Fake what?!

The Star (St. Lucia) - Life Begins 2 Nite - - CONTENTS -

There is noth­ing quite like the feel­ing of quenched nos­tal­gia when you meet up with old friends from way back over sev­eral cold ones. Over the weekend, I hap­pily hosted some old high school class­mates. Quite nat­u­rally I took them to my fa­vorite wa­ter­ing hole. Af­ter a few rounds and jokes about where and how their cherry went, we de­cided to ven­ture into Rod­ney Bay for more, well, qual­ity en­ter­tain­ment. To my sur­prise we spot­ted another old class­mate of ours in the dis­tance. Hey, even from a dis­tance he can’t be de­nied: he’s a good look­ing stud. I have to ad­mit the sight of him did not leave me cold. At school he was the star foot­baller, champ bas­ket­baller, tall, smooth black choco­late skin, and Afro­cen­tric. If that were not al­ready enough, his grades were al­ways up there. In case you’re won­der­ing about the, er, prof­fered more in­ti­mate de­tails, not what you’re think­ing: we were on a school trip to Do­minica years ago and he sud­denly felt an un­con­trol­lable urge to take a swim. Only he had for­got­ten to take his trunks with him!

Funny how the first im­age that en­tered my mind as I set eyes on him so many years later was ser­pen­tine. “What’s he do­ing in St. Lu­cia?” I won­dered. “How long is he plan­ning to stay here? Where is he stay­ing? What can I do to make him ex­tend his visit?” And then, seem­ingly out of nowhere, a skinny, blonde and pale-look­ing woman en­tered the pic­ture. Next thing she’s glued to Mr. Mac­dream and car­ry­ing on like she’s a choco­late ad­dict. “For­eigner!” I thought. Is­land peo­ple don’t lock lips like that . . . not even be­hind closed doors.

They were still about five feet away when my com­pan­ions started call­ing out to him as if they were in a locker room. The woman too. (Nah, not what you’re think­ing. Only U.S. Pres­i­dent-elects do that kind of thing). Be­sides, she wasn’t alone, re­mem­ber? Mean­while, I’m think­ing about the au­dac­ity of the Paris Hil­ton looka­like who is wrapped around him, re­mind­ing me yet again of a cer­tain Do­mini­can river snake. Damn! Not that you could tell just by look­ing at me, you un­der­stand. Sting­ing my butt like some Zika mos­quito, I smiled and laughed like ev­ery­one else, I mean, all that old Black Power, Black Pan­ther, Mal­colm X back in the day talk and now you have a white woman suck­ing on you as if for dear life?

Yes, I felt a lit­tle jeal­ous. And to be quite hon­est I wasn’t all that both­ered about the white woman thing, even when I had flash­backs of him naked in that Do­minica river. (I know you want to hear about that . . . but maybe next time!) What re­ally hurt was when we in­vited him to share a drink or two and he said he was so sorry, but these days noth­ing stronger than tea ever got past his lips. Yes, and in an ac­cent that re­minded me of those South­ern­ers back in the day who made life in­tol­er­a­ble for Dr Martin Luther King and his fol­low­ers. Pure Alabama, I tell you. I mean is noth­ing real any­more? Fake news, fake rice, fake tits, fake butts . . . Sud­denly I’m think­ing: Did my eyes de­ceive me? Or was that a real river snake I saw in Do­minica so many years ago? Hey, in the right frame of mind, a girl’s eyes can play ter­ri­ble tricks!

I won­der how real is La­mar now?

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from Saint Lucia

© PressReader. All rights reserved.