What Jocko Said

I was telling Jocko about our date the other night
and he offered some insight
that I previously lacked;
he heard my words, took the facts,
and restructured thoughts in my head.
I guess I feel compelled to ask
about some things he said.

If you wanted to fuck me
you could have told me so.
If you wanted to fuck me
that would’ve been OK.
It’s kinda clear you wanted to, according to Jocko,
so you should have come right out said it to me right away
and then fucked me.

So, the way Jocko sees it
you were coming on to me
at the end of evening – and right from the start.
Letting me in your place
while you got all put together
then showing that collection of lace, chains and leather?
You gave me a kiss after I handed you wine.
Signs, says Jocko, that you wished to be mine.
You were fine in that outfit: so trim and fit
and when you bit your lip
my slacks almost split.

If you wanted to fuck me
you could have let me know.
I didn’t need to learn it during Jocko’s blow-by-blow.
You might have given me the word;
Had you whispered, I’d have heard.
The only thing still left for you was to have ventured
to fuck me.

Look, it should be obvious:
I’m bad about the hints.
If a girl – sorry. If a LADY
doesn’t hit me over the head
and pull me by the hair back to her cave,
I just don’t see how I’m gonna see any part of her
involved with any part of me,
if you get what I’m getting at,
and if you do, could you tell me?

So, I must admit, Jocko’s take is second hand
and just because he thought we were a one night stand
in the making doesn’t take your faking out of the equation.
The possibility he raised? A revelation.
It’s true: Jocko’s suggestion wasn’t off by much:
The lips, the lean, the tease, the tilt, the touch.

If you wanted to fuck me, it’s ok by me.
I don’t get chances like that regularly.
If you wished it, I’d reciprocate appreciatively.
It’s the least I’d do if you agreed to go out with me
and fuck me.
Yeah, fuck me.
I’d really like you to fuck me.
Like Jocko suggested, I’m already home-erected.
If you gave me a grasp, I’d go off at half-a-gasp.
I could happily die, if you decide to try
to give a chance on our second date romance
and then fucked me.

About Jonathan Berger

I used to write quite a bit more.
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