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!
Tag: consent
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!
An eerie silence
As he said to his mate, “Well, I guess
I can’t swear that she ever said yes,
Being, you know, deaf-mute,
But she was a great root!
Still, a bloke might be jailed for less!”
Playing the odds
Since she hadn’t, in fact, said no, yet;
Since her pussy, he knew, was so wet;
Since she’d given him head,
And lay nude on his bed,
She was up for a root, yeah, no sweat!
Detour
They had sex every Thursday, which suited…
She’d dressed… but his ardour rebooted…
She mildly protested
But, easily bested,
Was soon unzipped, stripped and rerooted!
A soft touch
A slow hand, a smooth tongue, a soft touch;
Going down on her, foreplay and such;
Take your time! Not too fast!
When you fuck her at last,
She might protest a bit but not much!
On the cards
Flowers, gifts, a guy does the hard yards,
A first kiss, and the girls drop their guards!
A sly squeeze of a breast;
If she doesn’t protest,
Well, of course, a fuck’s quite on the cards!
The downside of a woman’s prerogative
She recalled, later on, rather dimly,
Her having said no, rather primly,
Then waking to find
(Had she then changed her mind?)
Herself drunk, being fucked, smiling grimly!
Post-traumatic dress disorder
Just sixteen, little more than a child,
But precocious, flirtatious and wild!
Clumsy hands in her bra,
Being fucked in a car,
Though what trauma this caused did seem mild.