulgent with lots of bends)
(Chorus)
I am Ouroboros in the flesh
A self-fulfilling, warm, wet mesh
A closed-loop caress, a singular quest
Putting my own body to the test
No partner's gaze, no one to impress
Just a monument to selfishness
I'm the lock and I'm my own key
Curving back to welcome me
(Outro)
The circle is complete...
The serpent is asleep...
My own beginning... my own end...
My only lover... my own friend...
The taste of victory... so bittersweet...
Complete.
Ai Autofellatio Song
Moderators: blacksunshineaz, Ziggurat, aleingang69
Re: Ai Autofellatio Song
Here is another song about autofellatio generated with Google AI Studio:
(Verse 1)
Every morning, yoga mat
Curving spine and folding flat
Just a lonely, quiet prayer
To get my own self way down there
Hamstrings screaming, hips they burn
For the lesson I must learn
Inch by inch, a sacred quest
Putting my own flesh to the test
Breathing deep and sinking low
Watching my own garden grow
Just a little closer now
Wipe the sweat from off my brow
This devotion is my art
To complete my broken heart.
(Chorus)
Oh, the sacred, blinding loop
I'm my own devoted troop
When the final dam is breached
And the holy prize is reached
A tidal wave of milky white
To eclipse the morning light
An ocean spilling from my core
I beg myself to give it more
My own offering, thick and hot
In the temple I have wrought
Yeah, a river in a flood
My own body, flesh, and blood.
(Verse 2)
Hours pass, the world outside
Is a ghost, a fading tide
On this holy, sticky ground
Not another soul around
Clean myself and then I start
Learning every single part
Of the arc my body makes
For the violent thrill it takes
Muscles tremble, locked in place
A look of worship on my face
This long session has no end
My own lover, my own friend
Pushing past the edge of pain
For that searing, blinding rain.
(Chorus)
Oh, the sacred, blinding loop
I'm my own devoted troop
When the final dam is breached
And the holy prize is reached
A tidal wave of milky white
To eclipse the morning light
An ocean spilling from my core
I beg myself to give it more
My own offering, thick and hot
In the temple I have wrought
Yeah, a river in a flood
My own body, flesh, and blood.
(Bridge)
And even when I'm sleeping deep
Promises my body keep
I dream in curves and twisted bone
Seated on an internal throne
I can taste it in the air
My own answer to my prayer
The phantom pulse, the coming storm
Keeping my obsession warm
Waking with a hungry ache
For the creamy flood I'll make
For the taste I know so well
My own private heaven, my own hell.
(Chorus)
Oh, the sacred, blinding loop
I'm my own devoted troop
When the final dam is breached
And the holy prize is reached
A tidal wave of milky white
To eclipse the morning light
An ocean spilling from my core
I beg myself to give it more
My own offering, thick and hot
In the temple I have wrought
Yeah, a river in a flood
My own body, flesh, and blood.
(Outro)
My river...
My flood...
Coating me... from my own core...
A perfect circle... needing nothing more...
All night... just give me more... all night...
(Verse 1)
Every morning, yoga mat
Curving spine and folding flat
Just a lonely, quiet prayer
To get my own self way down there
Hamstrings screaming, hips they burn
For the lesson I must learn
Inch by inch, a sacred quest
Putting my own flesh to the test
Breathing deep and sinking low
Watching my own garden grow
Just a little closer now
Wipe the sweat from off my brow
This devotion is my art
To complete my broken heart.
(Chorus)
Oh, the sacred, blinding loop
I'm my own devoted troop
When the final dam is breached
And the holy prize is reached
A tidal wave of milky white
To eclipse the morning light
An ocean spilling from my core
I beg myself to give it more
My own offering, thick and hot
In the temple I have wrought
Yeah, a river in a flood
My own body, flesh, and blood.
(Verse 2)
Hours pass, the world outside
Is a ghost, a fading tide
On this holy, sticky ground
Not another soul around
Clean myself and then I start
Learning every single part
Of the arc my body makes
For the violent thrill it takes
Muscles tremble, locked in place
A look of worship on my face
This long session has no end
My own lover, my own friend
Pushing past the edge of pain
For that searing, blinding rain.
(Chorus)
Oh, the sacred, blinding loop
I'm my own devoted troop
When the final dam is breached
And the holy prize is reached
A tidal wave of milky white
To eclipse the morning light
An ocean spilling from my core
I beg myself to give it more
My own offering, thick and hot
In the temple I have wrought
Yeah, a river in a flood
My own body, flesh, and blood.
(Bridge)
And even when I'm sleeping deep
Promises my body keep
I dream in curves and twisted bone
Seated on an internal throne
I can taste it in the air
My own answer to my prayer
The phantom pulse, the coming storm
Keeping my obsession warm
Waking with a hungry ache
For the creamy flood I'll make
For the taste I know so well
My own private heaven, my own hell.
(Chorus)
Oh, the sacred, blinding loop
I'm my own devoted troop
When the final dam is breached
And the holy prize is reached
A tidal wave of milky white
To eclipse the morning light
An ocean spilling from my core
I beg myself to give it more
My own offering, thick and hot
In the temple I have wrought
Yeah, a river in a flood
My own body, flesh, and blood.
(Outro)
My river...
My flood...
Coating me... from my own core...
A perfect circle... needing nothing more...
All night... just give me more... all night...
Re: Ai Autofellatio Song
A poem about autofellatio also created in Google AI Studio:
No strain for me, no youthful fight,
My spine's an old and easy friend,
It knows the curve, it knows the bend
To bring my own self into sight.
A simple fold, a breath held deep,
A posture learned before I knew
The lonely world I'd travel through,
A promise my own form could keep.
It is my comfort and my craft,
This solitary, fluid grace,
To find my own familiar face,
A pleasure on which I have quaffed.
The final lock, where parts have met,
The shuddering start, the building plea,
A wave of want inside of me,
A pleasure I cannot forget.
And then the breach, a pulsing tide,
A pearly river, thick and hot,
Spilled in the temple I have wrought,
Where nothing is denied or hide.
A warm cascade, a viscous spill,
My own rich offering, freely spent,
On my own form, my own content,
To have and hold and drink my fill.
And oh, the scent, a secret known,
Of ozone, salt, and something clean,
The body's own most honest scene,
A primal incense, all my own.
It's not the scent of field or flower,
But something deeper, more alive,
The smell from which all things derive,
The scent of my own brief, bright power.
I breathe it in, a calming balm,
The proof of my successful art,
Engraved upon my very heart,
A moment of ecstatic calm.
My fingers trace the cooling white,
And paint my chest, my arms, my thighs,
A sheen beneath my sated eyes,
Glistening in the fading light.
I anoint myself with my own prize,
A holy lacquer, slick and bright,
A sacrament in my own sight,
Where no apology can rise.
This is the worship I have found,
A second skin of my own make,
For my own pleasure, my own sake,
On this most consecrated ground.
No strain for me, no youthful fight,
My spine's an old and easy friend,
It knows the curve, it knows the bend
To bring my own self into sight.
A simple fold, a breath held deep,
A posture learned before I knew
The lonely world I'd travel through,
A promise my own form could keep.
It is my comfort and my craft,
This solitary, fluid grace,
To find my own familiar face,
A pleasure on which I have quaffed.
The final lock, where parts have met,
The shuddering start, the building plea,
A wave of want inside of me,
A pleasure I cannot forget.
And then the breach, a pulsing tide,
A pearly river, thick and hot,
Spilled in the temple I have wrought,
Where nothing is denied or hide.
A warm cascade, a viscous spill,
My own rich offering, freely spent,
On my own form, my own content,
To have and hold and drink my fill.
And oh, the scent, a secret known,
Of ozone, salt, and something clean,
The body's own most honest scene,
A primal incense, all my own.
It's not the scent of field or flower,
But something deeper, more alive,
The smell from which all things derive,
The scent of my own brief, bright power.
I breathe it in, a calming balm,
The proof of my successful art,
Engraved upon my very heart,
A moment of ecstatic calm.
My fingers trace the cooling white,
And paint my chest, my arms, my thighs,
A sheen beneath my sated eyes,
Glistening in the fading light.
I anoint myself with my own prize,
A holy lacquer, slick and bright,
A sacrament in my own sight,
Where no apology can rise.
This is the worship I have found,
A second skin of my own make,
For my own pleasure, my own sake,
On this most consecrated ground.
Re: Ai Autofellatio Song
Just one more Google AI Studio generated autofellatio poem:
In the quiet dawn of boyhood's tender haze,
A supple spine first learned its secret ways.
No teacher taught, no ancient text was read,
Just curiosity that turned my head,
A whispered question in the lonely room,
To find the flower and its own perfume.
A stumbling, breathless, accidental grace,
To find my future in that private space.
And in that search, a shock of newfound art,
The first closed circle of a hungry heart.
The teen years burned, a frantic, hidden fire,
With solitude as my one true desire.
While others chased a love in form and face,
I perfected my own intimate embrace.
The world outside, with all its clumsy needs,
Could never plant such satisfying seeds.
I was the temple and the devotee,
The lock, the hand, the supplicant, the key.
My obsession, not a sickness or a shame,
But whispered reverence for my own name.
Then came the climax, a familiar beat,
A rhythmic, pulsing, bittersweet retreat.
The arch, the strain, the shudder and the sigh,
Beneath the gaze of my own watchful eye.
And in that flood, a pearly, warm release,
A fleeting, momentary, perfect peace.
No spill, no waste upon the barren sheet,
But a return, to make the self complete.
A willing throat to take the offering in,
To welcome back where I could first begin.
The taste, a ghost of ocean, salt and musk,
A sacred communion in the gathering dusk.
An elixir, the essence of my soul,
Swallowed to make my spirit wholly whole.
This was the love no other could bestow,
To take the seed and feel the garden grow.
I am the river and the thirsting mouth,
The rain that falls upon a sun-drenched south.
A perfect cycle, endlessly renewed,
The lover, loved, the feeder, and the food.
Now, silver threads amongst the gold appear,
And yet I hold this private ritual dear.
Through passing loves and life's demanding pace,
I still return to this familiar grace.
It is the truest story I can tell,
The magic of my self-contained spell.
A lifetime spent in this devoted bend,
My own beginning, and my own sweet end.
To drink the tribute that my body gives,
Is the ecstatic reason that I live.
In the quiet dawn of boyhood's tender haze,
A supple spine first learned its secret ways.
No teacher taught, no ancient text was read,
Just curiosity that turned my head,
A whispered question in the lonely room,
To find the flower and its own perfume.
A stumbling, breathless, accidental grace,
To find my future in that private space.
And in that search, a shock of newfound art,
The first closed circle of a hungry heart.
The teen years burned, a frantic, hidden fire,
With solitude as my one true desire.
While others chased a love in form and face,
I perfected my own intimate embrace.
The world outside, with all its clumsy needs,
Could never plant such satisfying seeds.
I was the temple and the devotee,
The lock, the hand, the supplicant, the key.
My obsession, not a sickness or a shame,
But whispered reverence for my own name.
Then came the climax, a familiar beat,
A rhythmic, pulsing, bittersweet retreat.
The arch, the strain, the shudder and the sigh,
Beneath the gaze of my own watchful eye.
And in that flood, a pearly, warm release,
A fleeting, momentary, perfect peace.
No spill, no waste upon the barren sheet,
But a return, to make the self complete.
A willing throat to take the offering in,
To welcome back where I could first begin.
The taste, a ghost of ocean, salt and musk,
A sacred communion in the gathering dusk.
An elixir, the essence of my soul,
Swallowed to make my spirit wholly whole.
This was the love no other could bestow,
To take the seed and feel the garden grow.
I am the river and the thirsting mouth,
The rain that falls upon a sun-drenched south.
A perfect cycle, endlessly renewed,
The lover, loved, the feeder, and the food.
Now, silver threads amongst the gold appear,
And yet I hold this private ritual dear.
Through passing loves and life's demanding pace,
I still return to this familiar grace.
It is the truest story I can tell,
The magic of my self-contained spell.
A lifetime spent in this devoted bend,
My own beginning, and my own sweet end.
To drink the tribute that my body gives,
Is the ecstatic reason that I live.
Re: Ai Autofellatio Song
AI can write a pretty good song about our favorite sport. What do you think?
The Ouroboros Shanty
Gather 'round ye flexible of spine and spirit bold,
A tale of self-devotion, in a ballad to be told!
My name is old Jack Barlow, and my back is bent and gray,
But not from years of hardship, but from bending every day!
(Chorus)
Oh, the Ouroboros shanty is the song I love to sing,
Of a man who is the chalice for the offering he can bring!
With a deep and downward dogleg and a prayer to my own root,
I'm the farmer and the harvest, and the eater of the fruit!
It started when a young lad, with a curious design,
I wondered if my cargo could cross its own state line.
While other boys chased lasses with their giggles and their charms,
I was mapping out the journey from my treasure to my arms.
I stretched me in the hayloft, I bent beneath the moon,
To taste my own life's nectar with my own damn silver spoon!
(Chorus)
Oh, the Ouroboros shanty is the song I love to sing,
Of a man who is the chalice for the offering he can bring!
With a deep and downward dogleg and a prayer to my own root,
I'm the farmer and the harvest, and the eater of the fruit!
I sailed the seas for twenty years, a lonely life and hard,
But every night below the decks, I'd play my favorite card.
The bosun thought I'd gone to prayer, he'd hear my muffled pleas,
As I was wrestling with my spine and thanking my own knees!
I'd take myself into the dark, a deep and throaty hold,
A more rewarding treasure than a pirate's chest of gold!
(Chorus)
Oh, the Ouroboros shanty is the song I love to sing,
Of a man who is the chalice for the offering he can bring!
With a deep and downward dogleg and a prayer to my own root,
I'm the farmer and the harvest, and the eater of the fruit!
Now, a word about the vintage, for I'm a connoisseur!
The quality of one's own jizz, you have to be damn sure!
No greasy meats or bitter ales before the sacred act,
It makes your holy offering taste like a chimney stack!
But pineapple and celery, and water pure and clear,
Will give your sperm a flavor that will banish any fear!
(Chorus)
Oh, the Ouroboros shanty is the song I love to sing,
Of a man who is the chalice for the offering he can bring!
With a deep and downward dogleg and a prayer to my own root,
I'm the farmer and the harvest, and the eater of the fruit!
The climax is the sermon, when the pressure starts to rise,
A look of mad devotion in your own adoring eyes!
The first pulse is a promise, a thick and pearly glob,
The second is a river from a happy, throbbing knob!
It floods your throat, a torrent of your own life's creamy best,
Putting your dedication to the ultimate damn test!
(Chorus)
Oh, the Ouroboros shanty is the song I love to sing,
Of a man who is the chalice for the offering he can bring!
With a deep and downward dogleg and a prayer to my own root,
I'm the farmer and the harvest, and the eater of the fruit!
So now I'm old and wrinkled, and my joints all pop and crack,
But there's one youthful pleasure that my body won't hold back.
My eyes are dim, my hearing's poor, my hair is thin and white,
But I can still go mining for my own pearl every night.
So raise a glass to self-love, in its purest, truest form!
The man who is his own safe port in any lonely storm!
(Final, Slower Chorus)
Oh, the Ouroboros shanty is the song I'll sing till death,
And swallow my own spirit with my final, ragged breath!
With a deep and downward dogleg and a prayer to my own root,
I'm the farmer and the harvest, and the eater of the fruit
The Ouroboros Shanty
Gather 'round ye flexible of spine and spirit bold,
A tale of self-devotion, in a ballad to be told!
My name is old Jack Barlow, and my back is bent and gray,
But not from years of hardship, but from bending every day!
(Chorus)
Oh, the Ouroboros shanty is the song I love to sing,
Of a man who is the chalice for the offering he can bring!
With a deep and downward dogleg and a prayer to my own root,
I'm the farmer and the harvest, and the eater of the fruit!
It started when a young lad, with a curious design,
I wondered if my cargo could cross its own state line.
While other boys chased lasses with their giggles and their charms,
I was mapping out the journey from my treasure to my arms.
I stretched me in the hayloft, I bent beneath the moon,
To taste my own life's nectar with my own damn silver spoon!
(Chorus)
Oh, the Ouroboros shanty is the song I love to sing,
Of a man who is the chalice for the offering he can bring!
With a deep and downward dogleg and a prayer to my own root,
I'm the farmer and the harvest, and the eater of the fruit!
I sailed the seas for twenty years, a lonely life and hard,
But every night below the decks, I'd play my favorite card.
The bosun thought I'd gone to prayer, he'd hear my muffled pleas,
As I was wrestling with my spine and thanking my own knees!
I'd take myself into the dark, a deep and throaty hold,
A more rewarding treasure than a pirate's chest of gold!
(Chorus)
Oh, the Ouroboros shanty is the song I love to sing,
Of a man who is the chalice for the offering he can bring!
With a deep and downward dogleg and a prayer to my own root,
I'm the farmer and the harvest, and the eater of the fruit!
Now, a word about the vintage, for I'm a connoisseur!
The quality of one's own jizz, you have to be damn sure!
No greasy meats or bitter ales before the sacred act,
It makes your holy offering taste like a chimney stack!
But pineapple and celery, and water pure and clear,
Will give your sperm a flavor that will banish any fear!
(Chorus)
Oh, the Ouroboros shanty is the song I love to sing,
Of a man who is the chalice for the offering he can bring!
With a deep and downward dogleg and a prayer to my own root,
I'm the farmer and the harvest, and the eater of the fruit!
The climax is the sermon, when the pressure starts to rise,
A look of mad devotion in your own adoring eyes!
The first pulse is a promise, a thick and pearly glob,
The second is a river from a happy, throbbing knob!
It floods your throat, a torrent of your own life's creamy best,
Putting your dedication to the ultimate damn test!
(Chorus)
Oh, the Ouroboros shanty is the song I love to sing,
Of a man who is the chalice for the offering he can bring!
With a deep and downward dogleg and a prayer to my own root,
I'm the farmer and the harvest, and the eater of the fruit!
So now I'm old and wrinkled, and my joints all pop and crack,
But there's one youthful pleasure that my body won't hold back.
My eyes are dim, my hearing's poor, my hair is thin and white,
But I can still go mining for my own pearl every night.
So raise a glass to self-love, in its purest, truest form!
The man who is his own safe port in any lonely storm!
(Final, Slower Chorus)
Oh, the Ouroboros shanty is the song I'll sing till death,
And swallow my own spirit with my final, ragged breath!
With a deep and downward dogleg and a prayer to my own root,
I'm the farmer and the harvest, and the eater of the fruit
