Vacation Day 3

I lost  $35. I don’t know where. I know what I packed, I recall that money did not go into my safe. So I know that my safe is… safe. It’s just… I took out 300 and had thirty five at home. 

I used 20 at the airport and changed 50 here, which is still going strong. 

Given the clear indication of numbers, it’s possible I left my money at home. It’s bothering me because I can’t recall. A vacation for me is like it’s own little world. I should know. 

Could be the alcohol.

As I mentioned before, Dorian is an alcoholic, except he has a good grasp on his drinking and delights in controlling my alcohol intake. I don’t mind this because at some point I start receiving glasses of water and start drinking them alongside my alcoholic drinks. 

He watches me carefully and slows down my drinks to give me enough time to metabolise it just enough that I don’t get hung over. 

Last night we went to the first restaurant, we’re allowed three per week. The first was at a “gourmet” restaurant. 

I like food, by I always find those type of restaurants to be snot bags. They served us salmon with beets and Dorian didn’t get it.  I recalled what Beth had told me.

Start from the outside in, and if it looks like a snooty dick bag plated your food, it’s not meant to be eaten separately.

The salmon by itself was far too salty. Mixing it with the sweet beet cut the salt. But Beth is more about separate flavour. 

Here is the salmon, wonderful and delicious. Here is the rice, nicely flavored and paired with the salmon with a little bokchoy. None of them have to be eaten together, but as one they make a wonderful meal.

I’m more of a salmon should taste like salmon, not like warm salt, person. To me that says it’s been made by a bad chef, over salted the salmon. But I put it together then told Dorian what I was doing.

The beef tenderloin with blue cheese sauce though… the dessert was not worth it. Wonderful red wine.

Dorian told the waiter that he didn’t want wine. He doesn’t share that he’s an alcoholic, and for most people he just tells them no. The waiter served him wine. After the waiter left, he glanced at me. We decided that him not drinking the wine was best.

When the waiter returned and refilled my wine, then added to Dorian’s, we may have begun a discussion as to whether or not our waiter was drunk. 

Halfway through the soup course, a man came in from the resort. He was angry. Said nothing to us, but it seems those in the resort don’t have to keep the emotion back. This man was pissed.

I thought he was pissed at me, around me, near me. Even the waiter got mad.

The only reason  I can come up with, especially given their flurry of activity and then them looking at a very specific reservation card, is that the man walked in and thought I was sixteen.

The resort has an adult only section. The restaurant is in that section.  When we made our reservation, the lady who booked it repeated four times that adults were the only ones allowed in. We didn’t understand why.

It was him and me.

But despite being thirty, no one fucking believes I’m over twenty. 

Dorian looked at me, looked at them, then back to me. His look was clear.

I wanted to leave. Male animosity does that to me. Dorian’s look said to stay. It was almost bored on fashion, but there was an annoyed edge. I couldn’t tell if he was annoyed with my reaction, because I should know what’s expected of me, or if he was annoyed with them for bringing that reaction out in me. 

Either way, he didn’t elaborate with me.

I simply sat there and ate the last of the meal, noticing the annoyance in every line of our waiter. How the man from resort staff seemed to glare at me before he finally left. 

I probably drank an entire bottle of wine at dinner.

And eight to twelve drinks through the day. Dorian would let me get just drunk enough, then taper it off. It’s freaking amazing. 

Leaving the restaurant we got just outside of the view of the door when I stopped. Dorian went several steps ahead of me, then stopped and turned to me.

“What,” He said.

Not asked, said.

I lifted a foot and shook it. Then swore and reached down, yanking off first one, then the other shoe.

“These fucking things are going in the pool,” I snapped.

“You need them two more meals,” He responded, then held out his hand.

Grumbling, I took the hand as he led me away. He smiled as I tried to glare at him, then looked up pointedly.

He knows me and the night sky. I ended up gawking upward, staring at the stars oh so bright. I had stupidly hoped that I would see the milky way. I recognized none of the constellations, which I expected this far south. But Fuck. 

Not even a celestial body. Just fucking stars. Gimme a damned nebula at least. 

We slept, went to breakfast and then to the pool. It began to  rain so we went to the beach to hide. I got a mojito in my cup from home and drank a bit. Then Dorian took me back to the room to nap.

Sure. That’s what happened.

We did nap. Then someone’s screaming fucking child went running down the hallway, waking me up. Dorian was so very kind to get up with me. We went to the lobby where I drank a bunch.

No sun. All day.

None.

Fuck this.

This is not tropical. This is where I live but two degrees warmer. I wandered around at home in my underwear, so here in shorts is okay.

Stupid wind.

Oh, Dorian is all for me wandering around in my underwear. I’ve even seen him looking around, I know that look. I don’t think he’s going to find what he’s looking for at this resort. Among the women, maybe. But if he was looking for a woman, he’d leave me, tip the waitress really well, then wander off for an hour or two. 

Actually, he did that yesterday. I’m not mad. We’re on vacation and that is practically our arrangement. 

No, what Dorian has been looking for is an attractive enough male to catch my attention. It’s just not going to happen. 

At least he’s enjoying the vacation and sun… ish.

The little time in the room we’ve had outside of sleep, we’ve watched TV. There are four or five different languages at any time. This is Cuba. So I expected Spanish, considering the native speakers, then the languages of the man visitors. English from Canada, French from France, and Russian from Russia. I did not expect Chinese. That was a surprise.

Whenever we’re up and not eating or on the beach we’re in the lobby and he’s trying to throw ideas at me.

I completely appreciate him trying to do my job for me, but I’m not certain you can talk a regular woman into going to Cuba with you, then rent out the entire resort and have your way with her in the lobby. I’m pretty certain no one is that rich.

But could you imagine the amount of sex involved?

Then it was a woman is the only real booking before a rich man (very rich) tries to take vacation and realizes she has booked into the resort. So he brings his entire staff with him. Because they know to shut up and leave him alone. Then it’s just her and him the whole trip.

I dunno if that will work, but thanks for the idea, Dorian.

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