He summoned the women: gather ’round
His manhood, parallel to the ground.
He told them that their chore
Was to gorge, the whole corps,
Until his huge “tree limb” had been downed.

Each one turned out to be a swell date—
Soon he was feeling in a swell state.
He could tell they’d been coached
In the subject he broached.
One by one they dropped down to fellate.

It seemed all had a copious need
To engage in a copious feed.
Then his scrotum was dry
And he throated a cry:
“I have emitted copious seed!”

He decided he needed a rest—
By so many women he’d been fressed.
But not to be outdone,
They glommed on to his “gun,”
Which after so work had recessed.

But for an answer, they’d not take “no!”
They were ready for ex post facto
Copulation, and so
Then commanded him, GO!
With hand signs; he don’t know their lingo.

Of their signaled desire, there’s no doubt:
Index fingers went in and went out
Of every single hand
Cupped to show that his gland
Was wanted where they’re now without.

His loud protests were met with deaf ears.
Negations they did not want to hear.
Double-entendre moan:
“I am dry as a bone!”
His wracked sack would for some time be sere.

Then he made the decision to run,
Because they sought immediate fun.
But he couldn’t oblige
All of these proxy brides,
So he made a mad dash toward the sun.

Immediately all did follow;
He hastened to hide in a hollow.
But his throat, like his pine
Was dry as a tart wine,
Making it difficult to swallow.

He quite quickly hid behind a tree;
The women were not able to see.
In a while they gave up;
They’d go and get their tup
From the men, who returned presently.

He looked around and noticed a pool
With fresh water, which caused him to drool.
He ran to it and drank,
Draped over a sand bank.
Sated, he stated, “I am no fool!”