Another dirty one from my stable of sexual preferences, and from the Malton Festival of Erotic Literature.

 

If women saw inside men's minds,

If darkest depths they'd plumb,

Would they find in some deep hole

The Pit and Pendulum?

 

He found he had his best success

In warmer foreign climes

Or when they wore their sleeveless tops

In English summertimes.

 

That rare and chance discovery

Would never fail to rouse

His “interest”, as the whispiness

Peeped shyly through a blouse.

 

His preference was catholic

But if he could he'd pick

Some latin girl with armpit hair

Luxuriant and thick.

 

He loved the coal-black texture

Of those women from the Med,

Though his ardour always peaked at

The sweet, sweet shock of red.

 

His pleasures had been visual;

If only he could find

A woman who could bring to life

The magic of his mind.

 

He played this scene so clearly,

He focussed on foreplay,

Tracing underneath her arms

As on her back she'd lay.

 

His perfect entertainment,

The meal's aperitif;

A foretaste of what's found inside

The undergrowth beneath.

 

And drawn to musky odour were

His breath, his cheeks, his lips,

Or gently combing through the hair

Excited fingertips.

 

Despite the lure of other zones

The vision stayed the same,

Returning to this wondrous place

Drawn back like moth to flame.

 

And when containment passed beyond

Necessity to come

He introduced into the Pit

His engorged Pendulum.

If women saw inside mens' minds

What dark depths they'd plumb.