Thoughts indistinct. Movement without significance. No moments this past weekend elicit a painting. I write of noise.
A weekend in Vieques. Following my last minute decision, an impulsive text was sent to the very handsome man stranger from the gym Friday morning:
Going to Vieques if u want
One wrap following a work out and two lunches is all we had shared. I had always noticed him and while we had spoken, our eyes never had.
The quick meals shared in the last two weeks unveiled intelligence and shared philosophies. A heart and a gentlemen. Something was still missing. Our eyes still failed to speak. Though, curious about his continued lunch invites. And intrigued with my combined attraction and indifference, hence the text.
“Well, we’d have to share a room, but there is a seat for you on the plane. I won’t take advantage of you,” I joked.
In my mind, I didn’t foresee a budding romance or a weekend of sex. I simply was inviting a man on a plane, to an island, to my bed and was more or less, indifferent. Sleep like siblings should I wish.
The weekend was not a catalyst for emotions of color. Highlights. Experiences. Memories. However.
Dancing with Mr. Handsome. Physically, we are the perfect pair. Such ease and sexuality, our bodies seemed as if every inch had been explored. The truth is it was their first meeting. A couple that you couldn’t watch without imaging them fucking. A comment from my dear gay, “What a hard on everyone had watching you two.” A weekend that brought a second truth to the fact that dancing is not a perfect indicator of the horizontal same. Decent. But my thoughts shift to Caballito with who I had two left feet. I enjoy Mr. Handsome, but emotions, there are not.
2am. Our corner spot was closed. We waited for the crowds to leave. To reenter and dance after hours with just our group. The locals walked to their mode of transportation-horses (a species higher in population than people in the amazing island of Vieques). I approached. Bored. Waiting for the doors. “Quieres montar?” One said. Thinking I was just some pretty gringa , he would lead me for a little walk.
I mounted. My legs bare. Took the reigns and one kick. In a minute, the crowds were far behind. Rhythmically gliding in the saddle. My hair flying. His friends attempted to ride alongside me. Their faces shocked, in awe. I noted my continued amazement at the fact that languages divide, riding never does. Hugs envelop me without words or touch. Their eyes, their acceptance. Applause from the crowds. The boys following me as I turned the corner, bringing the canter to a halt.
Highlights. Memories. A lesson in eyes.