Memories of a nice encounter
What will turn each separate person on,
So do not presume to, foolish reader.
This story is true, not a poetic fiction,
Not some silly childish fantasy
Written to gratify a masturbatic whim.
One evening in Dublin's fair city
[yes I know that's a cliché, who so what?]
I cruised into Davy's Bar off Grafton Street.
I had a more than a few whiskeys on board
And really was feeling totally up for it,
You might even say fucking indiscriminate.
There was this gross slutty bitch by the bar,
Fat feet propping it up, swaying a bit
And looking around with desperation in her eyes.
And I know it was either that obese lump
Or yet another night of futile wrist action
And then falling into a drunken slumber.
So I chatted her up and she was OK really
And when it came to chucking out time
I suggested she come back to my flat for a shag.
Once we got back to my sordid domicile,
A bachelor pad of unwashed socks and dishes,
But with booze-a-plenty, she soon stripped off.
Jesus Christ, what a hideous stretch-marked body,
White and pallid and unappetising to behold,
But my bed was made and I knew what was my manly duty.
So we got down to do the dirty business
And [Christ] she could have done with a bath
But nonetheless I gave her a gentlemanly fuck.
And as I thrust away, flexing my butts twixt her open legs
I reconsidered the wisdom of my choice that night
Maybe a quick one off the wrist would have sufficed.
And we pounded into each other like demented dervishes,
Sweating like pigs and panting like two filthy animals;
Would you believe it, we came together with a scream.
And thanks to Holy Jesus and Blessed Mary up above,
Our hideous mutual love-task soon was done and gone,
And I could throw the hideous hag out on the street.
Poetry by Edna Sweetlove
Read 1180 times
Written on 2006-09-17 at 13:11
Tags Sex Love Humour
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Kinky Times In Dublin
No one can tell what is really sexy,What will turn each separate person on,
So do not presume to, foolish reader.
This story is true, not a poetic fiction,
Not some silly childish fantasy
Written to gratify a masturbatic whim.
One evening in Dublin's fair city
[yes I know that's a cliché, who so what?]
I cruised into Davy's Bar off Grafton Street.
I had a more than a few whiskeys on board
And really was feeling totally up for it,
You might even say fucking indiscriminate.
There was this gross slutty bitch by the bar,
Fat feet propping it up, swaying a bit
And looking around with desperation in her eyes.
And I know it was either that obese lump
Or yet another night of futile wrist action
And then falling into a drunken slumber.
So I chatted her up and she was OK really
And when it came to chucking out time
I suggested she come back to my flat for a shag.
Once we got back to my sordid domicile,
A bachelor pad of unwashed socks and dishes,
But with booze-a-plenty, she soon stripped off.
Jesus Christ, what a hideous stretch-marked body,
White and pallid and unappetising to behold,
But my bed was made and I knew what was my manly duty.
So we got down to do the dirty business
And [Christ] she could have done with a bath
But nonetheless I gave her a gentlemanly fuck.
And as I thrust away, flexing my butts twixt her open legs
I reconsidered the wisdom of my choice that night
Maybe a quick one off the wrist would have sufficed.
And we pounded into each other like demented dervishes,
Sweating like pigs and panting like two filthy animals;
Would you believe it, we came together with a scream.
And thanks to Holy Jesus and Blessed Mary up above,
Our hideous mutual love-task soon was done and gone,
And I could throw the hideous hag out on the street.
Poetry by Edna Sweetlove
Read 1180 times
Written on 2006-09-17 at 13:11
Tags Sex Love Humour
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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English War Veteran aged 98 |
