It was rumoured the man was endowed
Like a horse, and she recklessly vowed
To find out if it fitted.
It hurt, she admitted,
But felt, nonetheless, justly proud!
Month: February 2014
Done
Well, she thought, God, when all’s done and said, it
Was fun, and wherever it led, it
Was well worth the doing,
Just finally screwing!
She’d come too, twice, much to his credit!
Why God gave women pubic hair
He was moved, at times, deeply to ponder
Of which pubic hair he was fonder;
The bristly brunette,
Red and curly, (so wet!)
Or the wispier, silkier, blonder?
One drink too many
While she drunkenly, fitfully slumbered,
By bra nor by panties encumbered,
By bad luck, or fate,
Though she woke up (too late),
She was screwed, not to mention outnumbered!
Puberty
Around puberty, sexual urges,
Brought on by wild hormonal surges,
Control young kids’ brains.
Soon a vestige remains
Of the child; a new creature emerges.
Albert Camus
Sadly, Albert Camus, confidentially,
Didn’t live life existentially.
Sex, in a word,
He found rather absurd,
But still better than no sex, essentially.
Rutting season
He was big, he was handsome and strong.
Though she knew that to root him was wrong,
She just knew that she would,
Though she tried to be good,
Poor sweet virgin, alas! (Not for long!)
Modern ethos
She smokes dope, she’s a bit of a boozer,
But not, like, a regular user.
She hangs mostly with guys;
They root sometimes. Surprise!
Just for fun. She’s not some kind of loser!