funny. But then she straightened up and shook her breasts… but without the shimmies… and now smiled broadly as she approached three of her americana girlfriends who were laughing their heads off. One of them kept thrusting both arms up in the air the way football referees did when a team scored. The blonde no longer tried to cover her breasts with her arms. She posed with her hands on her hips and kept smiling as she talked to the three girls—didn’t want anybody to think she was embarrassed by what she had done.
The girl’s success did not lead to a wave of breast baring. It started off randomly. Magdalena and Norman kept touring from boat to boat… deck to deck… thirteen different decks… some this high off the water, and some that high, and some not even that high, and a few not much higher off the water than Norman’s cigarette boat. Norman kept stopping to yakyakyakyakyakyakyakyakhockhockhock with fans—not exactly fans… more like people who had just been told he was important—and Magdalena would stand there with a smile of interest and involvement on her face but then become so bored that she would look about, and… see that some girl over here or over there… or over there—five or six hundred yards away, even, on some deck on another tethered row of boats—had taken off her bikini top… without benefit of whoops whoooops and woo-ooOOOs… and the sun would sink a little further… and the boys would get a little drunker… so drunk or so inflamed with lust that they worked up the courage to join the girls dancing on the deck. ::::::And there’s that kayak.:::::: It was still coursing among the boats, reappeared below. The oarsman stood up in the front with a paddle, as if this were a gondola. The couple still lay together in back. The girl had removed her string bikini top and lay on her back, flaunting her big breasts. She had opened up her legs. A wisp of G-string bikini cloth barely covered her. The boy, who still had his board shorts on, lay on his side with both legs around the lower half of one of her legs. Todo el mundo seemed to be staring down to see if he was aroused. Magdalena, for her part, couldn’t tell… and then they were gone… in order to present their exhibición to other boats. Here on deck… ripe melons… ripe… By now, late afternoon, all the decks were filthy… littered with every imaginable form of trash and garbage plus, here and there, pools of vomit, some of it still wet, some of it sun-dried vomitus… and everywhere discarded beer cans and beer bottles and big plastic beer cups… iconic Solo cups… favorite at keggers and tailgaters… hundreds of them discarded on every deck… Solo cups… in their traditional tool-and-dye-works red… and in every other imaginable color… pale pink, corn yellow, royal blue, navy blue, aqua blue, viridian green, puce, fuchsia, cellar-floor gray, garbage-bag brown, every color short of black… strewn, crushed, split, or lying sideways, intact… and every time a boat rocked, usually thanks to the rolling wakes of speedboats, the bottles and the beer cans would roll across the deck… the beer cans with a cheap junky aluminum rattle… the bottles with a cheap junky hollow moan… rolled rolled rolled over the flat garbage, the stamped-out cigarettes, the cheap plastic beads, the spilt-beer slicks, the used condoms, the puke fritters… canted canted canted over a pair of glasses with a ruptured temple hinge, an abandoned flip-flop… collided collided collided with the plasticized cups, and soon the decks were GRINDING and HUMPING and the sound systems were getting louder and the BEAT thung BEAT thung BEAT thung BEAT thung BEAT thung BEAT thung and more girls were taking off their tops and were left only with little thongs disappearing into the crevices of their only just now! at just this very taut swollen labial moment ripe melons… ripe melons… and they got down to it… no more steps, no more Lindys and twists such as the girls did with one another… no, get down to it… to GRINDING…
She looks up at Norman. He is transfixed by the sight… absorbed, consumed… leaning forward… His smile curls from amusement to hunger… Hungry he is! He wants some—
“Oh, shit!” It sounded like something he meant to say under his breath… It was an Oh, shit of excitement. Excitement had so overcome him, this choked croak had