When I was much younger, and still not kissed,
I'd lie awake, fretting, about that first tryst;
About what to do, and then, how to do it.
You know what I mean?
No-one had taken me through it.
I'd heard about tongues, and things
You could do with your hand,
But as for the rest, well, you must understand,
That an ounce of practice is worth a ton of theory,
And my poor brain had worn itself weary
With the anxious, dreadful agony of it all.
Would she like what I did, or would she fall
About laughing, at my ineptitude?
Oh God, it was awful; I'd heard boasts,
(Some of them crude),
About the unhooking of bras with only one hand;
I was aghast! How would I ever understand
That desirable skill, without practice?
And where to begin it?
I'd first need a bra, and then someone in it!
Some things are too much for our overworked brains,
I went back, for a while, to model aeroplanes.
But not for long, for my thoughts kept returning
To that overwhelming, imperative yearning.
It worked out in the end, that's the point of this tale,
For in the basics of life its not easy to fail.
She didn't laugh once, even helped with her bra;
I went home walking on air, tra-la, tra-la!
++
I understand better now, take a more balanced view,
Than those clumsy days, when I hadn't a clue.
Women aren't objects, they're flawed pieces of heaven.
But I was green and foolish then, and barely thirty seven.
