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Roger came over last night and said we had to go to a party. Liza wasn’t around and he and I took off down the beach to a friend’s house. He knew that a couple of girls were in for a few days – he’d seen their boat over at Green Turtle and heard they were here now. This time it was a couple of young party girls from West Palm – “old friends” of Roger from what I gathered. There was no shortage of drink or pot as we carried on late into the night with a few other of the native boys. The younger, very attractive one stuck to me – I could tell she didn’t like the natives sniffing around her. In a whispered voice, she verified that fact, saying she didn’t like black men, though it was obvious her friend had no hang-ups along that line. Willie and a couple of the other boys had surrounded her in a chair and were pawing away, fighting for attention, hoping to be the first in line. Roger and I stayed with Regina and kept drinking. After a few hours at the house, I knew Roger thought he was going to have her. I kept trying to discourage him, not having the heart to tell him the truth. He was in prime form and had us both laughing for a long time, but when Roger started getting a little too close, she stiffened and asked me to take a walk with her (down to my place). Roger looked down, but didn’t say anything. The realization of what she was thinking came home to him – I saw it in his face. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, though I’d been the one on the opposite end of that stick earlier in the summer, seeing a lot of women who only wanted to try out a black dude. They seemed to have little or no interest in an average looking white boy from the midwest and, apparently, preferred something more… exotic. Still, when it was all said and done, I was just as much a marked man as Roger, getting caught in this whimsical flitting through Regina’s islands of men, realizing it wasn’t me she was interested in but rather anyone (white) like me who happened to be around. She’d decided to have someone and I was about the only candidate when the time came. Even if I’d thought all this out at the time, I still would have wandered into her stunning beauty and gotten lost in her soul…
She and I strolled along the beach and waded in the crystal water lit by the moon. About halfway back to the cottage it became quite clear what she wanted to do… lost in the moment, her hand wandering around my waist, staring out to the surf, scent of jasmine skin reaching my nose, lost in a quick caress… the night sea, fat moon, clear, Milky Way bisecting the night sky in chalky sprinkles, veering up and down the glowing pitched beach, light reflections from sandy shallows, making it hard to tell where the land and sea meet, inviting us to walk the waters and I did what I said I would not, to swim in the night sea, yet it was transparent, non-existent, dark brown skin shimmering from waves of light reflecting off the sand bottom, rush of tepid water between my legs, swimming out with her, farther, feeling some supreme sensual ease as she glides up to me and embraces. An absurd exchange – primal, pure moments rounding out to a starry, silent axis cutting the sky in two, cutting me in two, with one half traded with this selfish women and this so thoroughly modern act of mutual masturbation, while the other half seeks heaven and I arc out into blackness, pulled back by the sweet subtle scent of her rolling in waves of fragrance, the aroma of tropical flowers, the full smell of youth, all so natural that it seems unnatural, quietly dispersing out on this great swell of water. This perfect form, both above and next to me now, in my arms, a fluid and silky sense of gentle curves and perfect proportion, light blue eyes reflecting the moonlight of thought within me. I am making love to the sky, to the sky within her, fucking a part of her that she barely knows exists…
A few hours later, in the vague predawn light, she got up from my bed and asked me to walk her back down the beach. As we approached the house, she gave me a short kiss and bid me farewell, saying they were all leaving this morning on their boat (yacht). Her boyfriend from Spain was meeting them in Nassau and had they to get underway. Adios.
Gary Nolan is a visual artist, photographer, and programmer. He currently works in support of the U.S. space program. In a prior life, his written work appeared in a few regional journals (most of them now apparently defunct) and he earned a BA in English from Kenyon College. Evidence of his current mental state can be viewed on Flickr.
