The women that I’ve fancied always seem to come in groups of car makes;
I spent a whole year attracted to and attracting those that only drove Hyundais,
and now Priuses are all I seem to ride in and follow to abodes where fueling desire and my pumping seems to go much further –
There seems to be a trend of lady Prius drivers being multi-orgasmic,
Or so my experience seems to lend.
There was a girl who only drove muscle cars: a Dodge Avenger and a Pontiac Grand Prix,
And while she was brash and bold,
Her breasts had no sensitivity and pert nipples worked and tweaked and sucked and licked never got her engines going,
And she could only ever have one orgasm before she was through.
Honda drivers, they have almost always been Accords, were always sensual,
Loved skin touched and teased and could spend hours merely being stroked sensuously and kissed coolly on the back.
One woman, she was much older than me,
Old enough to be my mother and a grandmother to whit,
She called her all-American pickup truck her “whip” and was shy and demure as a high school girl,
And if the truth she told had never had multiple orgasms before she met me –
We flew kites at Lake Mead and I protected her from a puppy that just wanted to play.
The one thing I have become leery of are women that do not drive at all,
Have never learned or cannot,
The control one learns behind the wheel of a car is something they never acquired and they have been, in my experience nothing but trouble;
It is the same for those Hyundai drivers that I sought and sought me out,
I cannot possibly account for it
But they have always been a tad bit mad – always beautiful but those relationships all burst to flames,
An overheating engine on a freeway doing 90.
And of desire and fantasy,
I have of seven years been wanting a woman with a Jeep,
With a roll cage; I could not tell you why;
With a red and black flannel shirt and a camisole that barely keeps her chest and b cup breasts from the sun she rides out in,
And cut-high jean shorts that allow the sweat to roll down browned thighs,
hiking boots caked with the adventures she has been on and promise those to come.
But Prius drivers have always touched my soul,
Their compassion cast throughout their whole,
They dole out love and light and kindness,
Turn blind eyes to how I’m mired,
Wired for a self-combustion,
Their recharge cells suffused with mirth,
And try to fill mine with self-worth.