From an old friend:
Erotic Verse for Erectile Dysfunction
I was at a party some years ago, and because I had had a few drinks I don’t remember what prompted it, but I found myself reciting Tennyson’s “The Charge of the Light Brigade.” It was one of several poems my 11th grade English teacher had made us memorize back in the 1940s, and the only one that I still remembered.
One of the assembled group turned out to be a physician. I gathered that he had had several drinks, himself. He took me aside and told me that he had a poem to recite, but he couldn’t do it in mixed company. He had heard it recited in medical school with great enthusiasm and to great effect by a lecturer on erectile dysfunction, which was called “impotence” in those days. The lecturer, a man well into his 70s, told them that in the Victorian era doctors often gave erotic poems of this sort to their patients who complained of low charges in their sexual batteries, as he put it.
By the time this doctor had gone into practice, pornographic novels and short stories were more widely available and doctors were less apt to get in trouble with the law if they gave them to patients, as had been the case earlier. For patients with shorter attention spans, the lecturer still thought the poem was effective, and he had passed out mimeographed copies to his students, all of whom were male, of course, .
The doctor said that in the early years of his practice he had used the poem, even giving it to women complaining of “frigidity,” and many of them had expressed gratitude afterward. As poetry appreciation had virtually disappeared among the general population and much more graphic forms of stimulation had become widely available, the poem had long since gone into disuse.
With that background, the doctor then recited the following:
Memorable Encounter
It started with a winsome smile.
The inch forthwith became a mile.
My joy at drinking in her face.
Was multiplied by her embrace.
The course before me felt so right.
Like the daytime follows night.
And presently she did accede
To my quickly building need.
The door behind which treasures hide
For me, for once, was opened wide.
I found the world’s most perfect fit
And slipped into the heart of it.
Mounted for a bumpy ride,
I could not have been more satisfied.
Each jolt of sweaty syncopation
Filled me with exhilaration,
As I watched her ringlets bounce
And squeezed out pleasure by the ounce.
The splendor of that scenery
Was just about too much for me.
I fixed upon one peak of bliss
And planted there a parting kiss.
Neither of us was steady enough to do much writing, so I simply gave him my card and asked him if he would mail the poem to me, which he promptly did, written out in a much clearer hand than you see on the usual prescription.
I was naturally curious about the poem’s authorship, and the doctor told me that he was, too, after he had heard the unforgettable recitation. The lecturer said that it was surely one of the English cavalier poets, possibly Robert Herrick. He was known to have written much racier poems even than “The Vine,” but the others were too strong to publish, and were kept going as oral tradition. This particular poem was so popular in that tradition, the lecturer said, that the “mounted” line was the real reason that they had acquired the name, “Cavalier poets.” It was meant as a sort of inside joke. Or, at least, that is what he had been told.
Not being much written down, it’s likely that it could have been modified through the years to conform more to the evolving language, and some lines could have been dropped.
It didn’t
take me long to commit the poem to memory, the first time I’d done that
since high school. Now that I’m started on the computer, I thought
I’d share it before it gets lost completely.
Did I rub you the wrong way or stroke you just right? Let me know below in the comments section or Email me at buelahman {AT} g m a i l {DOT} com
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B'Man's Revolt
Well, aren’t you a man for al seasons!
Thanks for the Sunday lift.
Love ya,
S
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Subtlety is SOOOOOOOOOOOOO much sexier!
Years ago I was engaged to a brilliant man who was a student of, among other things, ancient Aramic. He loved to recite erotic poetry of ancient origin… and also horny old British whimsy with a ribald slant. But this old Aramic poem always … er … tickled my fancy. And yeah, I am old fashioned. I prefer imagination and such stimulation to the modern in-your-face-the-camera-is-in-her-privates kind of “erotica” around today.
Have patience now, O Fadechat de Djemal
I understand your words and all shall see how I obey them
O you! beloved and cherished by whoever
Can revel in your charms and glory in them!
O apple of my eye! You thought I was embarrassed
About the answer which I had to give you
Yes, certainly! It was love I bore you
Made me look foolish in the eyes of all you know
They thought I was possessed of a demon
Called me Merry foole and buffoon
Before the Goddess What buffoonery I’ve got should that it be
No other member is like mine,
Here! see it, measure it!
What woman tastes it falls in love with me
In violent love. It is a well known fact
That you from afar may see it like a column
If it erects itself it lifts my robe and shames me
Now take it kindly put it in your tent
Which is between the well known mountains placed
It will be quite at home there you will find it
Not softening while inside, but sticking like a nail
Take it to form a handle to your vase
Come examine it and notice well
How vigorous it is and long in its erection
If you but want a proper medleleuk
A medeleuk to use between your thighs
Take this to stir the centre of your kettle
It will do good to you, O mistress mine!
Your kettle be it plated will be satisfied
Just a little something from the Perfumed garden by Shaykh Umar ibn Muhammed al Nefsawi lol….meant to be extremely erotic but loses something in the translation
Just some ancient erotic writings from the Middle East. They did not have blue pills back then either.
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There is a whole lot less subtlety in yours than mine.
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As a poetry lover, I can’t resist weighing in on this topic. It would be an amazing coincidence, but it is not beyond the realm of possibility that the poem’s unknown author might have been the same person whose poem your old friend was reciting to the doctor at that party, Alfred Lord Tennyson. He had such a thing for women’s ringlets that he wrote an entire poem, “The Ringlet,” http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ringlet/ in which he obsessed over ringlets already cut from his lady’s head. But the initial guess that it was written by a cavalier poet, particularly Robert Herrick, still looks like the best one. Herrick wrote at least two rather erotic poems in which he mentioned ringlets, “What Kind of Mistress He Would Have” http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/herrick/whatkind.htm and “The Vision.” http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/herrick/thevision.htm The one problem with Herrick as the writer is that many of his published poems were almost as graphically erotic as “Memorable Encounter.” “The Vine” http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/herrick/vine.htm was already mentioned in the article, but what about “Whenas in Silks My Julia Goes” http://www.bartleby.com/106/93.html and, especially, “Upon the Nipples of Julia’s Breasts” http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/herrick/nipples.htm? Herrick, you might think, would hardly have shrunk from claiming authorship of that poem if it were actually his. Still, I think it’s a pretty good bet that that “peak of bliss” in the penultimate line was either Julia’s.or Corinna’s http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/herrick/corinna.htm or one of his other playmates.
Dave
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I am not at all studied in poetry, but know what I like. Thanks for the additional sources for me to read and learn.
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With your implied invitation to further your literary education, permit me to offer another cavalier poet name among the candidates for authorship of the one the doctor learned at medical school. That is Sir John Suckling. Consider this verse from his longish poem, “A Ballad upon a Wedding”
The maid (and thereby hangs a tale),
For such a maid no Whitsun-ale
Could ever yet produce;
No grape that’s kindly ripe could be
So round, so plump, so soft as she,
Nor half so full of juice.
http://www.poemhunter.com/i/ebooks/pdf/sir_john_suckling_2004_9.pdf
And here are a couple of more Suckling poems that make him a likely candidate:
A Candle
There is a thing which in the light
Is seldom used; but in the night
It serves the maiden female crew,
The ladies, and the goodwives too.
They use to take it in their hand,
And then it will uprightly stand;
And to a hole they it apply,
Where by its goodwill it would die:
It spends, goes out, and still within
It leaves its moisture thick and thin.
Susan’s Satin Dress
I have a weakness, I confess,
For Susan in her satin dress.
How can I say so there’s no doubt of it
How I’d like to help her out of it?
And though her lips are like a rose
That in the palace garden grows,
I’d much prefer, I’m not sure why,
To kiss her on the inner thigh.
Near the source of greatest pleasure,
There to plumb in deepest measure,
Whilst I bathe in her caress,
And sink into her loveliness.
It must be said, though, that our old friend Herrick had a similar taste for the feminine nether regions. Check out “The Shoe Tying” and consider where he might be going with it: http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/herrick/shoetying.htm
Had your English teachers given you a broader education in poetry, I dare say that you would likely be more studied in it.
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Definitely more my style
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Whenever I want to “get in the mood,” I just think about Hillary Clinton and read some romantic literature.
Rick Biesada describes his 1967 one-night stand with Hillary; Marine says:
Hillary was worth the 5 bucks
Before Hillary ruined her life by wrapping her arms around the ankles of rapist/sexual predator Bill and before Hillary used a secret police to cover up her Jerry Springer lifestyle for decades, Hillary actually had an intimate moment with a red blooded American Marine, a young buck.
Former Marine Rick Biesada writes in his hilarious book Angry White Male and the Horse He Rode in On (2001, 1st Books Library) about his one-night stand in 1967 with a 20-year-old Hillary. Rick Biesada confirms that Hillary has had sex with someone besides Webb Hubbell (probably Chelsea’s real father), Vince Foster (boyfriend, emotional husband for years), several women and maybe Bill Clinton.
Rick was working the door as a bouncer at a popular bar in Chicago one night in 1967 when Hillary, her parents and brothers came in after a wedding party. Rick let the Rodham family cut in the line and immediately Hillary took a shine on the hunky, good looking, red-blooded American marine.
Rick says that Hillary “had sparkly eyes and a cute smile. Her assertive attitude left something to be desired, she was truly self-absorbed.” [Biesada, p. 63] Hillary hit on Rick and soon they were dancing in the bar.
Rick says that Hillary was “extremely horny and didn’t seem to care if anyone was watching as she thrust her pelvis into me. I was getting worked up as she gyrated and grinded against me.
She whispered something about being Hillary from Park Ridge, like it was supposed to mean something, but to me she was just another score. She was crawling all over me now. Humping me real good. I had to laugh to myself, she reminded me of a puppy dog in heat, humping on someone’s leg.” [Biesada, p.64]
So Hillary keeps humping Rick on the dance floor in front of her parents in the bar as Rick squeezes her butt through her pumpkin-like bridesmaid dress. “I could feel the heat of her body as she pressed against me through her bridesmaid gown. She taunted me with sweet whispers. Cinderella, wow! I was seeing Blondie in a different way now. She was horny, near frantic and she was ready to go off. This smartest, most intelligent lawyer to be wanted but one thing that night. She had to cure an itch like a junkie looking for a fix … and I would be the doctor.” [Biesada, p.64]
Rick then tells of he and Hillary heading off to a seedy hotel – Red’s hotel – where he rented a room for 5 dollars for 2 hours.
Rick says Hillary was worth the 5 bucks
(despite modest chest covered with RIPE pimples)
“I had a feeling she might become a lawyer. She waived all foreplay. She struggled to get out of her gown. That gown had hidden a lot. [Hillary] looked a little better while I was drinking in the dark bar. Her gown had fallen to the floor revealing a heavy, shapeless lower body reminiscent of Bolo Dolls, I think we called them as children. The kind with a round, weighted bottom. You would punch it, knocking it over and it would spring back up. Her formless legs reminded me of tree stumps, no shape or definition. Just two logs coming down amorphously.
“… I will never forget this woman because two very distinct occurrences burn indelibly in my mind. One was her modest chest was covered with acne. I had never seen a woman before with acne on her chest. Ripe pimples, YUK!
In the heat of passion she gouged my back. She scratched me so long and deep it took weeks for my wounds to heal.
I knew this lady was going places and she did.
Right down on the bed as [Hillary] hungrily pulled me on top of her. At this point my unit was harder than Chinese arithmetic and it wasn’t hard because of her acne or her Bolo like bottom. I passed the line of departure and the only place left to go was home.
I rammed it home and as I started to stuff this turkey, she startled me. I thought [Hillary] was going to have a seizure or an epileptic fit. What if she had epilepsy? Think fast. This called for immediate action. What did I remember about first aid from the Corps? Ah, yes, reach in and grab her tongue so she doesn’t swallow it and choke. While reaching for her mouth I asked her, “Are you all right?” “Yes,” she yelped. Yes! Yes! Yes! Then she took off like a bucking bronco …
She was banging me like there was no tomorrow. She couldn’t get enough. Mama Mia! She started moaning and groaning feverishly. I was waiting for her eyeballs to roll back into her head. I was in good shape, but fast becoming exhausted trying to keep up with this wild filly.
Some guys naturally have bad luck. Here I was plugged into the smartest woman in the world and all she wanted to do was act like “O’l Paint.” How I wished I quit smoking and what a time to be thinking about a cigarette. I don’t think it was the best five bucks I ever spent, but I can surely say I got my money’s worth.” [Biesada, p.67]
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Might have known readers of this site couldn’t stay away from politics for long. I sure hope that first sentence was written sarcastically. I once saw a tabloid picture of Hillary in a bathing suit, and that Marine’s description of her “heavy, shapeless lower body” is right on the money. She’s built about like a bowling pin. I certainly find the mental image of a young Sarah Palin and Glen Rice a good deal more stimulating. http://deadspin.com/5841835/all-the-details-of-the-sarah-palin+glen-rice-coitus-youve-been-waiting-for
The Marine’s story goes a long way toward establishing Hillary as a bisexual, because the evidence is very strong that she goes the other way: http://www.dcdave.com/article5/070729.htm The corroboration of the physical appearance of an undraped Hillary undermines the rumors of hot Hillary-Vince Foster romance, though. Foster was president of Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity at Davidson College. I graduated from Davidson two years ahead of him, and I can tell you that it was a standing joke that no SAE would ever let himself be seen with a girl who was less than beautiful. It was Davidson’s leading rich party boy fraternity.
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I actually made a college scouting trip to Davidson. Very pretty place. I ended up going to Princeton, but I did check it out.
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