There she was, wearin’ nary a stitch,
With my husband, the slutty damn bitch!
I said, aimin’ my gun,
“Dirty cunt! Havin’ fun?”
She said “Shoot me. Just scratchin’ an itch.”
There she was, wearin’ nary a stitch,
With my husband, the slutty damn bitch!
I said, aimin’ my gun,
“Dirty cunt! Havin’ fun?”
She said “Shoot me. Just scratchin’ an itch.”
He went back to her, cheated and lied,
And was welcomed with legs open wide.
Just a slut, to be lenient,
Bloody convenient
Though, for a bit on the side!
“Well, my son, she’s a beautiful bride,”
Said his dad, “but still, cast your net wide.
She’s a good fuck, I know;
Keep your eyes open, though,
For the chance of a bit on the side!”
On the honeymoon, as she undressed,
The young bride, feeling guilty, confessed
That she’d fucked the best man,
Once, by chance, not by plan,
And the groom might come off second best!
They’d been lovers, some years ago;
When they kissed, time contracted, as though
They still were, he confessed.
“Yes”, she said, “but the rest
Is a pleasure we ought to forego.”
“So, you married him then, I suppose.”
“Yes, kids too, and I know that it shows.”
“You’re more beautiful still!”
She blushed, feeling the thrill;
“What exactly, sir, do you propose?”
“Neither your place nor mine. A hotel?
“Monday lunchtime”, she said. “Bloody hell!
“Tuesday too! Wednesday! Now!
Is there somewhere? Somehow?
On the floor would suit perfectly well!”
http-::www.glamour.com:
They’d been friends since way back, God knows when.
He’d been married; she’d had other men.
Their affair was tempestuous,
Rather incestuous;
God, though, they’d do it again!
She’d split many a marriage asunder,
Which was, of course, small cause for wonder;
Well, not to those matrons,
Whose husbands were patrons,
Whose bellies she’d damply been under!