One day, not so long ago, I thought I would try my hand at poetry. Everyone seems to write poetry. Everyone seems to write it beautifully. Surely I could do it too. So I wrote Mac a poem. I went to Him and He sat very still while I read it to Him. I asked Him what He thought of it and He said that I shouldn't ask Him because as far as He was concerned all good poetry rhymes and is about anal gang rape.

I asked Him if my poem was really that bad and He asked me not to make Him say it. So I didn't and I laughed with Him and I snuggled up to Him and told Him that I loved Him and He told me I cant be good at everything and I agree. I cant. So I have to admit it now here for everyone to see. I suck at poetry. I suck BIG time at poetry. Its something I should never ever do. Except, well, Mac's idea about it rhyming and about anal gang rape stuck in my head and so here is a poem written just for Mac. I promise I will never try and write poetry again.

A poem for a Welsh Rugby Player.

I looked at him this Dragon of mine
His blue eyes like icy glass
I am the slut
He likes to share
With friends to fuck my ass

He finds his friends at the pub
And brings me eight or nine
He lines them up
They use me so
And I make them all feel fine.

They never take me gently
The use me with great force
They are so big
And so rough
Their fucking is quite coarse.

And each one that does take me
An orgasm for him I seek
I wriggle and squirm
And when he's done
His spunk my ass will leak.

When all his friends have had their turn,
I lay aching on the bed.
He comes to me,
And soothes my brow
And demands I give him head.

He ties my hands behind my back,
And kneels me on the floor.
He rapes my mouth
And whips my tits,
And treats me like a whore.

And when his spunk is truly spent,
And I am left quite sore,
He takes his leave,
And he goes to eat,
But soon returns for more.

For he adores his little slut
And I adore him too
I hug myself
And grin with joy,
At things we like to do.