ON KITCHEN TABLE (ANOTHER)

I'd taken you home from the club,
Got turned on in our bodies' rub.
During the smooching, slow last dance,
You'd squeezed your 'Yes', I took the chance.
Our encounter put in context,
It was midnight, my birthday next.
"So I shall be the first you see",
You said, in kitchen for coffee.
"I'll treat you - go outside a bit.
You've not seen me yet without kit."

So I left you behind closed door,
To strip down to your perfumed raw,
Then heard a "Happy Birthday" call,
"Come back in, you shall see all!"
Thus I beheld the naked you,
A smorgasbord in fullest view -
Succulent curves, skin to night bared;
A tasty morsel well prepared,
Stripped of the clothing of the day,
But no nightclothes to bar our way.

Sat up on the kitchen table;
Breasts like Russell, legs like Grable,
Long flowing hair, like Hayworth's, red,
Upon shoulders loosely outspread.
You were my tasty birthday treat,
Not just to look at but to eat -
To kiss and nibble, suck and lick,
Inducing your vaginal slick,
Moving your thighs to open wide
Enough to let myself inside.

We thrust up and down like a pump,
As your fingernails spurred my rump.
Unscripted words came off our lips
As we engaged, hips within hips,
In build up to the ecstasy
When you climaxed, anointing me.
Rejoicing in our naked truth
In days of 1940s youth,
This was lovemaking done for real,
Hollywood did not then reveal.