Spin the Bottle was the name
Of a titillating game
That made youngsters blush in shame -
Yet they’d want more, just the same.
If a spin pointed to you,
You and a partner withdrew
From everyone else’s view
And enjoyed a smooch or two.
When, to the group, you returned,
Remember how your cheeks burned?
Yet kissing lessons you learned,
Despite how your stomach churned.
But then as we children grew,
Such modest play wouldn’t do,
So advanced games we’d pursue,
In lovers’ lanes that we knew.
And then, eventually,
We’d gain much more privacy,
In the van that came to be -
A comfy love nest, you see.
Young folk could park anywhere,
No one knowing they were there,
If, quietly, they took care,
With contortions they would share.
In later years, they’d recall
The parking lot of the mall,
A favorite place of all,
Spring, summer and into fall.
In the winter, fumes were bad,
So they’d seek an indoor pad,
Where pleasure could still be had –
Till she became Mom, him Dad.
© By RickMack (Rmrickmack@aol.com)