Who's the Daddy.

I have yet to meet a man,
I mean a 'real' man.

I could stand on a street corner
And watch them passing by.
I could purse my lips,blow a kiss.
I could dress to show my dangling breasts.
The slim, curved hips, a silken thigh.
I could look up coyly,pretend that I'm shy.

I was told that men were strong,
protective, loving, kind.
I heard of mens' desires,
which I was assured would light my fires.
with a show of masculinty,
warm between my thighs.

He could be twenty, thirty, forty,
only a parody struts before me.
I can hear the whine of a child.
I feel a childs' desire.
And when he knows that I'm in drag.
He scuttles off, terrified.