YOU BETTA BELIZE IT!!!

It’s been just about two weeks and my dark chocolate tan has long faded, the mosquito and sand fly bites have subsided and I’m still trying to remember that guy’s name from Placencia. All I remember was the hard curve his dick had made it very hard to mount. Too much happened there and I’m going to try and get as much out before I leave for JA this weekend. I’ve typed up the entry below the day after I got back and I didn’t want to post it until I caught up with other folks blogs…But as you can probably tell, I haven’t ventured past my own, so I’ll finally post this and get to everyone else later.

Sidebar: When I got back from Belize on x-mas eve, I had the young girl (I mentioned in previous posts) staying with me for one week. My boss has adopted her, but planned a trip before obtaining her so I offered to have her stay with me. It wasn’t bad at all however it made me realize how impatient and selfish I am. For New Years Eve, we rented movies, ordered pizza and I invited one of her friends to spend the night. The girl was 14 years old. We had a frank talk about her sex life. She was having trouble with her 20 year old boyfriend and she was considering leaving him because she found out he was sleeping with her cousin.

“I’m not sure if I want to leave him because we’ve been together for so long and I don’t want to have too many partners before I get married.”

“Well, how many guys have you slept with already?”

“Eleven.”

I rang in 2007 talking to two 14 year old girls about dating older guys, sex, condoms and STDs.

So here’s part one of my Belize/Guatemala adventure…..

PARTE UNO
We walk down the stairs from the airplane and follow the lines that lead us to customs. I make eye contact with every Black face I see with a dick to see their reaction to my cleavage line. They all look in amazement and spread their lips, exposing their teeth (Why do so many Belizean men have that one gold filling at the top of their front teeth?). We pay for a plane ticket for the one hour ride to Placencia. We walk back out to the land strip and there’s a line of 10 four-passenger Cessnas.

The sweat comes, pouring down my face and fucks up my make-up. We climb up the three fold out stairs and I eye the pilot. He’s wearing a dingy white tank top with baggy jeans. The only thing I could think of was, where’s his captains hat? He’s munching on dried banana chips and watching me fail at putting on my seat belt. It won’t fit across my damn hips. He steps to me, looks down my shirt and tells me, “You have to move to the other side of the plane. There’s too much weight on this side.” The other two passengers, including my friend give me this look as if to say, “You better do as he says, we don’t want this plane to crash.” I get up and move to the other side.

He makes three stops before reaching our destination. We were the only two passengers left for the last stop, so he decided to practice his aerial moves before landing. I threw up Granny Smith apple chunks and raw almonds on the back of his seat. Wish I could watch the look on his face when he cleans it up. We reach the small airport strip and wait for the resort van to pick us up. I talk with the man behind the counter. He tells me there’s not a lot of nightlife, but the annual Mistletoe Ball is being held tomorrow and there was going to be a live punta rock band. Needless to say I spent the next three days in this hammock, snoring with Gus in my ears and the two nights in my hotel room with the guy behind the counter. I still can’t remember his name. The next morning @ 5am, we hopped on the public bus for the three hour ride to San Ignacio. Before I left I made the cook take a picture with me. He can fry the hell out of some dough.

Next adventure is Tikal, Guatemala.