This poem, shittily translated as "A Lucretia in the Streets, but a Lais between the Sheets" was written around 100 AD by Roman poet Marcus Valerius Martialis.

Uxor, vade foras aut moribus utere nostris: non sum ego nec Curius nec Numa nec Tatius. Me jucunda juvant tractae per pocula noctes: tu properas pota surgere tristis aqua. Tu tenebris gaudes: me ludere teste lucerna et juvat admissa rumpere luce latus. Fascia te tunicaeque obscuraque pallia celant: at mihi nulla satis nuda puella jacet. basia me capiunt blandas imitata columbas: tu mihi das aviae qualia mane soles. Nec motu dignaris opus nec voce juvare nec digitis, tamquam tura merumque pares: masturbabantur Phrygii post ostia servi, Hectoreo quotiens sederat uxor equo, et quamvis Ithaco stertente pudica solebat illic Penelope semper habere manum. Pedicare negas: dabat hoc Cornelia Graccho, Julia Pompeio, Porcia, Brute, tibi; dulcia Dardanio nondum miscente ministro pocula Juno fuit pro Ganymede Jovi. Si te delectat gravitas, Lucretia toto sis licet usque die: Laida nocte volo.

For all you non latin speaking barbari in the audience, here is a modern translation (stolen from a reddit historian [who stole it from an unnamed source]) for your edification:

Either get out of my house or conform to my tastes, woman.

I'm no strait-laced old Roman.

I like prolonging the nights agreeably with wine; you, after one glass of water,

Rise and retire with an air of hauteur.

You prefer darkness; I enjoy fucking

With a witness - a lamp shining or the dawn breaking

You wear long nightgowns, tunics, thick woolen stuff,

Whereas I think no woman on her back can ever be naked enough.

I love girls who kiss like doves and hang round my neck;

You give me the sort of peck

Due to your grandmother as a morning salute.

In bed, you're motionless, mute -

Not a wriggle, not a giggle -

As solemn as a priestess at a shrine

Proffering incense and pure wine

Yet every time Andromache went for a ride

In Hector's room, the household slaves would jack off outside;

Even modest Penelope, when Ulysses snored,

Kept her hand on the prick of her lord.

You refuse to be fucked up the ass, but it's a fact

That Gracchus', Pompey's, and Brutus' wives got into that act,

That before Ganymede mixed Jupiter his tasty bowl,

Juno filled the dear boy's role.

If you want to be prudish, well, all right,

Be a Lucretia by day, but I need a Lais at night.

Now, for those hardy souls who just willingly endured the torture of poetry recital on, of all places, a subreddit about a Matrix reference: I know what you're asking. What on god's green earth do I mean to achieve by posting this OP?

Only this: to disabuse you all of the notion that modern pornography has corrupted the minds of men and driven them demand unnatural and abhorrent sexual acts from their wives. Indeed, it appears men have been demanding such acts from their wives from time immemorial.

I can only conclude that the desire to plunder the ass of a woman you love is simply ingrained in human nature, for the male of the species at least. Unfortunately it seems that for as long as men have been wanting anal, women have been callously rejecting entry to that holiest of holies and driving their husbands to the anger phase.

I harbor no illusions that this ongoing battle of the sexes, of which this poem was merely one brief skirmish, will be resolved here today. Merely to refute the argument I've seen that "porn makes men want to do sickening things like anal sex." However, I leave you with this question: If a man's desire to assfuck his wife is indeed natural (as I posit), and not artificially induced by society, is it not the wife's duty to bend to accommodate?

Discus.