Sex on the Beach

Up until yesterday. I thought sex on the beach was a boozy concoction one downed in a single gulp to catch a buzz.

Forever more, those words will take on an entirely different meaning.

I woke early yesterday determined to straighten out the mixup with the Nickelodeon hotel.  I ventured to the lobby darting around the pelting rain. 

Few people were up at 5:30 am on a rainy Sunday, and I wish I were one of them. Instead I was waiting for the hotel Starbucks to open and the concierge to appear.

Jacked up on a venti espresso roast, I practically jumped on the concierge when he arrived for the early morning shift.

I told him my Sponge Bob saga and he obliged me, dialing up Delta, so I could explain the tragic mistake of my Mexican Nickelodeon misadventure. I was hopeful for an agent who could free us from cartoon character hell and transfer us to a resort with adult beverages and men to match.

While I waited on hold for hours ( literally) a  life- sized Sponge Bob and his buddy, the enormous pink starfish, Patrick greeted me.  I snapped pictures. a bit star struck  by being greeted by famous television stars, or more appropriately, a famous television  starfish.  

Back in the room, Lisa slept soundly and why wouldn’t she? The sound of the steadily pouring rain most certainly was a melodic, lazy rhythm lulling her to rest. 

I worried about the boisterously loud claps of thunder, as thick, dark clouds collided in the humid air. But Lisa had slept right through the crying babies and the thunder paled in comparison.

Hours went by,  phone calls were made and blaming fingers were pointed in every direction. Nothing was resolved and I lost both hours and patience.

When Lisa appeared in the lobby, she noted the large Starbucks cup. I told her I drank two venti cups of coffee darker the black sky outside. She looked concerned.  I’d been up for hours recounting the mistaken hotel to a myriad of unconcerned ” hospitality” and “customer service” agents. I was a bit strung out.

I’m done! I declared. The saga was insane. 

About the time I waved a white flag of surrender, Patrick and Sponge Bob made another round through the lobby.  Spying hot Lisa, they wrapped her up in a cartoon sandwich, while I captured the moment in my iPhone.

Dollars to donuts there were a couple of horny little guys hiding under those costumes.

The idea of spending the weekend in a kid fantasy land, started growing on me. But given the choice, I’d have opted for Super Hero Hotel instead. Bring on some Superman and serve up some Thor.  Those were characters we could sleep with for sure.

But Lisa and I resigned  ourselves to make the most of the hotel happenstance. Attitude is everything.

After breakfast, we decided to take a walk. The rain had subsided from a raging storm to a gentle mist.

We passed by a private home on the beach that we were certain was owned by a bad hombre Mexican drug lord. Made for good conjecture and conversation as we walked the beach in the rain.

In the distance a woman was lounging in a cabana. 

“Lisa, does that woman have any clothes on?” I literally rubbed my eyes to see if they deceived me.

“No sister,”  Lisa replies slowly, ” she’s definitely naked.”

And like the cartoon characters we did not connect at first,  it began to come into focus.

A man with his privates swinging with the wind and a woman with exposed breasts baking in the sun passed us by.

I tried hard not to stare.

We glanced at the beach cabanas and to our horror and humor, a naked woman was riding her lover with abandon, bouncing up and down on him like she was riding bareback on a wild stallion. 

I fear I will never be able to  erase from my mind the sight of  sex on the beach or of the size of the man’s gigantic  balls bouncing in rhythm to the woman straddling him.

Lisa and I burst out laughing, drawing the attention of the naked volley ball players. People sneered at us for giggling and shot nasty glares when I held my phone up to capture the freak show.

We were quickly reprimanded for any photos, as if there is protocol or etiquette among people baring their breasts and balls and having sex on the beach. Really?

Fornication 50 feet from Sponge Bob was a bit incomprehensible. Lisa remarked she felt as if she were in a freak show twilight zone. I agreed.

I think I’ve seen it all.

Today, I turn another year older and I’ve seen plenty of shocking things.  Bit the nudist hotel next to the Nickelodeon resort was a strange juxtaposition of child and adult fantasy. People perv up fast.

It’s hard to say if it would have been worse mistakenly ending up at a nudist hotel rather than a cartoon one. They were both scary in their own ways.

But I have a suggestion about the wall Trump wants to build in Mexico. Perhaps he can build it between the two hotel properties. Because I’d hate for any tiny tykes to run into those pairs of  gigantic gonads.   It’s a trauma from which they may never recover. 

Of this I know first hand.

Embrace Your Inner Cartoon Character

I believe we should all go for the gusto in life. Create a bucket list and go for it. Life is short.  It’s generally not the things we do that we regret the most, it’s the things we don’t do.

Swimming with whale sharks has been on my bucket list for a few years.  As a birthday present to myself, I planned a trip to Mexico. From June through September, the  biggest fish in the sea congregate, feeding off the plankton-rich waters.  I plan to plunge into the deep water and swim alongside these giant sea creatures.

Check that one complete. What’s next? Blue-footed birds in the Galapagos are intriguing.

My girlfriend, Lisa, decided to come along with me to the normally sun-baked sandy shores of Playa del Carmen.  Lisa is an adventurous, extremely attractive single woman.  A long weekend in Mexico? Hell yes!

The flight from Atlanta to Cancun was the rowdiest and drunkest first-class experience ever. I sat stoic and sober while everyone else was exhausting the poor flight attendant as she filled never-ending glasses with free booze. 

The over-served man next to me bathed me in his gin and tonic, and I spent the flight feeling like a baby in a wet diaper, which was a harbinger of things to come.

When we landed, I fled the fuselage of drunkenness, only to discover I left my phone on the plane.  After lengthy  siestas by several airport officials, my phone was finally returned. The only sense of urgency in the ordeal was mine.

A friendly driver drove us to the resort in pelting rain-not hard rain-Biblical hurricane rain. 

There was nothing for us to do on a rainy beach day but eat and drink,  so we did, greedily.   Lisa ignored the media reports about tainted alcohol, sipping “especial” cocktails made just  for pretty women.

On the way to the restaurant, we walked by a Sponge Bob ice cream parlor. Then we noticed the larger-than-life Nija Turtles at war in a courtyard. Patrick the starfish was reposing at the pool situated outside our room.

Sadly none of the cornucopia of cartoon characters registered.

In hindsight, the clues where everywhere. The menus were chock full of chicken fingers and the cacophony of crying babies was ear splitting.   

In our defense, we did notice the lack of other singles and even couples. The place just has tons of families not practicing birth control. 

Hot guys? Hardly.

Being that there was little to do before we headed to the spa at 6:30, we napped, or at least tried to, but the sounds of tired tots protesting being pent up in their rooms surrounded us in a symphony of baby sorrow.

I went to the front desk to inform the hotel about the terrible mistake of two single women being placed in the “kid section” of the property.

Hard to tell which one of us was more dumbfounded. The lovely man informed me that we were at a “Nickelodeon property.”

After breath-sucking, side-splitting, laughter, I said to Lisa…

“The saddest part is we had to be told.”

Sometimes we overlook signs that are everywhere.

The silver lining?

Lisa is very fond of the chocolate sprinkles at the Sponge Bob ice cream bar.  Me? even though I’ll be a year older tomorrow, I’m still just a kid at heart! 

Guess I am in exactly the right place.