Continued from yesterday.
She tried to lead me with a sweaty hand towards the village of tents. Not one to be led by a drunk – at least while sober — I tried to distance myself, walking behind her to the right. I had almost slowed down to a standstill while she quickened her pace, walking ahead. She must’ve noticed my apprehension, or more simply that my crotch and stomach were no longer within groping distance because she turned around. She smiled; more of a sneer truth be told. But she gave it her best effort.
She thrusts out a waving, stumpy limb. Why do I have to be so damn weak for short girls? “It’s just up here.”A tent, right in the middle of 500 other tents. We picked our way between illuminated tents and small, smoky fires. All about us girls and boys drank and smoked, already at or on their way to numb nirvana. We finally reach the tent. She bends over in front of me to unzip the nylon. The sound of the zipper’s plastic teeth being teased asunder seems unnaturally loud. For a brief moment I can think of nothing but sex. I look down at her ass; it looks good. Short legs and chubby ankles have never appeared so appealing. My hand is suddenly out of its pocket and swinging towards her ass. Thwack. Eep! She doesn’t turn around but instead wiggles her hips. I look to the sky and grin: at myself, and any gods that might be watching. But then I see it, the glassy, almost-obsidian ocean. The fjord looks beautiful. It must be photographed!
I grasp the camera that’s hanging around my neck, take a quick but photo and enjoy lingering glance of her ass — and flee. Not recklessly — tripping face-first into a camp fire or drunkard is never cool — but fast enough that I can hear her calling out for me, unable to place me amongst the crowd of youths.
Quickening my pace down the hill, out of tent shanty town and safely out of syphilis’ reach, I pull out my phone. Feeling a bit like Keanu Reeves I dial my friend on the boat: “Wizard! Get me out of here!”
“But Neo… don’t you want to see just how deep the rabbit hole goes?” I could hear there was more than a little mirth being had at my expense on the boat.
I should’ve asked for a ‘hard line’ or tried to pull off the red pill/blue pill dialogue over the phone.
“Can you pick me up or not…? I have a feeling that if I look behind me I’ll see her chasing… And I don’t think I’m drunk enough to deal with the aftermath of what I just did.”
Five minutes later I was on the boat and whisked to safety and taking photos.
I’m sure there’s a moral to this story…