Poetic Sex

I think I should regret sleeping with a poet.
Risk seeing my immortalisation in verse -
or worse, the act of love itself described.
All that cleaving, splitting, spearing,
prancing about with his rampant lance.
Petals, rosebuds, blooming flowers -
a fruit basket of ripe metaphors -
when really it was only sex.

He might notice the varicose vein
on the back of my knee, my uneven breasts,
the ropey scar above my pubic bone, the arse
that lost the battle with gravity.

His tongue would trace the silver
snail tracks of stretched skin,
cursive writing, legacy of pregnancy.
Reading my stories with observant eyes,
tasting secrets with his lips, licking
the words right out of my mouth -

I'd be plagiarised.

Would my thighs be pale and trembling,
like semi-set blancmange?
Or merely warm and welcoming?
Could my neck inspire?

Far better to sleep with plumbers
who appreciate the pipe-work.
Electricians know an on-off switch
and can make sparks fly.
The upholsterer comes home
to well-padded hipbones, a bolstered chest.
The cartographer finds his way without a map -
but isn't afraid to ask directions.
The potter, joiner, the mechanic -
 all are clever with their hands.

But the poet, the tender, cruel poet with his gift for words
I'll leave for all the other more courageous girls.

Everything You've Ever Wanted to Know About Sex (Part 2)

I had a very useful idea this week. Very useful. The School Governors (I'm an upstanding* member of Society, don't you know) were discussing the school's sex education video. They discuss it at every meeting - I have my suspicions as to why - and never come to a conclusion save for the video being unsatisfactory.

I suggested that we make our own - a suggestion that was not minuted. Given the political climate, my idea seems eminently sensible and cost-effective. Who knows what the next Schools' Budget will be like? We might not be able to afford chairs let alone educational videos.

A friend, taught by monks back in the Mists of Time (Ouch! Ouch! Pax!) was told by Brother Brian: "Boys, you have reached the age when no doubt you will be having certain thoughts. Don't."

Later my friend was informed (by a nun) that if ever a girl sat on his knee, a Yellow Pages Telephone Directory should be placed upon his lap first.

I am collecting unwanted/outdated editions of the Yellow Pages just in case. As I said, the political climate is uncertain.

The actors - male and female - in the school's current sex education video clearly come from The Hairy Casting Agency - we're talking wrists to ankles - and they wander naked up and down landings, getting in and out of beds, occasionally appearing in freeze frame whilst the narrator explains what's what. It makes the children anxious. They assume one must don a gorilla suit before having sex. (Which would help prevent teenage pregnancies, so it's not without its advantages.) The animated - in all senses of the word - sperm are the size of handbags, and this adds to the general level of distress.

When Small Boy watched the sex education video, he was pale and feverish for some hours afterwards.

"Would you like to talk about it?" I asked (crossing my fingers and hoping the answer would be no). "Is there anything you'd like to ask?"

"Yes," he said weakly from his prone position on the sofa. "How does pubic hair know when to stop?"

* unintentional. Probably Freudian.