There are times when a woman simply ain’t around to find;
if it’s so, you know what to do with your quirt:
explore the Web for skirtless dirt, and a squirt will soon ensue.
Flex it, hold it close, just get that turgid burgeon in your hand
and wrench that trenchant gland—knead it; no need for a glove!
If you’re a guy who’d rather address
these needs via a press read instead of a pixel thrill:
let your reveries race. . .“inside of me, it’s only you can fill!”

Porn between two covers, feeling mighty tool,
tupping post to hew; from face, apace, drips drool.
Porn between two covers, feeling spike-like tool.
Plump is the post; the pace is “race,” not “cool.”

You mustn’t wale flailingly, with rough cuffing of yourself—
do not let your zeal get way out of hand
(puns such as that one should be banned!).
Keep mitts-on mission true
and soon testes will be unlike the text whose hue is blue.

Porn between two covers, reading like in school!
Uh-uh, nope, ain’t true: you’re raking on your tool.
Porn between two covers, seeding whitish “gruel.”
Plump is the post; the pace is “race,” not “cool.”

Should feel zero shame to have yearnings night and day;
it’s just something you free from inside. . .on page plastered like whey.

Porn between two covers, reading like in school!
Uh-uh, nope, ain’t true: you’re pacing on your tool.
Porn between two covers, feeling pike from jewels.
Pumped from the post is pages-to-paste fuel.