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.

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