Roatan, West Bay
the Dear's Headlights...
“I couldn’t,” I confessed. “I was frozen in the dear’s headlights.”
It was our third morning on Roatan and time for my ritual walk.
I had to trek north on the beach that led through the section of the beach where the Italians flocked
like seagulls. Now, if you have never been to Roatan, you need to know that
this group invariably includes women who have a flash of exhibitionism in them.
Yeppir, topless bathing is alive and well on West Bay Beach, much to the chagrin
of the locals. But then, I am not a local.
Behind me, I
heard my wife quickly running to catch up. “Mind if I join you on your
morning walk?” From her inflection, I knew it wasn’t a question and we continued walking north.
Well, when we came to the Roman congregation, they were praying to the sun god as
they did every morning. Very religious group. It was at this point in the
walk that I deferred to my wife, gently easing her elbow so that she
could walk in front and I could walk behind. I mean it was just too crowded to
walk side-by-side. (Sunglasses are such a blessing when it is so bright out.
Take some if you are going to West Bay.)
It was hard work but after about 5 minutes of a very
circuitous route through the sunbathers, I made it through the crowd
As I emerged, I stopped and lit a cigarette. 'Bout then, Dee shot me one of those “you better not have
been looking” glares. I mean, what was I supposed to do? Close my
eyes and stumble right into someone? How rude would that have been? But
this silent exchange was merely a warm-up of what was about to happen.
continued our walk north, a woman approached us from the other direction. I would
guess she was about 35-38 years old and definitely an Italian. She was dressed for swimming but
she had a very light sarong draped over her shoulders and loosely tied around
her neck. So far, so good. But as she came closer, she took the
right edge of her sarong and threw it over her shoulder, boldly thrusting a
breast right right out there!
My goodness, the woman is topless! This isn’t happening.
Is this one of those Central American apparitions? Now she is about 10
feet from us. Then, she actually cupped her bare breast and lifted it a bit, like
she was “showing” a prize. As I tried to come to grips with this, she reached
over and tossed the left edge of sarong over her other shoulder. She then
the left breast as she had with the first -- almost an embrace. Honest!
In less than five seconds, it was all over. She was past us. I briefly thought
about glancing over my shoulder and quickly tossed that very bad idea into the
surf. Using seasoned discretion, I instead looked at my wife and at
exactly the same instance, we each said, “What was that all about?”
(Actually, I said something else but it needn't be repeated here). Our
Italian friend has proven to be the topic of many lively discussions ever since
we 'met' her.
I have shared this story with many people since we have returned to Wisconsin.
It seems that my story telling precedes me and no one will buy this tale,
despite my insistence on the veracity of the account. I am asking you to take
it on face value. It is true.
One dear friend here at home accepts
it as truth because he knows that even I couldn’t come up with a story as rich as this
one. His only question to me was, “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” I said.
not?” he shot back. "Certainly you could have said ‘hello’ or snapped a