MRS J'S P***Y.

A BOY VISITS HIS FRIEND'S HOUSE AND SEES HIS FRIEND'S MOTHER'S P***Y IN 1950S

I visited Jupp's house,
we had planned
a ball game
in the park.

Mrs J was in the lounge
on a sofa with her cat.

Come in, Benny,
she said,
it is Benny isn't it?
I nodded.

Yes, although
I was named Benedict
after the saint.

What do you think
of my p***y?
She asked.
Did you want
to stroke it?

I wanted to get out
and play ball,
not stroke her p***y.

It purrs when excited,
she said.

It was purring,
or she was purring
under her breath
like some
stage ventriloquist.

She wore a white dress
with a brown bow,
and her black hair
was wavy and permed.

Come closer,
she said,
it won't bite;
sit on the sofa,
near me.

Where was Jupp?
I wanted to get
some fresh air.

I sat next to her
on the brown sofa.

She smelt
of perfume and soap.

The p***y
was brown and white,
furry, smooth.

You can touch it,
she said,
feel the fur,
smooth and soft.

She took my hand
and placed it
on the p***y.

I stroked it
reluctantly.

Her hand
held mine,
moving it
over the p***y.

It's purring, see;
feel it?

I nodded.

You can always
come here
and see p***y
and play with it,
she said.

I smiled weakly,
wanting out;
the perfume smell
sickly in my nose.

Then Jupp came in
and said,
I’m ready to go.

I got up from the sofa
and Mrs J said,
want to kiss p***y
before you go?

I kissed
the darn p***y
and we walked
off and away.

Outside I said
to Jupp,
you and your
mother's p***y.

And he sighed
and said,
I know.