Another poem from the Naughty Napkin days. For those not in the know. In 1993, l worked as an Escort in London and during the ‘escorting’ to dinners and the such like, l would doodle on the napkins at the table abstractively. It was because of these that l was offered a freelance position of writing in the Adult literature magazine market.
Can’t live with them, can’t live without,
Other half demanding more sexual clout!
Apparently my basic techniques, boring!
Missus wants excitement, not usual bedroom chorin‘!
Been told to brush up department of satisfaction,
Otherwise she will perform her own gratifications!
Need to be more ‘adventurously sexually romantic’
Like WTF does that mean, l am practically frantic?
Aye women, there is at times no pleasing them,
She’s’ not b’n th’ same since taking that bloomin’ E vitamin!
All the time now, all she thinks of is sex, sex, sex!,
Once a bloody week was fine for me, now she objects!
Wants it practically daily, thrice nightly too if l could,
Been hard for me its has, tiring my plumbed wood!
Good God what’s wrong with thee lass?
Lads at pub, think it’s a right fine jokey mash!
Tom lad, you need to do a bit of ‘exploring’
Please her at home, impress her with your scoring!
So here l am up to my bloody eyeballs, in sexual research!
All sorts here, most l am sure are against the church!
Karma sutra or something similar, tantric too,
Twist this way, meditate to the above and sex will be true?
I am a simple lad, l just want it over and done with, easy
Not all this complicated and complex visual sleaze,
Just ‘lie back and brace yourself’ is my usual foreplay,
According to all this, l have got to learn bloomin’ ballet!
Now l have got to be ‘sensual’ and aware of her zones?
Zones, what are they,? Touching her ‘undertones?’
She Wants it rough, a bit of slap and tickle,
Baby oiling her bits, and ‘my sausage and pickles?’
Like what kind of talk is that from ones’ lass at home?
‘Come on big boy, spank me and give me the bone!’
Chase me around the trees in the fruit orchard,
Ye Gods, l am beginning to feel tortured!
‘Show me some hard lovin’ ride me like a horse!
Excite me, pleasure me, or damn you its divorce!”
Books galore on the damned subject, there is,
Written by sadists l swear taking the piss!
Fearless sex, sexual bible, erotica, ten secrets!
101 places to perform from the bedroom to the kitchenette!
Sprinkling roses within the sheets, scented oils burning,
Guaranteed to race your hearts and get the bodies churning!
Hard and fast techniques can be learned by man,
On how to sexually please your fun lovin’ woman!
God above, what is a simple lad to do?
Crikey l mean, its sex, that’s all, l have had better stews!
Now l have got to become some kind of perverted deviant,
Or in the very least pay for some sexual transplant!
Ye Gods that’s it, that’s an idea l thought, l will pay to learn,
So l visited Abigail’s House Of Pleasure, what a return!
Was there for hours upon hours, and l was taught a few tricks,
I now know exactly where l shall be putting my thick stick!
‘Oh my Tommy babes, you are such an adventurous romantic!’
“Aye lass, this slap and tickle game, bloody sexual magic!’
© Rory Matier 1993