His intentions were hardly opaque,
He was after a root, no mistake,
And he wouldn’t go wrong,
But she’d string him along,
For a laugh, and for decency’s sake.
Whimsy
As a rule, she was proper and prim,
But agreed to a root, on a whim.
It was not bad at all,
She would later recall,
Though of course it need not have been him.
Jailbait
“Well, a fuck’s pretty much in the bag,”
He presumed, then his plans hit a snag.
“I’ll be sixteen next week,”
She said, flashing a peek
Of her right boob. “Come on but, let’s shag!”
Shortening the odds
With the chance of a root looking slimmer,
Her randiness down to a simmer,
She hitched up her skirt.
“One more drink wouldn’t hurt,
Would it, though?” she thought, hope just a glimmer.
To market, to market
Naked, chained, prodded, things looking dire,
Indecently groped by each buyer…
The slave-dealer’s voice …
She had damn little choice
Except squeal and squirm and perspire!
Making headway
When the guy after whom she’d so lusted
Found out, she thought “Shit! Like, so busted!”
He wanted some head…
She’d have fucked him instead,
She complained… but remained keen as mustard.
Crestfallen
Now that half-hard was all he could muster,
Well, rooting had quite lost its lustre,
Since yesterday’s cock,
To his sorrow and shock,
As they say, is today’s feather duster.
Matinee
In her bath, naked, washing her smalls;
Local boys peeked through cracks in the walls,
As her tits bobbed and swayed…
And she winked… and they played
With their stiff little pricks and their balls.
The magic word
Though she’s naked and down on her knees,
Though she quite frankly likes what she sees,
Though she’s wet to her thighs,
A stern look in her eyes,
She says “No, not until you say please!”
A long road and bumpy
As she aged, his wife got a bit frumpy,
He too became pudgy and grumpy;
Just par for the course.
They’d have got a divorce,
But both still loved the old rumpy-pumpy!