Ramona stayed close, putting away belikans fast while I polished my fangs with sandpaper. A British solider and his Japanese girl took the bait from the MC, whose job it was to incite the crowd to folly and fervent sexual pitch, telling the usual unhip tourist jokes that all the tourists still responded to with Island yells—not essence stealer screams but yells—full of that faux “I’ve really set myself free” new age/buffet/carnival crap, like getting piss drink and stupid near the equator was transcendental...
The MC would challenge the floor to do small contests for sexiest dancing, the limbo, or fastest hip shake...but this night he wanted bounty and that little Japanese tart gave it to him without second thought...her army man got down on his knees, slid his hands up her hips & slid down a beautiful pair of red lace underwear from under her short short skirt...he had a shiny red face and great bulging red nose, he was military all the way...she had that olive puritanical hygienic façade, hours of mirror-primped and traditional Japanese beauty to behold, and she must have been as drunk as her army boy...the panties ended up on the G.I.’s gargantuan head, forming the rusty quincunx of another night of Punta...we laughed and threw back more beer...
All the devils respect virtue and I was on the line of my own march...Ramona safely in my arms, intoxication very near or already arrived, the temperature perfect...eventually, we got out on the dance floor and Ramona being Ramona, the silver seat of sexuality, showed us both an arc of the curve, an understanding of strange and unterrible portents, movement between her and I that, high in the dark, seemed to evoke the serpent gods and goddesses ritual comingle from a common basket and the Punta, our charmer, with his flute pulling us skyward...I grabbed her and kissed her whenever I could and she would kiss me back harder than ever before...I was an orange and yellow poet hailing from Colorado intent to do everything it took to have her, that same stupid and ignorant grasping foolish knave way of seeing things for comfort and security...
To that end I was super-serviceable, puckered narrower and narrower into the hot Latin embrace of my lover...as I headed to the bathroom I knew that she silently followed and like a Yin princess...Suddenly or maybe not given how much beer we had taken in, the place was winding down, my mom had headed home, Vera had danced out her quota, Crystal was long gone or hot on the heels of an ever-bright Canadian she was trying to woo...Ramona had to go to the bathroom but it was single use and there were two other women waiting to pee so we sauntered around the back of the place to wait it out and have some privacy...and soon enough we were necking...I pulled up her shirt and got those nipples and breasts all over...I think it was Emerson who said “take the place and attitude which belong to you and all men acquiesce.” I was a lover of women and a lover of truth and unfortunately I was sold too much on the first and had yet to start to see the beauty of the second...and that’s when I pulled down her jeans so they were halfway over her hips and she didn’t have any underwear on and I go on nonetheless to run my tongue over the place that pale passion loves...”estas pinche loco” she gushed and I ever so slightly glanced up with devious eyes and a pleasing fever and said “si, estoy loco, pero tu tambien!” and with that, like a certain divine rage and enthusiasm, I slid back up her stomach, pressed her hand to my half budding pants joy and continued to kiss her knowing my junk was back in commission...
So we said our goodbyes and sauntered off down the beach, past the Belize Yacht club with its white walled, red-roofed elegant cottages and bleached sand, past the San Pedro public library in its blue two story beach building, past the dilapidated town square where locals still milled about and made merry...past Fido’s, which had long closed for the evening and just sat looking sad... I held onto Ramona and honked her ass with a squeeze every so often to keep her honest cause you have to keep a Latin American woman honest about her beauty, for no one can approach beauty without a little squeeze on the ass for honesty...but don’t get me sideways, I had so much love respect for this woman I could swim in it...I was so high-charged on craving a perfect beatitude suggesting gleams and visions of our future life embalmed betwixt the sunsets, children, and truth-seeking to come...
-Michael Price
