The Seduction
Honduras. Years ago. Years.
Resort. Beautiful. Bar. On the Beach.
Young blond guy. Turns out he was 18. Even as young as I was back then, I still had 10 years on him. God he was Gorgeous. He actually took my breath away when I first looked at him.
Sunset. Tropical drinks with 6 kinds of rum. Edible flowers.
I walked right up to him. Smiling. Staring. “What’s your name?”
“Kelly,” he said. Shook my hand.
Eye contact. Deadly. I grinned. “Kelly, I am going to seduce you.” Before the week is over. Before I go home. I am going to have you.
He laughed. Not interested. Thanks but no thanks.
But we can have a drink together. Can’t we?
“Sure we can.” I nodded. “So what brings you to Honduras?”
Diving. Diving Club. Class trip, from school.
“Freshman?” I asked.
“Senior.” He answered.
High school. God… he was still in high school. Young. Hard. Pretty. Blond. Tanned. New.
I’m pretty sure I was drooling.
Personable. Polite. Friendly enough. But there to dive. That’s it. Just dive. Nothing personal. Not interested.
Okay, I said. Okay.
He spent every day diving the reefs.
I spent every day at the Dolphin Research Institute.
And every night, I went. To the beach. At the resort.
Fruity rum drinks. Sunsets. Waves.
To the bar where we met.
A parrot that would walk up and down the bamboo shade saying, “Mamacita, I tink I luuuvvv you.”
A bartender that would bring us many many complimentary rum samplers.
A calm lagoon. A breath taking sky. Another world.
Every night, after dinner, in the sunset, in that resort bar, I would wait.
And every night, after dinner, to that beach, he would come.
Great conversations. Many laughs. Flirting. My most concentrated effort ever.
Every night I’d ask him: Escort me back. To my bungalow. Across the lagoon, on the private island. Just two bungalows there. Mine and one that had been empty since I’d arrived. No one there. Like a private island. Just beach. And moon.
Every night he would decline.
Until the last. The last night of my stay.
That long blond wavy hair. In his big blue eyes. Two rum drinks to go. We took the row boat across the lagoon.
I had stated my intentions. Before I even told him my name. I told him my intentions. He knew.
The perfect setting. The quiet private beach. Gentle lagoon waves. The moon. The tropical breeze. The wet. The want. The week, spent seducing him.
We fucked in the sand. We fucked in the water. We fucked on the small docked raft. We fucked in a wooden beach chair that we broke, and drove down into the sand. All night long. It had taken everything I had to seduce this kid. I was going to get my time’s worth.
We woke up naked. Entangled. In the wet sand. In the lapping water. In the sunrise. In the sounds of the tropical birds and the waves. We grinned. We wished each other well. He left. I hurried.
Plane to catch.
In my bungalow. Throwing bathing suits and pooka shell necklaces into my suitcase. Then I remembered.
Condoms.
We left condoms. All over. From one end of the beach to the other.
I rushed outside again. Up and down the private beach. Picking them up.
And then the door opened. To the bungalow next to mine. The bungalow. That had been vacant for my entire visit. Up until then.
The man that walked out was smiling. Stood on his steps. Waved to me.
Great, I thought. Great. Watched. By a stranger. That’s fucking great.
With a fist full of used condoms, I waved back.
Then a woman followed. She stood in the doorway. Yelled at him. Get back inside.
I guess he wasn’t allowed to wave to me.
I looked at her. In the doorway. Angry and glaring.
And that’s when I saw it. Behind her. Inside the bungalow. Right there in the doorway. Video equipment. A lot of expensive video equipment. Probably intended for filming dolphins and dives. Not seductions. But an opportunity presented. Didn’t it.
What’s better than secretly being watched by strangers?
Secretly being filmed by strangers. That’s what.
Years afterward, I would remember, and think: Damn! That video is going to show up one day. On the internet. Shit.
And then I turned 40. And all that changed.
I’m older. And I’m all that goes with that.
I’ll never look like that again. Like I did. On that beach. At that resort. Tanned. Twenty eight. Agile. Bendable. Insatiable. Tight. Young. Firm.
And seducing an 18 year old that looked like something from Norse mythology.
So now, when I remember, I think: Damn, I really hope that video shows up on Youtube or something.
“They say the devil’s water, it ain’t so sweet,
You don’t have to drink right now.
But you can dip your feet,
Every once in a little while.”
-The Killers
Credit: Veronica @ Lonely Roads & Psycho Paths
Too. Many. Periods. Makes. For. A. Very. Broken. Up. Story!
Read them like commas if you must
She’s a very good writer, you should try reading some of her other work in which she doesn’t use nearly as many periods.
Although it is part of her style.
Allen I suppose ee cummings is hard for you to read as well, what with all the lower case letters and all. The staccato of this piece is brilliant. It’s a shame it’s so far over your head, Allen.
Each line is in rhythm delievered with a punch. Veronica’s “Nothing Feels Quite Like a Gun” has that same quality but is presented differently. I’m always impressed with how she does this.
Does she know you copied this from her online journal?
Suck. It. Allen.
This is great…I give it 5 stars…i wish it could have been lneogr just to read more about it. NICE JOB
B8g2pc gdioucwgtvis
I asked her permission before posting this story. I’m glad you’re looking out for her–I heard that her work is plagiarized a lot.
All complete stories posted here are posted with their author’s permission (if they aren’t already posted by their author on a public forum, e.g. this). And I always credit the source where I found the story and who it was written by.
The imagery is so hot. I love the line about waving with a fist full of used condoms. Who in the hell reads this and thinks about the periods? Veronica honey, where were you when I wanted to get married?
It seems one would be embarrassed to show such ignorance, Allen. I applaud your bravery to let everyone see what an ass you are.
Her punctuation is a little disconcerting at first until you learn that she is hitting you with a complete moment in time, a slice of life, with each period, semicolon, comma, whatever. They run together like film clips in the big picture of her story. It’s a unique and innovative technique that takes most people all of 30 seconds to figure out and appreciate.
I really applaud Veronica’s bravery in putting her soul – which, basically, is what her work is a reflection of – out for public scrutiny and criticism. Soooo much easier to throw shit at others work than to create works of value yourself. Especially work that makes you live the experience with the author and relate it back to your own. I love the emotional punch of her words.
So, Allen, where’s yours? Whip it out so we can comment!
@Bob: Well said.
Allen . . .
Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, of course.
That said: very often, Veronica’s prose reads like poetry. This is a great example of it. Poetry is freeflowing and punctuation is not only optional but placed liberally – literally at the writer’s whim to make a point. I believe – not having had the discussion with her to determine if this is, indeed the case – that Veronica utilizes the punctuation to make. A point. Deliberately. With forethought and measurement. Considering its weight and its impact.
It creates an ebb and flow of imagery, of sensation, and of emotion – which accompanies the tone of the piece in a lovely fashion, actually. If Veronica was consciously aware she was doing it when she was creating the vignette, then she’s a remarkable writer. If, however, she was unaware she was punctuating the piece as such . . . and it just happened – the words appearing on the page under her fingertips – then she is a writer that is truly talented and gifted beyond words.
So, while you are entitled to your opinion, Veronica’s writing touches many people, every day. That means something. It means a lot. Thanks for sharing, but if we were all in a bar together, having this discussion, you’d wish you hadn’t said it, and I doubt we’d buy your next drink.
If you changed the punctuation, and made the sentences flow on longer or whatever the hell you would do to change it, maybe that would be interesting. But then there would be new words, wouldn’t there? There would have to be. And all of these words here strike me perfectly. Nothing is too vague, but nothing is overstated. I do not want any of the words to change or move or twist or bend at all. They are positioned just exactly the way that I would like to read them. They are telling the story just the way that I want to hear it. I like the tone of this. This voice, the way that she writes, it’s got soul. It’s her own style. It’s where she’s coming from.
The use of punctuation illustrates recall. Memory. Thoughts for which their is no other means of conveying their nature, which is fleeting. It’s more memory than story. I know few memories that flow evenly, conforming to complete sentences. They stagger, in flashes, through the mind, like a strobe.
Just my two cents.
Periods?! Veronica’s words are like air. Each puncuation mark tells me to breathe: inhale, exhale or keep holding my breath.
It’s what’s between the periods. Where Veronica’s Words direct us to. Nothing but the Words. She has enlightened me from the beginning, and I will always feel her light, no matter how little I write nowadays.
Guys, as fun as it might be to pick on Allen, it’s not entirely necessary. He really did only state his opinion.
The point of focus should be her work, not one single person’s critisizm of it, right? I thought it was a beautiful story full of vivid imagery.
It’s the kind of memory you wish you had written in your diary somewhere for your grandchildren to read.
while i think that allen is entitled to his opinion of course, I personally like the usage of the periods. It makes it interesting to read – maybe some might feel it is “broken up” but I think it lends an interesting “texture” to the prose. Especially reading it on screen I like the way the many periods introduce small bits of “white space” between sentences, kind of a staccato not only in your mind, but also visually on screen before you.
Maybe it might seem different if one had to read it out loud (though william shatner did pretty good with the short sentence bursts too
) but as it is before me on screen, i like the extra bit of flavour or “flow” the story possesses. It makes you feel some of the emotion that might come with seducing someone on a beach. mmm.. beach. i wish i was at a beach right now. anyway, i love veronica’s writing and this is no different!
@chris: isn’t that a little harsh? damn. the guy just stated his opinion, why do you have to insult him? to use a completely random metaphor (of questionable applicability) if you said “i don’t like this rap song” would it be fair to say “the staccato and flow (of the rapper in question) is brilliant. it’s a shame it’s over your head.” ? I don’t think so – i mean, to some people the flow and staccato of gangsta rap is to their liking – and to others, not. But that doesn’t mean you have to imply the latter don’t “get it.” Maybe they just don’t like it?
also, confession time. i wanted so much to like e.e. cummings (and eliot etc.) back when i was in school but i just couldn’t get it. sigh. i guess i am dumb