Sex

Monday 23rd March 1998

 

Monday, bad mood. I had an impressive weekend though. Friday I discussed the project with Ivor over lunch at Gloriaís in Port Royal. It is a restaurant which epitomises a few things. It is right next to the sea shore at the end of the promontory overlooking Kingston Harbour. But instead of facing the sea, it faces itself. It does not enjoy the sea, it enjoys the police station. Ladies wanting to use a lavatory, have to enter the police station, walk past the prisoners who immediately wake up to the possibilities of women walking within an arms reach of their cells. And when it is all taken into account and when we all have expressed a missed opportunity, I rather like Glorias, for all her aweful fish.

 

That night we went to have dinner with De and Alan at Boon Hall Oasis. We were the only ones there. Alan and De went on to a mass-up or something like it. A prelude to carnaval. We didnít. We went to bed. Sunday we had lunch at Heather Pinnockís house on the university common. I met her father whom I like very much. Her mother is a lovely lady with a full and unrestrained smile. Josh won. After that to collect Rosie at a party where we also had to go and then to another party on Skyline Drive. But that was Sunday. Saturday we had graduation and the School Fair. First the last. Graduation went on and on. Mrs Blossom OíMealy Nelson shaking endless hands and names blurring into eternity. Some students had been omitted from the list and waited in confusion. Some looked like peacocks and others like moles in fancy dress. All of them walked accross the stage. I did not mind, I had taken the sonnets and read them folded between my program. Afterwards I took Raoul home. He did not want to stay. Then I went back to the reception afterwards. The queues for the food were very long and I skipped them. Saw Pat and continued our conversation. I had liked a story about a moth. He hadnít. He had thought it protestant. I like protest. He liked Professor Shield's talk. I did too, especially the story about the pins and the one about the buttons. Good stories. But I shall try to forget them because I will be reminded of them all. Then we talked about Technology and development. Blossom OíMealy Nelson interrupted us. It was so nice of me to come. What do you mean I aid. They are my students. I feel very possessive of them. Oh. Anyway we talked about Bob-sleighing. Her sons do that. She tried it and liked it. I said I would like to try parachute jumping. Pat looked at us incredulously and said we were mad. Blosson was affraid of heights But she said she would like to drive from Guyana to Brazil but could not find anyone to accompany her. I said I would be delighted. At this point she had a glint in her eyes. I said that I would never let some man with a gun keep me from anything. Pat said we were mad. But blossom. who is a large and formidable woman with glaring teeth and a ferocious bust looked at me and growled and bit the air. Then she left us again and we went on with technology and development. Development means pollution. Pat liked that. So did I. The Blossom re-appeared and said that she had to go. She looked at me and said that she had to go before the ice sculpture started looking obscene. I had not noticed the ice sculpture. It was at the edge of the veranda. Pat and I could just about recognise two doves kissing around an empty heart. It had already begun to look obscene. Like a huge vagina.

 

The evening came to an end. The waitresses started clearing up. Pat asked me if I wanted to go for a drink. I said sure. He said. Do you want to go somewhere rude. I looked at him. Yes sure. I would drive behind. I had little petrol. But it wasnít that far. On Half-Way Tree road, Halfway to Crossroads. Gemini. We paid a hundred dollars. The black light flashed across my shirt as I passed through the door. I turned left and saw a stage with women dancing in skanty bikiniís. I have never been in a place like this. The girls were writhing on the floor and spreading their legs as far as they would go and then pretend to be pussy-cats. They lived the gooey songs that were being sung. One naked girl with a reasonable body but a pasted face just stood in the corner of the stage shivering her body. Another played tiger. They seemed to be enjoying themselves. We got ourselves a beer and went to sit down at a table. Are they prostitutes, I asked. No, but they do prostitute themselves for a pair of shoes. One girl took off her panties and spread her legs while hanging from the eaves of the low shed roof over the stage and swung there awkwardly. The men sat there isolated from each other. Deep in their own desires. Another girl with a large scar which went right down the front of her jelly belly, played with the column as if it were a phallus desperate to be taken by a real man. We got up to see the back stage. A very young girl with poited small breasts held up by a generous cantilever was bopping up and down. We stopped at the bar to get another drink. A slender Chinese lookng girl came up to me and put her hand on my crotch. She smiled knowingly and I smiled and said Donít do that. I am married. So am I, she said. And she showed me a ring. Evidence. Even so I said and put my hand on her back to pat it in a determined way. It was covered in grease to make her skin shine in simulated sweat. Buy me a Red Stripe. Sure, I said and bought two Red Stripes, one for me. She took a straw. She did not want her lipstick to spoil. She asked me whether I would go and sit with my friend. Yes. I left her there and went to sit with Pat. You are all of these girlsí dreams he said. So am I, he said. This place specialises in brown women Pat shouted. I come here all the time. I like black women too. I unwind here after work. I like it. The music was very loud. The girl who had drunk my beer went onto the stage and spread her legs as wide as she could and smiled at me giving to understand that I was a naughty boy. Despite the lack of evidence for this I smiled back. Pat went to buy a Canei. Canai is a sickly drink with which the girls like to profile themselves. It is a mark of favour. When he returned an ugly girl joined us. I had seen her dancing. Her vaginal lips had swallowed the her bikini bottom and were pushed apart and swollen. She had small tattoes on the front of her thighs. One of them represented a car drawn by the hand of a child it seemed. High-heeled thigh-high patent leather boos were standard issue. She did too and had one gold front tooth and one discoloured front tooth. Her eyes looked Egyptian. The always do it seems. She fiddled with Pats arm in an easy, familiar way. She is going to England. She has family there. I left.