Poetry by Jeff Green

670–First_fumblings.html

First fumblings

by cricketjeff on March 16, 2008.  © Jeff Green, All rights reserved

Stolen kisses in the park, promises of more
Parents shop on Saturday, what else are weekends for
Condom buying, this is tough, the pub has a machine
In and out the toilets and you hope that you weren’t seen
Early night on Friday but no way that you can sleep
The mountain in the blankets is looking rather steep

Half past ten the doorbell rings, Mum and Dad just gone
A brand new jar of aftershave, and half of it splashed on
Shyly kissing, where’s her bra? How do these things undo
Silly giggles, helpful wriggles I can’t kick off my shoe
Up the stairs with clothes awry, she doesn’t know the way
Find the door and in we go, for love on Saturday

On the bed and and shy again, we sit and stare and touch
How to start the countdown on the launch we want so much
Finally I push her back, her jeans have opened wide
She makes a nervous murmur when my hand just sneaks inside
T-shirt off, and hers is too, the first pair that I’ve seen
Two small mountains topped with brown, so pink and pert and clean

Naked now, and where to look, we stare and look away
I get the pack of Johnnies, so that we can start to play
Have you ever opened Durex when your shaking like a tail
The instructions are in gibberish, and I know that you will fail
Finally the two of you, have cracked the little pack
They will not unroll inside-out she’s waiting on her back

The sex-ed books don’t seem to say, direction finding’s hard
If you cannot find the right way in, all avenues are barred
Much more kissing, breasts to touch, she’s too rough with your balls
And suddenly it’s panic time, the Window cleaner calls
There’s not much time that’s left for play, but finally you win
A hearty push, a yell from her and everything is in

It doesn’t last a moment, it really wasn’t great
Is this the “IT” you’ve waited for, it wasn’t worth the wait
Hurried dressing, cannot speak, where is her other sock
Back to rights and just in time the key is in the lock
Disaster of a morning, you really want to die
‘Til she leans across and whispers (do you want another try!)