I made it to the lake and found a spot near the funky gals to lay my towel and wait. I never wait. But I waited. I think that was the first time I realised I was in terrible trouble. Never ever wait for a woman. I was no longer a woman on a towel tanning, I was a doormat near a lake waiting.
And then she arrived. I observed her walk past the entire flock of lesbians toward me. She gently lay her towel near mine and stretched out in a bikini. She was the darkest skinned Canadian I had ever seen. I stared at her skin so intently that I can still see those grains of sand paling and textured against her dark smoothness. I had to touch her. She told me it made her tingle. I felt deliciously tender at her mild coax.
After what felt like a minute had passed, the sun commenced its descent over the lake and people started to bob about like it was time to leave. My focus had been directed entirely on my Canadian muse and all concept of time had vanished. It unsettled me that the moment was ending.
A group of us crammed into Hot Stuff’s mini for a ride back to camp. I knew part of me was lost to this woman I knew nothing about. I wanted her all to myself. My concept of consequences, accountability, the future or any other rational thought had evaporated. Her very essence was consuming me. I was light headed and mindless.
You're buggered! She's gotcha!
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