by cricketjeff on February 15, 2010. © Jeff Green, All rights reserved
A wiggle of a bottom tempts a certain sort of man,
That a certain sort of girl is pleased to tempt.
A skirt that’s short and sexy is essential to the plan
But she will soon be looking quite unkempt.
She runs away, but not too fast, he grabs and “ooo lala”;
The skirt undoes, and she’s undone, perhaps it’s gone too far.
The little top that squeezed her tits ain’t equal to the task,
It’s gone (with just a little bit of help),
“I’ll give you what you’re asking for!”, “I thought you’d never ask!”
Across the knees, a slap and then a yelp.
She wriggles, that’s expected, but she doesn’t slip away,
A certain sort of pleasure needs a certain sort of play.
It doesn’t last, it never could, he’s quickly out of breath,
And “light relief” is all that’s left to do.
He grins as she redresses, “You will tempt me to my death.”
“A death like that would make a man of you!”
She checked the swatch of twenties then she kissed him on the cheek,
“The meter maid or schoolgirl when I see you here next week?”