Hey, my hungry po-boy, wanna hot meal with wet drinks? Soak me overnight like red beans and come Monday we’ll strip away our inhibitions, grab ourselves a dangerous, delicious Hand Grenade, and go down to Deep South’s G-spot called New Orleans. Is your bottom lip trembling, jaw dropped, mouth wetted and willing to taste anything that creams from the crop? La Nouvelle Orleans is no slouch in the kitchen. She knows how to heat up the hotplate, cook that stovetop stuffing, boil fresh crawfish until the little critters turn red-hot, screaming, “Peel me! Suck me! Eat me!”
Yes, the Southland knows its Sex-Rated Recipes: the French Kiss of the French Quarter, the Silk Panty of the Sin City, the Sex on the Beach after a drive out to Biloxi. But if a Hurricane hits the spot, stick a straw in it and suck.
While you drink that down, my hot n’ yummy, overstuffed, undressed, footlong po-boy sandwich, lemme devour you, darlin’. Yes, the meal in my mouth is the man of my dreams. So kiss the cook and wash up for supper; we’re going down South to probe an enticing inquiry involving how to satisfy the woman who feeds your healthy appetite. I have it on good authority that many women only orgasm by the talent of a tongue. Yes, sometimes its finger-lickin’ good, and other times a frenzy of fiction can hit the spot and fill me full. But eating the night away coincides with the Epicurean idealism of “Eat, Drink, & Be Merry!”
There’s no better place than right here in good ole New Orleans to enjoy Epicurus’ ancient philosophy. Here, even if it smells a little fishy, it tastes like chicken, and as a fellow New Orleanian, I find myself a connoisseur, a bon vivant, an epicure when it comes to fulfilling the desires of my sexual taste-buds— tempted, toyed, teased into kicking my skirt up burlesque-style in the knowledge that I have something underneath that you want… so gimme a slice or two of your lagniappe and devour me like a take-out meal: cheap and easy, knowing it’s bad but it’s oh, so good.
So po-boy, don’t be afraid to overeat in this amoral world even when the occasional smorgasbord of sex leaves a tainted aftertaste. Let’s join the beer-swilling moes and late-nite winos in this here city-on-a-swamp. You can satisfy my appetite with silver-tongued nonsense, servin’ me up digitally, frictionally, or orally, because when the ending comes, any entrée du jour is mmm-mmm-good!