Carnival Ch 06

This is an episodic installment in the "Free Love Universe", a collection of short stories about recurring characters which are designed to be read in any order, unless otherwise numbered.

This episode, like all in the "Carnival" series, is best enjoyed in order within that subsequence.

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DAY 6 - MONDAY, GRAND KADOOMENT

The morning of Crop Over's crown jewel celebration came early. For the first time since arriving in Barbados, Megan and I woke to an alarm. The parade started at 10am in Bridgetown, plus Megan had requested several hours to get ready and we even needed to eat breakfast; all of which had us up at 6:30am.

"Happy Crop Over!!!" Megan squealed at me in joy as we silenced the alarm and looked at each other.

"Happy Crop Over!" I echoed. "Are you excited to finally wear your costume?"

"So excited!"

We held each other and kissed and cuddled for a while, then realized we'd probably better not miss the start of the parade, so we climbed out of bed to get moving. I ordered breakfast from the restaurant and then we got started. Megan began with her makeup, going for her brightest, happiest color tones. When she was done, her whole upper body twinkled with fluorescent glitter and her cheeks and eye liner had an ethereal pink glow that would perfectly match her costume. Our breakfasts arrived and we ate on our sundeck, enjoying the morning quiet and breeze. The ocean's choppy surface teemed with countless small flashes of reflected dawn sunlight, creating the impression that we were rock stars eating our breakfast in front of a massive crowd swaying with their overhead lighters and cell phone lights.

By 8am, we were ready to begin putting on our costumes. I pulled them out of our closet and laid all the pieces out on the bed. Mine was relatively simple - a pair of tight red shorts and bands lined with cheap plastic "jewels" for my shins, wrists, biceps, and neck. A chest piece wrapped thin bands around my torso, aligned to sit just below my pecs, and a feathered cap hugged my forehead and scalp tightly, splaying a dozen or so brightly colored feathers into the air. Megan's costume, on the other hand, was involved. The centerpiece was functionally the world's thinnest Borat speedo, with a two-inch band that dipped between her legs before splitting to reach back up her body and wrap over each shoulder. A red and pink bra covered her tits, and, like me, bands covered her thighs, wrists, and neck. She had opted against the giant feathered wings - they looked tedious to wear all day - but a peacock-style fan of colored feathers extended from her mid-back to create a dazzling spread that would follow her all day. Of course, all the fabric she wore was completely covered with the same plastic jewels, super-glued by hand, over every square millimeter.

I was happy with my costume and knew I looked good in it, but Megan's was

absurd.

In a world that had invented and normalized bikinis, it should not have been true that an outfit could ever cover a person's bits and still feel risque. And yet, lingerie existed, so that needle could be threaded. And this outfit, with her skin scarcely ever interrupted, threaded the needle perfectly. Her bra was a little too small and could barely contain her tits, and then her Borat panty made her somehow look

fully naked.

As I stared at her thirstily, I realized it was because there was no fabric to be found on her sides between the jeweled bands on her thighs, up over her bare hips, all the way to her bra straps.

"Like what you see?" she asked.

I dipped and ducked around her, holding an invisible magnifying glass and examining her body like a detective searching for clues. Eventually I stood and said profoundly, "I see no evidence of clothes

anywhere!"

She smiled at me cutely and then texted Leigh and Kevin. It was 9am, about when we wanted to head out and catch a taxi toward the starting point. They were ready, so we met down by

The Circle Bar.

"Okayyyy!" Leigh sang at the sight of us. Their costumes were similar to ours - in fact, Kevin's and mine were nearly identical, but Leigh had opted for the full wings as opposed to Megan's smaller peacock splay of feathers.

"We look

good!"

I exclaimed as we all embraced each other. Any hug involving Megan or Leigh, so all the hugs other than Kevin and me, were necessarily delicate to not damage or tangle their plumage.

I took in Kevin and Leigh, appreciating just how good they looked. Collectively, their Crop Over outfits made them look like African royalty with their garish colors and twinkling jewels framing and cupping their bodies just right. Kevin, standing a few inches shorter than his wife at 5'8", had muscles for days and his enormous pecs and biceps strained the thin fabric bands of his costume. He was tremendously excited about today, or at least, if he wasn't, he was doing a great job maintaining an ear to ear grin to mislead us. I noticed this in particular because his giant, perfect teeth always lit up the room whenever he was happy. Next to him, Leigh looked every bit the queen to his royal kingship. Standing about 5'10", a few inches taller than her king, Leigh was actually half Japanese, half Black; though at a glance she just looked like a slightly lighter-skinned Black woman. And yet, upon closer inspection, her eyes, impossibly striking, did reveal themselves as being of mixed heritage. Her body was long and lean and evidenced her career as a professional ballerina. Her back sported

easily

the coolest tattoo I'd ever seen - twin dragons mirrored on opposite sides of her spine - though today that was largely concealed by her Crop Over wings. Her long microbraids were coiled up behind her head in a giant bun, almost half the size of a basketball. She looked so beautiful that I felt a tangible twinge of pain in my throat. I desperately wanted to dig my fingers into her flesh. Luckily, as things were headed, I was on track to get my chance tomorrow night.

"News flash, crew - we're not going to fit in a taxi," Kevin said with a point at the ladies' wings and feathers. "But, it's only a twenty minute walk to the starting point."

The morning was beautiful and the sun was shining, so we were happy to foot it. The walk was delightful, the four of us talking and laughing about how fun the week had been and how much we'd enjoyed getting to know each other. Interestingly, we settled into a walking arrangement where Leigh and I were upfront talking quietly and Megan and Kevin were ten or fifteen feet behind us having their own conversation. I had no idea what they were talking about, but Leigh and I started to discuss different movie franchises we loved. Our tastes were pretty similar, but I was most smitten when she said that every year over Christmas she tried to convince Kevin to watch the full

Lord of the Rings

trilogy together. That briefly caught me off guard, on account of the simple stereotype of women as beautiful as Leigh not being into nerdy things, but then I remembered the dragon tattoos on her back and it made sense.

"What about you? Any hobbies I wouldn't expect?" she asked. I enjoyed the way she was smiling at me.

"I like reading about philosophy," I said.

"Really? That's super cool!" she said.

"I think a lot about moral frameworks that best inform how to design a society to benefit as many people as possible," I continued.

"Oh, a philosopher king in training?" she hooted.

"Well, definitely never a king! Haven't you ever seen Monty Python? That's no basis for a system of government!" I said, and we laughed together, half falling into each other's arms to steady ourselves. Of course this annual

Lord of the Rings

watching supermodel had seen

Monty Python and the Search for the Holy Grail.

We reached the starting point with thirty minutes to spare. The Crop Over parade's origin point was a lengthy stretch of harbor that extended several blocks. Hundreds of people were forming up in dozens of different styles of costumes, and we had to hunt for a while to find where Zulu was gathering. Eventually we did when Kevin spotted a cluster of people in our same outfits. We made our way there, a basketball court-sized mixture of grassy lawn and parking lot between two buildings and the ocean, and waited in line for a quick bowl of peppery soup.

It was a surreal feeling, walking around casually in the gathering zone before a carnival parade, surrounded by hundreds of people wearing functionally nothing. I'd thought the Halloween rave was remarkable because twenty to thirty percent of women had been scantily clad. But this - this gathering of mostly Barbadians and occasional visitors - was 100%. I couldn't find a single person wearing more than a few tactfully placed strips of clothing. And, what was more, the revelers forming up alongside us were somehow mostly women. As I scanned the throng around us, it seemed that men were only here if they were with their partners, whereas friend groups of all-women were everywhere. It was the opposite of a sausage fest, whatever that would be called.

I maneuvered next to Kevin and whispered, "We sure we're still alive?"

He looked at me knowingly, then laughed.

A bit after 10am, the show got started. The folks working with Zulu moved amongst us, shouting that everyone should head to the nearby main street. We waddled over like penguins and found the giant truck we would be following. That was news to me - I'd had no idea this involved following a vehicle at all. Dozens of workers held up a pendant-lined rope at waist height that extended almost a hundred yards - and incredible distance! - behind the truck, creating a long narrow mobile alleyway in which those jumping with Zulu would stay and party. I gathered that the other companies involved in Crop Over were lining up behind us, meaning the whole Crop Over parade stretched back many blocks, accommodating thousands of women here to shake their bare asses in the sun all day long. I was speechless.

It was already hot - it had been hot since we woke up - so it was welcomed when a flavored ice cart wheeled by. Everyone crowded around it to get the cooling refreshment, and then the Crop Over parade officially started. The giant double-decker bus in front of us cranked its speakers and began to inch forward. As soca music filled the air, the countless wings and feathers and other adornments surrounding us began to shake and sway. We stepped forward to the music, progressing much more slowly than a typical walking pace.

I realized our zone of the parade included more large vehicles, inching along with us at the same snail's pace. One was the all-important rum punch bus, another empty bus appeared to be the resting / cooling-off zone for later on, and the rear guard truck was hauling porta-potties. The four of us made our way to the rum punch truck and shouted up to the bartenders - somehow ten or so feet above us, what we wanted. I didn't know if anything other than rum punch was on the menu, but we went with 4 of those to start. We passed them our refillable cups and they returned them filled to the brim with ice cold, plum-colored liquid.

Over the ensuing hours, we alternated between dancing, refilling our rum punches, standing idle in the sun while the parade stopped, enjoying various misting stations set up at intervals, and accepting empanadas and other pastries from trays carried through the crowd. The parade left Bridgetown and snaked through the surrounding neighborhood and countless locals or other tourists lined the road, providing a constant barrier of spectators appreciating the revelry. For the most part, everyone faced forward as we half-marched, half-danced forward, which meant there were always dozens of immaculate chocolate ass cheeks in front of me to ogle. Only a few of them were even close to the level of Megan's derriere, but that didn't stop me from staring for hour after hour after hour.

I was one of about three white people I'd seen all day and I'd wager I went through more sunscreen than anyone else on the island, having reapplied 5 times in total before the day's end. Brief rain came and went, as was daily tradition in Barbados, but it was always welcomed when the drops started to fall. The rum punch refills were unlimited and easy, meaning the real challenge was remembering to choose water refills every now and then. We'd had a nice breakfast, but that was a lot of hours ago as 2pm turned into 3pm and beyond. I started to feel like I was half rum punch by volume and my sense of time or even my own balance fluctuated dramatically based on which liquid filled my cup.

Despite the complete chaos, it was a highly social experience. Megan and I were close to Kevin and Leigh for most of the time, except when our food, bathroom, or drink runs fell out of sync. We also stuck with a handful of other friends we'd quickly made during the hour or so wait in the starting area, and by the end I felt like they were dear friends I'd known my whole life. Everyone helped everyone, sharing sunscreen, water, and food as needed. Of course - sharing rum punch was never necessary; the truck was always right behind us and eager to top you off.

Beyond sharing resources, the Crop Over parade was also all too happy to share dance partners. Any time I stepped away from Megan for even an instant, some opportunistic man stepped in my place and began thrusting hard into her from behind. She would typically twerk for them for a little while, gracefully stepping away when I returned from whatever had pulled me away. Similarly, unknown women who noticed me dance-walking alone would pull up in front of me, bend over to touch their toes, and twerk into my crotch like their lives depended on giving me an erection. But mostly, Megan and I danced together, and Kevin and Leigh danced together. The whole parade inched forward, never faster than a fraction of a comfortable walking speed, which meant stopping to dance or twerk was always an option and never put you far behind.

Much later, word started to spread that the parade was nearly over. I checked my phone - it was 6pm. I was ready for it, having been in the blaring sun for 10 straight hours and certainly having lost more in sweat today than I normally did in a month. My legs were sore and twitchy from so much dancing and I was very much ready to sit down.

"Taxi?" Leigh asked, pointing to a lit up taxi on an adjacent street. If the parade was about to end, thousands of people were about to need a taxi home, and we'd successfully danced through almost the entire thing. For those reasons and more, everyone nodded eagerly. We waddled over, the girls put their wings and feathers in the trunk, and then we were off. The ride back to our place was quiet. I think all four of us spent most of the time on our phones, showing each other pictures we'd taken on the road. Many of mine were of fields of uninterrupted ass, but I didn't bother to show Megan and Leigh those photos. We stumbled out the car door when we got back and stammered into the compound.

"Anyone hungry? I could sleep right now, but we should probably eat first," I said.

"Yeah, we should eat. Meet back down here in 30?" Kevin proposed.

Everyone nodded, so we wordlessly parted after quick hugs and Megan and I walked back to our unit.

"Did you have fun?" I asked while fiddling with our front door's lock.

"Oh my god - so, so, so much." she answered. Her fatigue stole any energy you would have normally expected to accompany that word choice. We guzzled water, stripped off our sweat-soaked costumes, then dragged our feet into the oversized shower. All week, we'd spent tremendous effort lathering each other up and completely soaking up each other's bodies. This time, we stood silently in our respective water streams and went through the motions of cleaning ourselves. By the time 30 minutes had elapsed, we'd cocoa-buttered up, slipped on comfy summer wear, and were ready to get a quick dinner.

Kevin and Leigh looked equally half-asleep when we met them outside the restaurant. We ate a quiet dinner periodically interrupted by calm assertions, directed at no one in particular, that the day had in fact been fun. Despite its bold nature, the claim never met any resistance. Another forty-five minutes later it was 8pm, the sun was long set, and we all agreed to rendezvous again for brunch in the morning. Megan and I zombie-walked back upstairs and fell face-first into our bed. For the first time in years, under the crushing weight of an all-time great day, we fell asleep without our trademark bedtime exchange.

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DAY 7 - TUESDAY

Early bedtimes lead to early mornings, so Megan and I were up the next morning around 6am. Still, that was 10 hours of sleep, I remarked.

"Yeah well I needed every second of it," Megan said sleepily.

We crawled out of bed and my legs immediately cramped up. I was on the ground writhing while Megan scrambled to the refrigerator on our sundeck to fetch me water. I massaged my thighs and calves as I drank, the pain slowly receding.

"Guess we need to take it easy today," Megan chuckled.

"And drink a lot of water," I groaned. My legs still felt like they were giving themselves an agonizing deep tissue massage, which was an improvement over feeling like they were being ripped off my body.

Our schedule for today had been intentionally left blank, as recovery was expected to be important after Crop Over. I ordered two lattes to our room and we sat naked on recliners by our infinity plunge pool and sipped them while looking out at the sparkling ocean. The temperature was already 75F/24C and a wonderful ocean breeze lapped at our faces, seemingly in rhythm with the waves. It was an absolutely perfect morning.

"Did Crop Over live up to your expectations?" I asked Megan.

"It

crushed them!"

she answered passionately. "Yesterday was so fun, I can hardly even believe it was real. Everyone was in such a good mood, the vibes were perfect... ugh!"

"I love that we're a couple who does fun stuff like that," I said to her with a lovey-dovey smile. She blew a kiss at me from her recliner and listlessly extended her arm in my direction. I found her hand with my own and squeezed her fingers.

We chatted for a while before Megan went inside to get ready for brunch. The plan was to eat with Kevin and Leigh then all go spend more time on the beach until dinner, after which, we would swap - Leigh coming back with me and Megan leaving with Kevin. While I knew that was real and actually going to happen, it also felt somehow too good to be true, and like I'd only

truly

believe it when I saw it happen. Until then, it was truly the laziest possible day, but I was so excited to do nothing. Breakfast was delightful with our new friends, and then we all met on the sand around noon.

"What made you two decide to come here?" Kevin asked as we were lying side by side in a row of four sunbathers. We'd long since reached the point of placing our towels at same-group distances, so Megan to my right was the same few short inches away as Kevin to my left. Leigh was on the far side of Megan and the girls were having their own conversation while Kevin and I talked.

"Honestly, I was just trying to think of the most novel vacation I could and dancing in the street with hundreds of mostly naked people fit the bill," I said with a chuckle.

"Yeah I'd say you found the winner for that," he agreed. "You two ever do anything like this before?"

"No, this is a first, but it was awesome. Now I'm curious about carnivals on other islands, too."

"How'd you pick Barbados?" Kevin asked.

"We researched a ton of different spots, but they all started to run together in my head. It felt like, for most of them, you'd probably have to actually visit to appreciate the differences. So then when we saw that Barbados was the safest island and the dates for Crop Over worked for us, we booked."