This old man, he played one, he played knick knack with his thumb.
“Get your thumb out of there, bitch,” Eve said to Adam. “I’ve got this covered. Go make me an apple pie.”
We’ve been fornicating in public since Eve diddled herself while Adam played with his devil snake. And indecent exposure crimes aside, it’s quite a refreshing activity. It’s exhilarating and exciting because it’s naughty. And traumatized apostatizing Catholic girls like naughty.
A decade-plus ago when I once wrote about dildos, merkins and anal beads, I was ordered to remove the family name from my column. I didn’t ask for the name, I said, so no. You can’t take back what you gave to me.
Now here we sit, apple-bottomed spread-eagle on Fantz in Your Pants’ lap, double-digit years later and I don’t even talk dirty to you guys anymore. (At least not like I do to the electric toothbrush.) I was scared of pissing off the family, so I’d tone things down. Then I’d get pissed off and I’d write a column sprinkled with extra raunch. Then I’d feel bad and pen memoir moments. I’ve been cycling through this for years.
Now a craving to vehemently defy my childhood authority has arised. And you disgusting perverts always ask me why I don’t write about sex anymore.
So let’s talk about banging in public.
Have you ever humped someone in an alley behind a dive bar? Then you had to return to the scene of the crime the next morning to collect your vintage red patent belt?
Yeah. Me neither. (It’s neat that we’re elderly and cameras weren’t rampant back in the olden days.)
Knick knack paddy whack, give a broad a bone. Sometimes a broad just needs a damn bone, while her ass cheeks flap in the breeze.
This old man, he played two, he played knick knack with his crew.
Two decades ago I went river floating in Oooooklahoma, where the wind comes sweepin’ down the plain. It was a large drunken camping festival with hundreds of horny coeds. It was just lovely until the threesome in the tent next door slid the party out to the gravel by the firepit. The moaning from pleasure turned into cries of pain from sharp objects, thirsty mosquitoes and wayward red-hot embers.
This old man, he played three, he played knick knack on his knees.
One night my BFF and her boyfriend were banging naked in a hot tub on the East Coast. The tub sat beneath towers of overlooking apartments, hunched over like horny gargoyles. Amateur PornHub videographers were documenting the scene from the windows and ooglers stopped to watch. She didn’t care, she was bouncing her jugs on his face as he was scraping his knees raw on the cement floor of the tub.
This old man, he played four, he played knick knack with his cash drawer.
Another BFF banged her bartender boyfriend on top of the bar after he shut it down for the night. The joint was encased in floor-to-ceiling windows with no coverings, so a crowd gathered for the show as the till littered the floor with crumpled up, liquor-soaked cash.
This old man, he played five, he played knick knack in overdrive.
Another bestie banged some dude all over Waialua, Oahu, a decade ago.
They screwed in the ocean, they nailed on the sand. They humped in the pool, they banged on dry land. (Sing this to Toad the Wet Sprocket, please.) They took to the shrubbery, the hot tub and van. Lastly in the parking garage and probably on top of another man. (For all I can remember. Right. That broad was me.)
Knick knack, paddy whack, give a broad a bone. Because sometimes a broad just needs a damn bone. Location is arbitrary.
Now, old man, go rolling home.
*Views expressed here are my own and I am not condoning fornicating on the courthouse lawn. Try it out in your backyard if there are no children around. Just steer clear of sand, mulch and ant holes. @ me for more life tips.