A/N This issue does have some patois/ Jamaican creole, but the translations are at the bottom.
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When I was in high school, I distinctly remember being the odd one out. I was the last one to get a boyfriend or girlfriend, the last one to have sex. In fact, I didn't lose my virginity in high school; I lost it at university.
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I remember the first time that I saw an erection. It was in fifth form, and in extreme desperation, on the verge of pissing myself, I rushed into the closest bathroom — a boys' bathroom. In my haste, I didn't bother to knock on the stalls, because understandably, I assumed that the door would be locked if someone was in there. I aggressively forced the door of the first stall open, only to find a sixth former masturbating with ferocity behind it. I remember seeing it: it was long, and big, standing proudly away from his body, curving upwards.
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I was fascinated.
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Needless to say, I've seen countless erections since then. University does that to you. Additionally, I was in a relationship for three years up until very recently, and sex came as a part of that. However, when I saw that man's covered erection yesterday, it stirred something within me, something that surprised me.
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I was aroused. He wasn't even naked, and I have no idea who he is, but I was hot all over for this man. I haven't even revealed it to anybody and I'm embarrassed. That is part of the reason as to why I have not left my hotel room. HIs room is situated right across the hall from mine, and I don't think I can look him in the face without having the strong urge for the ground to open up and swallow me. The other reason is that I simply don't want to socialise with anybody. Those two things combined have me lying sprawled across the white comforter of my bed, ordering room service that I can't afford.
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“Please, hurry up,” I demand, speaking sternly into the land line as my stomach growls. “I'm starving.”
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“You know, miss,” the receptionist begins her reply while chewing her gum loudly, “it would be a lot quicker if you went downstairs and got the breakfast yourself. And, it's all-all-inclusive.”
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I'm well aware that it's all-inclusive, I'm tempted to hiss at her. My bank account is suffering because of that very fact.
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“How long will the food take, do you think?” I rub my silk-covered stomach as it growls again.
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“Twenty minutes to half an hour.”
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Fuck.
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That basically means an hour, going by Jamaican time. I can't wait that long. At the same time, I. don't know if I can bring myself to leave my room. Now, I'm faced with the depressing dilemma: go outside and possibly face this mystery man, or stay in here and starve. Both options seem grim, from my point of view.
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“Miss?” the receptionist’s voice floats over the phone, as she probably wonders if I am still there. Just as she speaks, my stomach growls yet again, making up my mind for me.
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“It's okay, love,” I find myself saying to her. I'm lying. It's not okay. “I’ll just get it myself.” Without giving her a chance to reply, I hang up the phone, slamming it a little bit too hard onto the receiver. If my fate were not decided before, I definitely know it now. With a heavy heart, I roll off of the uncomfortable, squeaky mattress, standing on my bare feet. You would think that with all of the money that I'm spending, they'd give me a better bed. The silk-like polyester material feels unnatural against my skin. I've always preferred the more natural texture of cotton, but my sister always gives me these as gifts, and for some reason, I feel obligated to wear them. Gently, I slide the straps off of my shoulders and let the night gown fall to the floor. The sight of my naked body in the mirror makes me wonder just how long it will be until my next fuck.
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Quickly, just go through the motions of getting ready, and before I. know it, I'm standing in front of my front door, ready to go outside. Standing in front of the door, unable to open it and face whatever is on the other side, I feel like a coward. But like most women, nothing can stand between my food and I.
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When I open the door, his door his locked and the hall is empty. Thank god. Quickly, I skip down the bright, yellow hallway on the golden carpet and mash the elevator button at the end. It feels like a lifetime as I wait for the lift to arrive, the different floors showing in the bright red display at the top. As I await the elevator, I think about the food that awaits me downstairs.
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Maybe they have waffles... or omelets...
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As I bounce impatiently on my feet, I'm so preoccupied by my thoughts that at first, I don't detect the drastic shift in the air.
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I sense someone behind me, and somehow, I know that it's him, the man with the arousing erection. He draws hearer and nearer, the force of his aura growing stronger, but I don't dare turn around. The wait is agonising, but finally, finally it arrives. I practically fall into the metal box, the closing doors the only protection that I have against him. Except that when I turn around, the silver doors aren't closing, quickly enough, and he's drawing closer, a sexy smirk on his face handsome face that for some reason makes my clit swell. Going into a panic, I mash the button to close the doors, locking him out. Relaxing slightly, I exhale heavily in relief. The last thing that I see before the doors close is him kissing after me, accentuating his cupid’s bow,which just about causes my heartbeat to just about jump out my chest.
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As the elevator descends, it does nothing to steady my heartbeat, and my arousal is once again replaced by shame, but is this time accompanied with a touch of anxiety. I can't believe that I've let someone who I do not know have so much power over me. What is it about him that is so special? Maybe it's the way that he smirks at me, as if he's up to absolutely no good. Maybe it's the way that his body looks, as if crafted by God himself specifically for the purpose of pleasure. Maybe it's the size of his dick. It could be anything.
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Leaning back against the elevator, my turquoise sundress hugging my midsection, I look to the ceiling and stare at myself in the mirror. I look like hell. The hunger and suffering, as well as anxiety is plane on my face. An anxiety that I'm all too familiar with. I look like hell. I feel like hell. For a second, I try to remember whether or not I took my medication.
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“Fuck,” I whisper, realising that I didn't. I'm such an idiot. I can't afford to fuck up like this. I consider going back upstairs to take my medication, but I decide that I'm just too hungry. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall of the elevator. I guess I'll just have to do it when I get back to my room.
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As the elevator doors burst open, letting me out of my metallic sanctuary, the first thing that hits me is the smell of food. It's strong, overpowering even, causing my mouth to fill with saliva. Unfortunately, since I am not a dog, I cannot simply follow the scent. The second thing that hits me is the sight of the crowd. They don't even bother me, because the third thing that I notice is that many of them are carrying plates of food, which means that they can help me. Red flip flop clad feet I stop a woman whose plate is filled with eggs and sausages, trying my best to not make it blatantly obvious that I am eye fucking her food.
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“Uh, excuse me,” I begin, placing my hand on her shoulder, as I try not to allow any drool to escape my mouth. “Where is the food?”
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“In the dining room.” Her north American accent is thick, as her blue eyes stare pitifully into mine. Definitely a tourist. My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I realise that I probably look like one of those starving children in those UNICEF commercials. “Follow me.I'll take you there.”
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With the plate still in her hand, she leads me through the crowd of people, her blonde ponytail swishing with every step. My stomach is now constantly rumbling, and we're it not for the low crowd, she would definitely hear it. I walk through an array of turns and twists, the smell of food getting stronger, until I see it. A buffet of food so big that I am momentarily confused.
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“Here we are,” she chirps with a bright smile. I want to thank her, but I am afraid that if I speak, drool will escape my mouth. So instead, I just nod with gratitude, and smile with my mouth closed. She returns it, before leaving me to eat my weight in food.
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***
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Hunger has a special way of making someone greedy.
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I picked up far too much food, needing a second plate, and I'm struggling to hold them both as I search for a seat. How ironic it is that I finally have the food, but I can't eat it because both my hands are full. That's what good Samaritans are for, though, because just as I'm about to dispose of my pride in the nearest rubbish bin by sitting on the floor in the centre of the crowded dining area, someone takes a plate from me, giving me one free hand. Therefore when I pick up the fork on the plate and stuffing my face, I have some pride left. However, at some point, it occurs to me that for a stranger to walk up to me and take my plate, it is... odd. My mouth still stuffed with food, I look up slowly.
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I should have seen it coming, but I have no sense of irony.
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“Babes,” he purrs. From most men, often times on the side of the street, that word is oddly disgusting.
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“Babes, beg yuh a piece, nuh?”
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“Babes,beg yuh a fuck, nuh?”
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“Babes, yuh pum pum look well fat inna yuh shorts.”
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But coming from his lips, it sounds like the most beautiful chord from the worlds greatest symphony.
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“Why yuh haffi gwaan suh?”
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He sounds just as Jamaican as I am. His voice is smooth, like warm honey pouring over me. It's beyond erotic. Not that I'd ever tell him that.
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“Like wah?”
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“Like seh mi a go hurt yuh. I don't torture people, you know.”
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Now that I think about it, I probably did look like an idiot running from him this morning. Most people would have said “Hi”, and continued with their day.
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“I never thought you did.”
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He rolls his eyes at me, then looks around for a second, his angular eyes scanning the wide area. I take the time to admire his sharp face, his sculpted lips, his perfectly matted skin. He's not god-like, but for some reason, he makes me wet.
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“There's only one table left,” he says, using his chin to point to a green metallic table in the corner.
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Fuck.
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I could always go to my room.
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I don't want to embarrass myself anymore, though. Nor do I want to offend him. After all, he only did some light flirting, and in his mind, it's no reason for me to shit myself. I am shitting myself, though. Figuratively, of course. I can't even begin to explain what is happening to me in literal terms.
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Don't be a pussy, Diamond. Don't do it.
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“Alright,” I agree shakily. “Let's eat.”
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Hearing the cowardice in my voice, he looks at me in concern.
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“Yuh good, babes?”
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There he goes calling me babes again.
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“Yeah,” I squeak, my voice a tad to high to be considered convincing. He nods, pretending to believe me, but from the unnatural silence that he maintains as we walk to the table, I can tell that he is far from convinced.
***
TRANSLATIONS:
yuh — you
Why yuh haffi gwaan suh? — Why do you have to be like that?
Babes, beg yuh a piece, nuh? — Babes, can I have sex with you?
Babes, beg yuh a fuck, nuh? — Babes, can I fuck you?
Babes, yuh pum pum look well fat inna yuh shorts. — Babes, your pussy looks fat in your shorts.
Like seh mi a go hurt yuh. — As if I will hurt you. 822Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWg66jP6dkP
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ns 15.158.61.40da2 
