In the early 19th century, Jose Gaspar is said to have raided Florida's west coast. 200-some years later, a crowd over 400,000 strong cheers on a replica pirate ship firing it's cannons as it "invades" Hillsborough Bay in Tampa. I found myself lost somewhere in that crowd, beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. It felt right.
A few hours and many alcoholic beverages later, a pretty girl wearing blue dances awkwardly around me as I play yet another game of beer pong. She hasn't said a word, but she's feeling my energy and hops around me like an angry war vet. The next thing I can remember is being in what seemed to be the longest kiss of my life. The girl in blue is a sloppy drunk. Her tongue flails around in my mouth like a beheaded snake, twitching pointlessly. The back seat of my beater Maxima is covered in books and gym clothes and the millions of beads I so valiantly collected from the parade earlier. Chris is driving, I don't know where to, and whatever random bar skank he managed to pull is getting frisky in the passenger seat. The girl in blue pulls away from me and promptly removes her shirt. With a slight smile, she presses her index finger to her mouth and mouths "Shhhh!" I don't see why, Chris doesn't care and his girl is so plastered she can hardly stay awake. I pay no attention to either of them.
Missionary position in the back of a moving sedan is not an easy feat. It requires a lot of coordination and can get tiring very quickly. The beauty laid out in front of me seems to enjoy it. She bites my fingers and breathes heavily. I feel her cum drip down my thighs. Her chest and perfectly toned abs glisten with sweat in the passing light of incandescent street lights. I pray to the gods of luck and finish inside of her. She doesn't seem to notice or care. I give her slippery cunt a gentle pat and tell her to get dressed. She smiles girlishly, and closes her legs with her arms between them. Satisfied, she assumes a sleeping position and passes out. I follow suit.
I wake up in an empty parking lot. Chris and his drunken hook up have left. I look for my phone and find it hiding under an empty can of Zippo lighter fluid. The message reads, "Gaspar's Grotto, call me for directions". Chris was nice enough to send me a text before he unceremoniously left us lying half naked in the back of my car. My head is pounding, the alcohol is wearing off. Beside me, still curled up in fetal position, Ms. Blue Shirt sleeps. How do I not know her name? What the hell am I doing?
The familiar feeling of mental distress takes over. Unemotional sex does this to me. I need a cigarette. I throw my jeans on and start to get out. The cool breeze that enters the car when I open the door wakes my belle. She rubs her eyes and blindly searches for her clothes with one hand. I toss her her thong and turquoise shirt. Her jeans are below her. I step outside and spark a stogie. A few minutes later she stumbles out of the car behind me. She's wearing my shirt and no pants. How did she manage to do that? She sits down on the trunk and motions for a cigarette. I give her one and spark it for her. She runs her hands through her dark brown hair and lays down, her back against my car's rear window. I take her in.
"This may not be the right time to ask this, but what is your name?"
She laughs. I try to laugh along with her.
"Melissa." She extends a hand and I shake it.
A comfortable silence is occasionally disturbed by the thumping bass coming from a club down the street. The sky is clear. I lean against the car and see no reason to move.
"You took something didn't you?" She says nothing, that stupid smile lingering on her face far longer than it should. Her eyes are closed and her hair flies around with the wind as if it has a mind of it's own.
"I'm trying to understand...why'd you even come out here tonight? What's the appeal of this place?" I try not to sound like an asshole. It's hard.
"Well...why did you come here? Your the one that drove 4 hours...I live around here." She doesn't even open her eyes.
"I'm trying to figure that out myself. Lack of a better idea I guess." She opens her eyes and turns to look at me.
"Please. You came out here to get laid. Now that you've gotten laid it doesn't seem important to you anymore. Don't worry, I'm in the same boat as you." I'm amazed. Such brutal honesty. My silence relays my respect for her better than any words ever could. The finality of it all sets in.
I climb on the trunk and kiss her. She doesn't open her eyes, but her arms wrap themselves around my neck.
"Let's go in," she says.
"Fuck that."