8 A Nighttime Fishing Trip #3
On the second lap, you decided to bring me back to the table, literally prying away the hands of the Dwarf who was clutching my hips from behind with obvious satisfaction.
The evening continued with new courses featuring charcoal-grilled meat.
The wine flowed freely that night, and I kept sipping all kinds and colors of it.
Every now and then you’d look at me with concern, perhaps fearing I might let loose at any moment.
The dessert was brought in on a long platter by eight young men dressed in tight black leather pants and bare-chested.
It was a huge tiramisu, a dessert notoriously known as an aphrodisiac.
The entrance of the half-naked young men certainly amplified your fears about what I might do in public.
Your fears, however, did not come to pass.
I sat in silence, savoring the dessert, overcome by a moment of melancholy. The ma?tre d’ walked among the tables, announcing that the party would continue at the beach bar.
We got up, and I casually leaned on you as we walked; it felt like I had no strength in my legs, and I felt like laughing, but I tried not to so as not to arouse your suspicion about my true mental and physical state.
The alcoholic cocktail was going to my head, but I didn’t want to tell you that, so you wouldn’t have to drag me all the way to bed, where I would surely have collapsed.
I managed to make it to the bar leaning on you and sat down on a sofa, trying to put on a calm expression while you went to the bar to get the aperitifs.
I took a sip just as the eight guys from earlier, clad in leather pants, made their entrance.
The red lights came on and Queen’s “We Will Rock You” started playing.
The guys began a live striptease, and I found myself on the dance floor stripping with them.
Fortunately, a certain Mr. Rabbit had the brilliant idea to jump up and rush over to talk to the DJ; shortly afterward, the Queen song faded out to make way for Jessica Rabbit’s song.
The aforementioned rabbit made his appearance on the dance floor, inviting me to join him as he handed me a microphone.
I managed to make it safely to the dance floor as a spotlight was shone on me.
I instinctively closed my eyes in an attempt to remember the words and miraculously began to sing.
Recalling the movie *Who Framed Roger Rabbit?
*, I made my way through the tables like Jessica, tugging at the men’s ties and winking at the women.
When I got close to you, I climbed into your arms to adjust your suspenders and kissed you at the end of the song.
The resort guests stood up and applauded, and you carried me out onto the dance floor so that a visibly moved Jessica could receive the recognition she deserved.
Bringing the microphone to my mouth, I said, “I’d be nothing without my love,” pointing at you; then I kissed you in front of everyone, whispering, “I love you, my sweet White Rabbit.”
The DJ decided it was time to get the crowd dancing and played a very old but evocative song titled “Je t’aime moi non plus.”
It was the first time we’d ever danced together.
As I held you close, you confessed that you didn’t know how to dance well, and I—by then already under the influence of the wine—replied that songs like that should only be danced to in bed, regretting it immediately afterward.
I hadn’t had time to disconnect my heart from my ability to speak, but despite everything, it seemed you hadn’t minded the idea at all.
I realized I’d gotten myself into trouble, and my reputation as a shy person was going down the drain.
I had to come up with something immediately to make you forget my comment about the song we were dancing to.
Looking at you, it was clear you weren’t going to let your prey—which, in this case, was me—get away easily, and the fact that I was a little tipsy wasn’t helping me at all.
Just as I feared, when the song ended, you suggested we go back to the bungalow.
I looked at you, trying to buy some time; it wasn’t that I didn’t want to, but knowing that once we got to the room you’d jump on me worried me because I didn’t like predictable things—not even in this case.
Even though it had already happened between us, it certainly hadn’t become a routine for me and never would, because every time you’d have to take me by surprise.
In general, I couldn’t conceive of routine in any situation, much less for what you’d set out to do.
I tried to find a way out and decided to lie to you for the first time since we’d met, making up a sudden stomachache.
Back in the room, you were kind enough to make me some chamomile tea, and I lay face-down on the bed to let that annoying, untimely upset—which was inconvenient for you—pass. Of course, it didn’t go away, and you spent over an hour massaging my back to help me relax.
I felt guilty because I loved you so much and I was sorry I’d had to resort to a lie.
I would have told you about it the next day, and you certainly would have understood; if I’d done it right then, I wasn’t sure how you would have reacted.
I decided to end the evening by giving you a kiss, and I fell asleep.