Wednesday 3 February 2016


It’s hard to know what I used to do when I had a spare thought
What did I do to procrastinate? When work wasn’t frought

But the truth is its being there is a distraction in itself
My productivity ceases as the papers mount my shelf

My inbox less important than this time consuming app
Wondering who is close by and if he’s a handsome chap

The urge to see if that man appearing next to me
Is a face, a torso, blank image or maybe he’s a she

If he’s after, sex, love or dates and better still can host
Seems to be the question I ask now more regular than most

But this urge I have to see these men and if they like my pic
Affects the tasks I’m paid to do and makes me call in sick

These many men defining themselves by their listed tribe
Makes me think I understand them and think I get their vibe

But the truth is all these hours spent checking who is keen
Are affecting my performance and my boss is turning mean

Only last week himself a member told me he that It has to stop
If you keep trawling that app all day I’m giving you the chop

But these threats do not scare me and I am prepared to sue
If he can spend all day on it and then surely I can too

That drunken chat between us both and those photos of his cock
Could end up in the wrong hands and give his boss a shock

In reality he can do nothing as I continue playing this blinder
With one eye on the job I do and the other one on Grindr 

Monday 1 February 2016


‘Twas the night before Christmas and on every iPhone

The hook-up apps were buzzing with men who felt alone.

Their stockings hung limply, no fire in their grate

But their fingers were typing: “Hi,”  “Alright, mate?”

And suddenly Christmas, so cold and so heinous

Began slowly to thaw through the power of Venus. 

“What u up 2?” asked one – “Not much,” t’other replied

As his chestnuts started roasting ‘twixt his festive thighs

“Not much?” thought young Tom, “Well, I’ll soon change that”

And he sent him a nude in a Santa Claus hat.

With a whoop, John received it, and leapt to his feet

Rushed over to the window and looked out at the street

Though outside winter snow past the lampposts was falling

Inside it was hot – but his pubes were appalling.

Kicking tinsel aside with his frantic young feet,

“Come round in 10” he replied, as he groped for the veet.

“Gr8, send location.  BTW, r u smooth?”

“I’ll send him a hole-pic, his worries to soothe”

But as his hairless derriere winged its way through the air

Came a problem: though he squeezed, no more veet was there there.

“OMG!” cried the twink, “Bloody hell, ain’t it tough?

He wanted me ass smooth, he won’t want it rough!

If only there was something – someone I could turn to!”

“Ho ho ho” said a voice, “Merry Xmas to you!”

From up by the chimney came a crash and a clatter

As eight great fat reindeer and one even fatter

Old bear hit the roof – “Love a night on the tiles!

Quick, pass me a pie: I’ve been mincing for miles”

“Could it be, is it him?” gasped our unshorn hero

“That voice is as jolly as a double-mulled-five-spiced-chai-soy-latte from CafĂ© Nero!”

With a house-shaking thud, first a bum, then a face

Plopped down firm and resounding in his fireplace.

“Ho ho ho – oh, pardon me, there’s just one of you, not three”

Cried the soot-streaked old vision ‘neath the twinkling’s Christmas tree.

“I heard you a-wailing ‘bout your hairy knick-knacks,

And hark! Lo! Behold! I bring a strip of wax!”

“Outside now” came the message from John’s paramour

“Not a minute too soon!  Quick, I’m one hairy whore!”

And so Santa’s experienced hands grasped his sack

And where once there was hairy excess was hair-lack.

“WTF?” Tom cried, “Who’s this doddering old codger?”

“Oh he’s no one!” John replied, “Just my venerable lodger.”

“Lodger my eye!” boomed the angry St Nick

“Why, I’ve just plucked your plump Christmas turkey, you prick!”

“Wait a sec,” Tom exclaimed, “Now I look at you twice

It’s you, innit Santa – old naughty-or-nice.

Since you’ve been instrumental in smoothing my way,

Why don’t you join us for a roll in the hay?”

Well, the jolly old man flushed and twinkled his eyes

And as he got busy between the twink’s thighs

He was heard to exclaim as he thrust out of sight

“Merry Christmas to all – and good God, this is tight!”