Ode to a Retro-bonk. NaPoWriMo2016


For those of you who are wondering, a retro-bonk is not a shag on a laminate table, whilst wearing a frilly apron (although, my goodness, that does sound like fun!).  A retro-bonk is a (usually) once-off reprise of sexual activity with an old lover. I had one of these a few weeks back. He was someone I had a brief fling with a quarter of a century ago. It didn’t end nicely then. I was a pain in the arse. He was freshly out of a marriage and not needing some mad love-addicted, still-married, woman, chasing after him and writing him cringeful billets-doux.

Our long-awaited sequel was unexpected, unplanned and fabulous. I couldn’t repress my romantic notion that we were meant to wait all those years to  mature and find each other again.

No prizes for guessing whether I have heard from him since.

This one has bruised my heart.

Today’s poem is about him. See how much I have matured? I don’t write sickly love letters to men anymore. I just write sickly love poems and post them on the interwebs for all to see.

Go me!!


Ode to a Retro-bonk

I was such a twit back then. Wrapped in love addiction and unhappy marriage and general madness.

God, you were magnetic! You reeked of sex and power and some seductive, devil-may-care cologne.

I flipped.

I don’t blame you for giving me the bum’s rush. Twenty-five years later I still feel a frisson of embarrassment.

I’m a different woman now. Cool, together, able to measure out my passion with a teaspoon, as opposed to a ladle.

You seem unchanged. A little weathered, maybe. More relaxed. You wear glasses now. And you still reek of it.

When you put your hands around my waist and bent down to kiss me, I had to fight back an adolescent swoon.

And when you fucked me all night, I wanted to run down the street, naked, yelling “hallelujah.”

Despite these wanton urges, I maintained my hard-fought-for dignity, and coolly waved you a farewell on the front porch.

I strode calmly to my car, and drove home, accompanied by my belief that fate had brought us back together, and that here was my man.

In hindsight, I should have just cracked a full twat-waffle love-addict tantrum, thrown myself around your bedroom and demanded that you put a ring on it.

You would have freaked and thrown me out.

But in the end,

What difference would it have made?


2 thoughts on “Ode to a Retro-bonk. NaPoWriMo2016

  1. I love the concept of a “retro-bonk” and really relate to your poem. Indeed because of retro-bonking I have only slept with one man in the last 11 years of my recovery, an ex-armed robber, pimp and drug dealer who’d forgotten how long he’d spent in jail. Rather different from your suave man! After he, surprise surprise, hit me and smashed up my house, it took me a year to properly split up with him. And then because I was writing a trilogy whose drug dealing “hero” was inspired by him I was so caught up in my fantasy version of him that we got back together. It didn’t end until he had a baby with someone else and I had a nervous breakdown.

    1. Hi Caroline. Thank you for your comment. God, my heart goes out to you. I’m fascinated by your story of being caught up in your own novel and blurring the lines between that and the reality. I hope you will write an article about that. Blessings. Tracey.

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