On the subject of spiders and sexual pleasure.
This poem is very silly, but just a warning for sexual content and arachnophobia. Originally written 2017.
Here I’ll tell you the tale of a woman named Lacie,
Though now I shall warn you: the tale will be racy,
Abandon hope, all ye who enter here,
And who enter young Lacie
With nothing to fear.
In her youth she was healthy, broad-shouldered and tall,
She played chess in the evenings, and the mornings, football,
And then in her teens she added some more,
Did her hobbies and homework, and even some chores.
As a woman, my God, dear Lacie was grand:
Her Leaving exams went precisely as planned:
For the price of her soul and her time and her wits,
She got six hundred points before she called it quits!
Her HPAT was fine, her interview better,
And Lace was a Gaeilgeoir — perfect down to the letter.
She started to study for her Medical Degree:
Lacie O’Malley: a surgeon to be.
The faults in dear Lacie were exceedingly few:
She was charming, and clever, and very kind too,
But for Ms. O’Malley there was some bother,
The sort that may get you hot under your collar.
Ms O’Malley, a fine girl, turned many a head,
But something was missing when she got into bed.
With fellas, she thought, they’re just without a clue,
They look right at you, and say, “Was that good for you too?”
Oh, the thrusting and moaning and flopping about,
But Lacie wasn’t coming — she was without a doubt.
Lacie O’Malley was a scholar at heart,
So off to the library to study this sexual art!
The problem, said one book, was down to the action,
So Lacie changed tact with her simple attractions.
She laid on her back and she spread out her thighs,
Winked at her man, and said, “Eyes on the prize.”
And he knelt there, head down, and put his mouth to work,
But she was unmoved, was Lacie, and felt scarcely a jerk.
Back to the library: a book told her lube!
It can come in a can, a sachet or a tube!
You need to be wet enough, or you’re likely to tear,
And Lacie thought of the wet patch and said,
“There’s no problem there.”
So another book, now: the problem is men.
If a cock doesn’t work then get yourself a hen.
So Lacie went out to her nearest gay bar,
And picked a girl with a buzzcut and a skill at guitar.
But that didn’t work either, and now Lacie was glum:
Try as she might, she just couldn’t come!
She got wet, that was true, and sex felt okay,
But surely there’d be pleasure if she could just find the way!
So now, stubborn lass, to necessity she succumbed:
She went to her doctor, and said, “I can’t come.”
“Are you sad? Are you stressed? Does it hurt when you fuck?”
And she said “No” three times: he said it’s just rotten luck.
So Lacie, unhappy, went out for a drive,
And stopped at a wood, parked the car at the wayside.
Lacie got out and walked under the trees,
And she came to a clearing and just enjoyed the breeze.
The wood, she’d been told, when she was a child,
Was home to a spirit, who was magic and wild.
It was silly, she thought, to put stock in such things,
But she looked at the floor and spied some fairy rings.
So Lacie O’Malley sat back on a tree stump
And said, “I can’t come, and I’m down in the dumps!
If yer wan on that Sex In The City can have one,
Why can’t me, a real person, have myself an orgasm?”
Lacie looked ‘round and saw nothing was lurking,
But little did she know that the magic was working!
“O faery, o lady, o spirit, please hear what I say!”
And along came a spider, who crawled up inside her,
And took all her troubles away.
Lacie drove home, grumpy and pissed,
But Lacie was stubborn, and so did she persist.
Sitting down on her bed, and dressing down for the night,
She put a hand on herself and got quite a fright.
The electric sensation was some kind of shock,
And she moaned and she groaned and the bed, how it rocked!
The spider had made herself a home in the flesh
Burrowing in and starting her web there afresh!
Thanks to the spell, Lacie felt no pain,
And felt only the pleasure, again and again.
Lacie spent that night alone in her room,
With no thought at all of leaving it soon!
The vibrator she’d bought, left unused on the sill,
Was now her best friend and gave her a thrill!
And Lacie O’Malley, for the first time, she came,
And then came again, and again, without shame.
At lectures, distracted, she couldn’t think straight,
And asked a young fella to come over at eight.
The waiting was awful, and her classes ran long,
But at home she dressed up in chemise and a thong.
For the first time in her life, she was actually turned on,
And so she waited and thought of her beau: young Seán.
Seán was a rower, but compact and short,
Ah, but he’s long where it matters, so young Lacie thought.
He came through the door in a shirt of crisp white,
And Lacie stared at him and thought, “God, what a sight.”
His pride still embittered by his last attempt at her crotch,
He got on his knees and kicked it up a notch.
She loved it, his mouth and the twist of his tongue,
And he sucked at her clit and he tasted her come.
Cheered on by the fact that he’d brought her to the peak,
He put on a Johnny and set about making her shriek.
And for her, every thrust was unlike any before,
And she felt pleasure come out of her every pore.
But the spider was hungry, and was misjudging its choice,
For flies don’t like pussies (we can gladly rejoice).
Faeries, you see, cannot always be trusted,
And expectations with them must sometimes be… Adjusted.
The spider, most polite, and not wanting to be greedy,
Decided to take a small piece — and about it, was speedy!
Seán, how he screamed, and he pulled away from her,
With blood on his thighs and of course, on his todger.
The spider you see, had a size that was great,
And her idea of “small” was up for debate.
With Séan’s tweets on the horror of vagina dentata,
Young Lacie was abruptly persona non grata,
And to this day, Lacie takes no flesh inside her,
Lest it fall prey to the hunger of her personal spider.
But Lacie’s now a happy lass, a surgeon of renown,
And her sex life never gives her cause to ever wear a frown.
See, a spider’s got some teeth alright, but those teeth have their limits,
And trying to bite a strap-on — well, there’s nothing in it.
So that’s the tale of Gracie, from start all to the end,
Happy with Cecilia, her scientist girlfriend.
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