He suspected that, though she was married,
From hints that her words and voice carried,
He’d root her somehow,
Notwithstanding that now
All his amorous sallies were parried.
Tag: root
A rose by any other name
Though to make love does sound more romantic,
Not wishing to to seem too pedantic,
To fuck, root or screw
Is as much fun to do,
And the difference only semantic!
Original sin
The young lady said “Pardon me, Rector…”
He glared at the fair interjector.
“The forbidden fruit;
Does that mean… did they root?
Was it maybe a peach, with sweet nectar?”
Catholic tastes
She’d root anything vaguely mammalian,
Animal, vegetable, alien,
Man, woman, boy,
Flesh and blood or a toy,
Sometimes even a docile Australian.
Happy hour
There are more girls who root than you think,
Sometimes just for the price of a drink!
But don’t come on too strong,
(The booze doesn’t take long),
And keep watch for that special slow wink.
Drinks
He said “Like to come out for a drink?”
She said yes in a heartbeat, a blink!
But what then, later on,
When their friends had all gone?
Would she root him? Well, what do you think?
Passing thoughts
With his shirt and his tie and one boot on,
He mounted her there, on her futon,
(A Japanese bed,
Very trendy, he’d read,
But they’re hard, and a bugger to root on!)
Breaking the ice
Stop! she shouted, and then even chillier,
Sir, you are over-familiar.
Fair go, he said.
We’re halfway into bed,
And a nice friendly root wouldn’t kill ya!
Almost perfect
She was stacked, horny, terribly cute,
A remarkably talented root;
Almost perfect, in fact.
The one thing that she lacked
Was a button to put her on mute!
A fraction too much friction
I’ve just had my first poke with my ex,
And I say, “Do you smoke after sex?”
She reacts kind of slow,
Puzzled, says “I don’t know.”
Laugh! I damn near choke, when she checks!