Bastards!

Why is it that women love bastards?
We do! And the truth of it brings
Me to my opinion it's in the Darwinian
Natural order of things.

Are such men pre-disposed to be bastards
Or tutored as babes on the breasts
To be utterly charming, deft and disarming
Till they have us enthralled and undressed?

Are there bastardy badges at boy scouts?
Are the basic skills honed whilst at cubs?
In the dark, fetid gloom of some 'Men Only' room
Is it this they're discussing in pubs?

There are husbands who'll claim that they're single
Or their wives are too frigid or grand
But the unvarnished truth is their Sybil or Ruth
Know they're bastards – and DO understand.

They'll claim that they're staying late working
When they're chatting up girls fresh from school
And at quarter past two they'll crawl back to you
Still covered in lipstick and drool.

Yet the bastard will tell you he loves you
And your dressing gown falls in a heap
But the sum of his lust's a half dozen thrusts –
Then he's dreaming of her in his sleep.

Why is it that women love bastards?
The deeper the question one delves,
The more we'll regret: it helps us forget
We're not quite so perfect ourselves!