Peep Show

Peep Show

You're dancing for me in your underwear,

forgive me, but I can't help but stare;

Jiggling your jugs and wriggling your hips,

I can feel you affecting my manly bits.

The music is loud, from the speaker it thumps,

your hands're caressing your lady lumps.

My eyes're transfixed on your milky white skin;

Is that a pic of your face, that person missing,

on the side of the carton, gripped in your hands,

covering yourself with its milk as you dance.

You're not really missing, that much is too clear,

dancing for me in this private booth here.

You're smiling at me, but I can tell that you're faking;

I don't really care, so I could be mistaken.

You pick up a toy, one that makes me feel lacking,

and after it's lubed, you start to really get cracking.

I pay some more money, for this act I must watch,

I'm glad you decided to ramp it up just a notch.

I couldn't care less that you're faking your pleasure;

Couldn't care how much you're making, however,

I do care that you can get the whole length of it in,

And still maintain your false, pleasurable grin.

It's girls like yourself who make it easy for us men,

To save a bit of money and rush to the end.

I mean, for 1 dollar a minute, it's money well spent,

And probably only one of us, this act we'll resent.

So, I'm glad that you grew up with your daddy issues;

And I'm so glad they refilled this box of tissues.

By J. Barrett