She was fond of a root, just that way,
User-friendly, perhaps you could say,
In the back of boys’ cars,
Stairways, under the stars,
But no time for love, only for play!
Tag: slut
Funny, that.
Her tight jeans tucked up into her cunnie,
A bit of a slut, but a honey!
A couple of drinks,
Might get lucky, he thinks.
As it turns out, he’s right on the money!
All’s not lost
All her chickens had come home to roost.
Called a slut, whore. All hell was unloosed!
The whole town, it seemed, knew
She was fuckable, true,
But it did give her street cred a boost!
Alter-ego
Though apparently highly respectable,
Deep within, hardly detectable
Underplayed, but
Always there, was a slut,
With a body just bloody delectable!
Taking her chances
She’s a slut and a sinner, yea verily,
Rooting her way through life merrily,
Destined for hell,
Anybody can tell!
Well perhaps… although not necessarily.
Sisterhood
Could the new novice be an imposter?
The sisters, who’ve made up a roster,
To lie with her , say
She’s a slut, doesn’t pray,
Not so much as a damn Pater Noster!
The id and the ego
She’d been used like a slut, hurt, disgraced.
She recalled it with lust, yet distaste,
But she’d do it again,
Which, as Freud would explain,
Masturbation, of course, just displaced.
Serial monogamy
Not a tart, but a slut still, essentially,
(Liked a good fuck, confidentially!)
Lovers to burn,
But loved each one in turn;
Rooting one then another, sequentially.
Sidewalk special
She’s so bored, staring out at four walls;
She goes out, struts her stuff round the malls.
That cute guy in the suit,
Might he fancy a root?
Nah. Just standing there, scratching his balls.
Reverse snobbery
Just a tart, her life no bed of roses,
Called slut; people looked down their noses,
But no damn Plain Jane;
She drank only champagne!
Consolation, of sorts, one supposes.