When French poet Mérat published a book of poems -- each one praising a different part of his mistress's body -- two young wags named Arthur Rimbaud and Paul Verlaine noticed there was a part missing. They set out to rectify this omission right away.

Sonnet du Trou du Cul

Obscur et froncé comme un oeillet violet,
Il respire, humblement tapi parmi la ( Read more... )

Joseph Moncure, writing like the love child of P.G. Wodehouse and Dorothy Parker, once penned a fabulous ode to Jazz Age debauchery. And it captured my heart. There's a sly grittiness to this tale, as well as satire, with content explicit enough to get it banned in Boston when it first appeared in 1928.

Her body was marvellous:
A miracle had fused ( Read more... )

A Paean To Perfect Panties ( Read more... )