Category Archives: Sexual Intellectuals

The Investment Banker

The Investment Banker

I’m a solvent, suited, city slicker: pinstriped head-to-toe;
I splash my cash with passion – making my investment grow.
If you’ll be my acquisition, I’ll have to fight the urge
To try and take you over – so how’s about we merge?

Let me fidget with your digits – Let me scan your business plans;
Can I caress your capital with soft, visible hands?
Let me share your Options – Let the Futures be our rock:
I’ll delight your dividends and you can stroke my stock.

I’m a monetary mastermind, so show me your accounts
Hear me screaming “Oh My God!” at very large amounts;
Turned on by double-entry – I’ve got firm financial facets:
Find me breathless in your balance sheets, fingering your assets.

I’m a Business School postgraduate: first-class; MSc,
With a complex, carnal craving for fiscal policy:
When I think of the economy, I’m filling with elation;
As the interest rate is rising, I am fighting off inflation.

You’ll find that I’m a boom man – not really into bust:
A fine, well-rounded figure is the object of my lust.
I’m a trader with a tendency towards a tidy profit:
Turnover. Let’s be revenue! I’m getting my kicks off it.

Let me fidget with your digits – Let me scan your business plans;
Can I caress your capital with soft, visible hands?
Let me share your Options – Let the Futures be our rock:
I’ll delight your dividends and you can stroke my stock.

So, if you’re a common currency, a meeting we’ll arrange.
Or if opposites attract you, perhaps we should exchange
Numbers; credit histories; mutual appreciation:
Let me fiddle with your funds and force you into liquidation.

© Theresa van Straten 2005 All Rights Reserved

 

The English Teacher

The English Teacher

I’m a well-versed academic – some may call me erudite;
My grasp of the tongue (as yet unsung), is ostensibly polite.
In my uniform of Harris Tweed, I’m the model of restraint
But Honey, I’ve got news for you – Mills & Boon, I ain’t!

I’ll meet you, greet you, seat you – I’ll shake your hand – and then;
I’ll check your etymology and mark you out of ten;
And when you take the practical, each dash, slash, hash and stop,
Must cut and thrust with passion – with tenderness, on top.

This pedagogue has dialogue to make your grammar blush;
Metamorphosising metaphors – I’m Song without the Thrush:
I’m words as loud as action – I’m a win without a bet;
I’m a simile the like of which you’ve never, ever met.

Should you ask which poets I would have between my sheets
I’d confide my secret fantasy for tantric sex with Keats;
Should you still insist on living men, for fumbles in the dark,
I’d say Hegley (regularly) and Mr Cooper-Clarke.

And if I were a novel, I’d be quite a tour de force:
There’s nothing I like more than intellectual intercourse.
I’ll have you read me eagerly; I’ll have you quote me clear:
You’ll know that “Wham, bam, thank you Maam”, is onomatopoeia.

So, be my rhyming couplet – propose in prose, not terse;
And together, we’ll live literally – for letter – and for verse.

© Theresa van Straten 2005 All Rights Reserved

 

The Musician

The Musician

They call me a sax maniac – and I’m well known for my brass;
I’ve always got the horn – but I didn’t think you’d ask;
I’m known for my good conduct and my excellent composure;
But my impromptu movement is the source of my exposure.

I do adore the violin – I’m quite the virtuoso –
Not blowing my own trumpet – it’s just because I know so!
You’ll catch me playing with myself inside my studio,
Where a fiddle and a backing track become my one-man show. . .

But, I want to be a duo – could you be my perfect score?
(For fretting has a tendency to make my fingers sore)
Of course, I come with strings attached – why would I want a choir,
When I could have a soloist fulfilling my desire?

On your clarinet, my flutter-tongue will make you gasp for air,
As you flatter my acoustics, with your two sticks, on the snare.
Let your vocal range envelop me: we’ll have a sound discussion,
If my oral talents complement your excellent percussion.

Show me perfect pitch and I will show you perfect phrasing –
(Let us make our chamber music truly curtain-raising);
Starting with the Prelude, quickly rising to crescendo –
You’ll be singing A Capella (not diminuendo).

On a final note – (I’d like to keep this one staccato):
Whilst I’m into fusion, you must know that I’m Castrato.

© Theresa van Straten 2005 All Rights Reserved

 

The Dentist

The Dentist
(A Sonnet)


Profound is my delight in dentistry:
Much deeper, my affection ev’ry day,
To fill each tiny crack and cavity,
While probing for the symptoms of decay.
Each check-up: a challenging adventure –
A chance to scale your tartar – and to bond:
Amalgamating cap, crown or denture:
If you’re orally fixated, I’m fond.
And if you have an overbite to mend,
I’ll gladly take impressions for a brace;
With orthodontic instruments, I’ll bend
A wire, to set a smile upon your face.
Pristine and polished clean, you may appear;
Yet, I see rot beneath your bright veneer.

 

© Theresa van Straten 2005 All Rights Reserved

 

The Computer Engineer

The Computer Engineer

You’re offline – I cannot connect;
Your server is down and I’ve checked:
Systems Support
Says your Internet port
Is subject to wilful neglect.

Your software demands an upgrading:
The icons are biodegrading;
I state, with compunction
“Your tools have no function:
What’s happened to Borders and Shading?”

Your motherboard needs some attention:
Her wiring’s requiring extension;
The source of the fuss is
The age of her buses –
She ought to be drawing a pension.

And look at her sad CPU!
She never knows quite what to do:
Her cache is no more,
Her memory’s poor –
And she’s definitely missing a screw.

I’m afraid that in facing defeat,
I’ve pronounced your PC obsolete:
Since DOS is defunct,
It should really be junked
Now it’s time to be hitting delete.

 

© Theresa van Straten 2005 All Rights Reserved

 

The Balletomane

The Balletomane

When first I saw you at the barre
I knew not what to say;
You posed beside the mirror
In a most suggestive way,
With 40-denier orange tights,
Your bits were on display. . .
From that moment on,
I’ve been addicted to ballet.

I fantasise about you in your Lycra leotard;
I dream about your body, so honed and toned and hard;
I’d love you to engage me in a little pas de deux
And I’ve heard you’re very skilful as a choreographer.

For you, I’d don a tutu,
Perform a pirouette
And leap around a dance hall
Until I’d broken sweat.
I’d frolic like a fairy,
While teetering en pointe;
Ignoring each torn tendon
And each dislocated joint.

I’m passionate about your poise: You are so statuesque.
On the floor, I do adore your agile arabesque;
I could be your Sleeping Beauty, if I had technique or grace –
But sadly, I would also need a new physique – and face.

 

© Theresa van Straten 2005 All Rights Reserved