Park Bench Tales and other writings

Thoughts and writings reflecting the poet within and the activist


Pretty Painted Lady

Adviisory: There are some adult issues here

She stood on street corners she hung out in bars

Wore skimpy dresses and shirts without bras

Looking for custom, immune from the stares

Just doing her work and peddling her wares

They drove by in their cars leaning out of the seat

Just like an auctioneer, judging the meat

Wondering whether to splash out some cash

A quickie, then home, a bit of a dash

She’s just another bright student suffocated by fees

Offering her body but never to please

Risking her life each night as she stands

Needing to take the cash from their hands

She stands next to bright Alice a single mum

Attracting the customer with a wiggle of the bum

They stopped her benefits, never gave her any choice

It’s a nasty world when they take away your voice

Down the road is Lorraine thrown out of the door

By a husband who left her covered in gore

There is no refuge in this small country town

So she plays a school ma’am with cane and gown

That is Sue in red stockings, in debt to a loan shark

Who wished to abuse her with gropes in a park

She’s just trying to earn a living to be free

From a careless past that left a pile of debris

Then there’s June there, it’s her occupation

She’s into bondage for those with motivation

Chains or a rope, some say she’s a whore

She seems to attract her fair share from the Law

I’ve heard judgement from judges, priests and the Law

Malicious conversation with a hatred for the whore

Now somewhere I’ve read about casting the first stone

Are our lives really so different if we cut to the bone?

The celebrity wife who cheated the husband who abused

The politician who groped and his supporters were amused

The uncovered dark deeds of a priest who never atones

What a strange world that we live in when we rush to cast stones

Copyright: David Hopcroft June 2019

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Fancy free feline finds fetish at forty

Fancy free feline finds fetish at forty

(Another short piece for two voices)

Mother I think I might need your advice

I married a stallion but now he’s a donkey

He’s just one step away from a mule

Don’t worry my dear, I know what you mean

Your father also suffered from retraction

I thought my magnet had lost attraction

While my passions are rising, his are sinking and shrinking

Whilst it’s thrills and excitement I need

I tried enticing, even stripped naked to dance on the table

He carried on drinking his beer, contemplating his navel

What, what a to-do!

You’ve still got a figure and vigour

Now your boobs have got bigger

Tell me what else have you tried to tempt him to ride

Is he really a bore or just saddle sore

You’re sure he has nothing to hide?

If he has something to hide he keeps it well hidden

Heaven only knows how long it’s been since he’s ridden

I’m asking you mother, do I need a lover

Someone to provide a bit of the other

There, there, don’t despair

It’s a phase they go through when in need of repair

When the same old routines need an update

To stop him creaking before your gate

Tell me, have you tried leather not lace?

Tell me mother, what do you mean?

I hope you’re not suggesting something too obscene

I certainly have a need for more imagination

And I might even be up for vagination

Daughter, your body I would never demean

But dull metals need a new gleam

Don’t act in great haste

Imagination should not go to waste

You just need to change your taste

You’re not being too clear

Can you be more precise

Is it naughty and nice?

I might get a kick if it’s really a vice

Well , lace can enhance your bosom in a shirt

And leather looks nice in a jacket or skirt

But watch him change if you take a grip with a whip

Crack it short of his buttocks, don’t let it slip

This is beginning to sound quite exciting

I have heard things about chains and rope

I’ll give Alice a ring to try get a quote

You never know and I do live in hope

Its been over a week since we talked, just how did it go

An improvement I hope, is he fast or still slow

Did the whip encourage the flow of the snow?

Well, mother it was just so exciting

My mind is now exploding with his fascination

The whip is so cool for insubordination

The cuffs are quite magic to induce trepidation

When he sees me in rubber then he’s all anticipation

Just like your father, I think you’ve found his weakness and taste

I have a spare cane if you think he’s disgraced

Plus some PVC clothing just in case

And keep yourself laced so he won’t come in haste

Don’t worry mother, his fixation is nearly complete

He’s well beyond bottoms and has a fetish for feet

But I’m not sure about him wearing my dress in the street

Anyway, he stole my stockings and panties from the top shelf

He’s tied up of course or he’d tell you himself

Copyright: David Hopcroft May 2019


Two minds in thoughts: The story of the purple lace thong

(I guess this piece shows my love for producing for poetry evenings when two people can perform, each adding their own meaning to a piece)

I know it started with an innocent remark

Holding onto the smile we exchanged

Like a long exposure

From focussed cameras sharing their shot

I gave her another glance

For her age she displayed

Legs that deserved to be caught by the lens

She smiled again

Was it pretense or a line of her song

Bending over so low

She gave a glimpse of her purple lace thong

I couldn’t hope but respond to his smile

Was it destiny we’d come to this place

Sharing our interests, something to embrace

Do we share a roving eye?

If I bend just a little

Will I attract his gaze?

If I wiggle a little

I know this sounds wrong

But what I need to display

Is the sight of my purple lace thong

Would I like to join her for tea?

How could I really resist

Her laughter so playful

Talking of homes and history

What else can we share

I wonder if her legs were uncrossed

I try to be strong, but is it wrong

For I know that I need

Another glimpse of that purple lace thong

I like our conversation

Could this be the start of something more?

Can I make the first move

Presenting an open door

If he’d be a little more forward

Perhaps putting his hand on my knee

What often attracts

Is that which distracts

I’ll just uncross my legs

Pretending to stretch

Is his resistance strong

Or will he succumb and desire

To sample the fruit

Beneath by purple lace thong

This seems to be going well

Though sometimes I’ve lost my tongue

Then blurt ten words when I only need one

I’m trying to look cool and at ease

But I’m feeling quite weak at the knees

When there’s a gust from the breeze

I’m sure that my face has gone red

For a rise of her skirt

Tells me I’m not wrong

Those beautiful legs

Topped by a purple lace thong

I don’t want to leave it too late

Do I suggest the first date

He looks flushed

Was that the breeze

Tickling between my knees

Now I’ve blushed

Perhaps it will help him along

If he caught a brief glimpse

Of my enticing purple lace thong

Well, it is only polite

I’m glad she accepted the invite

That I give her a lift to her home

Where it seems that she lives all alone

That date

I’ve left it too late


She’s left a small package for me


Information for her phone

And something to help me along

Her beautiful purple lace thong

I’ve been waiting here by the phone

Wondering if I’ve been missed

Should we have kissed

He must know

I would not resist

Would my gift make him flee

Would he be shocked

Think he’d been mocked

But my love felt so strong

When I discarded that purple lace thong


(Taps out number on phone)

(Phone rings)

(To be continued)

My teacher told me I should confine my interests in thongs to dipthongs and tripthongs

Copyright: David Hopcroft May 2016


Intrusive thoughts 6: Standing at the crossroads of addiction

You know that you’re here, in my mind and cannot be displaced

Holding me firm in your power with your leather unlaced

Whilst my hands are seeking the joy of your form

My desire to make love from evening to dawn

Unable to soothe the intensity of the storm

The revealing glimpse where your skirt got torn


Every night we make love again and again and again

You must know that your nakedness drives me insane

When I crave for the bursting bud that you hide

Entrapped when you suggest that will not be denied

Craving with that desire to glide inside

I’ll be your slave if you’ll be my guide


You are the dealer that I seek in the shadows each night

Needing that fix from your legs, long, soft and white

Hoping for the flesh that you once displayed

When you dressed up to look like a maid

The enslavement that said you must be obeyed

My submissive addiction to all you portrayed


The habit that I have makes me dependent on you

Seeing you waiting I need to be first in the queue

My tongue always exploring that moist divide

I’ll show no withdrawal whilst you’re opening wide

Is this love so special? You’ll have to decide

We used to come together whenever we tried


My love hard and waiting I’m embracing addiction

I’ve tried to resist the temptation of this affliction

The fixation that comes from the sex in my dreams

From your ample charms the sweet nectar gleams

Love’s juices flowing with abundance it seems

I stiffen again, we both know what that means.


Copyright: David Hopcroft May 2019

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Seeking Sex after Sixty: 1 Her First Thought

(Warning adult content which might offend)


Seeking sex after sixty, why did she entertain the thought

Why the attraction, what was it she sought?

The years had flown by, had love come to nought?

Her time was with hippies and protest, free love and flower power

Now she was curious as to what had remained

How easy it had been to choose her delight

Excitement that lasted all through the night

Would it still be the same, could she still get aroused?


She breathed in and looked in the mirror at her breasts

They still seemed attractive, surely enough to entice

Remembering days when the men always looked twice


Well, maybe not so firm when she took off her bra

Any way, it was her nipples with which they were obsessed

They still showed quite nicely beneath her vest

Rising firmly to show off their best


Seeking sex after sixty. There had to be someone there.

Was she too forward, should she take the lead?

A few drinks to help him relax, hear what he said

Like days of old, she’d then draw him to the web

Just a flash of stocking. How easily they were led.

Or maybe a see-through long skirt instead?


Seeking Sex after Sixty. She’d be almost releived

When he fell for her charms and beleived

She was the one, and he was never deceived


Being prepared, she had already been out to buy the tube

The lubricant. She should not let it go to waste

Thinks to herself

Now I have my vibrator in case he comes with haste

Slow him down a little, I’ll keep the bodice laced

After all, if he’s as old as me

This adventure needs to be paced

Reminder: Check first

He does not have a pacemaker


It went quite well I thought, when I had my inquest

Though better if he’d had less clothes to divest

Though he dribbled a little onto my chest

Well it was with my nipples, he’d got a little obsessed


Seeking sex over sixty. A prescription that needs a repeat

For he never quite made it, but it’s not a defeat

I’m a vintage wine, caressed and complete

But I’m also

One helluva bitch when I know I’m on heat


Copyright: David Hopcroft May 2019

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The seductress plays the game; spins the web to entice a mate
To draw along the silken threads and lead him gently to his fate.
The weaving of the pattern determined in some measure
Design of careful form to capture for her pleasure
Now waits the lady having spun her net for intimacy
To draw the curious male into the thread
Who being attracted forth into the silken sea
Is enticed upon a path where other hearts have bled.

The spiral that leads ever inwards; she has laid the scent
Which in attracting acts upon the mind for which it is meant.
The wine that is matured from the finest grapes
Draws on with its odour for every breath he takes
Sweet taste that promises to please the tempted tongue
May hold a potion that has been with care distilled
Every drop with care she has from her body wrung
Enticing to the foretold end that she has so willed.

Then should the circling bee upon the mat so choose to land
To tread the delicate threads which might lead to her hand
Then pollen that was gathered from the gentle flower
May be spilled carelessly into the decorated bower
Can the web be woven with wishes truly given
Or promises so posed their prettiness alluring
Will love be there, or is the centre to be forbidden
Will the scent have strength enough to be enduring

The flight that in strange pattern now prevails upon the mind
Fights fleeting fantasy with firmness of a different kind
A quest that questions quietly the passion of the storm
Which in raging fast seemed much like the web well drawn
The landing that is promised could merely be the decoy
The pleasure being in the luring for the bait
Is the tempting just a pleasure for another joy
Or can temptress touch the heart and find a mate

In the calmness that may follow the fierce tempest of the night
There is time when reasoning shall determine now the plight
The seductress in her planning needs just more than teasing
Scent fades quickly in the day; will there be the evening
Or was the dream the pleasure that prolonged the night
Words which in early calling freely from the pen hath flowed
To draw the quarry forth, to set within the sight
Yet arrow was not loosened, and has the ardour slowed

When love is wished its wanting may take upon it Desire
The fiercest burning to set the yearning heart afire
Yet love like fire if the ardour is to keep its passion
Must feed upon the tree of life in somewhat curious fashion
And as the cricket calls for an answer from its mate
The notes returned must complement the tune
Or else their love will find another future fate
As lone coyote howls the message to an evening moon

Copyright: David Hopcroft 1995

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Leading in the dark

(I find it strange that I originally wrote this and other pieces using a pen name at a time when exploring such ideas was difficult, publishing even harder. We seem to progress and maybe are more open-minded now. I don’t know)

It was that sort of date, not quite a dare
A form of adventure, an experience to share
She’d glanced at the adverts in the columns that day
Read through them all, they had nothing to say
Looked at her own, would it really attract ?
‘Yours to explore, might like to be smacked.
Gone past forty, virginity not intact
Lead me astray. What have you packed ?’

A day at the office, rushed off her feet
A professional, a lawyer, tidy and neat
Now she was home, with a smile on her face
Tonight would be hers, falling from grace
For here was her secret, each night a date
Chosen from many, the excitement of fate
A change from the usual promise to mate
When he came so early, she came so late.

It was adventure, time to move on and seek more
Why stick to one sex, there is more than one store
Her colleagues would cry out in horror ‘The Shame !’
But the secret was hers, in an anonymous name.
Behind the screen her wares were displayed
An open position, about to be laid
Finding enjoyment before she would fade
She knew more than most, she was the grade

She was the dark mistress, the Queen of her game
In bondage with leather they called her a dame
Seducing with lace she was the maiden of Spring
If you saw Miss Whiplash, you’d feel the sting
Each night another new fetish she brought
To one who submitted, desired to be taught
She spun her web and so many were caught
With words she was won, she could not be bought.

A lady she was and it was a lady she sought
Adventure was there as she found her sport
Avoiding the ladies with ridiculous claims
Let them keep secrets with anonymous names
One quick email and a casual meeting
A quiet bar where they were seeking
Coded messages to give each a greeting
Nothing conspicuous whilst they were eating

It seemed very old-fashioned, ‘Your place or mine ?’
Comfort was easy, they drank up their wine
A ride up the highway, her place was discreet
What was on offer could be quite a treat
A endless night of much pleasure
Each offering great treasure
In their pursuit of their leisure
Each had a large measure.

Now curtains are drawn back, the light says it is morning
The night secrets are held, a new day is spawning
Each travels to work in the neat fashioned suit
There are some who might laugh, think it a hoot
Yet in their righteous madness
There is something of sadness
Why should two ladies gladness
Be seen as if ’twere badness ?

© Ein hunain (David Hopcroft) March 2001

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