To what depths will a woman descend,
And enjoy it, or if not, pretend?
Not from love, not from lust…
All too often it’s just
How much cash a man’s willing to spend.
Friends
When a man and a woman are friends,
If they fuck or not mostly depends
On how horny they are,
And how drunk, and how far
They imagine that friendship extends.
Red-handed
While he peeked through the keyhole in awe,
She undressed. Then she opened the door!
As he knelt there, wide eyed,
She said “Come on inside,
And I’ll show you what that thing is for.”
Whatever
It began with an innocent hug;
Then they kissed, and she gave him a tug.
When he managed to say,
“Shall we go all the way?”
She replied, “If you like,” with a shrug.
Total recall
He recalled how they’d kissed and embraced,
How he’d felt with his arm round her waist;
How she laughed, how she spoke,
And each day, when he woke,
He could smell her, and still taste her taste.
Aussie men
Aussie men love to give their mates nicknames,
Some funny, some stupidly sick names;
It’s fun round the bar,
And some blokes go so far
As to also give each other’s dick names.
Sugar and spice
She dressed sexy, to tease and entice,
And wore perfume, for sugar and spice;
She’d go out and get plastered,
And some lucky bastard
Would fuck her, (or two, or the same fellow twice!)
Virtue's reward
She’d sit, hands in her lap, and bemoan,
That because of her damned chaperone,
Though she longed to be kissed,
And she wouldn’t resist,
What damn chance, when they’re never alone?
The chic clique
Women long to belong to the clique
Of the sleek and the terribly chic;
Of those simply unable
To wear a cheap label,
To cover their scrawny physique.
They imagine they have a mystique,
Unconcerned by the chaos they wreak;
Anorexia looms,
For those vanity dooms
To the struggle to feel unique.
Eyebrows, lips, bum and hips get a tweak,
Then some sculpting of chin and the beak;
And no sane woman rests
Without plumping her breasts
With prostheses that harden and leak.
They know well, it’s of them that I speak,
Women passing their sexual peak;
They who inwardly rage
At the coming of age,
To whom life unobserved seems so bleak.
So they lie, and they cheat, and they sneak,
Make themselves into some sort of freak;
Despite smooth, unlined faces,
The airs and the graces,
They’re sad, and pathetic, and weak.
Preamble
“Though I bear you the utmost affection,”
He said, “if you have no objection,
I’ll now call you bitch,
And do bad things, for which
I confess an extreme predilection!”