Copywright Biard Zukitoff all rights reserved.
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5 Poems of based on humour, life and sexual experiences
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Anatomy - Paying for it - Health and Hygene - Solitude
Humour:
Tale of a dancer
Her name was Gerri, she was a dancer,
A real exotic little prancer.
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A girl of indeterminate age,
each night she got up on the stage.
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The customers came from far and near
to watch her act and drink their beer.
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One night the music started loud
and Gerri stood up straight and proud.
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Her sequinned G-string sparkled bright
and body shimmered in the light.
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Gyrating to the music's beat
the punters got in quite a heat.
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Until the movement of her tum
made sequinned g-string come undone.
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It fell upon the stage quite neat
as each man stood upon his seat.
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To see her pussy they were eager
where skin was smooth and hair was meagre.
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Each glancing at her private cellar
was shocked to find .........she was a fella.
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The Nipple.
The nipple rose slowly awakening from slumber
as thin lacy fabric removed it encumber.
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I watched as it hardened and stood to attention
the ball of my finger had done its intention.
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The breast rose and fell with regular measure
the sight of it giving a feeling of pleasure.
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My urge was to kiss it quite gently and tender,
a message of love to it, from the sender.
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In light of its firmness and cherry like view,
my love for its feeling and flavour just grew.
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I popped out my tongue and licked at the spot,
where daddy had been and baby had not.
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The milk that it offered was not for a child,
just making my passions and feelings run wild.
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It rolled round my tongue as I nuzled quite near,
and she whispered her love right into my ear.
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The warmth of her body would keep me all night,
as she lent down beside me and turned out the light.
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The, no option male.
I came in gallons, not just a drop,
the semen on belly, it fell with a plop.
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My hand was my friend, it did me such good,
as hard and when ready, I'd slid back the hood.
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Whilst gripping myself as hard as a rock,
I'd slid back and forth down the length of my cock.
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The other hand massaged my ful juicy balls,
as lone in my bedroom I stared at the walls.
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I needed a woman but this would suffice,
as thumb and forefinger gripped like a vice.
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I dreamt of the feeling you get when you're fucked,
or even the pleasure you feel as you're sucked.
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There's nothing quite like, when you get it for real,
but this time my hand, was all I would feel.
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I shot my load quietly, not getting discovered,
and all that happened was my belly got covered.
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The wet warm juices all ran to the side,
as now I just wondered why I had lied.
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See, there was no womand for me at this time,
and the use of my hand would have to be fine.
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Safe Sex
Tight fabric stretched taught was over my cock
The snake had arisen as hard as a rock.
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The head glistened wet in the earliest sign
of pleasure expected that would be devine.
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The balls bunched up tight in the small wrinkled bag,
not relaxed and normal and all of a sag.
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The warmth of her love lips awaited the pleasure,
to take her with speed and not at my leisure.
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The fabric away, it stood proud and strong,
to release all the juices, would not take that long.
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The wet head forced inward towards the wet hole,
it knowing without teaching, exactly its role.
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The ripples of lust through the organ they throbbed,
where contents of balls would shortly be robbed.
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The spasms they came like waves being beached,
as each shot entered and orgasm was reached.
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Thin membrane it stopped any stray little seed,
the giving of life when there was not a need.
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It stopped the deseases and other such things
that generally come from occassional flings.
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A girl of the streets.
The dusky skinned maiden was all I desired,
with long flowing hair, my passion was fired.
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With a flash of her eyes and curve of the hips,
her pearly white teeth behing the full lips.
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This vision of beauty, this girl to behold,
wore a simple dress I began to unfold.
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As each movement revealed a touch of her skin,
I was desperate to discover the person within.
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I cupped a large hand to her beautiful breast,
my passions arising and mounting the crest.
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She fell to her knees and tended my loins,
and all she had asked, was a handfull of coins.
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I couldn't hold back from the juices that came,
to her it was normal, and part of the game.
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But I wondered quite often the power that drove her,
to sell herself freely, to any odd lover.
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A payment in cash was all she required,
that dusky skinned maiden who'd fullfilled my desire.
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Copywright Biard Zukitoff 2004. All rights reserved.