Yes, he’d rooted her (rather delightful),
To show that he could, (which was spiteful),
To prove her a slut,
Which he had, of course, but
They were sort of in love, which was frightful!
Month: February 2014
Pantomime
He unfastened her brassiere clasp.
She let out a theatrical gasp.
“Gosh, you’re naughty!” she cried.
“Yep!” he said, with some pride,
Both her tits snugly now in his grasp!
Sabbath morn
Waking sticky and damp, a bit hazy,
She thought “Wow! Last night was just crazy!
Five guys! Maybe more!
Well, no wonder I’m sore!
I’m a slut, maybe. Yeah, but not lazy!”
Post-feminism
A post-feminist girl, analytical,
Saw sex as mostly political;
So lower class,
Being fucked in the arse!
Yet to not do so seemed hypocritical!
Bad Mothers’ Club
Each third Friday, the Bad Mothers Club
Meets for lunch at a nice discreet pub;
They drink, tell filthy jokes
And discuss sex and blokes,
While the nanny looks after the bub.
Profit and loss statement
While a virgin, a certain inertial
Reluctance for things controversial
Delayed getting laid;
Her decision, when made,
Was cold-heartedly, strictly commercial.
No pressure
“No big thing,” he said. “No need to stress!
Maybe some other time you’ll say yes.
Jerk me off then, instead,
Or just give me some head.
One way’s good as the next, more or less!”
Pushing his luck
She undressed, with a sigh, and reclined,
Not enthused, just relaxed and resigned.
When she thought he was done,
He said “Gosh! That was fun!
Can I do it again, from behind!”
Signs of the times
Most young women, these days, young men find,
If you buy them a drink, don’t much mind
A hand under their dress,
(Times are changing, I guess),
A blow-job, little things of that kind.
On tenterhooks
Her excitement is mingled with fear;
Bound, helpless, nude, still quite unclear
What will he now do?
Or if not he, then who?
She grows wetter. She sheds a lone tear.