It’s kind of like a 50 Shades of Grey version
of the annual Bulwer-Lytton contest:
At the touch of her lips, it grew long and swollen.
I sighed as she squeezed and pulled expertly.
It was the best balloon giraffe I’d ever seen.
Staring at her naked body, I asked what she wanted.
She told me to go for something between a smack and a stroke.
So I went for a smoke.
Her body tensed and quivered as she felt wave after wave flow through it.
I probably should’ve told her about the new electric fence.
As I lay there on the floor, my naked body covered in treacle and whipped cream,
I heard those inevitable words . . . ‘Clean up on aisle 3.’
‘Are you ready to be tortured in a way only a woman can torture a man?’ she asked.
I nodded nervously. ‘OK’ she said and ate half my chips.
Frantically I tore off her dress, bra and knickers.
My heart was racing but I just managed to close the wardrobe door before she got home.
‘Hurt me!’ she begged, leaning over the dining table expectantly.
‘OK,’ I replied, ‘Your turkey’s too dry and your sprouts are overcooked.’
She leant over the kitchen table.
‘Smack that bottom,’ she squealed, ‘Smack it hard!’
‘I am,’ I said, ‘But the ketchup just won’t come out.’
They asked me to smear their naked bodies with the produce
from my herb garden but I just couldn’t do it.
Too many women, not enough thyme.
‘I’m your slave,’ she said breathlessly,
‘Make me feel completely helpless and worthless.’
So I locked her in the shed and went to the pub.
Her body trembled and shook.’I can’t wait any longer, do it now!’ she cried.
‘OK,’ I said and got the winter duvet from the airing cupboard.
‘Harder!’ she cried, gripping the workbench even tighter, ‘Harder!’
‘Alright,’ I said, ‘What’s the gross national product of Nicaragua?’
‘Hurt me!’ she cried, pressing her body up against the shed wall.
‘Alright,’ I said. ‘You’re a terrible cook and I fancy your sister.’
‘Stick it right up there,’ she said, ‘I want to remember this!’
I did, then I patted it firmly. You can’t be too careful with Post-it notes.
My tongue flicked in and out, in and out, faster and faster
until she was completely helpless.
No woman can resist a good lizard impression.
‘I’m a bad girl,’ she whispered, ‘Punish me in a way only a real man can!’
‘Alright,’ I said and left my wet towels on the bathroom floor.
‘I want it now against this wall!’ she ordered,
‘And keep it up as long as possible.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I know how to put up a shelf.’
As we sat in the dark restaurant, she stroked my thigh
and said ‘I want to see your hardness.’
‘Alright,’ I replied, and punched the waiter.