So for my birthday (I have three but that’s a whole other blog) I decided that I needed some beach bikini and promptly took myself off to Barbados. My friends told me to take condoms and make up etc in case this was my ‘Stella Got Her Groove Back’ moment but I’d already had that and to be honest I didn’t really have Bond on beach fantasy. I just wanted to work on my vitamin d and catch up on some much needed sleep
I arrived in the afternoon and it felt like I was being kissed and hugged by the sun and heat. As allergic as I am to the cold I’m quite literally addicted to the heat. It completes me. I was promptly whisked off to the resort and it was lovely. I made the mistake of partaking in their welcome rum punch and fell asleep on my bal
cony over looking the sea. This was heaven.
The next day I dug out my honeymoon
bikini and, it fit! I got up early (I’m an eight German so have an inbuilt need to grab a lounger early. I’d been spying on the beach since 6am) and sauntered down to my lounger. Bar staff came to take orders so you never ha
d to go in. The wifi even worked as I was so close to the hotel.
A few hour later and I saw someone bobbing along the sea. Ignoring him I went back to a facebook argument about one of the KarKrash family I think. Then I saw the bob emerge from the sea.
Now, in terms of female fantasies there have only been two sea scenes to reference. The first is Daniel Craig in every sing Bond movie I think. The second is Tom Cruise in some movie where their plane crashed and he emerged and you realised that Tom was now not the hot thing of yesteryear. He was giving serious Daddy hotness not sexy hotness.
Well, this was worse. Firstly he had moobs. His bra size would definitely be bigger than mine and I’m a small D cup. Secondly he looked like he’d eaten Nemo. And why was he walking towards me like we knew each other? Oh fuck! A beach fuckboi opportunist. Was Idris or Omari Hardwick busy?
He did indeed come over and start chatting me up. Why? I blame the honeymoon bikini and the lack of any other black women on the beach. Turns out he was a grandfather of 5, in his 50s, semi retired and way too chatty. I hadn’t even had my second smoothie of the day.
I tried to be reserved and unengaging but, he was nigistent in his approach and insisted on exchanging details. I gave him my messenger. He eventually left and I promptly slagged him off on facebook before remembering that my profile is public. Did he see it? I felt bad but then thought, hold on, this is my holiday. How dare he think it’s ok to impose his mooby self on it. I thought I had escaped that sort of nonsense when I got on the Virgin flight at Gatwick. Quick shout out to Virgin on the gluten f
ree meal by the way. Not so much on the way back but you killed it on the way out.
Anyway he insisted on taking me out on my birthday. I guess he hadn’t read the post. We walked around the west side of the island and he showed me his primary school and then said we should go to his cousin’s house. Er, does this fool think I’ve never seen an episode of Oprah? You never ever let them take you to a second location. Yes, judging from his flip flopped feet and belly I could outrun him but, CSI Miami was about to start and I had to make a decision. I chose Miami.
Needless to say I probably wasn’t in any danger at all but, I didn’t want to become some unknown tourist who disappeared in the middle of the night who wrote ‘moobs’ in the sand as a clue to the police. Nah, this was no Bond moment.
© Chelsea Black 2017 #BikiniBirthday #BimBreak