Archive for March, 2012

Let me pull down your menu

I click on my pop-up a bit,
Before I drag you across my desktop
And pull down your menu
And show you my hardware.
The google Earth will move
When I double click your button
and download your software.
My disc will not be floppy
As I upload my hard drive into your cloud.
Your source will be open
As I stick my large file in your dropbox.
I will try not to come in your icon,
or give you a virus though.

Cock Robin

Who sucked Cock Robin?
I, said the Sparrow,
It was short and narrow,
I Sucked Cock Robin.

200th post – part two

Part two of my 200th post challenge: this one’s for Robin who had the naughtiest suggestion.

Most of the inmates of D Wing had imagined that the female guards would be a bit softer than the male guards and give them less of a hard time. Nothing though, could have been further from the truth.

Grown men would shake in their boots when they heard that there would be women guards on night shift. Hardened criminals would weep and pee themselves uncontrollably on discovering that one of the guards would be Robin. Some said she was crazy and heard voices.

“Yes.” she lies to the prison psychiatrist, she has been taking her medication. “No.” she lies again, there have been no more voices.
“No-one is denying that you are a good officer Robin,” the doctor points out, “and prisoner behaviour has certainly improved since you joined us.” Robin casts her mind back to her first shift on D Wing. Some of the inmates had found it entertaining to jerk themselves off in front of the women guards. Most of the women would ignore this or simply place the prisoner on report but Robin had put a stop to it immediately. She had broken the man’s fingers and then demanded that he masturbate in front of her. There was something pathetic she had thought about seeing a man sob and ejaculate at the same time. Afterwards she had told him what she would do if it ever happened again. It never did. Her friend Gabi had laughed like a drain.

She liked working with Gabi, they had a lot in common. Gabi was mostly there for the cock though and she saw to it that she got plenty. There was barely a man on the block that had not fucked her one way or another. Robin was quite partial too to getting fucked at work, but she was mostly there to mete out justice. She had a soft spot for one or two of the men though: Bill was not really a bad guy, just a bit dumb and had fallen in with the wrong crowd, and Joey, who had bludgeoned his wife’s lover to death with a 14 inch, pink dildo, was only really guilty of loving too much, she reckoned. They both had dicks you could knock down a church door with. Gabi didn’t care so much about meting out justice, she just wanted to get fucked. She did like to watch the homophobes suck each other’s cocks though, and they both shared a hatred for the rapists and would devote a lot of their time to ‘educating’ them.

The psychiatrist was saying something about how it had gone too far this time, that there was nothing more she could do, but Robin wasn’t really listening she was listening to the voices in her head, they were making plans for the shift ahead. The doctor was reading from a report, “…then made him flush it down the toilet.” Robin looks up at this, that had been quite a night. “Is this true Robin?”, She did not need an answer, everyone knew it was true. “He is due to be released in a week.” the psychiatrist pointed out, but Robin knew that too, she had his home address, it was only an hour’s drive. His punishment had barely begun. “I don’t know why you are smiling Robin,” the doctor droned on peering disapprovingly over her thick glasses, “we are going to have to let you go.” Robin didn’t care, Gabi would let her in, and without the shackles of officialdom she could really have some fun, really let her hair down. She imagined their faces, the weakening bladders, the ice in their veins, when they realised she was back.

The other door

Sometimes I walk right past
What I’m really looking for.
Distracted by some shiny toy,
Walk through the other door.

Have I walked right past her,
The one I’m looking for?
Not recognised my one true love?
Walked through that other door?

I like to watch him shave

I do,
I like to watch him shave.
I like how he uses his clippers,
not a blade
and I like how much care he takes.
I like the faces he pulls
as he reaches every part of his chin,
the way he sticks his tongue into his lips and cheeks.
Don’t tell him,
but it turns me on.
I like that he cares.
I like that it matters to him.
I like how he knows his own face,
how he knows its contours.
I wish  he’d wash his fucking feet sometimes though.

The best thing about being a man

The best thing about being a man, in my mind at least, is having a dick. They are such fun things to have. Not only is it like having your favourite toy with you all the time but dicks can be time savers too. Often, when I am feeling lazy, or just plain stupid, my dick can take over from my brain, and make decisions for me,  giving my brain a much needed rest. My dick may not be as smart as my brain but he is always optimistic and rarely dwells on questions such as “Is it right?” or “Will I get found out?”

The worst thing about being a man, in my mind at least, is having a dick.

Another limerick

There once was a man from Dundee,
Who got stung on the neck by a wasp.
When they said “Did it hurt?
He replied “Not a bit,
It can do it again if it likes.

A limerick

There once was a man from Nantucket
Who kept all his cash in a sock.
But his daughter, named Nan,
Ran away with the lot
And as for the sock, well who knows?

A Haiku

i want to say that
i love you in seventeen
syllables or less

Poetry sucks

Today is World Poetry Day.
That’s what they say.
World Poetry Day?
Ain’t that kinda gay?

Today is World Poetry Day.
A day to make life rhyme.
World Poetry Day?
Fuck off with that shit!

Six things to avoid on a first date

This was inspired by something I read on the wonderful Tales of a Charm City Chick.

Six things to avoid on a first date

(that have happened to me on a first date…all within the last six months)

  1. Falling asleep: for some reason this is not looked kindly upon. You might think you are just demonstrating how comfortable you feel in her prescence, but trust me, it doesn’t work. I once woke up to find my date had left! How rude is that?
  2. Proposing: again, this doesn’t seen to float a woman’s boat. I thought women liked romance. Wait until the second date would be my advice, not that I’ve ever actually had a second date.
  3. Crying uncontrollably throughout the entire evening: I thought that women liked to see a man’s sensitive side but I have failed to get my dick sucked on many occasion due to this.
  4. Laughing uncontrollably throughout the entire evening: this one is not always a disaster but try to make sure that you don’t point at her when you are laughing.
  5. Asking her if she has any hot sisters: not sure why this is often responded to with “Cheque please!” Asking her if she has any hot brothers seems to have a similar effect. The same rule can also be applied to mothers, daughters and grandmothers and particularly to pets and/or livestock.
  6. Telling her that you have been masturbating over her Farcebook profile pictures: I thought that was flattering but apparently not, not even if you provide proof by showing her the video of you doing it.

So there you have it guys. The foolproof guide to not getting your face slapped. Who knows, maybe one day one of us will get to go on that elusive second date.



Ann is the new girl in the office. She likes her job, even though some of the other women can be a bit mean, and her boss Mr O’Flannigan is a dish. He has an Irish accent that makes her think of waterfalls and a thick mop of of dark brown hair that dances when he walks. He has a smile that could make her come and she generally has to bring in spare panties.

She is packing up ready to go home when he calls her into his office. She can feel his eyes tickling over her body almost as if he is touching her, weakening her knees slightly, putting a little wobble in her voice.

“You know why I’ve asked you in here, don’t you Ann?” he says, she can hear mountain rain in his voice. “Yes sir,” she says, “I know.” and she crosses the rich parquet floor to where he is leant up against the his oak desk. She drops to her knees and undoes his zipper, feeling the cloth taught against his growing erection. Ann takes him out and begins to kiss the tip of his impressive member. Opening her mouth little by little, wetting him, caressing him with the tip of her tongue until she is full with him. She works him harder and faster feeling him slipping in and out of her hot, wet, red mouth, holding his cock round the base and squeezing, feeling him pulse against her tongue and lips. She can feel his excitement rising, his hips rocking, his hand gently holding her head. She can hear his desire simmer and boil in his moans of pleasure, thrilled that he even moans with an accent.

Stopping, she looks up at him smiles, rises and pushes him back onto the desk. Slipping out of her sodden red lace panties and hoisting her skirt, she mounts him, lowering herself onto him slowly, inch by tantalising inch, squeezing with her pussy, staring into his eyes. She rides him like an ocean wave, long and hard and deep, one hand inside his shirt, scratching him slightly, playing with his nipples, the other slips wetly between her legs, as she rubs deliciously at her throbbing clit and dripping lips, feeling him deep within her, watching him watching her.

They both feel their orgasms rise up from deep within their souls at the same time and she slips her wet fingers into his mouth and he sucks at them and gently bites them. Their orgasms erupt through them, their eyes locked, their mouths hot, red and open. Papers fly off the desk as it rattles and shakes to the tune of their lovemaking. She feels every shooting pulsation of his pleasure as he fills her, pulling her fiercely onto him with each powerful thrust, his cries of  delight filling the air like a flock of wild birds.

Their orgasms set slowly, growing quieter and softer, screams become gasps and smiles and kisses, and she collapses onto his chest, feeling his heavy breath and pounding heart.

“Actually Ann,” he said as she adjusted her skirt and hair, “I just wanted to ask if you’d seen my stapler.”

Little Jackie Horner

Little Jackie Horner
Sat in the corner,
Flicking away at her bean;
She put in her thumb,
As she started to come,
And said ‘What a good girl I’ve been!

The white knight

“You can’t park that thing there sir.” said the security guard. “What if it starts doing it business on the sidewalk?” The knight ignored him and leapt from his white charger.
“I have come for my princess.” he informed the guard in a voice like steel.
“Er, there ain’t no princesses here sir,” stammered the guard, “we’re an insurance company.” The knight briefly considered running the laggard through with his sword but he wanted there to be no blood shed, not on that day, not on the day he finally got to rescue his princess. He marched through the revolving doors and called her name.

“Have you seen what’s going on outside?” said another one of the PAs staring out of the window. “Some nutcase with a horse.” Her heart leapt into her mouth. Surely not, she thought, could that be him? Her knight from Facebook? Surely not. She had thought it had all been a big joke and played along with the knight in shining armour thing. It has seemed sweet and romantic and fun, but now he was there, she could hear him bellowing her name as he bounded up the stairs five steps at a time.

She hid in the bathroom until he had left, heartbroken and confused, galloping off down Madison Avenue. The security guard’s head rolled into the gutter, a look of surprise glued forever to his face.

Our words are alive

our verbs have pulses
and our nouns have breath
our adjectives sweat in the sun
adverbs can even bleed to death
my punctuation has a hard-on
look !

I don’t always know

i don’t allways know what kind of man you want – i am just me.
why can’t i be sweet and be strong too?
sure, i wanna cover our bed in rose petals but i wanna shove your face into them as i fuck you roughly from behind.
sure, i wanna write you poetry but i wanna hear you read it as i eat you out.
i wanna wash your hair and back and light candles for your bath but i wanna spank your ass until its raw after.
i wanna die for you ok? but i wanna kill for you too.
i wanna take you for long walks in the countryside, then tie you to a tree and fuck you like a wild animal.
i wanna write you a love song and sing it as i come into your mouth, pinning you to the bed by your hair.
i want you to see me cry but i want you to see me fight just as much.
i wanna make things for you but i wanna break things too.
i don’t allways know what kind of man you want – i am just me.

Virtual love?

I have friends online that I can share things with that I can’t with my offline friends.
I have fallen more deeply in love online than I have offline.
I have had sex online that was so good that it knocked the socks off a lot of the sex i’ve had in a real bed.
I have made friends online.
Enemies too.

I have hurt people and been hurt.
Touched people and been touched.
Met people I never could have otherwise,
Met people that I hope I know forever,
Met people I hope I never hear from again.

I have felt like I live on a planet not an island.
I have seen things I never should have,
And seen things that I am so glad I have,
that my life would be smaller without them.

Is this the future?
Is this how we live our lives now?
I fucking hope so.

I don’t get it.

Why am I being sent all these panties? I don’t get it. Is it meant to be sexy? Let me say right now, it is not. I’m sure they were hot when you slipped them off and popped them in the post, but by the time they have travelled halfway round the world to get here they are just crusty. What am I, some kind of laundry service?

Oh, and while I’m at it, can you all please be a little more imaginative with your passwords? I am sick to the back teeth of your husbands figuring them out and waking up to find my farcebook wall covered in death threats from these limp-dicked excuses for men.

200th post – an unholy union

She wanders aimlessly across the wilderness, dressed in rags. She never talks to anybody, she never looks at anybody and no-one has ever seen her eat. She has been wandering for nearly ever. Some say she was once an angel, and she is beautiful enough for that to be true.


She had fought on the side of good and he on the side of darkness for countless millennia, for longer than time itself. Evenly matched, their battles, which could light up whole star systems, would usually end in stalemate.

Only once did he beat her, and that was through cunning and lies, more than strength and power. He pinned her down on the surface of a cold dead sun, its death rattles escaping from its surface in steamy, angry bursts of foul gas, and pushed his face into hers. His breath was hot and animal. “We have a special place in Hell for angels.” he snarled, savouring the fear in her sacred eyes. Angels are not easily scared but she had heard of the pit, reserved just for God’s purest, most cherished creations. She knew of the living writhing thorn trees, made from her Saviour’s very own crown, that tormented angels inside and out. She knew how the floor of the pit was thick with the blood and teeth of her brothers and sisters, knew how that, in Hell, the agonies of the pure were considered the most delicious.
“There is a way out of this, my precious,” he let her know, “a way for you to escape the torment.” His growing erection told her exactly what that way out was. Her silence, her lack of response, was her acquiescence.

They lifted off from the sun’s surface, him entering her as they rose higher, holding her as they flew across the icy, dark sky. She gasped and tensed up, she knew how brutal this demon could be in the throws of the sexual act, how he would bite and claw and snap bone like twig, but he wasn’t brutal. He was fierce and overpowering, sure, as he flung and twisted her into different positions, taking her forcefully from every angle, but he wasn’t brutal. He was almost attentive.

He lifted her up to his mouth as they flew into the tail of a great comet, his long, thick, forked tongue thrusting into her and over her, the ice crystals of the tail, stinging their naked flesh. When an angel comes it can last for hours. Her orgasm lasted for days. She sung her pleasure so loudly, so honestly, that half the universe heard her bliss.

They landed with a seismic thud on a long neglected moon, and beneath a dark emerald sky, against the sides of an erupting volcano she took him in her hand and mouth, let him satisfy himself and took all he had to give. She felt him shoot, relentlessly into the back of her throat as she gulped and swallowed and dribbled his love.

They bathed in the raw heat of a super-nova and she knelt on all fours, looked over her shoulder at him and willed him to defile her with her eyes, and he filled her with his tongue and fingers and his icy erection. He covered her body with sharp kisses, each one stinging and leaving a little mark.

They soaked in the hot gases of star nurseries, whole civilisations crumbling beneath the screams of her delight and the primal growls of his lust, and after, as they danced under a diamond waterfall a hundred miles deep on a planet half a galaxy away, she realised with a terrible shudder, why he had not been brutal to her – when she returned to the Celestial City, she would have to confess to her Lord and Creator and He would ask if she enjoyed her unholy union. Her answer would get her banished from The City Of Light for all eternity. They would tear off her wings and hurl her into the deserts, to wander forever.


It is easy to find the angel that was, the wanderer they call Gabriela. Simply follow the trail of tears across the wastelands. If you are very lucky you may see the faint hint of a smile flicker across her face: she is remembering his forked tongue and the things he could do with it.


I would like to make
an enormous bowl
of custard,
and I would like
to pour it
all over you.


So, they wanna put Mickey’s lovely little staf, Britney, down. Just cos she bit some cunt. I mean, she’s a dog, what the fuck do you expect, know what I mean? Ok, so she ‘alf tore off this fucker’s face and sunk ‘er gnashers so ‘ard into ‘is bollocks that you could’ve ‘eard ‘im screaming in Deptford. Wish I’d got it on me phone, funny as fuck, it was.

So, we go round the cop shop to sort it aht. an’ there’s this little dicksplash, Dembrow, I fink it is. ‘E’s allright though, ‘elped us shift’a load’a snuff movies last year, an’ I ain’t abaht to bubble him for this or nuffin’. I mean, you don’t fuck with a man’s trade, it ain’t respectful, know what I mean? We’re all nice ‘n’that. I ask ‘im how ‘is kids are. I know their names, their ages, wot schools they go to, wot grades they get. ‘E looks proper uneasy, know what I mean? I tell ‘im ‘ow pretty ‘is four year old Emily is.

Cunt gets the message, paperwork gets lost and sweet little Britney, ‘oo is brilliant wiv kids by the way and would kill any cunt just for looking at Mickey’s wrong, gets to live another day. You gotta ‘ave respect for life, is wot I say. Know what I mean?

more in this series


the birds are building nests
the girls are baring breasts
the kids have all got tests
i wish i was a better poet

Whoring myself

My 200th post is looming and I want to whore it out, to you, to be your bitch. I want to write whatever you suggest in the comments. I will do the first one and the naughtiest one. Try not to be kind to me please.