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Mr. Marcus meets his secret coed sex birthday partner.

We were in the nightclub, givin' it heaps, running around like mad things, smiles here, quick word there- oh yes, we were working it, baby! We weren't working on anyone in particular, but as explained earlier, pfft - we were here for weeks - what did we care?

The evening continued in this vein until, almost before we knew it, there were very few left. In England there is this terrifying moment in a club when it suddenly dawns on everyone that the next dance is the last dance- and there is a mad scramble to grab a member of the opposite sex (or whatever your preference) in a deperate, last chance saloon attempt to pull. It is terrifying on two counts. One - all the girls who you have avoided all evening hove into view, lips smacking and thighs chaffing, blocking out all artificial light as they throw their less 'fat-assed' counterparts out of the way of their target...Two - not having a lass for that last dance is akin to admitting you can't pull, aren't attractive, and are, in the eyes of your contemporaries, a loser.

*Shiver*

Nasty business - anyhow- I digress (again). There was no warning- no DJ announcing 'Last dance folks - grab that moose now you are drunk enough!' (Not that they ever actually said that - but you knew that they were thinking it...)

It went from 'Wind you body' to 'walk your body elsewhere, we're closed'. I can clearly remember Greg, looking round, like a dog chasing its tail- wondering where all the pretty ladies had gone.

The bar was shut- shutters down shut, not just 'I'm sorry we are closed' shut. From heaving to empty in mere seconds- we felt like there was a big secret location that everyone else knew about ands we didn't. We knew it wasn't the same place as last night, as we had been told that was Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Today wasn't any of those - where did they all go?

We wandered home, slightly disconsolate, but talking each other through bits of the evening. Admittedly, I do most of the recalling, as, hopefully without any innuendo attached, I act as Greg's 'Black box'. I monitor and record his flights, and since his memory is terrible - I'm always impressed when he remembers his own name, let alone mine - I add names to faces, people to places and places to times. I am lucky to have a very good memory, so these things all work out. I could, if I ever wished, make up stuff about Greg that would leave him acutely embarrassed, but, and this is now some 20 odd years into our friendship, I have yet to do so. At least, I don't think I have...

A new day, a new dawn - although we didn't see this one, thankfully! Fast asleep, awaking in time for a late morning swim (please note the morning part- impressed?) and to grab some lunch from a market stall. Life is, and forgive me if I've said this before, bloody good!

The day was a bit of a nothing day. It was a Sunday, we couldn't get anything done if we tried to, which, knowing us, was a terrible disappointment. Simply disgusted with such an unfortunate turn of events, we resolved to give ourselves skin cancer as a means to self punish.

Ok, ok, we went sunbathing, and swimming, and had a most fabulous time messing about on a beach and in the Caribbean sea. Terrible, terrible shame we couldn't get anything done...

We tried very very hard to find out what was going on in the evening on a Sunday, but most people either said they knew of nothing, or, they knew nothing was happening. Turns out they seemed to be right, we couldn't even find some ancient lushes to try to feel us up inappropriately.

Still, Monday tomorrow, and that meant the Monday Beach Extravaganza down at 'Arbour Lights - the club we went to two days ago. Sweet! This time I'd like to meet a Swedish Under 19 Massage team. Thanks!

It also meant a day of admin - meeting people we needed to meet, collecting our scuba gear now it had decided to join us from England, checking it all, washing it etc etc.

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