The poor girl sat at home and just moped.
She’d been kissed, promised things, squeezed and groped;
She’d have rooted him too,
If he’d asked. All too true!
How she wished that she had, then eloped!
Teacher’s pets
She was rather well-stacked, for a teacher;
Small wonder, perhaps, she should feature,
In silly lewd schemes,
Closet wanks and wet dreams
Of the boys in her classes, poor creature!
Ahem!
Were her dress just an inch or two higher,
He thought, and began to perspire,
He might, perhaps, see,
If she moved her left knee,
Just a glimpse … Oh! The pain of desire!
Agents provocateurs
It’s a justification, of sorts,
For occasional wishful, rude thoughts,
That girls walk round the shops,
Tits half out of their tops,
In those tight, pussy-hugging short shorts!
Victim of circumstances
She’d got into this fix inexplicably.
Yes, he’d behaved quite despicably;
Nevertheless,
What a godawful mess,
Being fucked, it would seem, inextricably!
The naive and sentimental lover
There’s this thing about screwing I hate;
When she comes, starts to moan and gyrate,
Getting off on my prick.
I’m like, what’s with this chick?
Be my guest! Come some more, while I wait!
Lickspittle
Oh for God’s sake! she cried. You buffoon!
Suck, don’t blow. You’re not playing bassoon!
Concentrate on my clit.
Much more lick and less spit.
It’s a cunt, not a goddamn spittoon!
All’s not lost
All her chickens had come home to roost.
Called a slut, whore. All hell was unloosed!
The whole town, it seemed, knew
She was fuckable, true,
But it did give her street cred a boost!
Slattern
A loose woman, a trollop, a slattern!
These things, though, do follow a pattern;
Though prudes crossed the street,
She had plenty to eat,
Silken undies and dresses of satin.
Pass the ketchup
Sex is sex, nothing very profound,
And assuming the low moral ground,
Love or not, it’s what’s real,
Like sharing a meal;
With luck, there’s enough to go round!