Public Fetish Poem by Alan Bruce Thompson

Just glimpse the black stockings climbing the stairs,
The type that wanton men want to have in their affairs.

Balanced atop each mincing heel,
Fills the prancer full of sex appeal.

The greatest thrill comes from the seam,
Black, thin and rising, reaching the dream.

Hopeless, speechless, always knocked out,
The struck-dumb men barely gasp, can't shout.

So the private chill becomes the public thrill,
As the gangs of men march and drill.

They follow her dripping with lust,
She is full of herself, pushy, with thrust.

They stand in line, full of sap and show,
She needs an umbrella to damn the flow.

The macho boys become filled with doubt,
That's when sexy women carry the clout.