Foibles and fetishes




Since man first assumed the erect posture, and woman the recumbent, people have sought to enliven their trysts in various ways.
Here follows a far from exhaustive catalogue of some of these ways.




I’m convinced, and I’m sure you’ll agree
That it’s more fun to fuck between three.
Whether one girl or two,
I’m not much concerned who,
Just as long as the third one is me!


Their depraved appetites to appease,
Certain men pay exorbitant fees
To a smart woman who
Found that, rather than screw
They’re quite happy to watch while she pees.



An executive chap from the bank,
Hires ladies his bottom to spank,
Whom he sometimes then screws,
While he sniffs at their shoes:
As a rule though, he’d just as soon wank!


An adventurous girl, for a bet,
Went to bed with five men she’d just met.
She said “threesomes are fun,
More than just one-on-one
So I thought I might try a sextet.”


A  young man, rather smart, but a bully,
One tied a girl’s legs to a pulley,
Attached to the ceiling,
Thus subtly revealing
His object of interest more fully.



Farmer Rogers does things with his chooks
Not in animal husbandry books.
Before wringing the necks
Of his hens he has sex
With the bird which he afterwards cooks.


A young girl, mostly shy and coquettish,
Evinces a singular fetish:
She has to be stripped,
And be tied up and whipped,
Before she becomes at all wettish!


A disease of the organs internal
Affects a bewhiskered old colonel.
He’s also insane
Which might help to explain
His unsavoury habits nocturnal.


When I asked could Miss Smith take a letter,
She said “If it makes you feel better,
But really, without,
The old dull in-and-out
Is more friendly somehow, and much wetter!”


Since she doesn’t wear knickers, Louise
Enjoys all through the day a cool breeze.
For a quickie at work
It’s a wonderful lurk,
And it saves her some time when she pees.


Monsieur Bidet maintains a wee maison
For weekend illicit liaison:
After roti de boeuf
C’est toujours soixante-neuf,
With his beret and socks and pince-nez on!


Mister Cohen was always meticulous,
Almost, one might say, ridiculous:
Shy of disease,
He was never at ease
Till he took down the lady’s particulars.


That delightful young lady, Miss Watt,
Wears no knickers whenever it’s hot.
In the summer and spring
She wears hardly a thing,
And she shaves off the hair on her twat.


There’s a shy little fellow, called Norm,
Whose particular quirk takes this form:
With giggles and snickers
He pilfers girls’ knickers,
If possible while they’re still warm!


A young fellow who does what he pleases
Treats lightly the social diseases:
He doesn’t mind much
About physical touch
But he handles girls’ panties with tweezers.


In the Members’ Bar after the races,
In jockey’s cap, corset with laces,
Her g-string and boots,
To wolf-whistles and hoots,
Miss Boyd-Parker was put through her paces.


By involvement in carnal relations
With ladies who’ve had amputations,
Exotic delights
Are in store for your nights,
And some curious new variations.


She was nude, on all fours, with a saddle:
With some fellow mounted astraddle.
She whinnied and bucked
And screamed out to be fucked,
While he spanked her bare bum with a paddle.


“Oh you cannot put that there,” she said,
“Until after the day we are wed,
For I’m saving that niche,
But you can, if you wish,
Put your thing in my bottom instead!”


From the barnyard came cackles and screeches,
From chickens and other small creatures:
Content in the mud,
Amidst feathers and blood,
Knelt the farm-boy, with unbuttoned breeches!


There’s no reason at all for girls shaving,
Except for erotical craving,
But half of the fun
Is in having it done,
And the prospect of then misbehaving!


Susi shaving her pussy


When a breast is confined in white silk,
Or else satin, or aught of that ilk,
It is bound to elicit
An urge for illicit
And rapturous suckling of milk.


That old rodent-like chap, Mr Sloan,
Gets his rocks off at night all alone,
And hilariously,
Mouthing fragments of filth on the phone.


Betsy Jones is no sexual sluggard,
Prefers sex, in fact, when it’s rugged.
She likes being eaten,
And tied up and beaten
And doesn’t mind much being buggered.


A young woman, who’s frightened of snakes,
And the long necks of swans and of drakes,
Has as well a great dread
Of the serpent in bed,
Every day when her husband awakes!


To a chorus of giggles and squeals,
Brunhilda, in leathers and heels,
Applied to a client
Her cane long and pliant,
Creating a criss-cross of weals.


Mister Brown is by day a bank teller.
At night he becomes Cinderella,
In stockings and gown,
In which guise he goes down
On his ebony-handled umbrella.


At the risk of emotional  trauma,
Because it is tighter and warmer,
When offered her bum,
Into which I might come,
Or her fanny, I went for the former.


A girl’s arse, I believe, is her trump:
I look first at a young lady’s rump:
I prefer pink or white,
But my utmost delight
Is a freshly spanked one, red and plump!


Though it’s strange, she did not seem upset
To be kept on a leash as a pet,
Didn’t mind being mated,
But one thing she hated
Was having to go to the vet.


There’s emerging a rather chic vice
Wherein people together throw dice,
To determine with whom
One does what in the gloom,
And with what sort of kinky device!


There’s a whole new erogenous zone
That’s revealed when the lady lies prone:
The alternative passage,
(Plus clitoral massage)
Is nice, but a bugger alone.

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