Feeling Kinky Poem by gershon hepner

I look up at him and the vision stirs
the place that moistly lies between my furs.
My smirking boss says: “I have not forgotten, ”
and I respond, becoming very sodden.
He doesn’t know what I am feeling till
my knickers hit the carpet with a thrill.
My blouse unbuttoned, I cause him to gasp,
and ask him to assist me with the clasp
attaching both the cups of my silk bra
to both my breasts with which he’d love to spar,
as is quite obvious as he starts to ogle
each sphere like pearly treasures of a mogul.
I lie spread-eagled on the carpet, braless,
as passionate as a symphony of Mahler’s,
dressed only in high heels, while feeling kinky,
my clitoris now larger than my pinkie.
I cry to him to eat me like his dinner,
appreciating me as priest a sinner
instead of which he tells me: “I’m not lusting
for any part of you––you’re quite disgusting! ”
Although his conduct, too, was hardly blameless,
he said: “I am surprised you’re shameless.
A mother of three children should be cautious,
and stay away from bosses who get nauseous
when smelling women who are hot and humid,
and turned onby employees who are tumid.”
Tomorrow I’ll seduce him on a journey
he’ll take with me, or I’ll call my attorney.

2/12/06