I see him from afar; denim jacket over a dark blue tee. A tourist. Perfect. His body is compact, tight and hard in all the right places. I briefly imagine what he looks like underneath his clothing. He catches me staring. I do not look away.
I smile at him, I’ve been caught. Like a cat licking cream from its chops, I lower my face and raise my eyebrow. An invitation. Come talk to me.
He advances towards me. There is no wasted movement. No fidgeting hands, no searching of the scene. This is a man sure of himself, his strides pointed straight towards me. His eyes do not leave mine as he arrives. Hello. I could just eat him up right then and there. Leave nothing but a scattering of clothing, ah! I laugh to myself. I don’t think he would even care.
He’s already mine. This I know for certain. He brushes his fingers along my arms, his voice near my ear. Lips, warm, the tip of a tongue. It’s loud here. The sounds of dining and drinking, jungle rhythms. The night air is warm and inviting. I can hear the ocean, beyond the brightly lit tourist trap. Its darkness an invitation for exploration. I say nothing but get up and begin to walk out into it, my tiki dress tight against the curves of my body. He follows me out onto the sand.