Might they root? It remained to be seen.
He was nice, and he seemed to be keen.
Since she’d flirted a bit,
Even showed him some tit,
Not to fuck him would be a bit mean!
Go figure!
She was friendly, with quite a nice figure;
Applied herself to him with vigour.
With each rub and lick
Of his all too keen prick
It grew steadily harder and bigger!
Short shrift
Young Kathleen Jones was heard to lament,
(A small act of religious dissent),
“God! What’s wrong with these men?
For a root now and then
I’d quite gladly confess and repent!”
Pushing her envelope
They had sex in ways many and various,
Certain ways rather precarious;
Some made her come,
Some were awkward or dumb,
Others painful, some bloody hilarious!
Conditional approval
“Get your hand off my pussy!” she hissed.
“Stop at once! Fuck off! Cease and desist!
Well, alright. If you must…
But you do know, I trust,
I’m at least honour-bound to resist!”
Baptism of fire
She approached sex a bit apprehensively,
Naked, but legs crossed defensively;
Having said yes,
She got fucked nonetheless,
North and south, pussy, mouth, comprehensively!
Hard to please
Though she tried hard to please, did her utmost,
He called her a slut, but what cut most
Was not what he said,
But that though she gave head
And liked sex, he still fancied her butt most!
The procreational urge
For a man, there’s the thrill of the chase;
When she’s caught, though, he must make his case.
Women must have a reason,
Be wooed, be in season!
(Men just need a time and a place).
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Tiger hunting
How one loved to go out on safari;
Tents, jungle, the nights vast and starry,
Astride one’s best horse…
Take a woman, of course;
Strange dark flesh, when one takes off her sari!
The colonialist
He’d seen Bombay, the East and West Indies,
Screwed black girls, and yellow, and Hindis,
All nice, in their way,
Best to root, though, he’d say,
Sultan’s wives, wearing naught but their bindis!