From the gentry, the titled and landed,
By stages, she’d lowered her standard;
She now spread her limbs,
At the lecherous whims
Of low types, to whose vile tastes she pandered.
Month: June 2012
Before her time
A rare beauty, but quite uninhibited,
Did things obscene and prohibited;
Sad and disgraced
(It’s a matter of taste),
She was bought by a chap, and exhibited.
Almost immaculate
Other women, perhaps hold a grudge,
Call her slut; who are they, though to judge?
Though she’s not yet his wife,
On the page of her life
Is no blot, just a bit of a smudge.
Undertow
Father Davies, the priest at All Hallows,
Red-faced, wheezing loud as a bellows,
Plunged deep into sin,
(He thought all the way in),
Though, as yet, he but dipped in the shallows.
Pitch perfect
At the sight of his cock she went ashen,
But such was the pitch of her passion,
She figured, “Well, shit”
And, although a tight fit,
She still got it in, after a fashion.
But the flesh is weak
Though her flesh was hot, still, in her bones,
And despite her involuntary moans,
She still guiltily knew
That a girl shouldn’t do,
What a good girl till marriage postpones.
Consolation
Disait elle “Mon amour, comme je t’aime,
Mais, tu n’es pas premier, ni deuxieme,
Ni le vingtieme, j’ai peur,
Mais tu es le meilleur!
Oui! Oui! Vraiment! La crême de la crême!
Ipso facto
The poor girl knew for certain, the minute he
Fondled her nether vicinity,
Hard as she tried,
She would not be a bride
Dressed in white, with her intact virginity.
Twit
As she says, it’s her own life to fritter.
Futile, but the girl ain’t no quitter!
She’ll party all night,
Act the whore, well, not quite,
And next day, tell the whole world on Twitter!
Too much information
She was beautiful, true, but conceited…
Before sex was even completed,
She reached for her phone,
Gave one more little moan,
And “Not bad, but had better,” she tweeted.