She’s a looker! She’s fit as a trout!
And the word is, she puts it about.
She does this thing, and that;
But he’s pimply and fat,
So remains, to be honest, in doubt.
Month: April 2013
Lofty pursuits
He made love to her up in the loft,
Throughout which she was itchy and coughed.
Though the fucking was nice,
She was scared of the mice,
And the straw scratched her bum, although soft.
The goodnight kiss
The lads told him she put it about,
So he chatted her up, took her out.
In the end she said no;
She went down on him though,
Which was better than going without.
Alice, unexpurgated
Alice, curious, subject to whimsy,
This brillig day, randy and mimsy,
Began to caress
Herself under her dress;
Slithy, frabjous! Off, panties, so flimsy!
What odds?
The maid glumly considered her plight;
Tipsy, naked, well almost, not quite.
From the bulge in his pants,
There now seemed little chance
That her virtue would see out the night.
The warm hearth
She’d been cosseted, been brought up right,
Taught to not misbehave, which despite,
She lay nude on his rug,
(God, he looked so damn smug!)
By the fire’s soft flickering light.
By a lake in the woods
She exclaimed “Oh, my goodness, Sir Knight!
I was bathing! You gave me a fright!
Why, I might have been raped!
I could not have escaped!
Though, of course, one would put up a fight!”
The boy and the whore
She said “Come here, love. I won’t bite!”
We’re both grown-ups. Just leave on the light.
Drop your pants. That’s the way.
Let me help, if I may …
Stick it in now. There. Harder! That’s right.”
Feeling lucky
She said “Come on! We don’t have all night!”
She undressed, and she turned down the light.
“I’m not saying ‘Let’s fuck’,
But strip off, try your luck…
There’s a pretty good chance that we might!”
White knuckles
She moaned, clutching the bed-rail tighter,
Flushed scarlet, her knuckles still whiter,
Delirious, fraught.
“Please don’t stop now!” she thought.
“Oh my God! Could the fit have been tighter?”