Saturday, 30 December 2017

Guest blog

My friend Viv, whom I've known for sixty plus years, wrote this verse for her friend Kay, after discovering the nightly ritual involving Kay's husband Bill. Sadly, Kay died four years' ago d is much missed.

I know a house in Ashley Park.
And things go on there, after dark.
Time always brings a change of fashion,
But lessens not the bedroom passion.

The hour draws nigh. The clock strikes ten.
You say to Bill, 'I'll go up then.'
You do your very best to hide
The urge that's rising up inside.

As Bill sips Horlicks, by the hearth,
You languish in a bubble bath.
Exciting thoughts grow ever stronger.
You can't contain yourself much longer.

You've slipped between the cotton sheets
And ponder on the coming treats.
Has Bill prepared and got things ready?
You wet your lips, your heart unsteady.

Adrenalin! Exhilaration!
Such pleasure in anticipation.
You hear his footstep on the stair,
And suddenly, your Bill is there.

Now real indulgence can begin.
You settle to your nightly sin.
It starts with something hot and steamy.
The next is fruity, smooth and creamy.

'Magnificent,' to Bill you say,
'Thank heavens for my chocolate tray.'
The empty mug and empty plate
Speak volumes: that was worth the wait.

Your finger gets a final lick.
'Goodnight...and, Bill, I'm feeling sick.'



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