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Sorry everyone.  I am utterly exhausted after a very long day of field work and can not possibly write any longer.  This is going to have to be a three-parter.  (Don’t worry, I’m ashamed of myself, too.)  The conclusion will be posted tomorrow night, I promise!


Her name is Marisha.  She’s barely shorter than me, with shortly cropped hair and the figure of a person who spends hours in the ocean every day, which is currently clad in denim shorts and a plaid button-down.  I met her at the leatherback hatchling release I operated with the conservation group.  The day had been organized around a series of games and awareness activities for sea turtle conservation, one of which I was running, showing the hatchlings to attendees and explaining the reproductive ecology of the turtles.  Marisha, an aspiring conservationist, sat in on my demonstration three times.  I was so impressed by her that I broke protocol (only a little) and let her hold one of the hatchlings.  I’d never seen anyone so excited.  I must have made an impression, because she recognizes me immediately.

“Turtle boy!” she squeals as she rushes through the passage from the main part of the house.  She hugs me tightly, almost knocking me and my chair over in the process.

I laugh and return her embrace, steadying myself.  “Whoa, hi Marisha!  I didn’t know you lived here!”

“Yeah, dis is my father’s house,” she says, grinning.  “I live here when I’m not in school.”  Marisha notices our glasses.  “Hey, no one is drinking rum without me!”  She turns and looks for the bottle, and I can’t help but watch her hips as she does so.

I suddenly remember Ronnie and his half-giant cousin, Marisha’s father.  They’re looking at me with obvious amusement.  I’m fairly certain my face could teach red a new trick or two.  “….sorry, couldn’t help it,” I say softly, hoping Marisha doesn’t notice our conversation, and that the inhumanely large man doesn’t break me in half for ogling his daughter.

Goliath just laughs and punches me in the arm, lightly I’m sure, but being clobbered by a bus at 5 miles an hour is still being clobbered by a bus.  “Is okay white boy, don’ worry,” he reassures me.  “Marisha is a smart girl!  She can make up her own mind!”  I would defend myself, but Marisha has come back to the table with the bottle and a glass.

“Make up my mind about what?”

“WHETHER YOU WANT TO DRINK OR NOT!”  I fairly scream the response before Ronnie or Fezzik have a chance to spell it out for me.  Both of them laugh again.

The evening passes pleasantly.  Ronnie and Jotun drink heavily, and their heavy accents gradually thicken and become completely unintelligible to me.  Marisha and I busy ourselves talking about the turtle awareness event, what she enjoyed most, and why she wants to be a conservationist.  She’s a smart girl, well-read and educated.  I have a good time talking to her, which I ensure doesn’t change by minimizing my alcohol intake.  She, however, doesn’t, and the three of them continue drinking long into the night.  Eventually, Ronnie staggers home, having consumed enough ethanol to strip-shine a bumper, and his cousin excuses himself (presumably to resume bearing the world on his inebriated shoulders), leaving Marisha and I alone in the bar extension.  I check my watch and am shocked to see that it’s only 11:00.

“Wow, it’s not nearly as late as I thought,” I comment.  I look at the bottle which still contains little of the amber liquid, and a thought crosses my mind.  A daring bit of sneakthievery.  (Well, maybe not, but I think it’s clever.)  I look at Marisha.  “Want to finish off the bottle down by the water?”

Marisha makes a face.  “Not on dis beach.  Too many rocks.  But there’s a good one a little way down de road, if you want to walk!”  She grabs the bottle and stands, stretching and exposing a few inches of smooth dark skin as she does so.

I grin.  “Well, who am I to tell a lady no?”  I pin a few bills on the table beneath the spent shotglasses, more than enough to cover the bottle, and rise beside her.  We exit the extension and proceed to walk through the warm Caribbean night air toward the beach.



  1. Tease 😉

  2. and we wait… 🙂 don’t worry bipedal… anticipation builds desire…

  3. This is so sexciting! Hahahha.. A woman so engrossed about your work, damn, you must give her the love she deserves!

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