‘Twixt the thighs of a maid, there’s a slit,
In whose folds, and a marvelous fit,
Is a welcoming niche,
Wherein, should a man wish,
He can push his prick, if she’ll permit.
Value for money
Said a species of sexual scholar,
“Look always for sex amidst squalor:
The lower class whore
Is inclined to do more,
Hence one gets much more sex for one’s dollar.”
Starting and finishing
Mrs Bradley professed a revulsion,
For lubricant gel or emulsion:
It might help get started,
But what if she farted?
It might cause the organ’s expulsion.
Waxing lyrical
A young woman these days can’t relax
Unless made-up and styled to the max,
And if by good luck
She hooks up for a fuck,
God forbid she’s forgotten to wax!
Girls wax not only legs, but their arms,
And bikini-lines, eyebrows and palms,
Anywhere, everywhere
That a hint of a hair
Might detract from their natural charms.
Perhaps hairless they feel more pure,
Not being a girl, Im not sure…
Or, smooth as a baby,
They might think that maybe
They somehow have greater allure.
Do they plan to go on till they’re grannies,
With waxing their nooks and their crannies?
Men don’t frown a bit,
When it comes down to it,
Upon girls with nice soft hairy fannies.
Wild oats
“I’ll oblige,” said Marie, and I quote,
“Should a chap wish to sow a wild oat:
It may well mean divorce,
Or a baby of course,
But the chances are pretty remote.”
Mars, God of War
How I dread what the gods preordain us,
That the orbits of Mars and Uranus
Determine one’s fate:
If a man’s a man’s mate,
Or just wants to get into your anus.
The middle
I’m intrigued, watching girls when they piddle:
So many things meet in the middle,
But what comes from where,
Underneath that lush hair
I confess remains mostly a riddle.
In lieu
When your library book’s overdue,
And a fine has begun to accrue,
If you meet after dark
With the library clerk,
You can quite often screw her in lieu.
Conjugal rights
When the washing-up’s done, on most nights,
My wife gives me my conjugal rights:
She gives me head beautifully,
Fucks with me dutifully,
Wipes up, and turns out the lights.
Glib
Said a spoilt young boy to his nanny,
“Pray tell me why girls have a fanny.”
His nanny, bemused,
Said “The Lord got confused:
Aren’t the ways of God simply uncanny!”