In the days when dry ******* was as far as it went I just fancied you more. Strange I should think of this, after the one positive stick in an ammonia scented carrier bag of negatives, or not. Like a car salesman in a too often dry cleaned suit, I enticed you with lurid banners offering years of hetro milage. "££££££££££££££s of savings, no contraception needed, this one wants a bun in it's **** loving oven", and as I ***** down my eyes at the sound of rustling sheets, signifying an imagined eroticism, a rub down with an ******* my friends would squeal for, I'm wishing you were a chick with a *******.