Where is the clitoris

I hadnt a fucking clue where her clitoris was Because I'm not that
experienced.
I know it's somewhere up there,
Twitching behind folds of soft, wet flesh
and matted pubic hair.
But I've not a clue what it looks like.
A bright face from my past
Called it a boatman.
Doesnt help me,
So should I ask?
"It would be wise for you,
If you desire to cum in floods,
To advise me where,
Behind this mess of flesh,
Hot blood and hoods,
This little bastard is."
I take pot luck most times
And perform the old lickity
letters of the alphabet rhymes trick.
With my tongue across,
Around-a-bout's
And up and down her greasy mott
Until I hit a spot and she yelps "thats it!" I've found her clit, stick
right there,
Massage her tit's and pull at her hair.
Squeeze her arse, youre nearly there.
I give her all I've got
And remind myself that they call me the piston They do in secret
chats,
"Thats the piston, that!" they coo
As I stroll by in the pub
And they unconciously touch their legs
and pull of a quick rub down there.
Off course, I bullshit alot.
Whilst I'm pumping with all my might
And sweating like a fucking pig,
She's flushed and writhing on the pillow
In this fancy dress blond wig
we got from the party shop.
I'm thinking about an amateur whore
I saw on Hardcorejunky.com the other night.

She's never going to cum in floods,
The bloods cooling in my dick;
It's getting numb.
I'm finding it hard to keep up this pace
And her face is getting whither.
This all nighter is going to end soon
With a lazy ten minutes of spoons,
A rub of her legs and back
Then I'll retire defeated
From her rusty crack
With nothing more than friction sores,
A need for vitamin C and a sleep.

You can keep your fucking business to yourself.