Knightly heroes, in sonnet and ballad,
Saved maidens, soft, gentle and pallid,
From dragons and such,
Who said “Thanks very much!
Want a root?” (Strike out “virgin”. Not valid.)
Tag: virgin
A warm day in a punt
Though her parents were watchful and doting,
One Sunday, at Oxford, out boating,
A fellow called Howard, her
Cousin, deflowered her,
Both, of course, secretly gloating!
Yielding not to temptation
Like virtue’s last stalwart defender,
A credit to God and her gender,
She kept him at bay,
Although more than half-way
To corrupted… inclined to surrender!
Terms of endearment
As she strokes him it lengthens and firms.
As he prods at her pussy, she squirms.
As he nibbles her tits,
She says, “See how it fits…”
It would seem that they’re coming to terms.
Vile seducer
Since love’s flame’s first libidinous flickers,
Fermented and spiritous liquors
Unscrupulous men
Have used time and again
To get into some young virgin’s knickers.
Anthropology 101
They’re a native folk, all superstitious,
Their warriors brutal and vicious,
Remarkably hung.
Though the girls marry young,
If you get to them first they’re delicious!
Best foot forward
Although sex remained to her mysterious,
Things did seem now rather serious.
How could he put
That thing, big as her foot
Where he said? It might be deleterious!
Perspective
A few minutes, that’s all it had taken.
Virginity gone, vows forsaken.
She asked “Was it good?”
As she thought that one should.
He said “Fuck yeah! Next best thing to bacon!”
Coming of age
Only something that must be endured;
She stripped, spread her legs, and was skewered.
It didn’t hurt much,
Wasn’t awful, as such;
Her virginity gone at last. Cured!
Sunday, bloody Sunday
Eye of bat, tongue of newt, cock of ass.
Still to find: a young suitable lass,
Virgin, (seem so, at least,)
To be used by the priest,
In strange ways, for next Sunday’s black mass.