I abandoned my friends, lost my money, driven into the middle rural Mexico alone and narrowly avoided jail so I could get this hurricane dick.
Remember Hurricane Dean?
To jog your memory, it was one of the most destructive hurricanes ever to hit Mexico. It destabilized the country's oil fields and agriculture, ripped little towns right off their little foundations, and viciously murdered about 12 people.
Yeah, so, I fucked in that.
A boy touched me with his micropenis in the eye of the storm and I was never the same.
Let me set the scene for you.
I was 17, in Playa del Carmen with four of my friends. It was our first no-parents-no-rules trip, and we were taking full advantage of the unbridled freedom and alcohol that an adult-free vacation brought. I'd be lying to you if I said I knew why our parents agreed to this; shipping their precious sons and daughters to the world's least safe country to probably drunkenly fuck each other is pretty odd.
But, they did … On one condition: that we didn't split up. You know, to prevent beheadings.
We agreed. So, we spent the first three days responsibly drinking like we were 50-year-old war veterans, having shower orgies, and not splitting up.
Fourth day rolls around. It's very windy. Pretty rainy. I hear something about a tropical storm, but I'm distracted when I get a text from some boy I'd been emotionlessly fucking back in Colorado where I lived. He was also in Mexico. He was two hours away, in Tulum. I was horny and drunk and 17, so I told him to come meet up with me in Playa del Carmen. He agreed.
A few hours later, we're all out at Senor Frogs (sorry, mom), a club that apparently welcomes wasted children with open arms. The boy (let's call him Wayne), shows up, and we revert to our favorite activity: making out embarrassingly. He whispers "I want to fuck you" in my ear, and it sends chills down my back. The feeling is mutual; but there's a problem.
My friends, who I've previously agreed to not split up with, are not ready to go home yet. They don't want to leave this resplendent Senor Frog's early just so I can fuck some dude I'd fuck anyway back home.
So Wayne offers to take me to his place. In Tulum. Two hours away.
I talk this over with my friends.
"I know we agreed to not split up, but I want to go to Wayne's. I'll be back at the hotel tomorrow. Is that okay with you?"
In various states of drunkenness, they're like "Sure, whatever, I don't care mmmmggghgghfhh." I take this as affirmation, and leave with Wayne.
Wayne came with his friend Tom, who was driving a van. We pile in, and settle in for the long drive.
About 30 minutes in, I get a text.
"Where the FUCK are you," says one of my friends. Confused, I reply that I'm with Wayne … Like I'd just told her.
Now everyone's pissed at me. Nobody remembers me telling them I was leaving or where I'd be, and they think I've abandoned them. I'm apologizing, but no one's returning my texts.
I start to feel awful. I ask if we can turn around, but we've gone too far. Just then, red and blue lights flash behind us and the piercing wail of a siren floods our ears. We're being pulled over by Mexican police in the middle of nowhere. We are underage and made of tequila. It's pouring rain and the streets are showing the faintest signs of flooding.
Tom, who's driving, exchanges some hurried, scared words with the cop. It turns out he'll let us be on our merry way if we give him $200.
I give him all my money. I wasn't about to go to Mexican jail. The cop falls back.
Relieved of all our cash for the night, we continue on until we finally reach Tulum. At this point, I'm sad that my friends hate me and worried I'm suddenly broke.
It's dark, and the wind has picked up. We can feel it shake the van. On the radio, I keep hearing the word "huracán."
"Where are we going?" I ask. I'd expected they were taking me to their hotel, but … Wayne had other plans. We were going to the beach. You know, like the place you go when it's sunny and daytime and not a hurricane?
"I've always wanted to have sex on the beach!" he said presumptively.
I stared at him. Rain streaked down the window of the van and the violent low hum of thunder belched at us from the sky.
"I think there's a hurricane … " I said, my words trailing off as we rumbled to a stop. We were in nowhere land, on a completely light-less, pitch-black beach. It was pouring at this point, like sky-shower style, and the wind was so strong it plugged my nose and forced me to stop breathing momentarily as I opened the door to the van to see where we were. Wayne and I got out.
"Welp! Have fun," said Tom as he pulled away.
"Where is he going?" I said worriedly, now hyper-aware that I was alone with Wayne, on a beach, in a hurricane, with no ride and no money.
"He's just giving us some privacy," said Wayne. "Let's go down to the water."
I looked at him like he was crazy, which he was, but more in the dick than in the head. I could tell really wanted to do this beach sex thing. I was about to tell him I wasn't in the mood anymore; that too much weird shit had happened tonight and I wasn't about to die in a natural disaster, but then I thought about it for a second.
I had come all this way to fuck. I had braved my friends, the Mexican police and a hurricane to be here, and I'd be damned if it was for nothing.
So, I pull him close and we start making out. We fall into the sand, and it instantly gets in every one our orifices. We're rolling around, soaking wet, exfoliating our now-bare skin with the beach itself. The wind whips my hair in his face so hard it's like knives. I try to go down on him, but the sand and rain has created some sort of unavoidable, burning emulsion that flies around in the air and it singes his penis. He tries to fondle my breasts, but I'm shivering so hard that they're numb. His hand can't go anywhere near my vagina because it's ice cold and filthy with ocean mud. At one point, I'm pretty positive we'll blow away. It's messy and it's disgusting and … it's not working.
Frustrated and probably about to premature ejaculate, Wayne sprints up to where Tom is waiting in the car, and tells him to get out. Tom stands in the rain, alone, in the cold and dark, while Wayne pulls up in the van and motions me towards it.
Inside, it's mercifully warm and dry. We peel off each other's ruined clothing, wipe the sand out of our eyeballs and start to kiss as the wind rocks the van. The anticipation is palpable, and my heart starts racing knowing that the climax, the sex part, is coming soon.
We get into position. He takes out his cock.
It's maybe three inches long and red from the sand and freezing wind-rain. I briefly consider what I've put myself through for this level of dick, but I stop thinking once he sticks in.
He pumps once.
He pumps twice.
He … pulls out and comes everywhere.
A beat of silence.
And another. I stare at him, stunned.
Tom knocks on the window.
"Are you guys done, there's a fucking hurricane outside!" he screams.
I ignore him. The weight of what just happened has just cascaded onto my face.
I had abandoned my friends, traveled two hours into rural Mexico alone, given all my money away, narrowly escaped international prison, and been in the middle of what I would later find out was Hurricane Dean just so a dude could micro-fuck me for literally two seconds.
I got dressed and opened the door for Tom. Silent, the three of us drove to a cab stand in town, where Tom (not Wayne) gave me his own money to take a two hour cab ride back to my hotel in Playa del Carmen, which I spent dumbfounded and dazed. Why would I put myself at such a high degree of risk to have laughably terrible sex with some kid I had no feelings for? For the nookie? For the story? To test my own mortality?
To this day, I still don't know.
When I got back to my hotel, it was early in the morning. My friends were all asleep, peacefully unaware that there was a Category 5 tropical storm senselessly beating the exterior of the room.
I crawled into bed and drifted off, grateful that my brush with death-by-hurricane or rural-Mexico-murder had, at the very least, been sexual.