Quite hung-over, next day, when she woke,
In a motel, with some hairy bloke,
Neatly folded black dress,
She thought “Guess I said yes,
Which it’s too late, I guess, to revoke.”
Tag: consent
In an ivory tower
The poor chap, just a wee bit fanatical
Spent his entire sabbatical,
Working to show
A girl’s yes might mean no,
Or else, maybe, the nuance grammatical.
Calling her bluff
She’ll just grit her teeth, grin, and be strong.
Well, how long can a root take? Too long!
Though she led him on, yeah,
Still, it doesn’t seem fair!
How could things go so horribly wrong?
Augury
Her shirt buttons left mostly unclosed;
Was she favourably, then, disposed
To a roll in the hay?
If asked, what would she say?
Yes, he hoped, and correctly supposed!
The lie of the land
Well, a woman would have to be blind …
She’d known fellows before of his kind!
He’d seduce her, perhaps,
As had various chaps,
Which she’d found that she didn’t much mind!
Laissez faire
“Yeah”, she said, yawning, not much enthused.
”If you want.” God! One might be excused
For not bothering then,
But still, as would most men,
He thought “Fuck! Well she hasn’t refused!”
Ennui
Slightly drunk. half-undressed, she reclined.
He suggested a root. She declined,
Not from meanness or spite,
But then said “Oh, alright”,
Out of boredom, or just to be kind.
A toe in the door
The poor girl was distinctly on edge,
When he whipped out his meat and two veg.
Though she started to cry,
In the blink of an eye,
He’d slipped in the thick end of his wedge!
Doing her duty
Dashing, handsome, his blue eyes hypnotic,
The uniform strangely erotic.
“Alright, you big brute,
Yes, I’ll give you a root.
Well, to not would seem unpatriotic!”
By-blow
The poor maid in whose knickers he’d ferreted,
Fate, sadly, worse than she merited,
Willing or not,
Was dismissed on the spot,
And the scion concerned disinherited.