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La Playa de Atacames

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Nia Hampton | Monday April 3rd 2017

Hi Pretty Birds, this week we’re trying something new and adding creative non-fiction to the site. This story in particular explores travel, coming of age and good ole sex at La Playa de Atacames in Ecuador. Let us know about your own adventures in the comments below!

La Playa de Atacames

It could have been the “Abuelo” a cheap Spanish whiskey that was sold everywhere. It could have been the sand and the waves and the fact that I was very far from home with a man I had only met a month ago. But I was in an altered state. Meaning I wasn’t my normal scared, overthinking self. I don’t know who I was, but I liked her.

He introduced us. She was an “amiga”, the sister of another “amiga” that he had painted before. Ella era una negra como yo.  Her appearance was of a woman who knew her way around a dick or two. Her Spanish was fast and self aware, her weave was old and she didn’t know what to make of me. But I liked her.

We sat at a beachfront bar. I came to be in the sand, that was the purpose of my trip, but they were both fully clothed and had no desire to get sandy. They were in their hometown, and could go to the beach everyday if they wanted. I was leaving for Baltimore, Maryland in the snowy States of America in 5 days, so I stripped my clothes off and pushed my toes in the sand, leaving them at the bar. There I was in Ecuador, the dirty waves of the South Pacific Ocean sucking me in. Being from Baltimore, I was accustomed to the dirt of the North Atlantic Ocean, but a beach is a beach. And there I was on that specific one, drunk off whiskey and accomplishment, 10 days away from my 22nd birthday.  And I had already crossed off more than a few things on my bucket list.

Live in South America

Learn Spanish

Go to the Amazon

Get my portrait painted in oil

Fuck a painter

I was reveling in my own glory when she ran toward me in a thong and bra, he followed, the flashes of his camera, sobering me up. Putting my hand in front of the lens was a reflex; no one was supposed to know that him and I were together. La chica linda that introduced us, my Facebook friend that I had yet to meet in person was the same girl that he’s supposedly in “love” with. And while they weren’t official, her presence haunted all of our interactions even though she was all the way in the states.

Fucking him happened slowly. I can’t quite call it a mistake if it happened every time we saw each other. The first couple of times were in his workshop on the floor. It was the first time in 19 months for me. People will try and make it seem like women can have sex whenever they want, if that’s true I must be the exception to the rule. One particular rejected sexual advance scarred me and left me thinking that I would never know of sex again.  But I was wrong. After unintentional celibacy for almost two years, the re-initiation into the world of intercourse felt painful and primal but necessary.

We were resting after lunch one day, he made a pallet out of the various items in his studio and we were-well I was watching a cartoon on his phone trying to ignore my slobbering vagina. I had wanted to lie close to him since we first met, but knowing that he had or was involved with my “friend” was awakening my inner cock blocking Girl Scout. I was trying to convince myself that watching a fine ass Ecuadorian man paint me wasn’t an instant panty dissolver. I was going to be a good girl, get my portrait done, shake his hand and leave. He took the phone from my hand, his shoulder touching mine as he played with the tuner. The Land Before Time appeared on the screen. I got sincerely excited for a distraction from this man and the sexual tension. “Yo veo este pelicula cuando yo era una nina,” I said.  He was laying on his back looking up to me, his gaze intently on my face. I was lying on my stomach pretending to be enthralled with the old movie when he said,  “no eres una niña ahora.”  His hand grazed the back of my thigh, and I gulped, realizing just how much I damn sure was not a little girl anymore.

Here, I was studying abroad in Ecuador, speaking a language that was not my own, trusting strangers to feed and house me, basically traveling alone. I was no child. I realized I was a grown ass woman and I understood that in that moment I could do whatever I wanted. I was looking at a fine man that I wanted badly. He was the subject of masturbation for many a night, and I was holding myself back for a girl who was reluctant to tell the truth about her involvement when I asked her twice. They weren’t official, and she wasn’t here. But I was and his large fingers were tracing his name on my ass. I kissed him.

That was Saturday. After fucking him more on Monday and inviting him to a nearby beach town on Tuesday we found ourselves in the sand, drunk and accompanied by his amiga. She took us to her job, a mostly empty strip club with one pole on a large stage and multiple rooms with women sitting outside the door. She informed me that “private shows” were 30 dollars; unfortunately I only had 10 on me. We drank 20-ounce Pilsner beers and I asked her if she liked her job. She said at times it could be hard. I looked around the barren venue with its overweight dancers, and empty guest rooms. Strip clubs are sad on slow nights.

We left for her apartment; she had to change her clothes for her second job. It was about 9pm. I was dizzily drunk by now. We got into her modest apartment and I plopped on her bed. He found a set of scent body lotion and began to rub it on my inner thighs. I wasn’t wearing underwear and he seemed pleasantly surprised by the ease with which he could lick me. Monday I attempted to teach him how I liked it, I kissed him how I wanted to be kissed in an attempt to remind him. She decided to help. At first she gave pointers from the sidelines. Maybe she felt I wasn’t enjoying it enough because eventually she took over. I don’t remember how it felt, I don’t remember if she was better than him. Her demeanor is astounding is all I remember thinking. If she thought an act was not being performed right, she would get up and change it. While she was riding him, I sucked her nipple too hard. She stopped everything to tell me that. When it was my turn to ride she made sure to switch the condoms. He may have had the dick but she had the brain. She was a stand up woman; a coach. She had sex like it was her profession. I felt honored to watch her work. It was reassuring to have another woman not only show you the right way to ride, but correct your posture in a way that makes it more orgasmic for you. I remember how flawless she was in her execution of pleasure. She wasn’t even physically astounding, she had two kids and the stretch marks on her hips and things told of a less curvy time in her life. She was not watching herself have sex, she was having sex. She was not competing for his dick or attention, she was fucking us.

When it was all over we put our clothes on and got something to eat. Three meals came to 7 dollars, and we scraped our plates clean.  We were returning to our room to try out what we learned on each other, and she was going to start her second job. She gave me her gold dangling earring, “que te no olvidas mi.” I accepted her earrings and hugged her, knowing that I could never forget her, or this learning experience, even if I tried.

Graphic By Sophia Gach-Rasool

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