ExposedNYC

The requirements for a vacation fling are a little more lenient than for a boyfriend. Sure, you’d like him to be cute, but you won’t have to look at his face for the next year. You’d like to have interesting conversation, but only enough to fill a first date. And of course, you’d like him to be interested enough to keep his attention- no girl wants to be left stranded someplace foreign for the next cute girl who walks by in a bikini.

I thought I had found a decent candidate in Bahama Boy. We met at Senor Frogs, where by the end of the night he was still standing, and had not yet vomited on the floor- a selling point among his friends. He was a pretty cute blond (which stood out in the crowd like a spotlight) and was teaching PE at a local elementary school- instantly endearing. He was a little shy, and one of his fellow female teachers pulled me aside and thanked me for flirting with him, because they all wanted to bring him out of his shell.

So, we had a drink at the bar as my girlfriend chatted up one of his buddies. They knew one of the bartenders there, so after we closed the place down they led us to a club where all of the locals hang out after work. At this point, there may as well have been a spotlight directly on most of our group, but refreshingly no one batted an eye.

Just as I had decided I had found the ideal make-out buddy for the night- cute, too shy to get too aggressive, and supplied a cute friend to entertain my travel companion- I was proven wrong. He leaned in to kiss me and I wanted to spit more than a mouth full of sand. I can’t even put it into words- it was if he was deep sea diving into the back of my throat with his tongue. I tried to subtly correct him by giving him soft kisses on the lips, but he just wasn’t getting it.

I glanced over to see my girlfriend and his buddy in the middle of the dance floor having a good time, so I convinced Bahama Boy that we should join them, if only to give my tonsils a moment to breathe between boxing rounds. This was an even worse idea. His students should be thankful that he wasn’t teaching math or music class because the beat was something he never seemed to find. Even when the music slowed down I held out hope that, like any good eighth grader, he could manage to sway rhythmically- until he continued to bump my thighs side to side repeatedly.

At that point I gave up. I excused myself and headed into the bathroom, cursing that I didn’t have a cell phone to send my girlfriend a covert text message to get me out of there. When she, thankfully, followed moments later I pleaded with her for us to head back to the hotel. If only she had listened…

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