I learn all the moves from the movies,
I buy all the bonk-buster books,
I apply what I’ve seen on the page and the screen
and it feels just as good as it looks.
The scenes of my ardent endeavours
are echoes of those that I’ve read –
in the shower, the chair, on the floor or the stair,
and, once in a while, on the bed.
I plagiarise torrid abandon
with never a glimmer of guile;
The Loves of Frank Harris, Last Tango in Paris,
they’ve all set their stamp on my style.
I’ve studied When Harry met Sally
and lifted THAT scene from the text,
so that if the big O should elude me, I know
I can fake it as well as the next.
Past masters of sensual passion,
I got ’em all off to a T.
And I’m happy to say, at the end of the day,
That they made a past mistress of me.