When she finally came up for air,
Naked, sweaty, her cunt worse for wear,
Titties bruised, her arse sore,
Swollen lips, aching jaw,
“Win or lose,” she thought, “Fuck Truth or Dare!”
Author: pete
The message is the medium
Drunk and cheeky, in retrospect, rash,
She’d pulled down her dress, gave him a flash.
Though she hadn’t quite meant
The wrong message it sent,
He said “Nice tits, yep. Show us yer gash!”
Repeat offender
A recidivist, vile, unfrocked abbot
Was caught making love to a rabbit;
The very same act,
For which he had been sacked!
He could not, so it seemed, kick the habit.
Actions speak louder than words
His talk of love, facile and cloying,
She found quite intensely annoying.
Why couldn’t the brute
Just get on with the root,
Which she’d been till then, rather enjoying?
Relative merit
How on earth did that old myth begin,
That a girl shouldn’t root kith and kin?
What with condoms and such,
Does it matter so much,
Whose damn cock she ends up with within?
Sexual logistics
The most timid girl comes to know lust.
Lust implies penetration, so must
Suggest fucking some way,
Straight, or weird, or gay;
Cunts, thank god, though, are pretty robust!
Coalition of the willing
At the bar he picked up a young redhead,
Nice tits, (but a bit of a dead-head),
And willing enough;
Didn’t mind he got rough,
Being spanked or hand-cuffed to the bed-head.
Bodice-rippers
Bodice-rippers, soft-porn, girlie fiction,
Fall down in their squeamish depiction
Of actual screwing…
Whatever they’re doing
Lacks mucus, and spitting, and friction.
What friends are for
She bumped into, and fucked, an old flame;
It was good fun. They laughed and she came.
Then he screwed her again.
What a prince among men!
That they’d broken up seemed such a shame!
Rude awakening
In her blog, she typed “What the fuck! Weird!
I got drunk, and when the fog cleared,
I showered and … Shit!
A tattoo on my tit?
And my pussy looks rather dog-eared.”