Tuesday September 11 2012


It’s about 11 a.m. Rolling and tumbling around in the bed with Aysena.  

Instant Blueberry Oatmeal with Coffee and an Orange Pluot.

Her and I start out on our Outer Banks adventures.

Me: “Goodbye Virginia Beach!”

Ays: “I’m so excited!”

Crossing the bridge on 168. She takes a video using her iPad, The Killer’s “Mr. Brightside” blaring on the stereo.

Me: “Road Trip America!”

It’s a relieving feeling to be leaving town...a fresh feeling...to be leaving a place all dried up with flakey leaves of memories. For the next two days her and I will be creating new trees in our heads that will grow beautiful nostalgic flowers.


Brief stop at Powell Market along the side of the road – grabbing some fruit and a sweet treat.


An old brick chimney aging in the middle of a dying cornfield sparks our interest for a photo op, but almost everything will anyway. There’s a cute little thrift store nearby that we browse through.

Sharing Egg Salad Sandwiches with Tomato, Potato Chip Trio, and Honey Green Tea.


Dance music from the 90’s pumps up on the stereo – MacarenaScatman. It seems appropriate as we cross into Nags Head over the Wright Memorial Bridge, which presents to us a wondrous water landscape of epic proportions.


We don’t have any concrete plans of specific things we want to do but The Wright Brothers Memorial in Kill Devil Hills is first on our list. It’s sunny as sunny can get out here as we roam the fields where the first flight took place over 100 years ago. The strong breeze is a pleasant additive. 

Ays: “I ordered this weather.”

Me: “Ha-ha. Online?”

Ays: “Yes. It’s very expensive.”

Me: “How much?”

Ays: “1,000 for wind. Another 2,000 for sunny.”

Me: “Ha-ha! I see.”

Atop the hill where the monument stands I saw a spread of sand dunes in the near distance. So we drive through the neighborhoods in search of these mysterious dunes. We find them. Park. Walk along the fairly untrafficked path. Leave our shoes at the entrance. Exploring the soft mountainous terrain, occasionally a prickly sticks to our bare feet. Every now and then we can hear the roaring sounds of a high school football game echoing in the background. I discover a haven hidden low behind a hill. She encourages the snapping of nude photos. It’s a comical scene for us as we strip down to nothing and take turns capturing the scandalous images. And then...we become fierce sexual creatures of the dunes – naked romping – making body impressions in the sand – euphoric images of ecstasy. We’re both amused by what just happened and take pride in our exhibition.

Back in the car. Snacking on a giant Peach Fritter. We drive down Croatan Highway. Parking somewhere near mile marker 11 across the street from an abandoned putt-putt course. The beach calls to us. The waves powerful against our frail figures. The wind pushing and fueling the intensity of the crashing shore. Splash in our face. Salty eyes. Dry mouths. Danger of rip currents. We face everything with courage. This surely isn’t anything like Virginia Beach.

Taking a breather on the blanket. She describes what she feels...

“I have too many emotions. In the ocean–far too little time. It’s beautiful and dangerous. Also, it’s cold and then warm. I felt happy. I was with you. And I fell down. It hurt me and then I had a lot of salt water.”


We conclude our beach time fun and drive down the road looking for a cheap hotel. Ocean House Motel suits our fancy with a small nook of a room. Oceanside view. King size bed with wooden pier poles tied with rope as bedposts. A detailed mural of a boat resting in a bay. We settle in. With the exotic locale feeding our inspiration a sexual fire takes place before we head out for dinner.


We have a strong appetite and first try the Nags Head Fishing Pier but after sitting down we decide it’s not as lively as desired. Instead we resort to a place called The Red Drum. Eating Steamed Crab Legs, Shrimp, and Clams with Carrots, Zucchini, and Broccoli. Sipping on a draft PBR. It’s quite a workout to eat but well worth the effort. Stuffing my face with the most seafood I can contain.


Next door is a frozen yogurt bar called Surfin’ Spoon. We treat ourselves to hefty servings of Ice Cream while watching a TV of surfing footage. Something strange happens after she requests tastings from my cup. I think my over enthusiastic sarcasm sometimes is a turn-off to her. She closes up towards the end of our sit-down. I try to talk to her but she won’t make a peep.


We return to the motel room. I inquire as to what’s wrong and why she won’t talk. I try to be sweet and eventually get around to achieving an understanding. When she feels uncomfortable she closes up rather than get angry; anger is something more familiar to deal with so this is a challenge, but not a difficult one. Everything’s okay now.


The nighttime calls to us. Stepping out back and relaxing in beach chairs on the cool sand. Smoking a clove while she sits in my lap curled up in a blanket. Observing the deep black line that defines the horizon and separates the crashing shorelines and sparkly night sky. The longer you stay out here the more vibrant things become. You get accustomed to the darkness.

I describe my feelings of freedom out here with her, “This is a good vacation for me.” It’s a break from my norm back home where everything is just as hazy but the same antics and same faces.

Back in our room retracing the events of the day. I write in my notebook and she fiddles on her iPad while select piano sonatas lull the reflective mood with wonderful imagery. Italian folk operas come on next...

She/we/I instigate another sexual frenzy that carries an endless supply of bliss – I spout out desperate romantic French words that I’m not even sure are being pronounced correctly – playfully expressing my surrender to her, “I’m yours. You can have me. I belong to you...” The movement, under and over the sheets, ceaseless except for the few instances of rest...and then start again – multiple orgasms (for both lover’s vessels) – endorphins racing through our bodies – purged of all impurities (the dirt and grime of a confined rutty life). She comments in a soft satisfied voice, “I was with the stars...in space...the galaxy.”

Wow. What a fantasy trip. Drifting off to sleep around 2 a.m. in our dreamboat.

[i] All photos by Aysena and me.

No comments: