Hard

Hard

He's hard, for a while,
But it depends
On the company.
There's nothing quite like
A good nekkid body
To make him rear his head.
But not, I might add,
In the showers after football.
It wouldn't do
Now would it.

He's hard, for a while,
But if I take too long
Or you keep pissing him off
With forgetful slips of your grip
He sleeps.
And nothing can wake him.

He's hard, for a while,
As I read stories of erotica
And he responds.
Till the ache and the nudging
Grows too much to ignore.
And if you're not around,
Then I wank.
The feelings of
Pure adult excitement
Flow through my body.
Till almost sadly
I spill his spill into my hanky
Which you wash with disdain.

He's hard, for a while,
Till the first piss of the morning,
Then he's dormant
Till Suzi (from Accounts) wiggles and bounces
Her floozy body across my view
And I try to hide him with my papers
At the photocopier.
He screams at me, to let him loose on her
But I can't. Not here. So he sulks.
Which is why sometimes,
When I want him to play,
He gets his own back.
And not even Marilyn Monroe
Could wake him
From his petulant slumber.