vacation leftovers

Vacations can be amazing.
A slice of heaven.
A parade of perfection, possibly in paradise.
In general, they only have one flaw...CELIBATE HELL!! OH NOOOOOOO!!!
This isn't a problem for everyone, of course, not if you travel with a sex partner or two, or are comfortable going down on a stranger you met four whiskey sours ago, or if you stay in your own hotel room and can avail yourself of the most reliable, efficient sex you'll ever know, if you glean my meaning.
Um no, i didn't mean a prostitute, but at least you're paying attention.
No, on the kind of vacation i'm talking about, when you stay with family or friends...well, i suppose there are those of you who might be comfy with sliding your hand down to your tingly bits while sleeping in the same room (or the same bed) with Uncle Frank. But even if i have my own room, it just seems a little impolite (if not yucky) to make merry with my weasel in cousin Tilly's bed. I fully admit that i may be outing myself as an uptight prig, and that there are hosts out there who would never wish my bishop to be so bereft.
But that's how the chips seem to fall, for me. It gets so you start to dream of your first night (or day) back in your own bed. How many hours (or minutes) can you hold out, once you're safely home in your woom? You might even go crazy for a day or two, to make up for lost time. Wheeeee!
But getting back to my recent vacation, there was one moment of beauty which should not be forgotten. My friend Jim took me to the beach at Siesta Key, Sarasota. The water and sand are just amazingly beautiful. When we got there, the lifeguards put up the yellow warning flag ("swim at your own risk"). There was a storm coming in. You could see it, a couple of miles out. A wall of darkness. Jim and i dove in. You could feel the forces of nature building, and the heightened human energy around you. The wall of darkness began spurting bolts of lightning. A few minutes later the wind started to kick up, and there were cresting waves, a rarity in the Gulf. The red flag went up. At first, i wanted to stand at the water's edge as the storm rolled in, but i chickened out when the blown sand made it hard to see, and the gusts turned chilly. Jim and i joined the throng gathering under the huge snack stand pavilion, those hardy ones who hadn't run for their cars. The storm hit the beach, and the rain was pushed under the pavilion so that everyone gathered at the far side. We all huddled there for fifteen minutes or so. As it started to ease up, a man with a wet guitar started playing "La Bamba". Another stranger knew the authentic lyrics, and joined in.
Afterwards, we played and rode in the waves. The scrapes on my chest from where i was dragged along the bottom, just like the temporary tattoo Aunt Joyce put on me and her sisters, are fading now...