Nude Male or close to

The Wall Street “Y”s chock fulla fellas,                                                                    A melange of browns, pinks and yellas,                                                                           In the shower you’ll see                                                                                           Every size and degree                                                                                  Of buyas and tradas and sellas.

Young Joe, while commiting no crimes,                                                            Lent a hand helping Tom ring his chimes,                                                                       What Tom then requested                                                                                       Joe gagged on—detested—                                                                          At least the first twenty‐five times.

A man known as Masochist Mitch,                                                                      On looking, soon found the right niche,                                                                                   When wacked on the bean,                                                                                     He’d cook and he’d clean,                                                                   For some dominant son of a bitch.

A certified expert in math,                                                                                      At the baths said, “I’m here for a laugh,                                                                                So don’t get upset                                                                                                    When the number you get,                                                                      Is a mere sixty‐eight and a half.”

Behold those vulgarian Borgias,                                                                                                   Amid all those dead Georgios and Georgias,                                                         Their robes disarrayed,                                                                They incestuously splayed                                                                                       Their legs, in high Renaissance orgias.

Boasted Dracula in dark Transylvania,                                                                              “I couldn’t be handsoma or brainia,”                                                                         Which was quite a mistake,                                                                      Such gall led to a stake
In his heart,                                                                         or perhaps ‘twas his crania.

When picking out a present
For your partners Xmas box
Have Duracell a plenty
In her little Xmas socks

So while sex it has its ups and downs
Even Daniel would agree
It’s a sure fire cure for unwanted frowns
And it beats a cup of Tea

Uniforms are common place
Considered rather arty
A sturdy pair of coppers cuffs
Are the rave at swingers parties

There’s beads and balls and bangles 
They may become a habit
And a whirling whirring weapon
They call the Rampant Rabbit

There are those without a conscience
Who swear they’re not the owner
Oh deary me it had to be 
Someone elses boner

Though some would up and go all night
Some finish in a minute
While others just the thought alone
Would push them past their limit

Some women favour veggies
To chippies sparks or plumbers
They relish every celery stick
Or juicy green cucumbers

There’s tales that tell of fishermen
Quite partial to a skate
Though fond of fish I always was 
I prefer mine on a plate

Some wrap up like an onion
For fear their skin is showing
While some rush in all fingers and thumbs
With boobs and buttocks glowing