Memories of Wiesbaden

It was a good day when I first met blonde, blue-eyed Eva;
She was sitting at a table in the bar of the Nassauer Hof
And she smiled at me. She was wearing a Dirndl with her tits half out
Which was slightly out of place in a four star hotel, I felt.
It was a good evening too, as we went over to that nice restaurant
Near the Staatstheater and she let me stroke her thigh under the table.
It was a good night: I was impressed she had kindly shaved her pubis
And very much relieved I had washed my balls throughly beforehand.

It was a medium day, a week or so later when the lust was wearing off,
And  I had noticed a few physical imperfections on Eva,
The incipient hairiness of her upper lip being a particular gripe
Which I felt could well become a major irritant, if unchecked.
It was a medium night when she wet the bed slightly, her orgasm
Having triggered an involuntary stream of asparagus-flavoured urine
To spill out. Did I mention it was Spargelzeit and we had been
Porking it down with lashings of Sauce Hollandaise?

It was a bad day, the day we finally parted. It all began
When I teased her about her surname for the umpteenth time;
She really didn't get the joke about being called Eva Braun,
And said it was OK, she was only a distant relation anyway.
It was a bad night, she declined my anal suggestion quite rudely
And things were made worse by my vomiting over her after her attack
Of stomach cramps and violent mid-copulatory defecation.
It was her bad day when she faced the impressive unpaid hotel bill.