Tag Archives: sex

1478. Sex in the classroom

Ms Daphne McHathaway was a wonderful teacher. She had a class of ten-year olds. They loved her. Well, they did until…

Everyone was stunned to hear her say, “Class! Class! What do you know about sex?”

There was a stunned silence. Then brave Johnny Overall ventured to say, “Not much, Miss. Perhaps you can tell us about it.”

“I’m not sure I’d be allowed to,” said Ms McHathaway. “You had better ask your parents first.”

Not every child went home and asked their parents. Some were too scared to broach the subject. Others simply blurted it out at dinner time. “Can Ms McHathaway tell us about sex?”

There was outrage from some quarters. Opposition against Ms McHathaway went from the frying pan into the fire. It grew into a conflagration. In the end, the parents were called to a meeting at the school.

“You should not try to usurp the duty of parents,” expostulated Mr Freddie Turnbull.

“I don’t know what the problem is,” said Ms McHathaway. “All I wondered, with the separation of church and state, whether I was allowed to teach them about sects.”

1310. Sage advice

My mother is like really nosey about my private life. Last night I went out with Jeff and my mother wasn’t like very happy about it. Jeff’s the one that got Sheree pregnant. And he’s the center midfielder in the school’s football team. Anyway my mother said, “Now listen Carol, if Jeff tries any funny business, clock him.”

Well I tried, but it was all over before I had time to even look at my watch. I don’t know why my mother needs to know this stuff, so I made it up and told her it took about three quarters of an hour.

(I’ve just realized that this story might not make sense to some: Brit and Austral and NZ: to strike, esp on the face or head; to strike sharply or heavily: e.g. clocked him in the face. )

Poem 57: There was no music in the air

There was no music in the air
but it seems she didn’t care,
she was all over me.
We could’ve done it then and there.

There was no music in the air.
Her lips were red. Her skin was fair.
She was all over me.
She touched my knees and tossed her hair.

There was no music in the air.
By now she’d thrown off most her gear.
She was all over me.
She’d more to give than I could bear.

There was no music in the air.
Don’t you know that I’m a queer?

At last she’s over me.

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

Poem 46: I think I left my wallet

(The poetic form selected for this week is the French triolet).

I think I left my wallet underneath a bed.
I wish I could remember whose bed belongs to who.
Was it Cynthia’s or Brenda’s? Jill’s or even Fred’s?
I think I left my wallet underneath a bed.
Meg’s perhaps or Elsie’s? Jane’s or Winifred’s?
I really hope it’s Moira’s; I liked the kitschy-coo.
I think I left my wallet underneath a bed.
I wish I could remember whose bed belongs to who.

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

895. Sex sex sex


Sex sex sex! That’s all anyone thinks of these days. It’s just sex sex sex!

Look at that young woman there, walking down the street. She’s dressed to the nines. All in the latest fashion. It’s nothing but sex sex sex. That’s all she’s thinking about. She dresses like that because she has sex on the brain.

It never used to be like that. And look at that man there. Barely eighteen, and you can tell by the way he licks his ice cream as he walks along that he’s thinking of nothing but sex. SEX! That’s all he ever thinks of.

And all these people out doing their shopping. Hundreds and hundreds of people. Every one of them the result of sex. It’s not as if each one of them was conceived with just one go. Oh no! There were dozens of attempts before most of them were conceived. The world is obsessed with sex sex sex.

Every one, just EVERY ONE, is harbouring little secret sexual fantasies. You can feel it. The air is heavy with all this testosterone and oestrogen and all that. I can smell it. I don’t know how many times, even this morning, I’ve been stripped naked by people’s eyes.

GET YOUR MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTER you stinky oversexed generation of sex- sex- sex-starved nymphomaniacs. The modern generation. In all my eighty-seven years it seems to get worse by the year.

To listen to the story being read click HERE!

672. This is your captain speaking


Wanda and Lawrence decided on a mission. After a 16-hour flight, they were in a bar in LA having a relaxing drink. Wanda had been the pilot and Lawrence a flight attendant.

Did either belong to the Mile-High Club? No. Perhaps they should? Yes? Perhaps they would? Yes?

Both resolved on the return flight in a few days to join such a prestigious club.

The moment had arrived. The plane was on auto pilot. The co-pilot was stretching his legs.

“This is you captain speaking,” said Wanda. “We are now cruising at an altitude of 36 thousand feet. We are currently 98 kilometres from flying over Tahiti. I will let you know when that occurs.”

Lawrence entered the captain’s cabin (in a manner of speaking). The flight was swift.

“We are now passing over Tahiti,” said Wanda trying to sound composed.

Lawrence’s reappearance in the passenger area was greeted with mild applause.

517. Nymphomaniac


Wally watched Whitney through the window. Every day.

Every day Whitney would go for a run. Every day, as she passed Wally’s house, Whitney would push back her head and thrust out her mammary glands. She did it on purpose. She knew Wally was watching.

In fact, Whitney would push back her head and thrust out her mammary glands as she passed what seemed like every second house.

My mother reckons she’s a nymphomaniac, said Wally. I’m only thirteen and I hope you’re impressed that I can spell ‘nymphomaniac’.

And I know what nymphomaniacs are as well. Do I what! Dad told me. He said they never get any sleep.

514. English Comprehension Exam


The teacher of a class of fourteen year old boys at a prestigious school was a bit of a scallywag. The English examination comprehension question contained the following sentence from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice:

Lady Catherine was extremely indignant on the marriage of her nephew; and as she gave way to all the genuine frankness of her character in her reply to the letter which announced its arrangement, she sent him language so very abusive, especially of Elizabeth, that for some time all intercourse was at an end.

The examination question:

In your own words, describe what was at an end.

502. Squawking


Henrietta and Algernon liked having a few acres of land around their house. You see, the thing was… um… how shall this be put? They liked… um… they liked to make a bit of noise when they were… um…um… doing it.

They had geese.

The distant neighbours always wondered why the geese started squawking around ten each evening.