Sonnets by John Boase

Hotel Balcony, Paris

Hotel, Montmartre, balcony up high,
Clean, stylish buildings, cream and shades of gray;
Rich harmony of form delights the eye,
A wonderful beginning to the day.
A flimsy night dress brushes on my skin,
Taut nipples stimulate audacity;
Thoughts mischievous! I can’t suppress a grin,
I show my ass. He’ll notice it, won’t he?
It doesn’t take him long! ‘I like the view’.
Warm voice, hands on my breasts, cock seeking me;
‘Of Paris, darling?’ ‘No, the view of you!’
‘Do I detect a note of urgency?’
He makes his entry, slowly fills my sheath,
Oblivious to eyes, to cars beneath.

* * * * *

Decision Time

Why should I sense my panties getting wet?
Why are my nipples hard, at red alert?
I’m married, faithful to this point, and yet
I find the man attractive, want to flirt.
He’s looking at me boldly, brazenly,
Undressing me with saucy, shameless eyes;
I’m of retiring personality…
The moistness manifest between my thighs…
‘Hello’. I jump! He’s moved to make the hit,
‘Don’t get involved!’ my conscience reprimands;
Temptation overcomes me, I submit,
We talk and joke and soon we’re touching hands.
Arrangement made, the first in married life,
The sinless one become the errant wife.

* * * * *

Too High a Price

My upper lip is smarting, swollen, sore,
No morning ‘Latte, strong’ in consequence;
I won’t go down on women any more,
The risk of oral injury immense.
I sat between her legs, my mouth on it,
Slow licks and sucks, she had a lovely time;
Eyes closed, head back, her hand upon her tit,
A pleasurable episode sublime.
In passion’s flight she cried and thrust her hip,
Her thighs encased my head and locked it in;
Her mons bored hard into my upper lip
And drove my teeth into the tender skin.
She held me thus, prolonged her ecstasy,
Each after-shock prolonged my agony.

* * * * *


Slow, shuffling steps, soft light, romantic mood,
The carpet scuffs against my stockinged feet;
My man’s in dinner suit, I’m in the nude,
This turns me on, my juices fast secrete.
Why should I want to have this naked dance
With someone so immaculately dressed?
Why do I get excited when I glance
At mirrored contrast, suit and creamy breast?
Why do I love the fabric on my skin?
White shirt and handkerchief, black shoes and tie!!!
Eroticism surges deep within,
The symbolism’s strong, I don’t know why.
Male hand, bare bottom, gentle, sure caress…
My body to the finest wool I press.

* * * * *


I wrap my legs around its luscious curves,
Enfold it like a lover in embrace;
Caress it with the art that it deserves,
Admire its sensuality and grace.
With love I draw the bow across the strings,
Warmth, resonance and closeness in the sound!
I know the joy that intimacy brings
From musical accomplishment profound.
Strength, mastery, control… the cellist plays
With dedication, skill, vivacity;
Notes big and vibrant… subtlety of phrase…
Performance meshed with sexuality.
Aesthetically, artistically we fly,
We are as one, the instrument and I.

* * * * *


Get home from work, a bastard of a day,
All hot and sweaty, hellish on the train;
The boss is nuts… mad office… lousy pay…
I use about a quarter of my brain…
A note! ‘Your bath is run, you should get in,
Take ten, relax, I’ll join you in a while.
There’s lemon, ice and tonic in your gin,
I thought you’d like to end the week in style’.
My body and my mind cleansed instantly!
I’m dozing as I hear you at the door;
‘I’ve brought a little treat’. ‘What might that be?’
You feed me cream, blueberries… Who’d want more?
Delicious! Now you join me in the tub,
With soothing hands my neck and back to rub.

* * * * *

Personal Freedom

Hey, bloody hell, what will the neighbors think?
You can’t parade outside in pantyhose!
Is this what happens when you have a drink?
Why this compulsive urge to shed your clothes?
Let’s compromise, not on the balcony,
OK, I know the sun is nice and warm;
It’s not my place to hedge your liberty,
No killjoy will compel you to conform.
You’re naked now, supported by the rail!
Is this what happens when I turn away?
Too much! This time you’ve gone beyond the pale!
I knew I should have gone to work today!
Mmm… what an ass… perfection… in its prime…
The ethics we’ll debate some other time.

© 2003 John Boase. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

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