03 March 2010
The Exile's Pledge
And his balls go cold, and the end of his knob turns blue,
When it's bent in the middle like a one string fiddle,
He can tell you a tale or two. . .
I was leaving a curry house the other night and found a young fellow with his back to me blocking my way. The chap's girlfriend realised the problem and nudged her man to one side. I thanked her and with the sweetest of smiles on her face the delectable young thing told me that her father walks with a stick and she understood exactly what I was going through. . . So I pointed out twixt gritted teeth that it was really great when a beautiful young woman told me that I reminded her of her dad. At least she had the decency to laugh in delicious embarrassment.
Yesterday I was hobbling out of the Railway Inn, Putney, when a very nice teenage miniskirt scampered out of her seat and held the door open for me. I thanked her as I had thanked the other girl because I am just the whitest man around these parts, and the miniskirt gave me a lovely smile, placed her hand lightly on my shoulder, and told me that her grandfather had broken his hip and had to walk with a stick. That's right, she compared me to her fucking grandfather. . .
Ladies, I put you all on notice that I will not be a semi-invalid forever, and that the mighty organ of generation that has created so many ex-virgins is only slumbering whilst my legs get back to normal. When it awakens verily you will tremble as you anticipate the lockjaw and stretched pussy to come.
When a man grows old and his balls grow cold,
And the end of his knob turns blue,
When the hole in the middle refuses to piddle,
I'd say he was fucked, wouldn't you?