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Edna Sweetlove Aug 2015
This is one of Barry Hodges' most inspired memories.

  'Twas morning time in times of yore and I, bold Barry Hodges, stood outside my store, my giant vegetables on display for all to see, when lo and behold! a luxurious limousine drew up, and from the back there emerged a gorgeous form of voluptuous statuesque feminity.
  "My God!" I cried, it is that beauteous lady from *La Dolce Vita
, the wondrous Anita - and I gazed with joyous on her divine body, imagining it sprawled lasciviously in my bed, legs open as wide as a major road junction on the M1 motorway.
  "Excuse me", said she in that Italo-Swedish voice guaranteed to make any man wet himself copiously, "But I am a-lookink for a shop a-called 6B, and yet all I can-a-see is a Barry Hodges' the Master Geengrocer's, complete with a giant cucumber or two, which I 'av to say remind me of somet'ing tasty."
"Dearest lady, said I, you have come to the right place: 6B is the trading name of my sister enterprise: Barry Bodgers' Boil Bursting Beauty Bureau which is located upstairs, Barry Bodgers at your service, my dearest, most delightful Fru Ekberg."
"Shhhhhhhhh! I am een deesguise, not even dear Federico knows I am-a-here." And thus, assuring her of my utmost discretion, and forming a bond by saying that I too, the famous Geordie seducer, Barry Hodges, had indulged in a slight nomenclatural change in order to separate the two sides of my business interests, and in order to do a spot of money laundering on the side.  "But," I enquired, "How is it that you have need of the rather specialised medical services we offer, you who are so radiant and bella-bella?" She lowered her eyes seductively and promised to reveal her terrible secret.

As I ushered her up the stairs to the studio, my eyes on her ****-cheeks wiggling like two delectable beach ***** in a sack, she told me the sad tale of the immense boil which kept recurring on the middle of her back and which no amount of corrective surgery could fix.
"Aha!" I exclaimed, "Only Barry Bodgers, the world's greatest boil-sucker, can effect the cure for which you long, and I shall operate on you personally, not entrusting such a task to even the best of my boil-bursting minions." I added to myself, "Also I want to give you a good old bonking while we're at at."

Once we attained the privacy of my consulting room, I instructed her to strip off utterly so I might examine her, and I can tell you, dear reader, that her **** **** was a joy to behold. I too divested myself of my clobber, knowing that boil-******* can get a bit messy at the best of times. Jesus wept!, but the mighty boil betwixt her graceful shoulders revealed when de-plastered was a true horror, with a yellow tip as big as a Grade One Belgian Turnip. I explained that I would **** it out whilst I rogered her from the rear and that, when she felt her ****** on the way, she should scream out to that effect and I would then bite the core of the boil right out in a blaze of mutual ******* glory, before applying a dose of my exclusive Boil Preventative Cream, namely a handful of our conjoined love-juices extracted from her gaping ***** by hand a few seconds earlier.
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" screamed the Swedish bombshell and with a mighty **** like an industrial Dyson FX334 on full power, I slurped and  razor-bit the boil, bursting it asunder, smothering my eager face in blood and putrid pus, thereby causing me to blow my *** as ne'er before. The green core of the boil emerged from its fleshly cavity with a deafening plop as we came together like a nuclear blast d'amour.

O, but only then, as my seminal outpourings soaked my jim-jams, did I awaken to discover yet another nocturnal emission. And, not unexpectedly, dear Nurse Nellie, having heard my cry of ecstasy, rushed in to my bedroom, head-shaking and tut-tutting as usual, as she knelt down and licked my tum-tum dry.
"Yum, yum" she murmured in her dulcet Northumbrian tones, "Ah've looked after three generation o' Hodges laddies, and I kin tell ye, your *****'s the tastiest of them all, ye bonnie wee man."
"Better than Grandad Charlie's?"
"Why aye, mon, yours is well creamier."
Terry Collett Apr 2012
On the day
Mrs Modfig’s husband died

she was being rogered
by a Spaniard

she’d met
in Santa Fe  

staring at
the off white ceiling

with a
I’m being

well taken care of
feeling

and didn’t give
her husband

a second thought
thinking him

back home
working hard

sipping the sherry
smoking the cigar

feet up
watching TV

maybe seeing
that **** from the store

as he had before
no she was content

having this Spaniard
giving her the works

making the night
feeling young again

hoping for more sunshine
far away

from the rain
and her husband

and his moans and groans
and his occasional

rogerings
in their safe

and boring bed
and later

at the funeral
in her black hat

and dress and coat
and matching gloves

she shed
the crocodile tears

remembering
other loves.
Martin Bailes Mar 2017
Just seeing that dumb red hat
gives me the Heebeejeebees,
the Holy Camoleys,
I get the *******,
the John B. Scrotes,
I feel Ben Carsoned,

as if I've been Rogered in my sleep
by Quasimodo & then been forced
to pleasure the Seven Dwarfs,

I have the shivers,
I plead repugnance,
I share the odium,

I experience that near frenzied disgust
as left by a cold slug traversing one's
naked arm in the dank moonlight,

when that oh so ridiculous red tractor
hat is worn by men who have
chauffeurs & bejeweled
golf carts,
& look like a fat cat's fantasy
of a fat cat,

to Make America Great Again for that matter
maybe you have to go as far back as Sitting Bull,
Red Cloud, the Shawnee, herds of bison,
counting coup, & eagle-feather headdresses,

Making America Great Again does not in any
way involve Leroy from the hills feeling better
about his race or Donald J. Trump coming
forth as some sort of Poor Man's Moses.

I hate that stupid hat!
david strickland Sep 2016
Backing into battle
With our buttocks gleaming white
We are rogered for Her Majesty
And Britannia’s ruling might.

The enemy  may raise his flag
Upon our flaccid pole
For the Queen’s most heartfelt wishes
Are that we should be the swishes
Fed will-nilly to the fishes
In our British glory hole.
Olé.
Ishudhi Dahal May 2020
A girl is born
They are happy
Hoping next one will be son
Next one
Also a girl
Parent’s are happy
But not society
Oh almighty !
Why?
God replies ,
‘’ Being boy like you is easy
Life’s good
maybe sometimes cheesy
Free-domed
Can pitch in makin’ decision ‘’
Rogered words
One acknowledged
Other knowledge-less
One tried to aware
Other are a way away
If boy’s wrong
he mistakenly did that
He is fair
In the girl’s facts  
She is falsifier
We boys too face some obstacles in deed
But definitely not suffer from half hour regular bleed
She
Should stay 4 days far a month like broiler hen
Far from parents care
and
suffered in 1 AM at night
suffocated for a glass of water
ordered to not to touch tap or filter
gazed on Banyan’s strips
ragged , whistled and horn beeps
Despite these ,
Bidya Devi Bhandari is President
Srinkhala khatiwada engineer
There are many such Bhandari Khatiwada’s
Showing us by their ability
We are no more living in
Male dominant society !
Copyright © IshudhiDahal
Yenson Apr 2019
Hey John Bull, have you seen the news
how many men has your mama rogered
how many have dipped their wick in jute
don't coming singing the blues to me sunshine
for he without sins cast the first stone
when seen in the hay with john
you said it was just horsing around
ai't your papa's sister tripping the velvet
down Waterloo road with Alice from the pub
you talk of others lying and shifting
yet your brother is doing time at he Maj's pleasure
don't coming singing the blues to me sunshine
you good at pointing fingers, you ain't got no shame
open your door and show us all that stuff
that fell off the back of that flipping lorry
what about the dose you carry
that gift that gives on giving, have you told Mary
that her mother gave it to you last month
when you walked her home and found her
mum do it too while dad was in your sisters room
don't coming singing the blues to me sunshine
the world and it's sin hang round your block
everyone's got their lives to live and that's just so
so don't come playing preacher man, you ain't
no God squad, just another sicko, like all the others
don't coming singing the blues to me sunshine
Go look under your bed, all those **** pictures you hide
and you think nobody knows that woeful secret you keep
so stand and watch my window and see me moon to you
ain't got to point at others, while you watch your granny
rogering Benny the dog, it's just for fun says you nasty
toerag,
so live in fear and accuse others cause sooner or later
your house of cards will one day come falling down
so you, you and you and the **** preacher-man
go **** yourself and better pray, it's all gonna come out one day
don't coming singing the blues to me, sunshine

— The End —