The Idler

Jizz Mopping

Well, I was bumming around the med in the late summer of 1985 and against all odds landed a dream job as a crew member on a yacht heading to Florida.

Having assured the aggressive Chinese-Irish skipper that I had vast experience of sailing around the Outer Hebrides, and a crossing of the Atlantic was a mere piss in the sea for me. In reality I’d once got the ferry to Barra from Oban.

After we sailed past Gibraltar a period of six weeks constant heaving began. Everything that I ate forced its way out of my thrapple, if I kept my gob shut my sphincter would open obligingly.My main job in between barfing and shitting was cleaning the decks, chopping up rotten fish and vegetables and maintaining the toilets.

After persuading them not to throw me off in Tenerife we finally berthed in Miami where the skipper threw my fragile and wrecked skeletal body off. Immigration grudgingly allowed me in on a limited visa. I was footloose in Miami beach, no where to stay, no money, didn’t know anyone and no fun. I ended up spending three nights sleeping on a pool sunlounger at some dodgy hotel.

The local transvestite hookers took their clients down the lane towards the beach that backed on to my sunlounger, all night long I lay awake trying vainly to drown out the plethora of slurping noises emanating from Deelite, Knosha and Brucetta. I met Knosha on the beach one day and she arranged for me to get a job in Fort Lauderdale at a 24 hour Sex shop cum Strip joint ran by Cuban gangsters.

I’d naively assumed that I’d be operating a till selling sex aids and magazines, however the manageress Debby (58) whose family came from an island off the coast of England called Wales, handed me a mop and pointed me in the direction of the coin operated porn cabins.

Three weeks of mopping jizz of video screens was enough. The sight of an eighty year old Jewish New Yorker whacking his flaccid prick over an all American boy gang bang video was the end as he trailed his spunk from the cabin to the front door and out into the hot bright Florida afternoon. One week later I was back in Glasgow tanned distraught and working in a poseur wine bar in the West End.

Mark McLachlan