DEEPEST DESIRE

DEEPEST DESIRE

There is a sweet lass,
Her name is Cait,
She met a Scot's man,
By a great stroke of fate.

Her deepest desire,
Is a man with a kilt,
For him she believes,
Her body was built.

Their first common bond,
Is the land that they love,
With green hills below,
And blue skies above.

Scotland the brave,
Is the land of their dreams,
With lochs in the hills,
In the valleys are streams.

She whets her desires,
On the thoughts of this man,
With red locks of hair,
That run through her hand.

Cait wants his lips,
For kisses to steal,
And to reach under his kilt,
To get her a feel.

What shall she do,
To win her this man,
In her minds eye,
She drew up a plan.

I'll just be myself,
I'll be who I am,
And in the long run,
I'll win me this man.

Oh the Scot's man,
Looked deep into Cait,
And said very boldly,
You would make a good mate.

Under a tree made a bed,
Where pleasures they took,
His hands went exploring,
Into her every nook.

She rose on her knees,
And lowered her hips,
She took him inside her,
Then kissed his sweet lips.

He fondled her breasts,
As she squealed in delight,
She rose up and down,
With their climax in sight.

She let out a moan,
As he came with a rush,
Her pleasure was obvious,
And his face was aflush.

They held each other tightly,
Their love growing stronger,
Each wanting to make love,
With each other much longer.

They shared their pleasures,
For the rest of the day,
Then laid their heads,
Back in some fresh hay.

Both thinking of the time,
When they would next meet,
The red haired Scot's man,
And his lass who's so sweet.

by R.H. MacCullough for Cait