I’m on vacation now visiting my parents in Florida. They’re snowbirds who leave the cold of New York winters to go to their sunny Florida condo and I’m a freeloader who likes to live it up on their dime. Win-win as Zig Zigler might say if he were being a Dick Dickerson.
This morning I went to a Zumba exercise class with my mother. Zumba, to the uninitiated, is a class that involves following simple choreography with a Latin flavor that Ben and Jerry’s has yet to throw into a pint. The mean age of the participants was about 70 and, to tell you the truth, even the “nice” age wasn’t any lower than 69. I was the only guy among about twenty whiteheads and silver bushes and all I could think was, “Man, with this ratio I could totally get laid!”
The class was fun yet tough. While I enjoyed the dance moves, spending my days jumping from one all-you-can-eat buffet to another only separated by lying in a lounge chair at the pool or lounging in a lie chair at the beach, I wasn’t in my best aerobic form. But I wasn’t there for exercise. I was there for pussy.
After class, I approached what appeared to be a 90-year old woman to see if she was willing to risk spreading her legs for me with the likely possibility of necessitating a hip replacement. To my surprise and delight, Edith was only 86 years old.
After going back to her place, Edith removed her teeth and gave me a hummer that guzzled everything but gasoline. She baked me some cookies while I was enduring the refractory period before my balls refilled with goo and my cock stood up to bat.
When it came time for intercourse, Edith spread her legs like a woman about to give birth. Seeing the white untamed bush that hadn’t been trimmed for decades, I thought I was a slave on a plantation getting ready to pick cotton only, miraculously, I didn’t need a whip on my back to get my to put my swollen digit into that palled ashy mess. It was so dry I needed a crowbar.
After a few attempts at penetrating what by all eyes looked like a family of worms dried on a sidewalk after a rainstorm, I said, “Edith, do you have anything that could help me get through his Sahara desert of a pussy?” I was also concerned that rubbing dry labia together repeatedly might cause a brushfire.
She reached for a tube of Vagisil, squirted out a glob and slapped it on that shriveled beaver and I started digging for oil. After several strokes I started to feel the heat. “Edith, that’s one hot snapper!” I whispered in between burrowing my tongue through the hairs in her ear. Soon I was like, “EDITH, THAT’S ONE HOT SNAPPER!” It wasn’t long before we both realized instead of the Vagisil, she grabbed the Ben Gay.
In short, Florida is a great place to get a piece of ass, albeit a bit old and dusty. Just always be safe: make sure your partners take their medication, that you don’t have sex in an elevated place where she can fall from and break a hip, and that the pussy smells like dried clams and not menthol.