Kiss Me Not

Poetry for the Horny

Chris Imperial, the imposing host of spoken-word events at Delray Beach restaurant Dada, invited New Times writer Amy Guthrie to judge venue's Durty Werdz poetry slam last week, and, she asserts, she was fuckin' down for that shit.

Guthrie was joined by Deerfield-based sex therapist Lori Sarvis, Boca Raton rapper Epitaph, and 2 Live Crew's DJ Mr. Mixx on a blue-ribbon panel. In honor of 2 Live Crew's old-skool dirty rhymes, the chant of the night was: "If you believe in having sex, say hell-fuck-yeah." Not a no in the house.

Durty Werdz has been loosely described as an erotic poetry slam, and indeed, the monthly event is a raunchy affair. Entrants moan, groan, slurp, and gyrate. They wax poetic about threesomes and oral sex and getting reach-arounds from trannies. Holy Mother of Perversion!

Guthrie's favorite contestant was a pregnant young woman named Pioneer. She started out one rhyme by singing the theme to Three's Company, followed by lines like these:

"Just the night before she had crossed that path, made beautiful music in triple time — with two notes, on one staff line." Deep.

Then this:

"He dared, she told the truth, and they played seven minutes in heaven. Only they divided three into a square root and got 11, 'cause there was orgasm after orgasm." Deeper, with subtle references to the 'Pipe's favorite 24/7 convenience store. (Uh, he did get that right, didn't he?)

Alas, the high-toned Guthrie was outvoted, and Pioneer took second place.

Imperial, the host with the most, takes a more direct route to the erotic side, at one point launching into gospel-inspired song. Guthrie had just taken a gulp of water when the dreamy crooner, in a heartbreakingly beautiful voice, murmured: "I was wondering... [long, pregnant pause] if I could eat your pussy for an hour." Guthrie was caught so off-guard that she almost shot water out of her nose.

Imperial will lead a team of South Florida spoken-word all-stars to a national competition in Wisconsin this week. Mazel tov, bon voyage, and forgive the 'Pipe if he skips the goodbye kiss.

A Little Less Conversation

What's it all about, Mary? It's about breaking free, says Broward's very own porn diva, Mary Carey, hostess of a Swingfest gathering at the Westin Diplomat in Hollywood last weekend, bubbling with the kind of liberating information that would-be swingers need to get over the hump.

Tailpipe stuck around for a couple of eye-opening seminars. At "Swinging 101," Georgia couple Bren and Dean offered a newbie's guide to swinging and some techniques for identifying like-minded souls. They have devised a color wristband system to help strangers figure out just what type of couple they're zeroing in on (a yellow bracelet means that couple will do only a "soft swap," as in touching and fondling but no intercourse). Dean says most couples reach for the green band, which signals they're down for a "full swap," penetration and all. It's a kinky twist on the LIVESTRONG bracelets popularized by Lance Armstrong.

Then comes "It's On! Now What?" with a couple named John and Allie.

A lot of swingers say that they're shy, our instructors note. True enough. Couple after couple attest to awkward moments and impulse-killing conversation standing in the way of successful trysts. A few audience members are goaded into volunteering to demonstrate some ice-breaking techniques. John blindfolds one husband and informs him that he'll be guessing which breast belongs to his wife. The wife and someone else's wife lift their bras, and tits spill out. The crowd giggles. The husband guesses correctly.

The audience is warming up, though. Several couples raise their hands to share tips for "sealing the deal." One technique: Start talking preferences (No, my hubby doesn't want a finger up his bum). Bring along your bag of sex toys. Or just get naked. John, the moderator, finds inspiration in these last two. "So," he summarizes, "toys... take your clothes off... Everything I needed to learn about swinging, I learned in kindergarten!"

The 'Pipe pops into "UnLEARN," with construction-worker-turned-lifestyle-author Richard Wood, but the battered cylinder is by now vibrating with sensory overload. Wood describes himself as a Jersey boy with a mediocre-sized member. In a series of fuhgeddaboudit zingers, Wood insists that the swinging lifestyle can work for monogamous drones.

"Imagine eating your favorite dish — every... single... night for the rest of your life," he says. "That's a recipe for misery."

By the time Wood rolls into his finale, he's sounding like the Nathan Hale of free lovers. "If you love someone, you want them to have their muffins. Do vanilla couples get married to cock-block each other? Do they look at somebody and say, I want that person to NEVER have sex with anyone else again, so I'm going to marry them?" Actually, not.

Tailpipe exits the hotel past the beachfront pool packed with bathers bobbing in the water like nubby little carrot sticks in a soupy crudités dip. Back on A1A, the 'Pipe pokes clumsily into the traffic, and a woman in a sports car swerves around him. "Idiot!" she shouts.

Ah, that's a little more like it.

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