When did I last wash this sheet?
It must be nearly a month.
That’s awful. God, I’m such a slut.
Just look at the dried-up stains on it.
All that remains
Of four weeks of fucks.

I remember that big stain there,
Where Dan fucked me feverishly one night:
Then left me,
Because he had an early lecture the next day.
While I lay alone drifting off to sleep
Semen seeping slowly out of me
Making a wet sticky patch
That I curled into a corner to avoid.

It overlaps, slightly,
With a large, pale stain
That’s mostly just my own juices,
From when Rob licked and fingered me
For what seemed like hours
Making me orgasm again and again.
God, I was running like a mountain stream,
Coating his fingers
And making my thighs sticky.
This after I’d gobbled his cock
And swallowed down his hot spicy spunk.
So yes, that one’s all my own work.

And that spray of dried droplets
All the way up to the pillow.
That’s where I wanked Sam
When it was my monthly
And I didn’t want him in me making a mess,
Ironically.
I sucked his cock for a while
Then joked that I wanted to see
How far he could shoot,
And he obliged
With a fountain of spunk,
Almost hitting the wall.
Fun, but messy.

And oh yes
There’s a final little patch;
A mixture of
Vaginal secretions and semen
From that afternoon
When I fucked the guy
I met in the coffee bar
Who said he’d liked my poem.
All writers like a bit of appreciation
So I showed my gratitude
In the way I know best.
He had a nice big thick cock too.
If I could only remember his name.

But never mind.
Into the wash it goes,
With some other dirty stuff.
Round and round for ninety minutes
And then they’re gone.
Dan and Rob and Sam
And the other one.
Their stains washed out of my sheet
And out of my mind.