Ah, Valentine’s Day. The day we all get our smooch on. Personally, I call it pucker day. And if I don’t get my smooch on, dahrlings, I call it something else. Rhymes with pucker.
Travel is the absolutely perfect opportunity for a bit of nip and tuck, Pumpkins. The beach. The sun. Surrounded by Sandals couples all smelling like airbrushed horniness. Makes the suntan lotion trickle down your back just to think about it.
Mother Nature, bless her romantic heart, provides a cornucopia of fornicational settings for travel coupling. Think of Tahiti. St. Lucia. Cupid’s Hill in Wales. Heart’s Delights, Newfoundland and Truelove, England. (As Tina says, what’s love got to do with it?)
I’m pondering something a little earthier, dahrlings, like Studley, Kansas. Or Three Way, Arkansas. And if I’m going solo, I can head onto Dildo, Newfoundland.
All that preamble culminating in Intercourse, Pennsylvania. And if I get my bearings right, ride like the dickens up to Climax, Saskatchewan! Yeehaw!