Gut Rumbles
 

July 17, 2008

Out of touch

Originally published November 30, 2004

I sat around the beach on Sunday and felt lonely. I moved from the Hotel Robelar to the Canciones Del Mar that morning and I liked my new digs a lot better than the old ones. I had a TV, air conditioning and hot water now. All I needed to complete the perfect picture was a woman to keep me company.

I decided to get one. I figured that if I could find dope for Herve without even looking for it, I could find myself a woman if I asked The Right Person. That's one of the tricks about Costa Rica. You can engage in any kind of vice you want, but you need to ask The Right Person first.

People here do not act the way Jamaicans do, crawling out of bushes and doing everything short of an open-field tackle to get you to buy what they're selling. Costa Ricans are more subtle. YOU have to ask first. If you ask The Right Person, you're exactly where you want to be.

I went down to a street (called "Calle de Putas" by the locals-- but I didn't know that until later) and I saw a well-dressed, greasy-haired, important-looking guy standing on the corner. I walked up and asked him where I could find some nice company for the next couple of days.

That was easy. He shouted "Oye! Muchachas!" and three absolutely beautiful wimmen appeared from out of nowhere. I asked "how much?" and greasy-guy told me that the girls set the deals--- you make your own bed, so to speak, and he stays out of the negotiations.

I picked a short, shapely black woman, a genuine Caribe, and I've been lost in a time/space continuum ever since. Her name is Rosemary. She has been a most entertaining partner and we settled on a price of 40,000 colones (less than $100) for two days, which was a bargain at the price, even if I did feed her, water her and buy some clothes for her, too. Just having fun, that's all.

She's gone today to visit her mama in San Jose, but she wants to see me again tomorrow. That sounds good to me, because I could use a day off after some really intense sport-fucking. I leave here on Thursday and I wouldn't mind going out with a bang.

Rosemary likes "la machine," which is her name for the bionic Roscoe. She tried her best to wear it out, but she lost that battle. I endeavored to persevere and I came out on top--- to use an apt phrase. And I'll tell you something else, too. If Costa Rican wimmen fake their enjoyment of sex, they are the best actors I've ever seen.

I learned a lot over the past two days. I will share some of the details when I get back home.

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