LOL...for real NikkiB!
LOL...for real NikkiB!
"I noted that the conveyance was much too large for its intended cargo. Its contents wobbled and jostled freely about within, like two tomcats fighting in a silk pillowcase. (think C cup on an A sized boob.)"
This line has me laughing out loud. After a tough week, thanks for the laugh. :D
Today I got up late (9:00) and went for a beach walk and swim (yes, I’m a creature of habit). Because I was two hours later than normal it was freakin’ hot on the way back down the beach. I had to re-lather three times from my likkle portable SPF30 bottle.
Saw the cock-sock dude again (can I say that?). I almost stopped and asked him, “What were you thinking when you packed that thing?” in my best Dr. Phil impression. I mean, it’s all floppy and wobbly. . . people behind him were snickering. One guy had taken a picture and was showing his wife and they were having a good laugh.
There’s a HUGE yacht anchored off Negril today – I’m talkin’ really big - like Arab Sheik sized. I’ll try and get a photo of it.
I went into Hi Lo and picked up a few things including a bottle of Red Stripe Light -Ginger. I wanted to try it. Also went to the Cambio and stocked up - (2nd time already! WTF?). I need the J$ cash because ‘you know who’ will be here late this afternoon and the burn rate is gonna go way up.
The weather here is crystal clear, with a light breeze, and it’s hot. I’m going on the Pub crawl in about an hour – looking forward to it.
Never thought of it as finding a groove, but know what you mean.
Oh the "pub crawl" I wish they would have back on realnegril again....this is fun reading, it makes my days go by a little faster until my trip:cool:
There was a picture on Facebook earlier of a white guy passed out in front of No Limit, hope it wasnt Kahuna3.
ha ha I saw that pic on FB too! But I think it was posed--to take advantage of the signage "No Limit" and saying maybe there was a limit:)
That FB photo of the guy Passed out at he No Limit bar wasn't me. . . but I was talking to that guy just before he 'passed out'.
I left the pub crawl (which was a blast!) early so that I could be back at the hotel when Fabs got there. I hung around the office for a while, then went to the rec. area and shot a couple of games of solo pool – I won both games.
I heard a bus pull up and went out to the driveway. I could see Fabs inside the bus. He yanked the sliding door open and yelled, “Hey Mon!” he yelled.
He looked as if he was stepping from the pages of GQ. He sported a crisp hairstyle and was smartly dressed – nothing outlandish – just everything he wore was casual, coordinated and complimentary. He had a bit of a tan from the ‘fake bake’ sessions, and I knew that he’d been dieting for the last month and going to the gym four times a week, doing his ‘beach-body’ workout. His teeth would be freshly bleached, his back, chest and eyebrows newly waxed, his nostril and ear hairs harvested, and his finger and toe nails spa mani-pedded.
He'd probably clipped and trimmed in other places too, but I’m not going to take you there.
As he stepped out of the van, Fabs was the poster-child for detailed, head to toe man-scaping.
Which was in stark contrast to me; it’s not that I don’t groom, I do – but it’s not the first thing I think of when I get up in the morning, especially when I’m in Negril. My tendency is to neglect my toenails. I’m six foot, two inches tall, so my toenails are a long way down – an out-of-sight and out-of-mind type situation. For me, the chore of clipping my toenails is somewhat like cleaning out the garage – a task that I’ll get around to . . . someday.
When I saw Fabs in all his resplendentry, I reached up and scratched at my two-day stubble.
There were a couple of young women, a blonde and a redhead (and I looove redheads) on the shuttle who pulled the windows open and waved goodbye to Fab’s, saying, “See you at Rick’s for sunset in two days.” So - Fabs had already been at work.
Fabs and I shook hands and did the one-armed, self-conscious, ‘hope-nobody-is-watching’, guy-hug thing.
After Fabs got all settled in his room, he came down to the beach where I was anchored, pinned there by a particularly strong concentration of beach-gravity. He’d sparked one up in his room as he unpacked and was all mellowed out. We hung out on the beach until sunset.
OK 'jeannieb', I've thought it over and decided to post a photo of Fabs:
Haha...Fabs has a strong resemblance to Matthew McConaughey LOL :)
That's funny Kahuna! Damn, Fabs might be the Sexiest Man Alive...
Hilarious picture pf Fabs! I'd still like to see a real one sometime on your report :o Either way, loving your journey and can't wait to read more.
LOL.....love it!
Fabs IS cute! He also looks like the kind of guy who could spark one and then I don't know maybe play some bongos in the nude or something
hahaha
now you know what id look like if i didnt shave my head
Lol! Your buddy sounds too metro to be a Mcconnaughy guy. I have a buddy just like him and his game is second to none.....Quote:
Originally Posted by marley9808
Fab Report...lovin' the visuals!
Yes, Fabs does look remarkably like Matthew McConaughey. But, as you shall soon see, some think he looks like Nicolas Cage.
OK - here we go into full 'GUY' mode . . .
After sunset we got chicken at Best in The West and scarfed it down on Fabs’ deck. Then we set out to do our regular night thing – that’s drinking and trolling for loose women; ‘loose’ as in un-attached, not the other ‘loose’. We’d been up and down the beach, stopping in at the usual haunts, Tony’s, Fun Holiday, Boat Bar, Tree House – places where Fabs had had some success before.
So, it was getting quite late and we’d been cruising all night and Fabs hadn’t found any takers – this in spite of buying a lot of drinks and even reverting to the late-night tactic of lining up the Tequila shooters in an attempt to get ‘em drunk. Fabs had had a couple of nibbles, which was not unusual, but he wasn’t able to seal the deal, which was unusual.
We walked up to the bar at Sun Beach and ordered a couple of Stripes. Fabs was getting depressed; he’d been looking forward to coming to Negril for so long and, like many single guys, he’d envisioned his first night on the beach as a prolonged hedonistic, debaucherous party replete with ranks of fawning females. Well, as it turned out, the beach was actually kind of dead. Fabs is not used to striking out. I think he needs to score – it’s like he’s addicted to it.
We’d been at the bar for a couple of minutes when we heard female voices approaching from down the beach; naturally, we perked up. In short order we spotted the women. There were four of them, emerging like specters from the dark. They were laughing, talking loudly and stumbling their way to the bar. It was obvious that they were quite drunk.
The lead of the group got within thirty feet of the bar, then she spotted Fabs and made a bee-line for him.
“Uh – Oh!” I said.
“They’re big-uns,” Fabs snorted. Fabs is really picky about his women; he likes them on the lean side. I guess he can afford that luxury. Truth be told, Fabs scorns heavy-set women and can be quite disdainful towards them. The other day we were lounging in front of White Sands and Fabs, as usual, was propped up in his lounge scanning the passing beach traffic. I knew he’d spotted a ‘big-un’ when he uttered, rather derisively, “Thar she blows!” with a piratical affectation to his voice.
Me, I’m not so picky: I like em short, and I like em tall. I like em big, and I like em small. Just like Jesus, I love em all.
All four of the women approaching the Sun Beach bar were of substantial girth; not a pound under two-fifty any one of them. It looked and sounded as if they were on a serious bender too. Since they were still in their day-time beach wear, I assumed that they’d been drinking a good part of the afternoon and all evening.
“Oh! Aren’t chew a purdy one!” the lead girl squealed as she berthed into Fab’s lap, spraying him with fine droplets of spittle. She wrapped her arms around him. “Lookee what I got here girls!” Then she leaned back, pointed at Fabs’ nose and peered down her finger like she was aiming a pistol and cried, “You look like Nicolas Caaage!”
Her friends had gathered beside her and they were ‘ooo-ing’ and ‘aww-ing’, examining Fabs and generally agreeing that, yes indeed, he did look like Nicolas Cage (in Nic’s younger days, when he wasn’t quite so creepy looking, they consented). They’d formed a tight cluster of quivering female flesh with Fabs, looking helpless and aghast, firmly pinned in the middle.
The girls totally ignored me – it was as if I wasn’t there – which was not unusual, but this time I was okay with it.
“He’s mine, I saw ‘im first!” the lead girl exclaimed. She hiccupped loudly, then proclaimed, “We’re from Eye-Oh-Whaaa!” dragging out the ‘whaaa’ as she exhaled alcoholic fumes into Fabs face.
Fabs was stricken, he tried to pull back, but the bikini-clad big-uns had a death-grip on him. I was quite enjoying the spectacle. I sat back and took a long pull on my beer, waiting to see what happened next. You can’t buy entertainment like that.
“I’ll fight-cha for ‘em, Clara!” one suddenly shouted to another.
“Yer on!” bellowed the other. They let go of Fabs and thumped down onto the sand in front of him. They jostled around until they were laying side-by-side, head to toe, then each raised a leg – revealing quite a bit more than a lady ought to. It was quite a sight to see, I can attest. It became obvious that they were going to Indian-leg-wrassle for Fabs.
Fabs looked at me, his eyes wide. He was terrified. I laughed suddenly and explosively – beer jetted from my nose – I choked and coughed and sneezed all at the same time. As much as I like Red Stripe, having it forcefully propelled through my nostrils was not pleasant.
The girls had hooked their ham-sized legs at the ankles and were grunting loudly as they exerted themselves. Their companions were hunched over them, hands on their knees, cheering them on. The bartender was leaning over the bar to get a better vantage point. I was transfixed.
Freed from the fleshy trap, Fabs hopped off the bar-bench and grabbed me. “Dude!” he yelled, and then he sprinted for the beach. I snatched my beer from the bar-top and followed him.
Once we got a safe distance out we stopped and looked back. The ladies were still at it. One of them, Clara I believe, was canted up at a 45 degree angle and was about to lose the wrasslin’ match. The other two danced about them, shouting encouragement. None of them realized that the prize they were fighting for had escaped the arena.
“That was scary, man,” Fabs said, catching his breath.
“I thought it was funny,” I replied.
“Yah, whatever. Where to next?”
We didn’t want to pack it in - we’d spent a lot on booze and had a good buzz going and didn’t want to waste it. It was very late so we decided to go up to Scrub-A-Dub – the strip club up the Texaco road. I guess Fabs figured that since he wasn’t going to get any, he might just as well go up there and have a good look at what he was missing out on.
So we hiked out to the road and flagged a taxi.
Scrub-A-Dub. What a place.
Our taxi eased up to the heavy gates and a pair of burly, tough-looking dudes came out and looked into the back seat. They gave Fabs and me the once-over.
“Okay,” one of them said and nodded. The tall gates swung slowly open. We rolled into the yard. I had a flash that we were passing through the gates of Mordor - in a way, we were. We climbed out of the taxi and entered the establishment, where we were thoroughly frisked.
Inside it was almost totally devoid of any light and the music was ridiculously loud. We were a bit disoriented, but worked our way over to a table and settled down. Within a minute our eyes adjusted to the darkness. Within another minute there were three dancers at our table. Two of them were sitting in Fabs’ lap; he had an arm wrapped around each and was grinning widely. The girls were very friendly and they were gorgeous. They had quick hands too; caressing our thighs, squeezing our shoulders, tickling the backs of our necks - and deftly sneaking into our pockets. We knew from previous visits that some of the girls at Scrub-A-Dub will pick you clean if given the opportunity.
The front wall of the club was covered in a lattice-work of interlinked piping. Several dancers, in various stages of undress, were clambering across the pipes like harpy spiders. It was fascinating.
I could go on, but I won’t. What goes down in Scrub-A-Dub . . . you know. Let’s just say that Fabs and I stayed there for a few hours. In fact, we stayed just as long as our cash supply lasted.
When we stepped outside, the sky to the east was just starting to show some bashful pink. Prior to entering the club, Fabs and I had each had stashed $500J in the soles of our shoes for taxi fare back down to the beach. There are no taxis at that time of the night/morning, so we talked a rude bwoy that was hanging around outside the club to shuttle us.
Back at the hotel, I said goodnight to Fabs and as I closed the door to my room I heard a rooster crowing.
Yup, for a first night, it wasn’t bad.
Great read, but seriously the large girls were wraslin in the sand! Would pay to see that.
LOL!!Quote:
Me, I’m not so picky: I like em short, and I like em tall. I like em big, and I like em small. Just like Jesus, I love em all.
This whole entry had me cracking up!
So Fabs looks like a mixture of Matthew Mcconaughey and a pre-creepified Nicholas Cage?
Eh, pssht...Not my type.;)
500 JA in your shoe for the taxi - now that's smart!
I literally laughed out loud! Very loud! That was heee-lar-ious!
A Matthew/pre-creepy Nick is an interesting combination.
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.
Nice recount of all things guy time....
What a disgusting pig!! haha:D
I lived in Germany for four years. My first experience in one of those communal saunas was eye opening to say the least. Europeans have a very different approach to nudity.Quote:
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.
Oh and speaking of book signings...
Don't forget to sign mine! :)
Keep it coming, K3!
OMG I am loving this report! I just read all 12 pages, laughing out loud all the while! Thank you ~ can't wait for more!
Clarity - I won't forget.Quote:
Originally Posted by Clarity
Yesterday I saw something that I thought you might like - so I took a photo . . . . . a couple of dozen DEAD lion fish.
Kahuna....Were they selling the fish to a restaurant? I encouraged some of the local chef's to put it on their menu on my last trip to help decrease the lionfish population.
Mr. Twister - I don't know where the lion fish were destined, I just saw them and snapped a photo and didn't ask any questions.Quote:
Originally Posted by Mr. Twister
Earlier today Fabs and I were sitting in our usual spot next to the sun deck when three females pulled up close to us, an older woman and two teenagers. They were speaking French – it sounded like the Quebec variety. They made a big deal about getting settled, a lot of talking, moving their beach bags around and flapping of towels. They were loud and brash and had potty-mouths (I speak French, so I understood their lingo). From the way they acted I quickly formed the opinion that they were the ‘trailer-park/Jersey-Shore-trash’ type (no offence to anyone who lives in a trailer park or in Jersey). When the trio was finally settled, one of the girls turned on her boom box and cranked it up. The ‘music’ was the typical crap that girls her age listen to.
Fabs and I figured that it was a either a mother with her two daughters, or a mother and daughter with a friend. Anyhow, these girls were maybe (and I’m being generous here), eighteenish – it’s hard to tell these days. After a few minutes the girls decided to go for a swim. They stood up and popped their tops off; their bottoms were micro-thongs.
I’m no prude but I felt a little uneasy seeing these really young girls flaunting their still-developing bodies – and so did Fabs. And make no mistake – these two Lolitas were strutting and preening and putting on a show.
We decided that we would go for a walk up to Sun Beach for a beer and check the beach scene – which we did. We had a couple up there and then slowly headed back to White Sands. When we got back we were a little surprised to see that the mom and teenagers had moved onto our lounges, having placed our towels on the lounges that they’d previously occupied. Not a big deal, but . . . hey.
The mom looked to be on the downside of her forties; she had that ‘rode-hard-and-put-away-wet’ look about her. She came over and explained that they had to move us because they needed to get closer to the plug-in under the sun-deck for their boom box. Then she gave Fabs a big smile and a twiddly-finger wave and walked away twitching her substantial backside as she went.
“Yah gonna take one for the team there, Fabs?” I prodded.
“There is not enough liquor in Jamaica, brother,” he snorted.
“You sure? I think she’s got it for you. Maybe you could arrange for a mother-daughter thing? You know, Wilt Chamberlain style, you told me you always wanted to do that.”
Fabs had a pained expression. “Absolutely no way! Besides, did you see her arse? Looks like the north end of a south-bound cow. It’d be like throwing a banana down a hallway.”
Presently the trio attracted the attention of a twenty-something guy who had stopped at the bar for a beer. We were within earshot of them and couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.
Fabs, who was closer to them than me, said, “Dude, those girls and the old babe are talkin’ with that young guy about doing a porno!”
“You’re sh!tin’ me,” I said. I started to listen more closely.
Sure enough, they had a little screenplay written up and they were going over it with this guy asking if he would like to be in their video! He was definitely into it; like most young guys would be. They were saying, (and I’ll be general here), ‘you do this with her, and then I come over and you do this and that, and . . .’
No kidding. It was disgusting because these girls were so young and trashy, and it was like the mom was pimping them out. I guess maybe she handled the camera and lighting. In fact it was so disgusting that I’m not going to talk about it anymore.
We wanted to get away, so we went up onto the sun-deck (smoke deck) to get a better view down the beach. We were up there for a couple of minutes when this huge, jacked-up guy walked up onto the deck and strutted over to the railing. This dude was so ripped it was freaky. He probably has muscle fibers in his excrement. He was shaved bald and was wearing a super-tight, white stretchy top pulled over his massively muscled torso. He had a kind-of Mike Tyson-ish look to him.
Now, Fabs is pretty well built, but standing beside this dude he looked like Pee Wee Herman.
Anyhow, this guy sucked in a deep breath, puffed out his bull–sized chest, put his arms out like a preacher embracing his flock, and announced, “My country!”
“So you’re Jamaican?” I asked.
“I’m Jamerican!” he boasted.
“Oh,” I said.
He beamed at me and then pointed directly to the west. “Forty miles! Cuba!” he exclaimed loudly.
Fabs and I looked at each other and smiled.
“No, Dude. That’s the Yucatan out that way. Cuba is over there,” Fabs said, pointing to the north. “And it’s more like a hundred and twenty miles.”
The guy looked at Fabs, then nodded and looked to the north.
“Yeah, Cuba, that way,” he said.
We hung out on the deck for a while and tried talking to the guy but he was so stunned he made Mr. Potato Head come off like Stephen Hawking. So we went down to the bar. As we passed the Lolitas, one of them called out to Fabs, “Hey good-lookin’ - wanna hook-up with my Mama?”
What can I say?
Later we saw that same girl headed up to her room (the porn studio) with the big Jamerican. And that, I thought, was a pretty strong argument for selective sterilization.
It was around mid-afternoon when we decided to head south for a bit in search of refreshments. We got as far as Tony’s Hut before the heat of the sun drove us off the beach. There were two babes sitting at the bar. Fabs strode right up to the bar and parked himself beside the better looking of the two. He was rewarded with a big beautiful smile. She was about five foot, eight inches tall with an athletic build - right in Fabs’ power alley. She was wearing a string bikini, a beaten straw cowboy hat and a cool pair of shades.
Fabs ordered a couple of Red Stripes then turned his smile on the sexy one.
“HI!” she said. “How’re y’all doin’.” She spoke with a thick Alabama drawl and appeared to be a bit drunk.
“I’m doin’ fine, Baby,” Fabs replied. He, too, sensed that she’d been drinking and to him it was like a shark smelling blood in the water.
“You look like you work out!” she blurted.
Oh my God, give me a break.
Her friend was gawking at Fabs, kind of dumbstruck. Up to that point, neither one of these ladies had even remotely acknowledged my presence. I raised my palms to my chest and patted myself just to make sure that I hadn’t spontaneously evaporated.
Her friend was average looking and a little chubby. In a year or two she would probably qualify as one of Fabs’ ‘big-uns’. No problem. I figured I’d chat her up once she realized that Fabs wasn’t about to give her the time of day.
I was standing beside Fabs, sipping my Stripe. Alabama reached over and ran her hand through Fabs’ hair. “What do you do, are you a model?”
Lord!
Fabs smiled and fed her one of his canned lines, “I’m a massage therapist,” he said. Which is complete bullsh!te; he actually works for an insurance company and sits in front of a computer all day. He’s told me that if women think he’s a massage therapist, it puts them at ease and “it makes it okay for me to touch them, because I’m a professional, you see.” I’ll tell you, I’ve seen him use this line quite a few times and it works.
As an athlete and a gym-rat, Fabs knows the names of most of the muscles and tendons in the body, especially those in the shoulders, chest, legs and thighs, which are his areas of particular interest. If the need arises, he’s able to spiel these terms off as part of his ‘massage therapist’ ruse.
Sure enough, soon Alabama was complaining that one of her shoulders was a bit stiff. Fabs put his hands on her and probed her shoulder and squeezed it until she winced. Then he got a concerned frown on his face and started using some of his well-practiced diagnostic phrases like, ‘excess tension’ and ‘could be a touch of bursitis where your subscapularis inserts into the lesser tubercle’. She nodded and gazed at him raptly. And when he stopped probing her shoulder and began to massage it, Alabama started to moan.
I attempted to start up a conversation with her friend, but she was a bit cool towards me, so I went over and sat on a bench, sipped on my beer and contemplated the ocean.
The next time I looked over at Fabs he had Alabama in a lip-lock; her arms were wrapped around his neck and her straw cowboy hat was pushed back on her head.
I walked up to Niah’s, got a vegetable patty and walked back to my room.
I haven’t seen Fabs since Tony’s this afternoon. There were Super Bowl parties all up and down the beach tonight, but many got rained out – it poured again for about two hours.
Has Fabs had a penicillin shot lately? Sounds like he might need one.
What a trip report! I second the need for a shot of some powerful antibiotics for your friend.
OK, so honestly I dont think I have ever read a whole book in my life (cant stay still that long) anyway if this is the kind of stuff in your books I might actually make it through one!