Many people seem to be of the opinion that Ottawa is a boring city,
Being mainly populated by manly redcoated mounted policemen
(on horses I must add, not each other, but there are rumours)
Cowering in the shade of the pseudo-Victorian parliamentary buildings,
Trying futilely to avoid the blazing sub-tropical Springtime sunshine
Which is traditionally followed by icy snow showers every few hours;
And, you know, there is certain amount of truth in such a viewpoint;
After all, Ottawa is probably the only million-plus conurbation
Where the most exciting event in living memory is a police horse's yawn.
But there is (as I am sure the more astute of my readers have guessed)
A darker, crueller, wickeder, ineffably more horrid and ghastly side
To Canada's delightfully elegant federal capital and I have experienced it fully.
I was fortunate enough to be visiting this paradise in the Northern hemisphere
Together with dearest Heather, a silky skinned beauty of my intimate acquaintance
(mercifully unaccompanied by her dreary dental technician cuckold husband,
as I doubt he would have been pleased to see how our mutual affection
announced itself by much blatant mutual tonsil licking in public places,
and he would have been surprised at the huge exchange of personalised
bodily fluids which oft took place between his spouse and little old me,
occasioning a daily renewal of the sheets in our sophisticated motel bedroom,
in order to prevent the stench of stale spunk becoming overpowering).
However, I realise these fond recollections d'amour are marginally irrelevant.
The nub of my Ottowa memories concerns our stroll along lovely Elgin Street
En route to a diplomatic booze-up and gang-bang at the British High Commission,
My hand being chivalrously placed on the arse of her skin-tight silk trews,
Where I could just tenderly manipulate the end of the large flexi-buttplug
Jammed up her delightfully juicy rear end to keep her attention span at par.
We were passing by an Inuit art shop selling over-priced Arctic sculptures
When suddenly a gang of midget eskimos, totally and utterly spiflicated
Through having imbibed several gallons of ice-cold Molson's Extra Sweet Lager,
Burst out of the door, clutching their unsold soapstone ornaments in their paws.
Oh God, how the Hellish memory haunts me! O Jesus, what a spectacle!
Those poor Native American males, used only to the dreadful sight of their own women
(spectacularly ugly even with the lights out I have been told by several
agent Francophone trappers who have notched up a few of them in their time)
Were so entranced by the sight of the gorgeous Heather in her tight pants,
That they allowed their worst nature to overcome them totally and utterly
And they dragged her off to their improvised corrugated communal igloo
Where they did truly dreadful things to her with their wizened little Inuit willies
Which resulted in the poor dear girl's death from alleged over-excitement.
Now I was hardly going to hang about or to try and rescue her, was I -
After all, there are always plenty more fish in the sea, so why take a risk?
Thus, I soon found myself in a really rather nice good value cocktail bar
Where I enjoyed a couple of nice glasses of a most unusual maple syrup liqueur
And where I met a most charming young waitress with pert little titties
Who very kindly agreed to spend the night with me for a modest investment
Which I thought was a good bargain, exchange rates being quite favourable.
However, now that I am safely re-installed in my luxurious Northumberland home,
I reflect that Ottawa has its drawbacks, especially since I contracted
An outragiously extravagant case of the crabs as a result of my assignation.
Thus I shall delete both the charming Canadian Province of Ontario
And the relatively new Nunavat Territory from my up-coming travel plans.
Author notes
This poem is about three of the deadly sins: WRATH, ENVY and LUST. It is also the 58th in my incredibly exciting "Memories" sequence of how my lovers have been subject to terrible criminal acts.
Please note I have used the colours of the Canadian flag in the background for extra authenticity and the black and gold symbolise the colours of the buttons on the tunics of the Mounties.
Do read the others in the sequence!
This is dedicated to DaemonFaery for her kind encouragement.
I await your plaudits and other constructive cmments.
Comments
1 - 11 of 11
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Great entry - thanks and best of luck.
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you are such a charming and thoughtful lover...
What does stale spunk smell like? xx lol
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Wonderful!
Another wicked romp, and this time we get a good look at the beaver. I think I can cross Ottawa off my list of places to visit - I'm not interested in seeing horses yawn. Poor Heather and her case of terminal over-excitement, althougn I suppose it's better than dying of boredom! I giggled my way through the poem, and as usual, wanted more. Maple syrup liqueur sounds dreadful, but may be a treatment for crabs. You never know until you try! Best of luck in the contest.
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excellent
well..welll.well.what do i write in favor or otherwise of this poem.To me it sounded more like a prose travelogue written on OTTAWA.Nevertheless preening between lines made me beleive that this indeed was meant to be a poem.Overall I liked the factual details it made clear;I ,for instance,did not even know if Ottawa was stereotyped as a boring city.You also gave many details about the city-for sharing which many thanks. Keep up the good wor..I liked follwoing lines that resembled a poem part:
Now I was hardly going to hang about or to try and rescue her, was I -
After all, there are always plenty more fish in the sea, so why take a risk?
Thus, I soon found myself in a really rather nice good value cocktail bar
Where I enjoyed a couple of nice glasses of a most unusual maple syrup liqueur
And where I met a most charming young waitress with pert little titties
please visit some of my poems as well..and kindly offer your comments. -
As usual, Barry old chap, this is totally f*cking charming. Where is the poem you offered to dedicate to me? I live in Chelsea.
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Maple syrup liqueur, I expect they'll try to start selling it down here soon and then all hell will break loose.
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to combat crabs use 'tcp' not that i have had them of course,,and by christ they itch
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Absolutely Brilliant!
This is priceless! I laughed so hard I nearly fell out of my chair. Though I'm sure some women wouldnt approve...sexism and all that. lol I'm sure if they take the time to read it properly they'd see it's true brillaince!
. Rewarded 4
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Have visted Ottawa twice, but never saw this aspect of the city. LOL The red, white black does make it more Canadian though.
. Rewarded 4
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-Applauds-
You got Ottawa down pat that's for sure, and those maple syrup drinks you were refering to are called 'beavertail shots'
I must agree Inuit woman are a right eye sore but it just makes it all the nicer for us decent looking woman to snatch up British men [ some of which have mohawks.
]
Shame about the crabs though, and unfortunately you didn't get Heathers handbag, I'm sure you've managed to aquire plenty since then however.
Thank you for the dedication, I shall cherish this forever. Remind me to come visit you when I move.
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Lovely. So lovely.
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