Couple weeks back I was in Central America again. All week I was quite busy with work, and working mainly in a small town (an ex-United Fruit Company banana town… those are interesting places these days). It was nice enough, a pleasing amount of hard, interesting work to do, but not so much as to be exhausting. After work each day we raided the coconut trees for yellow coconuts, which we drank dry (about a liter of liquid), then cracked open to eat the soft flesh inside. That’s a meal in itself.
But after five days of that, of that and the sunlight and the motorbikes going by on the roads nearby, it was nice to be back in a larger city, where there was a dance club next to the hotel.
In Latin America (in the cities, at least), it’s perfectly normal to go up to girls and start dancing with them. Of course, this can be done in the US, too, but there’s just a different feel to it down south. You can casually dance with a girl, then with a different girl, then back to the first, then to a third one. And they don’t get all defensive and bitchy; nor do they get slutty and embarrassingly drunk.
The music at the club was atrocious, of course. But after a couple beers you barely notice. A pretty young thing kept making eye contact with me at the bar — or rather she kept looking back at me after she seemed unable to process the way I calmly stared her down when we first noticed each other). (Repeat after me: eye contact, eye contact, eye contact). I waited for an opening and went and talked to her. She and four girlfriends were out with two guy friends. That’s five girls, all attractive, all between the ages of 18 and 22, with two guys with them.
The guys were slightly wary of me, but basically cool and friendly. They didn’t mind me dancing with their girls. I noted that one particular guy was really into one particular girl, and so I mentally wrote off that girl and danced with her only very loosely and casually — signaling that I wasn’t going to move in on his territory. No sense into getting into some cock-size confrontation with a perfect stranger when there were so many delicious gazelles on the savannah.
“Casual” dancing of course means dancing very closely, hands on each other’s hip or side or lower back. If it’s been a while since you fucked an 18 or 19 year old girl — or even danced with one — it’s hard to describe just how intoxicating they are. Even an average-looking girl that age is a pleasure to be around. An actual beauty can be such a powerful presence it knocks you off your game. Her smell alone is dizzying.
Of course, one easy way to avoid being knocked off your game is to be surrounded by such creatures. Not just the five in the little group of friends I made, but of course assorted others all over the club. Don’t get me wrong. Not all the girls in the club were attractive. There were some heifers, and some of those freakishly overly made-up girls you see in Central America. But the general atmosphere was quite nice, ladies-wise.
One girl named Rosanita danced with me for over an hour. She was slender but not skinny, with a little layer of female softness over her hip-curves. She had a smallish chin and big eyeballs that made her look a little like a Disney princess in a charming way. When we danced, she got very close and moved very well, but she looked elsewhere, side-to-side with a pouty expression. I can’t think of a nicer way to spend an hour of one’s life than dancing late at night, mildly intoxicated, with a girl like that.
Well.. ok, I can think of one thing.
When Mystery talked about the “Secret Society” made up of hot women and guys with game, he was talking mainly about getting laid. But there’s a whole beautiful set of moments and emotions and experiences that go along with it. Being someone who lives life to the fullest, who spends time with beautiful women (and yes, has sex with them), comes with a thousand little moments that are lovely in their own right.
The hard work, the warmth and sunlight, the coconuts at the end of the day — all this was part of the texture that led up to Saturday night and the cold beers and the warm señoritas.
When I got off the plane in Houston the next day, I looked around and wondered how many of the people around me had enjoyed — truly enjoyed — their Saturday nights. Not to mention the other 6 days and nights of the week.