Sun glistening on unbroken water, my eyes were drawn across the surface to the very end, where an infinity pool lip invited the eye to marvel at the merge between the resort pool and the ocean view. Can you tell the line? Can you see the make-believe that the pool enters the ocean? Like the crescendo of an orchestra, the palm trees rose from the beach down below to frame the perfect picture. The orchestra had given its all. The performers bowed in silence to receive the applause, but I had only arrived. There was still the entire vacation ahead of me. Was I going to spend the whole time staring at this scene over and over?

At that moment, I realized that they design these resorts on computers these days. Someone had created a 3D model of the hotel and fudged everything to create the perfect view from this very spot. If I stepped to the left, the sight of the burger shack ruined the perfect island fantasy. If I stepped to the right, the Forever 21 hotel clothing shop ruined the shot. If I stepped forward, the umbrellas of the main interrupted the infinity pool and ocean from connecting. A clever designer architect had made a dozen perfect Instagram spots all over the resort, like the hammock under a palm tree at the beach shot.

When I had sat at my office desk, I had looked at those Instagram stories and imagined what would be around those shots. Images of tan, bare skin raking in the sunlight, speaking tales of youthful, smooth skin came to mind. A soundtrack of luscious, sexy island beats played in the background. Now that I was here, I can tell you that the hotel speaker rattled royalty-free music that sounded as pleasant as shopping at Macy's. There was loneliness. Empty, clean caverns of the hotel lobby with a solitary hotel worker hurrying across it like she didn't want to be there.

I felt like a shameful colonialist oppressor and a money pig that was being bled at every opportunity by hands holding out for a tip. Let me show you your room. That's $5. Let me fold open the lounge chair at the pool for you. That's $1. You want to know where the restroom is!? Let me walk you so that you are obligated to give me a $1. You are not human to these people. You are simply a money dispenser to these people. They play a little game of what minute gesture can they do to drain that money pig of a little more. Even though I was carefully attended to, the place felt very inhospitable.

Sitting and lounging by myself for hours on end, the ocean, the straw huts, and the sand lost their luster. The people inhabiting the resort were the most interesting thing. Being in a foreign country always has lots of surprises. All the familiar social cues are all mixed up. On the second-floor balcony in front of the steakhouse restaurant was an elder couple. Back home, I would have taken one look at their clothing and dismissed them. That yellow shirt was probably only $50. The colors on her dress were so muted that she was probably a shy mouse. However, their posture and facial expression spoke that they were the rich shit. After each puff on the cigar, he pulled it out of his mouth with his elbow so high, like he made a big show off it. She held her face so high that it must have been uncomfortable, but she was putting out to everyone that they were indulging in a very luxurious vacation. When he handed the waitress fetching them cocktails a paper bill, he did it so ceremoniously as if to tell everyone how much better he was for tipping her. He didn't tip out of social obligation. He tipped to create a belief that he was in a rare and stratified air above the hotel staff. He absolutely had no shame in showing how much better he thought he was then they were. They had absolutely no shame in grabbing money bills anywhere and anytime. Perhaps, in whatever country they are from, they are factory owners, but they still only look like they are dressed in middle-class clothes.

There are also all kinds of unusual body types and faces. Each ethnicity has its own subtypes, like the ghetto black people who are super overweight, the preppy black people with those glasses that make them look so smart, and the average Joe black person who always walks around with a basketball jersey and smiles a lot. But walking across the bridge over the pool were two women with parasols. Their facial shapes were unlike anything I had seen before. Their cheekbones seemed round like a ping-pong ball. Their chin and corners of their jaw equally seemed like the shape of ping-pong balls.

I was gawking a bit behind my aviator sunglasses. As beautiful as the place is, one can be awed by the glorious sun, sparkling ocean, and balmy breeze for only so long before that mind that's been forced to run at hamster wheel speed needs stimulation. My phone was in the room safe. My SIM card didn't work with the local phone company anyway. The reflex to check my phone every sixty seconds was still happening. I felt slightly frustrated and awkwardly thrust to be present in the moment. After a scan of all the nearby people, I'd try to dig deeper into the details of the people. The two parasol ladies were wearing one-piece bathing suits that were cut into spiral flames - some designer cut. There was a little bit of side boob and belly exposed, not the worst details to steal glances at.

The bartender finally finished up her last order before. She walked over to me. I have no clue what she said. She mumbled. She spoke in Spanish. I realized on the flight that I should have learned some phrases in Spanish. I shouted "Paloma" at her over the pool music. The electronic beat from the pool speakers and the swing music from the bar speakers were fighting each other. She mumbled some inaudible Spanish back but didn't move to make a drink. She had no recollection of what a Paloma was. I tried to explain to her the ingredients tequila, grapefruit juice... There was no point. She spoke strictly only Spanis.

She turned around to get something. The female staff at the resort all wore white knee-length skirts that were two sizes to small. I kind of get the intention to dress sexy or the intention to dress to reflect local tradition, but these skirts succeeded at neither. They reminded me more of skirts my grandma would wear. Because of the overstretched fabric, their panty lines were as clear as an emergency flare in the middle of the night. They didn't seem to have any shame about panty lines at home like women have back home. I took it upon myself to study the variety of underwear the staff was wearing like an entomologist studies insects. A lot of them wore panties that were the old classic type that fully cupped both butt cheeks. But there were some young ones that wore edgier panties that cut a tight V. And there was one that had no panty lines at all. I wondered if she went command or had a thong. She seemed like the bad bitch of the pack.

The bartender came back from all the way on the other side of the bar to hand me a bottle of Bud Light. I lowered my head and then caught myself before I let out a sigh of disappointment. For months, I had dreamt about the all-inclusive bar at my office desk. I had made a list of all the fancy cocktails I was going to drink my way through and in which order. My hope for improving my drink order was slim. So I took the Bud Light.

The other thing is that once you are sauntering to that titillating lounge chair at the edge of the pool and luxurious decline, you ask yourself: "What now?" I'm in the dream photo of the Caribbean - open shirt to show my pecs and beer in hand - but what the heck am I going to do now? At that moment, I realized that when looking at vacation websites, they always showed a hot girl. I really wasn't that much into idly lying in the burning sun. I was really into the hot girl. So I sat back up.

Right in the pool, not too far away, was a beautiful Latina. She had that hair with the tiny curls that made her hair piled high into a big halo. I love how that suggests rich personality. She had olive-brown skin like she was from a Miami party. Her oversized blacked-out sunglasses made her look like a star. She whirled her fingers across the surface of the water like she had a playful spirit. That's where the party is at, I told myself.

Leaving the shirt behind on the lounge chair, I slowly walked towards her. The water hit me a little bit chilly as I stepped onto the first submerged step. But as I stepped on the next step and got my calf embraced, I realized that it wasn't so bad. The cold sensation was merely the surprise of getting out of the hot air but sumptuously cooled the middle of the day heat out of my body. I pushed myself through the belly-deep water toward her, dragging a wave of water behind until I got right in front of her.

"Hey, you have gorgeous glasses!" I told her with a warm smile.

She lowered her head so that she could look at me from over her glasses. Her brown eyes looked curious. They had a speed about them that suggested intelligence and a quick tongue. My heart, which had been subdued until now, broke into a rough sprint. I knew that I had to keep my cool, even if my knees felt like giving out and my mind wanted to apologize and run away. I held that smile warm and the chest out to let her inspect me. All is not lost, I told myself.

Then when she had made up her mind about me, the first thing that moved was her lips pulling apart into a smile. Then a dimple grew in her cheeks. I felt the euphoria rising. She liked me! Shout it from the roofs! She liked me! Being so close, I saw from the corner of my eyes her voluptuous boobs. They injected me with a feeling of wanting to sing. I felt so alive.

"You are not shabby either," her voice was smooth and warm. There were so many overtones in her voice that it felt like a whole orchestra was playing.

She reached out and caressed my belly to show me what she was liking. Man! I was in heaven. The skin on her fingers was so smooth. The way she connected with me felt so delicate, so full of feeling. As I looked down at her hand, I caught a glimpse of her belly. Phew! Flat and taught with the navel button sticking out. Her belly was a work of art. There didn't seem to be any extra fat, but she also had curves to her - curves as not a synonym for being overweight but for perfect sinus waves to her body shape. Please, don't get a boner was the frightened thought in my head.

I was absolutely mesmerized by the feminine energy she exuberated. That's why I hadn't noticed her friend coming up. I quickly switched gears to greeting her friend as warmly as I could, but her friend simply grabbed the first girl's hand and pulled her away. The friend looked angry and gave me one look to hiss at me.

"Fuck off!" her friend put so much disgust into those two words that I felt like I had done something horrible. The shock of going from the best I've felt in months to the worst was intense. I could feel pain in my body.

The first girl took her glasses off to throw me a sad eyes look. She pouted her lips to show how much she regretted not hanging out with me. I tried to play my feelings down and threw her a look back that said that we had a secret bond of really being into each other.

I walked out of the pool and lay down in the lounge chair. This time my mind wasn't idle. I wondered what I had done wrong. Maybe, I'm simply a disgusting-looking guy. Maybe, my belly has grown too fast. Maybe, she could tell that I'm not cool and had to protect her friend. Maybe, I should have put her friend in her place. With all my thinking, I couldn't change the feeling that I simply felt unworthy and not good enough. I was going through my own hell in the Caribbean paradise.

Another drink might take the edge off. So I went back to the bar and prepared myself for a long weight. The bartender was walking three times from one end to the other end to collect the ingredients for another guest's drink. They were a couple of dudes that definitely appeared cool. They had shirts with big tiger prints. In the way that they laughed at each other's jokes, the confirmed to each other how cool they were. When the bartender faced them, she got all flirty and leaned over the bar to get real close. Every time they said only a word to her, she broke out laughing like they were making her blush. One of the guys grabbed her cheeks to squeeze it like you do a little kid. She was laughing so hard and batting her eyes at them. I definitely felt like a loser watching them.

Suddenly, I felt a heavy warm landing across both my shoulders. I definitely wasn't prepared for that amount of weight or to be touched at all, for that matter. I felt like the cave of thoughts that I had built for myself shattered because, suddenly, I had to deal with reality. I turned to the left and was face to face with a chubby Latin guy with a bald head. He had an easy smile. The vibe like we had been friends for a long time came over real strong. He was visibly at ease with himself.

"You are the gringo that gave Garcela a hard time. Where are you from?" he asked me. His voice was loud, baritone, like the sound of a water drum.

"I'm from Atlanta," I told him. Not knowing where this was going, answering to the point seemed like the best policy.

"Get out of here!" he told me with a perfect Southern accent. "I've lived there for ten years! You have to meet my Uruguayan friends."