A Family Affair

It has been a few weeks since my little Caribbean adventure with Pamela.  I now sat with Ruby and a few of our friends while enjoying a girlie, chai update chat at The Bean.  My comrade and I had a great time on Grand Bahama; Hurricane Dolly was merely a threat and didn’t pack much of a punch.  The sun, the sand, the scent…as he seduced me after leaving the dancehall, following yet another surreal evening.  Our Caribbean holiday was amazing, well, until THAT morning; this may be my most outrageous tale yet.

After leaving the club, Matt and I returned to my room, allowing Pamela to explore the moonlit grounds of Our Lucaya with his friend Dean.  We were one, tangled mass; as we had been on the way up the stairs, fumbling for the key at the door.  I had to make a quick decision during the following mental whirlwind “…the last time was so long ago…oh the way he is touching me…I have never done this…his lips grazing my…I can’t help, OH…I vote…YES”!   The next two hours are a blur, much like the moving bodies in the club; Matt and I were a perfectly unplanned, seductive dance; each moving with the other as if answering a question until doubt no longer existed.

Matt and I woke to find Pamela and Dean occupying the other bed, and quietly began to chat in whispers about anything and everything.  This was perfect, so much better than I thought a fling should be.  I knew that two days from now, we would board our flight and return to our other, real, lives-he in Philadelphia and I in NYC; though this, for the moment was sufficient.  I asked if he was visiting with family or friends.  “Family…well, like family you could say”, he responded.  I was puzzled; what exactly did he mean by “…like family…”?   Like Pamela and I are family? Or perhaps a family LIKE this…

The confession went a little something LIKE this…

Matt: “I am here with my girlfriend.”

Frankie: [SHOCKED] “And where is she?”

Matt:  “Upstairs sleeping…you see…I am here with her family.  And Dean [still sleeping soundly next to Pamela], well, Dean is her brother.  I am sorry.”

Too many thoughts were clogging my brain.  Yell?  Vomit?  Headbutt??  I turned to him finally and replied, “I knew that this would be a fling, never once expecting cocker spaniel puppies and a white picket fence, though I did expected a consistent fling with a clean farewell, come Tuesday.”

To this statement, stupid, foolish Matt replied, “A fling?”, he asked sadly and apparently dumbfounded.  “You thought this was only–a fling?” 

“It was at that moment when I flung my fling out the door”, I said; finishing my unbelievable account.  And it was at this moment when Ruby and my girls decided to move over to The Fat Black Pussycat  and fling a few margaritas my way.

-Frankie