When people think of Florida what comes to mind?
Oranges? Art deco? Or maybe Miami Vice?
Or sand 'twixt your little toesies on the warm beach?
Ah but I have some erotic recollections
Of a terrible and tragic nature to relate.
I was attending the inaugural Global
Greengrocers' Convention at Sunny Isles Beach
(blest suburb between Miami and Fort Lauderdale)
In a delightful hotel whose tasteful motto
Promised folks: " Shalom! We only LOOK expensive !"
And how fortunate I was (thanks to a careful bribe)
To have cleverly secured an ocean view room,
Away from the roar of traffic on Collins Ave.,
A lair to which I hoped to attract dolly birds
From leading greengrocery stores all around the world.
I had my sights set first on lovely lithe Karen,
Whose tasty keester I had observed by the pool;
And after dinner (and a few Tequila Slammers)
We got entangled in a deck chair on the beach,
My fingers in the edges of her skimpy thong;
And soon we adjourned to my steamy penthouse pad.
Yet to my surprise she declined to go all the way
(maybe she did not regard an hour's cunnilingus
as breaking her vows of marital fealty);
However as a compromise she provided
A grudging and unenthusiastic handjob
Which left a tell-tale stain on her nylon cocktail dress.
Sadly next morn she was mown down by a passing truck,
Which only goes to show there is still justice left
In this sad vale of erotic tears we must call life.
But la vie must go on (as the cliché tells us true)
And so, putting this dire episode to one side,
I continued with my Floridan sojourn:
After a gruelling day by the swimming pool,
Being ogled by the predatory eyeballs
Of my new friend, cellulite-embellished Julia,
(she of the brachycephalic physiognomy),
I decided I would manfully sacrifice
My lovely body on the altar of her lust,
Especially when she offered me a hot night out
In nearby Fort Lauderdale, where she had heard of
A really nice expensive seafood restaurant
Where she would wine and dine me on her expenses,
In the unspoken expectation of a shag
From yours truly moi, le vrai grand foûteur anglais.
I have to say that I was really quite impressed
By Fort Lauderdale, the Venice of America,
Famed scene of historical lynchings in the past,
A seaside paradise of luxury and hedonism,
(whose murder rate is only seventy-nine per cent
higher than the national US average,
a salutary thought I mention in passing).
But all too soon it was time for me to submit
To Julia's lustful desires and I must say
She emitted the loudest orgasmic bellows
I had heard to date. After our third sweaty bout,
She went outside onto my ocean front balcony
To recover her composure and have a ciggy;
But she did not notice the little warning sign
Advising the balcony had a max. weight limit
Of two-seventy pounds (which she well exceeded)
And thus the salt-corroded supporting stanchions
Gave up the ghost and plump naked Jules descended
Molto rapido to the poolside patio
Where she lost the argument with the concrete floor
And went to meet her Maker with a fearful shriek.
Thinking quickly as is my wont in such cases
I then removed any ready cash from her purse
Knowing she would not have grudged me it - after all,
I had more than earned it in the previous hour or two.
As I poured myself a drink from the minibar,
I reflected that there are worse ways to go,
Than full to the brim with my amorous juices.
I have to say I was quite annoyed about the balcony
- I would have to enquire at the front desk next day
To see if they had a room in better repair
As a cool breeze came through the broken doorway -
And I found that totally unacceptable
At ninety nine bucks ninety nine a night (plus tax).
Adding your comment:
Howard 
