The miseducation of Ms. Mullins.

Up on the crest of a green rolling hill
Beneath the shade of lone apple tree
Alone sat a maid named Ms. Mullins
With book perched upon demure knee.

Ms. Mullins was a lady in full bloom
Of age but had yet chosen to wed
By all definition an eligible young lady
But intrigued by mysteries of the bed.

As a farm girl she’d seen animals at it
And her brother in the barn with cook
But never imagined, oh so much more -
Till discovering this well loved old book.

Lovely red leather and gold title script
Unfortunately, Je ne parle pas français
But being unable to read fluent French
Didn’t stop it from what it had to say.

Page after page of detailed pictures
Opulent colours, to simple pen and ink
But no matter the artists choice medium
Their subjects warmed her cheeks, pink.

So keen was her interest in this tome
Nothing, no bee or falling fruits tumble
Could tear her eyes from these pages
Except maybe a thunder’s loud rumble.

At first it was a shock to all her modesty
But with reflection it was just wondrous
Her fingers flicked pages while thinking,
No wonder everyone makes such a fuss.

So men do that and women do that and…
Oh my lord! Is that possible with a cow?
Then remembered a scandal years back,
So that’s why her uncle can’t raise sows.

But the images that got most attention
Were men giving their lovers lips a kiss
Uneven aware you can kiss down there
But the ladies faces all say that its bliss.

The effects of the wanton illustrations
Of countless and carnal entwined limb
On her pert nipples and downy nether’s
Was hardening, moistening, flushed skin.

As one finger traced a man’s endowment
The other slid unbeknowingly to her lap
To a place that is reserved for husbands
After gold ring and a parson’s mouse-trap.

To the world just a young miss on a hill
So Ms. Mullins gloried in the books riches
Eyes and mind feasting on bawdy sights
Fleet fingers made a meal in her britches.

Body aquiver the book fell from fingers
For a time she sat shuddering in a daze
Hand beneath gown liberally covered in -
What we’ll discreetly call a lady’s-glaze.

A stranger witnessing this bucolic vista
Might assume the poor girl’s in distress
Short on breath, wide eyes, pink cheeks
The utter dishevelled state of her dress.

On standing she adjusted her clothing
A strand of hair she tucks back in place
And savours the aroma on her fingers
As they gently trail across her soft face.

Gazing down into the lush green valley
Fruit of knowledge shines in her smile
Her veins still sing with such pleasure
And promises herself more in a while.

For eyes are fixed on yonder Sheppard
A comely lad and friend to her brother
Wondering if he’d like to see her book
And the joys that lay beneath its cover.

Image: Getty Images.

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