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True Love by Schmittavius the Third, Esquire. Prostitution's illegal, no money for blowing. "Oh well," you say, "this girl's quite a beaut." "Face like a bulldog, but gosh that butt's cute." She flutters her eyes, your hormones are rushing. Get a grip, and stop with the blushing. Now calm down, relax, just keep your cool. Oh fuck what's that sticking out like a rule? Her flowing dress, just watch it billow. Whilst you cover your penis with a pillow. You're hard as a rock, With a prestiguous cock; Don't cuddle or your genitals'll knock. You're making your moves, in spite of the boner. The girl's dumb enough, you chose a faggy goth loner. Looks dead as a corpse, her eyes a dull glow. Your mind says wayhey and you penis says "go!" The night's drawing on, the dancing is boring. So you stroke and caress her 'til her passion is soaring. This candlelit dinner's turned out quite distorted. But then that cleavage of her's in a wonderbra sported. The night draws on, the room you pick quiet. This sex will be great, you didn't even buy it. You lean back on the couch, pulling her closer. Her bra slips; her breast's like a coaster. You grit your teeth, so this is it. You slide in your hand for a grope of her tit. She nuzzles your neck, the sofa is groaning. Then you come before she even starts moaning. ~fini~ |
I was bored during college, then I finished a good chunk of this off at home while feeling icky.
