There’s a pervert in my head, you see,
She writes of lust and fantasy.
You never tried to hold her back,
Or make me take a different tack.

She writes of being soaked in white,
A dripping mess by morning light.
It’s sexy, sure, written in smut
‘cause we pretend there's no clean-up.

She dreams of cocks too big to ride,
That'd need a crane to get inside.
But in truth they make me sore,
While you can rock me to my core.

She thinks of cheating, thrills, taboo,
Of lies on lips and someone new.
While on her pages I may stray,
I’ve only ever looked your way.

She pens threesomes, orgies, more,
Of getting fucked ‘till she is sore.
Her words are wild and wicked fun,
But in truth you’re my only one.

So thank you, love, for letting me
Be a whore in fantasy.
Letting her lust, letting me write,
And letting me know that it’s all alright.

I write the filth, I live the lust,
But you’re the only man I trust.
The only one I ache to please.
The one I truly love to tease.

But I am her, and she is me
The pervert you set; wild and free.
So I’ll take the pervert in my head,
And be the pervert in our bed.