The Cherry-Popper

The sweetest thing in life, it seems to me,
Is taking some young girl's virginity;
To be the first to plunge into her core,
And know that there has been no one before.

Such joy there is in finding one still pure,
And charming her until she feels unsure
About her plan to wait until she's wed
And give herself within a marriage bed.

To kiss away her fears with care and grace,
And peel away her cotton, wool, and lace,
Until she's naked to my hands and sight,
And I can introduce her to delight.

To cup the mound of Venus carefully,
And raise her to disturbing ecstacy,
Preparing to pluck out the pearl that lies
Within the sealed cave hid between her thighs.

To rub the head of my erection on
Her labia until her doubts are gone,
To bring her to a panting screaming need
And pause right at her entrance -- then proceed!

The gasp as I break through her maidenhead,
The thought of virgin bloodstains in my bed,
The feeling of the membrane as it splits,
And all her innocence is left in bits.

To fill her up with hard and pulsing meat
And feel her hips lift trembling off the sheet;
To slide in slow and go so deep inside
I touch the cervix fills me up with pride.

The tightness of her tube around my bone,
The little tricks that make her cry and moan,
The mounting of her passions, newly-freed,
Then the release, inside, of my hot seed.

Yet still perhaps the best part of it all
Is not in bed but how I make her fall;
The conquest of her will, her mind, her soul,
And not her body is my dearest goal.