A brief justification for my writing style.
I feel that, in my attempt to pour as much honesty as is humanly possible into my blog, I have to share as much background as possible to bring whoever may be reading up to speed. I could have started this memory at the beach, cutting out the first two entries entirely. But that would have left out what I feel are two key components of this story–my first exposure to rosemary rum, and my and Marisha’s first encounter at the sea turtle event. They may not be the sexy bits, but I believe that my behavior is about more than the sexy bets. It’s about meeting people. It’s about the connections I harped on a few entries ago. And to omit those connections, erotic or otherwise, would be a disservice to the memories and my attempts at sincerity. I’m sure the multi-part entries are a bit frustrating to read, but I really can’t find a better way to tell them.
Plus, I’m a bit of a showman anyway, and I love storytelling.
Anyhow! Without further ado, I give you Part Three, the thrilling climax to Black Sand and Rosemary. (Well, maybe not thrilling, but there’s definitely a climax.)
Marisha’s definition of “a little way down the road” is a bit different from mine. We walk for the better part of an hour along cramped, winding streets, always hugging the coast. Most of the islanders are in for the night, but occasionally we pass the few night owls still loitering on porches and under overhangs. More than a few people call out to me in passing, “Heeeey, white boy!” We laugh and I give them a friendly wave, but we keep walking, sharing stories from our childhoods, comparing and contrasting our lives in the States and the Caribbean, and passing the rosemary liquor back and forth between us.
By the time we reach the beach, we’re both quite lit, but I’m sober enough to appreciate the beauty of the place. Everyone talks about beach sunsets as though they’re some magical thing, but I’ve never understood it. A sunset is always lovely and colorful, but it’s the same image anywhere you go. Under a full moon, however, the scene transforms. The moonlight doesn’t reflect off the water as it does on a still lake. Each wave catches the light and throws it at you for the briefest of moments before winking out. The ocean twinkles, creating a second night sky seemingly more alive than the one above you, always moving, mutable, and I am separated from it by frothy white sea foam that writhes on a black sand beach. As I step onto the sand, I feel as though I am stepping into nothing, a sensation made more palpable by the intoxicating spirits in my hand.
I make it a few yards down the beach before I become too disoriented and fall into the sand, laughing drunkenly, playing it up a bit for effect. Marisha joins me, lying beside me, the two of us staring up into an impossibly deep night sky.
“You know,” I remark quietly, “I’ve been here for weeks, and I am still amazed by how beautiful this place is.”
Marisha laughs again, rolling onto her side to snatch the bottle away from me, then taking a long pull from it. ”Yeah, it’s beautiful. But most of us don’t see it anymore. Dis is just de way we live here.”
“I think it would be hard for me to become accustomed to it.” I take the bottle back and sip gingerly at it, continuing to admire my surroundings. We sit in silence for a few moments before Marisha tries to take the rum again, but falls onto her face on my shoulder.
“I think you’ve had enough,” I say lightheartedly.
“I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough, white boy!” Marisha swipes at the bottle, but I’m a professional keep-awayer, and I hold the bottle out of reach in my left hand, keeping her at bay with my right.
“If you want it, you’ll have to take it,” I state plainly.
Marisha grunts and pushes my hand out of the way. She tries to crawl across my body, but the sand and her intoxication make this a nontrivial task, and she falls on top of me again with a laugh. I drop the bottle in the sand, wrap my arms around her, and roll easily to my right, pinning her under me. We both laugh now, thoroughly inebriated, covered in fine black sand. She looks up at me, eyes bright in the moonlight, her smile brilliant. And I kiss her.
Marisha immediately returns the kiss with more force than I had applied, her hands seeking my bare skin, fingertips digging into my back, holding me tightly against her. I didn’t expect such a vigorous response, but I respond in kind. Our tongues dance lightly against each other, and the smell of rosemary overpowers the salty ocean air. It’s not the most intense kiss I have ever experienced, but it’s close.
I’m so caught up in it that I’m unprepared when she suddenly rolls over, now pinning me and sitting on my pelvis. I can only make out her silhouette against the night sky, but I can see enough to watch her stand. She removes her denim shorts and resumes her position on top of me, gently rocking her hips, grinding against me. The cloth of my shorts rubs uncomfortably, but I am too focused on her to care much. She undoes the buttons of her shirt, leaving her shoulders covered, and places my hands on her bare chest. Her breasts are not very full, but exceptionally supple, and she gasps as I trace the shape of her nipples with my thumbs. She leans down and kisses me again, the action somehow more demanding, insistent. Her hands work on my zipper, but I offer no assistance, instead pinching and tugging on her nipples, forcing another gasp from her. She bites my lip in response, the tip of her tongue tracing its shape, and I feel her hand slide into my shorts and grasp my length, exposing me to the night air.
It’s my turn to gasp as she presses down against me, not taking me inside of her, but just rocking back and forth, sliding along the length of my member. I can tell she doesn’t groom herself, but the intense warmth and wetness of her overwhelms the coarse feeling of the hair. I’ve never had a woman do this before, and I silently curse the darkness around us for preventing me from watching her move in detail, because I imagine it looks as pleasant as it feels. Marisha sits up and braces herself against me, palms down in my chest, and just grinds her hips down against me, rocking back and forth, slowly at first, then increasing in speed and intensity and she begins to pant softly. It only takes me a moment to realize where she’s going, and I release her nipples to fully cup her breasts, kneading them gently, rotating my hands to apply the faintest hint of friction, hopefully intensifying the sensation of my hands against her. She groans gratifyingly in response, the rocking motions shorten, and her breath becomes ragged. She quivers, and her arms give out under her, causing her to collapse on top of me, gasping for breath and pulling her pelvis up slightly.
I tense my lower body, grab her hips, and gently slide my now well lubricated cock into her in one easy motion. It’s too dark for me to see anything, so I simply close my eyes and relax. She does all the work. Marisha hides her face in the crook of my neck and begins to rock her hips again, much slower than before, gasping and panting and whispering something I can’t understand into my ear. Her technique is slow, methodical, every upward slide taking me almost completely out of her, her breasts gliding across my stomach and up to my chest. Then back down, her torso lifting off of me as she takes all of me back inside of her. She waits for a second, then begins again. Forward, slide, lift, back, wait. Forward, slide, lift, back, wait. It’s almost a dance, and she follows her own rhythm, maddeningly slow, my body aching for a release that builds gradually over God knows how many minutes. It could be hours, or seconds, and I wouldn’t be able to tell. But finally, with one last push back, I feel myself giving in, and I haul her off of my lap. Marisha moves without question, but turns back to face me, taking my cock in her hand and stroking me slowly with a vice-like grip. I feel the warmth of her mouth around me, and I fall over the edge, my voice caught in my throat, her hand still moving along my shaft, her head still as every nerve in my body ignites.
Several moments pass before she sits up beside me. I hear her sigh, contentedly I think, as she puts her shorts back on, then she fixes mine for me. Without a word, she crawls across my body, grabs the overturned bottle of rum, and takes a long swig. She then lays down beside me, her head on my shoulder. ”Dat was unexpected.”
I laugh and put one arm around her, holding the bottle in my free hand. I smell the rum on her skin, and I kiss her forehead, tasting the sweat and ocean spray mingled. ”Yes, it was.”
We lay there, thoroughly inebriated, covered in fine black sand, surrounded by the smell of rosemary and ocean salt.