"You're going to sweat to death, sitting in that car," said Tracee, sticking her head in through the window. "Stop being such a pussy about it and come on." She stood up, waiting for Charles to get out the car.
"Get a move on, Chuck." she goaded him as he slowly exited the driver's seat. "Be a man of your word." She hoisted her messenger bag on her caramel shoulders, swatting at unseen buzzing.
Charles removed himself from the driver's seat, evidence of the heat apparent on the lower half of his t-shirt. He donned a pair of shades and took a cursory look around the small parking lot. Grabbing a large beach towel and his backpack out of the backseat, he locked the doors and joined Tracee on the other side of the car.
"Remind me why I'm doing this again?" He pulled at his shirt, trying to separate the dampening cotton from his skin. His thickening waistline protruded and he gave it a shake. Four cans short of a six-pack, letting his gym membership go to waste, today's outing made him just that more awkward.
"Because," explained Tracee. "We've done everything on your stupid little list and before we get on the road, you are going to oblige me this one time." She started towards the highway.
"Hey, we did some stuff that you wanted to do." He took off after her, making sure he left nothing behind. "I tried the Key Lime Pie, remember."
"Bullshit. I followed you around Key West this week drinking Mojitos, which are fucking disgusting, hearing you ramble on about Hemingway and doing the tourist thing like a good friend." Tracee stopped in her tracks, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun to look at him. "Eating Key Lime Pie was an afterthought."
"You really didn't like the Mojitos?" He grinned, fanning himself at the same time.
"Bring your ass on," She kept walking.
Charles and Tracee were friends from way back when, about as close as friends could get. Tracee came out to him before her own parents were informed. Charles has Tracee to thank for losing his virginity in college, her wing-man skills were top-notch. At his behest, she coincided her vacation time to take a road trip with him to the Southernmost end of the US to Key West, Florida. He was suffering from writer's block and thought traipsing around Ernest Hemingway's old stomping grounds could get his creative juices flowing. He was used to her dry wit and biting humor, took her good-nature ribbing with stride. He played the straight man, no pun intended, in this comedic duo.
"The sun," growled Charles. "This is different from what we get in Atlanta." He began form a haphazard turban around his head and shoulders with the towel. "And that rumor about Black folk not getting sunburned is total bullshit. I can feel my skin cooking already.
"I have sunblock, and tampons too. You're really acting like you could use one." Tracee picked up her pace, determined to make him follow whether he wanted to or not.
"Fine." He surrendered to her demands and followed the sway of her hips, crossing the steaming asphalt and into the woods. "And I thought road-tripping with a lesbian would be a blast."
Tracee led the way through the patch of forest, walking down a well-worn path. They broke through the treeline and was greeted by white sands and clear waters.
"Not bad." said Charles, coming abreast of Tracee as they took in the view.
"Just as she said it would look."
"She?" Charles looked around for signs of other life. He was intrigued, she always found the cream of the crop when it came to the social scene. Perhaps she snagged a date during one of his multiple trips to the bathroom.
"You'll see."
They stepped onto the beach, the sun high in the sky. The sands were devoid of people but they kept walking until coming upon a state sign,
Beyond this point you may encounter nude sunbathers
.
"Not much further." Tracee said as she skipped in between the boulders.
Rounding the bend, Charles quickly averted his eyes. A pot-bellied man, wearing sandals, and nothing else, was flying a kite. He skin was a coarse bronze, more hair on his chest and arms than his head, his flaccid penis sitting in a tuft of pubes, resembling a lone robin's egg in the nest. Tracee paid him no mind, a cursory nod as she strolled past. Damn, thought Charles, no shame in his game. At least I won't be the fattest guy on the beach.
"I still can't believe that you want to do this." Charles stumbled on a rock, cutting a wide berth from the naked man.
"Not too many places in Georgia where you can," she said. "I just want the experience of being one with nature, one time."
More people were present, the further they walked. All sans clothing. A few people had those five days a week in the gym bodies, but most were flabby like him. Some were rotund, but nobody pointed and giggled. It was easy to tell the ones that spent most of their days on the outside from those that bought their shades from a spray or a booth.. Tracee and Charles stuck out like sore thumbs, still fully attired, the only people with permanent tans.
"Tracee, over here!" yelled a voice in the crowd.
She grabbed Charles by the elbow and pointed. "This way, Chuck."
He followed, eyes darting back and forth, taking in the concentrated nudity behind the safety of his sunglasses. Beach goers were sunbathing, playing badminton and soccer, all the things that usually occurred during a nice sunny day on the beach, except without clothes. Not a fucking stitch. One group of four was enjoying a picnic of sandwiches and fruit, pieces of mayo and lettuce falling freely on the sand and each other. One man plucked an escaped tomato from his thigh and stuffed it back into the roll. Charles shook his head in amazement.
"Hey, Dawn," Charles practically ran into the back of her as she greeted the voice from earlier.
He was too busy eye fucking a petite Blonde, watching the bounce of her breasts as she ran after a stray Frisbee, until another prod by Tracee brought him back to the present.
"Charles, this is Dawn." She stepped to the side. "She was the one that told me about this place."
"You look mighty uncomfortable, Charles" said Dawn. He looked down at the person talking to him and visibly swallowed.
Dawn was sitting cross-legged on her towel, staring up at him. A stunning redhead wearing a welcoming smile, and nothing else. She was tanned like a native, didn't have that burnt orange shade from the tanning salon. Her breasts were natural, hanging low from beneath her sculpted arms. A natural redhead, her thin strip of carpet matched the drapes. He cocked his head to the side, trying to remember where he saw her before, when it hit him.
"Oh, I know you." She was the bartender from
Sloppy Joes
, who supplied him with endless supply of potent Mojitos and friendly banter.
"The way you put away that rum last night, I'm surprised you remember me." She brushed grains of sand off her thighs, giving him a full view of her vagina. "Never thought you would see all of this before the first date, huh?" Her breasts swayed freely as she laughed, leaning back onto her towel. He stood there like a statue, unsure of how to proceed. Should he shake her hand, or just nod? Even behind the dark shades, it was obvious that he couldn't pull his eyes away from her massive globes. She answered for him.
"Cop a squat, you're blocking my light."
Tracee was already spreading out her blanket, kicking off her sandals and laying down to the right of Dawn. He followed suit sitting on the opposite side. He had no qualms of parting with his sweaty t-shirt, but left his shorts on.
"Welcome to
Boca Chica
," said Dawn. "Our little secret in Key West."
"I'm so glad you told me about this spot," said Tracee, reaching behind her neck to undo the string on her bikini. "I had this on my to-do list for the longest."
