Chapter 10
Nicholas
“Sorry mi boss, the parking lot full. You’ve to park on the road,” the security guard advises.
Normally I’d be annoyed but a full parking lot is a great sign for parties.
So, I park the vehicle on the side of the road by a yellow curb, right beside the entrance to the hotel and we make our way inside to the ticket booth.
Highly doubt a police officer will issue me a ticket for parking by a yellow curb on a Sunday night.
But if they want to be an asshole. Oh well.
Standing in line for upwards of ten minutes and counting to buy tickets would normally piss me off, but yet another great sign for parties.
I need tonight to be fun.
“When was the last time you’ve been to a party?” I continue with the random questions, waiting for the twenty plus people ahead of us in the queue to get their tickets.
“I’ve never been to a real party before.” She says this looking down, almost as if she were embarrassed. “Unless you count birthday parties and office parties,” she continues, avoiding eye contact.
“Do you like to dance?” I whisper in her ear.
“I think so.” Still avoiding eye contact.
“Let me ask again… Do you like to dance?” This time, I put my arm around her shoulder.
“I do!” This time said more sprightly and finally making eye contact.
“Great, try and keep up tonight. I plan to own on the dancefloor,” I say with confidence. Although, technically, you don’t really have dancefloors at beach parties. But she got the point.
“We’ll see about that, mister.”
Now, this is a fucking party! People moving in sync to the latest dancehall moves; chicks dressed in short shorts; a cup of something in everyone’s hand; chicks bubbling on guys everywhere…
even in the water. What the rass? I can’t believe there’s a chick grinding out a bredda on top of the speaker box; whoa whoa whoa…
who’s that bad chick in the blue jeans and black halter top bikini. She is nice.
I assume you know bad means sexy.
I hold her hand (Lisa, of course, not the bad chick) and we make our way through the jampacked crowd on the outskirts of the party, saying sorry [Jamaican party translation: excuse me] every few steps while I use my free hand to shove people out of the way until we reach the bar.
“What you want to drink?” I shout, trying to outdo the music.
“Whatever you’re getting.”
“Two rum and cokes,” I tell the bartender, handing him a nice tip. So, the next time I come back, I’ll get through before everyone else.
“Let’s find Robert and Jody,” I practically yell. “They’re close to the right of the stage,” I holler louder this time, showing her Robert’s WhatsApp message, and then pointing to the right of the stage.
“Okay, lead the way. I’m right behind you.”
I take her hand, and we bully our way through the belly of the crowd, saying “sorry” a lot more than before, squeezing into pockets of space whenever they open up.
“Over there.” Lisa spots Robert and Jody, and points in their direction with the rum and coke in her hand, spilling some of her drink on a dude in the process.
He didn’t care, or notice; he is too busy with a big batty gyal.
Excited to find them, we push our way through the crowd to get to them.
It took a good amount of “sorry”, but we finally meet up with crew — Robert, Jody…
and Stephen, Terri, Michelle and Alexia.
My other good friends, whom Lisa also thinks are acquaintances.
“She’s hot,” Alexia whispers in my ear as we hug. Strange, it feels good to get the nod from a friend who I have an understanding with… if you get what I’m saying.
Drinking and vibing and dancing and bussing imaginary shots in the air with our fingers, the DJ drops the number one trending dancehall song and every girl gets wild in the dance.
Following the other chicks in the party, Lisa backs into me, bends over and starts to fast wine (twerk).
I rest my hands on her thighs and move to her rhythm.
She goes hard…. And in the process, gets me hard.
A few songs later she leans into me without skipping a beat and put her hands around my neck, my hands moving to her waist. We grind for a while, chugging our drinks at opportune times until it is time to refuel.
“Another rum and coke?” I ask, pointing to the empty cup.
She nods, “Yes.”
“Alright, I’ll be back in few,” I promise, eager to be all over her again as I mow my way through the crowd. I don’t even bother to say sorry this time.
The bartender serves up my drinks in no time, leaving the other people disgruntled. The two chicks beside me are cute, so I give them my drinks and order two more.
By the time I get back to the spot, the genre has switched to soca and Lisa is sandwiched between Alexia and Michelle, having the time of her life.
With both her hands pointing to the sky, she is singing along to Roll it Gal by Allison Hinds, which I’m sure she’s never heard before, but hey, the chorus is catchy and vibesy — Google it if you don’t believe.
I watch her for a while, having the time of her life.
Then, selfishly, I tap her shoulder and whisper in her ear, “My time now”, and slip between Alexia and her, giving her the drink which by this time is half empty after bumping into several people along the way back (actually, let’s say half full, since I’m speaking my lucky night into being).
I get back to grinding, with Lisa gripping Michelle’s waist for support.
All night, we go at it … hit song, after hit song. And when R&B takes centre stage, bathed in sweat, I turn her around to face me and place my hands firmly on her ass. She flings her hands around my neck and we slow dance.
Say no more.
At 2:00am, the selector switches to pop music… that is, the party is winding down. So, the crew makes its way out.
“Girl, you need to come out with us again,” Jody tells Lisa as we exit the hotel holding hands.
“Yea, you’re fun,” Alexia jumps in, sounding borderline sober.
“She’s my dancing partner for life,” Michelle chimes in, doing a little dance on Lisa.
“I’m definitely going partying with you in New York,” Terri insists. “What’s your number?” And she and Lisa exchange contacts.
We say our goodbyes and cross the street to get food on the roadside. The real deal.
“That looks like the cylindrical metal pan I saw on my way from the airport to the hotel,” she says excitedly, pointing at the drum pan (a metal barrel, laid horizontally on a stand, that has been cut in half from top to bottom, both halves attached by hinges — like a barrel charcoal grill).
“Yea, that’s pan chicken. You’re going to love it,” I laugh.
“Extra pepper and ketchup on mine please,” I tell the vendor, pointing to the breast and wing.
“Extra ketchup for me please,” Lisa says, pointing to the leg and thigh.
You see what I did there?
We collect the food and make our way to the car.
“Thanks for an amazing day,” she enthuses, looking out the passenger window as I turn onto the main road.
“You’re welcome, hun.” And I hold her hand for the rest of the drive back to the beach house.
“It’s nice outside tonight,” she prompts as we pull into the driveway, the ocean coming into view. Or at least what you could make of it in the dark.
“Yea. Let’s eat down by the beach,” I suggest, unfastening my seatbelt.
“I’d like that.”
After grabbing a beach towel from inside the house, we head down to the beach, stopping at two plastic lounge chairs set out side by side near the edge of the sea. I sit up in one, she sits in the other… and we begin to eat and talk.
That doesn’t last long.
“You’re too far from me,” and reaching over, I hold her hand. “Come over here and sit on my lap,” patting my thigh for emphasis.
“You’re so bossy.” She smiles and does as I tell her.
Resuming our conversation about her bucket list, I watch her curl the tip of hair and listen to the ocean crash against the shore. Sharing the last of the chicken and hard dough bread, I am under a vibe. “Let’s go for a swim.”
I expect her to ask, “Now?” or something like that.
Instead, without saying a word, she stands, the towel dropping to the sand and, ever so slowly with eyes locked to mine, unbuttons her shirt and slides out of it.
She pulls down her high waist denim shorts, leaving everything in a pile on the sand and then taking my hand leads the way towards the ocean.
Behind us is a trail of our footprints in the sand.
In the water, she releases my hand and unties the strings of her bikini top, allowing it to fall before sliding out of her bikini bottom and throwing it far into the ocean.
Later that night (or morning to be specific), I wondered where that bikini bottom had eventually ended up.
I rip off my shirt, the buttons flying into the water, in one go drag down my shorts and underwear, allowing the ocean to swallow them up.
Looking at her well-toned body, I am captivated by what I see and hungry for more.
The moon is perfect, providing the right amount of light as we take each other in.
Lisa slowly moves in closer and closer then jumps and wraps her legs tightly around my waist. The water swirls around us as she buries her face in my neck and whispers “My time now,” before nibbling on my ear.
That was it.
We kiss passionately, like out-of-control teenagers.
Her legs are still wound around my waist as I carry her to the shore.
Staggering a bit in the uneven sand we sink onto the towel that had somehow found its way near the water’s edge.
With my hands at either side of her body supporting my weight, my right knee parting her legs, I lower myself on to her.
Her skin is hot and at the same time cool to the touch.
My hands are rough as they impatiently explore her body, my mouth following as I devour her salty skin.
The water ebbs and flows near our feet and I plunge deep inside her keeping rhythm with the waves.
Then, with the water crashing around us, I push harder and harder.
Her nails dig into my skin. Her back arches and I feel her shudder and hear her moan before we both collapse, spent, to the roaring sound of the waves in our head.