Delta - You're right.. I uploaded a picture of Nicholas and Matthew into Morphthing.com.Quote:
Originally Posted by Delta
http://i1181.photobucket.com/albums/...tthewmerge.jpg
Alright ladies, there you go.
hmmm....I take back what I wrote earlier lol
j/k Markus!
k3 - Enjoying your TR and looking forward to hearing about more guy mode adventures:D
well done clarity! too funny and he does look like a total player :)
ahaahahaaa. Damn, I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. I shot Red Stripe all over my Mac thru my nose as you described......
Looking forward to the next installment.
LOL, that is hilarious!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This entire report is SOOOOO entertaining!!! From the description of the man scaping, to the lady looking for her draws, you listening at the door in a non perverted way, the bannana slinging elder, to the sand wrestling....and then to end the night at Scrub a Dub and leaving the club and seeing the sunrise! Thats the way to party!!!! You guys sound like you had so much fun!! And this is night 1! I cant wait to hear about the rest of the trip, this is a great trip report. I love the way you tell the story.
Clarity, that picture of the guys morped together is so funny, he actually is a cute morphed dude!!
Wow Clarity - THAT is very close (scary) to Fabs - I actually did a double take.Quote:
Originally Posted by Clarity
If there was a little more Nicolas and a little less Mathew - that would be Fabs.
LOL. Thanks for posting the picture of Fabs. :) This report is great! I'm smiling while reading.
It rained most of the the afternoon - so I've had time to get synched up again. Here's an update.
No specific plans for tonight yet
I have a habit of waking up a little after sunrise and, in spite of having being up all night trolling the beach and drinking, this morning was no exception. I got out of bed, groggy, left the room and went for a dip in the ocean out in front of White Sands. The cool, fresh sea water brought me around a little. While I dripped dry I looked around for Fabs but he was nowhere to be seen. No surprise, it was early. I hauled a beach lounge into the shade of a coconut palm, flopped down upon it, and promptly dozed off. I don’t know how long I slept, but I awoke some time later when the fruit lady came by. Her calls of “AAANNNNY FRUITS?” roused me. Feeling the need to continue with my nap, I stumbled back up to my room, turned on the A/C and passed out for what seemed to be a long, long time.
When I awoke from my prolonged nap, I was bleary and thickheaded. You know how it feels when you’ve over slept what was supposed to be a twenty minute cat-nap? I had no idea what time it was and since I don’t wear a watch when I’m on the beach, I wasn’t about to dig my Ironman out to check. To tell the truth, I had a bit of a hangover, and for the umpteenth time I swore that I would never again try to match Fabs when he got going on his damn Tequila shooters.
I got out of bed and lurched out onto the balcony. The beach was awash in bright sunshine. By the quality of the light, I judged it to be early afternoon.
Gazing out across the ocean, my perception of the world came slowly into focus. I regained enough consciousness to remember that I had agreed to meet some people at the Sun Beach bar in the afternoon. They had copies of my books, (this is where I unabashedly pimp my titles – ‘Walk Good’ and ‘Sunset Negril’, both available on Amazon.com), and I’d said I would sign them. After splashing some water on my face I lurched down the stairs and walked out to the beach. The sea was aqua, the sky was a matchless blue . . . it was another beautiful day in paradise. I glanced over to the sun deck where Fabs and I usually camped out, but he wasn’t there. Probably sleeping up in his room, I figured.
I wandered northward, feeling lethargic. Halfway to Sun Beach I began to feel coherent again. When I arrived, a quick look around the bar confirmed that the people I’d arranged to meet were not there. Hmmmm. What to do? Then I noticed that there were three good looking young women sitting together on the far side of the bar, sipping on tall cocktails. Where was Fabs when I needed him?
It was very early in the day for me, I’d virtually just gotten out of bed, but these girls were definitely worth checking out. I pushed my sunglasses up on my nose and sauntered nonchalantly around the back of the bar to a craft shop that was located back there. I tried on a couple of hats, which is really strange because I have no need for a hat – I have four with me and a couple of dozen back home. My eyes kept seeking a peek through the shop windows, endeavoring to capture a quick look at the women sitting at the bar. I exited the shop and stood out on the deck there. They were three brunettes, they had a kind of Latina look to them and all three were in bikinis and lookin’ very fine. As I was checking them out, I thought I saw one of them check me out. Nah, couldn’t be - when you cruise with Fabs, it feels strange to get noticed.
I decided to go back to White Sands, find Fabs, bring him back to Sun Beach, and sic him on the babes. I walked back along the beach, checking for Fabs all the way. I didn’t see him so I went up to his room. The door was open so I walked in. “Hey, Fabs,” I called out. He wasn’t there.
I wandered into the bathroom – and immediately wished I hadn’t. I have a pretty strong gag reflex and I almost tossed the coconut and banana that I’d eaten when I got up. The bathroom floor was a disaster. I won’t go into details, but the following nouns spring to mind, flotsam, jetsam – crap and corruption. And the smell – Lord, it was powerful enough to knock a turkey buzzard off a honey-wagon.
Nuff said, nah tru?
Obviously, Fabs had managed to plug the toilet while he was dropping the kids off at the pool that morning. Then, just as obviously, he’d fled, seeking help.
I turned and beat a hasty retreat. As I got to the door I met Fabs coming back in. He was looking all hound-dog, sheepish and embarrassed. Behind him was Henry, the White Sands general maintenance man and behind him was a worried looking younger maintenance guy, Blacka, who was wearing gloves and boots. He was toting a big, gnarly looking toilet-plunger. Two chambermaids, equipped with pails and mops and cleaning supplies, made up the rear of the procession.
“You plugged it good, eh, dude?” I announced loudly. It was all I could do to stop from laughing out loud.
“Yeah, well, I flushed it and the water just kept coming up and up and . . . you know. I’m gonna pay the girls $20 for their trouble,” he said.
“Twenty? You should be paying them at least $50,” I said. By then I was out the door and I burst out laughing. Henry was there and he started to laugh too and we descended the stairs snickering the whole way.
I stopped at the landing and looked up at Fabs, who was standing in the doorway to his room, he looked traumatized. I told him I’d meet him at the beach. I felt a sudden and urgent need to fully immerse myself in the ocean.
I went down to the beach and got a couple of lounges arranged in our favorite area next to the sun deck, then went for a dip. Our usual practice is to hang out on the beach for a while, swim, catch a few rays, toss a football or Frisbee around, then go for a walk and beers later. When I got back from my swim, Fabs was laid out on his lounge.
“That was a nasty piece of business back up there in your room, bro,” I said. “Really nasty.”
He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Yah, well . . . sh!t happens.”
“You can say that again.”
“Okay, okay. I feel bad for the maids, so let’s just forget about it, alright?”
Fabs was becoming annoyed.
I wasn’t going to let it go that easily. “Yeah, well if you want my advice I think you should back off on the chicken and rice a little for a couple of days, maybe just have a quarter instead of your usual half,” I said. “You know, cut down on the bulk, give your system a chance to self-regulate a little.”
Fabs sighed and shook his head.
I continued, “Maybe you should consider implementing a ‘safety-flush’ procedure – you know, like, reach back and flush when you’re about half done.”
Fabs gave me a withering look; he knew that this wasn’t the last that he’d hear of the plugged toilet episode. He propped up his lounge and got into a comfortable surveillance position. Then he began scanning the passing beach traffic.
I leaned back on my lounge and closed my eyes. Fabs regularly comments on the women passing by. If he makes low, lecherous sounds, I’ll pop up and have a gander. I think I dozed off a little bit, but I came around when I heard Fabs mutter, “There goes ‘The Hogs’, I hope they don’t spot us.” ‘The Hogs’ was the moniker that he’d branded the porcine quartet from ‘Eye-Oh-Whaaa’ with. I didn’t bother rising from my lounge.
I dozed a little more – I was awakened when Fabs uttered: “Whoaa Baby! Fart and give us a clue.” I was familiar with this line – one of Fab’s most cutting missives, exclusively reserved for when he spots a particularly corpulent woman waddling down the beach.
Okay, I know when the guys read this they will burst out laughing. Some women will read it and exclaim, “What a disgusting pig!” or words to that effect. But let me assure you ladies, this is how men talk, and worse, when we are sure no women are listening. And let’s be realistic, I’m quite sure that women have some choice thoughts, if not verbal comments, when they spot an old, fat, bald guy with a big beer belly hanging over his Speedo, sporting a carpet of thick, black hair on his back. Am I right? And I can only imagine what women say when that same old fat dude has the hand of a pretty, young Jamaican girl in his clammy grasp.
I didn’t respond to Fabs comment and I drifted off again (yes, I nap a lot).
When I came to, I saw that Fabs wasn’t on his lounge.
I sat up and looked around, it was one of those perfect Negril afternoons; sunny with a few puffy white clouds, the sun spangling of the surface of a sea ruffled by a cool breeze blowing in, little waves washing the shore. Ahhh! Like I said earlier, I’ve been coming to Negril for a long time, but afternoons like that never get old.
I let my gaze drift to the south and that’s when I spotted Fabs. He was about five lounges over and he was rubbing sunscreen onto the bare chest of an attractive young blonde woman.
WTF?
I closed my eyes, took a few deep breaths and opened them again. No. I hadn’t been imagining it - Fabs was slowly massaging lotion onto the chest of a young woman who was clad only in skimpy bikini bottoms.
I know it sounds juvenile, but . . . ‘IT’S NOT FAIR!’ Fabs never has to work for it. He meets a woman and he’s immediately on third base (with no outs and a big RBI man coming up) – it’s like he’s gonna score. The rest of us poor suckers; we stand at the plate, there’s two out, the count is 3 and 2, and Nolan Ryan’s clone is glowering at us from the mound. There’s no way we’re going to get to touch them all.
Fabs was rubbing this blonde down and he was really working the lotion in. He had moved up to her shoulders and neck. As I watched him I noticed that most of the other people on the beach in front of White Sands were gawking too. I couldn’t blame them either, just watching the blonde sitting there topless by herself would have been enough, but with the added spectacle of Fabs lubing her up, well, a person can only resist so much gratuitous titillation.
Turned out she was German or Norwegian or one of those Scandinavian types who walk around topless all the time and sit naked in communal saunas, so it was no big deal for her to have a complete stranger rub lotion into her chest.
Riiiight.
Anyhow, Fabs stuck with her and I went for a walk. When I got back to White Sands their gear was still on their lounges but both of them had disappeared. I looked up and down the beach and in the water. They were nowhere to be seen.
They were conspicuous by their absence, one might say.
I'm in my room now and it's 5:00pm and it's pouring rain. Uggg - hope it stops soon, maybe go to Fabs's room and see if he's up for a beer in town somewhere . . .
Sounds like I am missing too much fun! Good thing I get there soon.