The kinky man's plight

Wait ma'am, please this once, hear me out;

Before you unfairly decide to on me creep out.

I am mature, moneyed, suave and smart,

indeed, delightfully versed in the comedic art.

My wit is as sparkling as French red wine,

and revives women that about headaches whine.

Wait, you walk away, as if you aren't impressed,

snootily disgusted, as if I am a despo utterly repressed!

I know how to be caring...what, but you're still going?

Very well then, of splendid things, you won't be knowing.

Things like what I'd do if I had a woman to call my own,

(Oh she's really gone? good riddance, the old crone.)

Hear me out then fair members of the jury,

before you decide to turn on me all leery.

Men of my station are spurred by pangs of the loin

to hunt for a suitable woman in conjugal union to join.

But I being me, all curious and experimental,

see in this enterprise more scope unconventional.

I would like :

to prod the woman in her rib

with a fountain pen's pointy nib

and pinch her nostrils half-shut

with a tweezer in a musty hut

to poke her in her fleshier parts

with an assortment of tiny darts

to suck at her long licy hair

with a vacuum cleaner's air

to brush her gums with nails

till her cheek visibly pales

to staple together her chapped lips

to choke her on an excess of salad dips

to spray her ears with potato blights

to pluck her brows to look for mites

to put soap suds in her open eyes

to grip her painted toes in a vice

I wonder why when I speak of such innocent fun

on my third dates all the uptight self-righteous women run;

why I attract dirty looks, angry shrieks and am so unfairly judged, 

why I am so unwanted, unloved, and have my good name smudged.