Sex On The BeachSome people who know me, or who profess to know me, are surprised to learn that when I visited Hawaii, my favorite place was Honolulu.
Not Kauai, not Maui, but Honolulu.
But, you know, what's not to like? It's got a great museum filled with Polynesian art you wouldn't otherwise see. It's got an active salsa scene in the clubs. It's got a great beach populated with beautiful bodies of ALL shapes and sizes. It's got mai tais and rum punches and sex on the beach.
I mean the drink, you dirty-minded little people. The action itself, in all its ardent insistence, the pressing of lips together in the salt spray of the ocean, limbs entwined, the beat of another's heart against one's breast, the swift caresses in the moonlight, the thickness of hair wet with the surf or desire, tongues licking salt-drenched skin, the firmness of a hand, the softness of a neck, the round ball of a muscle, the delicate arch of a foot, hard urgency and sweet, soft, melting invitation, all of this my modesty forbids me to discuss.
Others would think I would be drawn to the hippie quaintness of the villages of Kauai, or the elitist solitude of the beaches of Maui. I like Honolulu with his bustle, and touristy kitsch, and sex on the beach.