Memories of Oxford

How I recall my years in the city of dreaming spires
When I was a horny as a goat with three willies;
And yet the mores of those times did not encourage
Young ladies to spread their legs for their eager admirers.
Thus I, your butch raconteur, the otherwise manly Barry,
Decided it would be better to patronise the poofs,
As their standards of morality were more rational.
And, after all, at the stroke of midnight with a pair of butts
Spread-eagled and waiting for a well-greased rear entry,
Of what great import is the gender of their owner?

All that matters surely is the availability thereof
At least that was my intelligent and logical rationale;
After all I was reading Philosophy, Politics and Economics,
And, if there's anything to be learned from such a course of study,
It's that you should never leave an amorous aperture unexplored,
Especially when it was offered without any cost or obligation.
Thus it was that I happily shagged my way through three years
Of intellectual study and sensual contemplation.
And yet I have not mentioned a terrible tragedy
Concerning a faggy bus conductor of my acquaintance.

He was a pretty young fellow and well hung indeed
Although his predilection was for a full seven inches
Up his well-greased and gaping posterior aperture,
And I was more than happy to provide just that,
Yet I sensed a deep feeling of 'tristesse amoureuse'
In this dear chappie (even though he was semi-illiterate).
So you can imagine, dear readers, how shocked
And indeed sad I was to find he had shoved his head
Under the wheels of a Number 145 bus one evening,
When he finally twigged I loved him only for his juicy bot.