She complained to the court she’d been slandered;
“He called me a slut!” she expanded.
“These days, I’m afraid,
Said the judge, “Getting laid
Quite a lot, although sluttish, is standard!”
Tag: laid
The happy minstrel
Almost eighteen, she’d waited so long!
Not that wanting and waiting were wrong…
A moonlight serenade…
She was wooed, won and laid…
The poor girl could be had for a song
Profit and loss statement
While a virgin, a certain inertial
Reluctance for things controversial
Delayed getting laid;
Her decision, when made,
Was cold-heartedly, strictly commercial.
Circa 1955
He dressed sharp, he was cool, in the groove.
He strolled up to her, made his best move!
Didn’t score, I’m afraid,
Didn’t get himself laid,
But his chances could only improve!
Options weighed
Had she stayed, she thought, rather dismayed,
She would not, then, have gone home unlaid;
Not be innocent still,
Still not know that mad thrill,
Not be doomed, still, to be an old maid!
Ants in her pants
Getting picked up in pubs can be chancy,
But sometimes a girl gets so antsy,
Risks, benefits weighed,
She’ll go get herself laid,
By whatever damn jock she might fancy.
Loitering with intent
On a street corner, downtown, he loitered;
His lecherous eye reconnoitred
The passing parade
For a girl who, once laid,
Could be later more broadly exploited.
Sage advice
“Girl,” said Gran, “Choose a man who’s well hung,
And get plenty of sex, while you’re young.
When you’re old and decayed,
Then you’ll wish you’d been laid
More and better, and been less high-strung.
Regret
Tears welled in her innocent eyes,
Her breasts heaved with her heart-broken sighs;
She’d been lied to and laid,
Been seduced and betrayed,
Love’s sweet juice still flowed warm down her thighs!