A Brilliant Bloody Flirt

He gave its length in inches.
It took me ages to convert.
I might be crap at maths –
But I’m a bloody brilliant flirt!

It was longer than my ruler
And thicker than my arm.
I knew it would be just hours
Before I got him with my charm.

I had my hair done tidy,
And got a St. Tropez.
I stuffed my bra with cotton wool,
Then hurried out to play.

He met me at McDonalds.
I had a Happy Meal –
And dreamed of all the things he’d say
And do to make me squeal.

He wasn’t an Adonis.
He looked like Tony Blair,
With flabby thighs and love-handles
And lots of nasal hair.

But that was all forgiven
When I did my sums once more.
If he wasn’t wearing underpants
His cock would touch the floor.

I got him drunk on cider
While sipping rum and coke.
Then told him that my pussy
Could really use a poke…

It might have been my intellect,
It could have been my wit.
But when I breathed those magic words
He nearly had a fit.

He rushed me to his bedroom,
And ripped off all my clothes.
He turned the lights down low and then
Struck up a macho pose.

He wanted me to suck him
And swallow like a whore –
But I knew that just the head of it
Would dislocate my jaw.

He seemed quite disappointed
Til I pointed at my crack.
“Fuck foreplay!” I growled at him,
And sprawled out on my back.

And this is where it all went wrong –
He pulled his trousers down.
I didn’t stare, I didn’t freak,
But fuck, I felt a clown.

My maths had let me down again.
Betrayal by a sum.
I would have got more pleasure
Sitting on an upturned thumb.

But this is where the tale picks up,
And women win the day.
When the sun is shining,
I’ll always get my lay.

He didn’t need persuasion –
It was the least that he could do.
My white stilettos round his neck,
His fat face turning blue.

And so he ate me out all night,
While I ripped at his shirt.
I might be crap at maths,
But I’m a bloody brilliant flirt!