The mother of invention

The Mother of Invention

  • Is not necessarily necessity.
  • Is sometimes at a loss as to the identity of the father.
  • Might well be boredom.


A young lady with features angelic
Got off on most anything phallic:
Paint-brushes or pencils,
Or kitchen utensils
And dildos of wood or metallic.


There was nothing at which she would baulk,
Given just a short string and a cork:
What was simply retrieved
Thus, she firmly believed
A fool-proof way of thwarting the stork.



Though it looked much too big for her belly,
By using petroleum jelly,
Determined to screw it,
Before she quite knew it,
She found it was right up her alley!



When your sex-life’s become a big bore,
There are options one ought to explore,
Such as fantasy roles,
Trying different holes,
Public places, new partners and more!

Try a threesome one night with a whore,
Try positions you’ve not tried before!
The perversions are fun,
You may find, when once done:
Don’t be shy, lighten up, break the law!




Holmes said “Watson, we have here a clue:
As to who perpetrated this screw.
I can tell by the smell
Of this seminal gel
That the rapist was seven feet two.”


Said a smug electrician, called Crockett,
“I’ve something right here in my pocket,
The big end of which
Will delightfully twitch,
When I plug it snug into your socket!”


The remarkable muscovy duck
Has perfected the aerial fuck:
By aligning their slots
At the right speed, in knots,
It’s no longer a matter of luck!”


He was huge, he was hard, he was hot.
She, alas, had too tiny a twat.
They had reached an impasse,
Till she offered her arse,
Which, though virginal, took the whole lot!


An eccentric, but clever inventor,
A bit of a social dissenter.
Constructed a doll
With a pulsatile hole,
And a suction device at the centre.


Having long been a lady of leisure,
She sought each day new carnal pleasure,
With men or with boys,
Or with various toys,
And bananas were just made-to-measure.


In the days before girls had the pill,
They used cunning and timing and skill,
Or the old gamarouche
Or a vigorous douche,
Or else rubbers, which tended to spill.


If from sex your girl tends to recoil,
Refusing to come to the boil,
Part her lips by the hair
(if she doesn’t go bare)
And resort to the old olive oil.


There’s a certain old Bedouin sheik
Who can make a fuck last for a  week,
At the finish of which
The girls commonly twitch,
And at times are unable to speak.


I’ve been told the Swiss do it on skis,
Where the organs of lesser men freeze.
It takes judgement and balance,
But such are their talents,
They do it with consummate ease!


When a fellow is not so well-hung,
He has still toes and fingers and tongue,
And with these and some spit,
Anywhere that they fit,
Sighs and moans from her soon will be wrung!

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