When I was in elementary school in Colorado, a field trip to Casa Bonita was nearly the erotic highlight in my vaguely conservative upbringing. I was an eleven year old, a lanky (ok, towering.) vessel of curiosity. On the long, overheated bus ride that took us to this culinary institution, couples suddenly grew like bad weeds, plans were made. By fifth grade, the year we went there with our class, most everyone had already been to this legendary Mexican restaurant with their families. We were elated, hooting and screeching, well aware of the abundance of possibilities to escape adult restraint in the Disneyland atmosphere that reigned at the sexually charged Casa Bonita.
No one goes to Casa Bonita for the food, as the cuisine is similar to a frozen Mexican TV dinner meant to be heated in the oven that you unfortunately choose to heat up in a microwave. It isn’t really awful but it’s not good either. They do make excellent sopapillas served with honey that you order at the end of your meal by raising a tiny Mexican flag on your table. Raising that flag always made me salivate, but I don’t intend to write about food. In this Mecca of Tex-Mex, there are huge waterfall, divers, Mariachi bands and Black Bart’s Cave. (!!!)
Colorado is an arid state but at Casa Bonita, there is an ocean-side, tropical humidity in the air. The turquoise colored waterfall, the sexy high divers, the dim lights, the music, it all seemed to be a perfect lieu for falling in love. At the time anyway. Or maybe I was just incredibly influenceable and I haven’t really changed much. I was kissed in that cave in such a passionate way, a kiss that resembled oral surgery. A tonsillectomy. It must have been one of the first times that I was felt up and I thoroughly enjoyed the darkness of the cave, the urgency of my young friend, the pervasive feeling of doing something that ought to be more carefully hidden yet was not.
Which brings me to what I wanted to write about.
Yesterday, continuing in a long string of experiences I never expected to include in my life, I was invited to an adult sauna. To my surprise, it was far less sleazy than I had imagined, but then again that is maybe only because of the summertime heat. We were alone except for the sauna employee. If my initiation to this truly erotic place had been witnessed by loads of other sweaty fornicators, I doubt that I would have had what it takes to stay. I am not an exhibitionist and not much of a voyeur either, as I have already said here before.
The lighting, the humidity and the sultry feeling in the air all made me remember my fifth grade field trip to Casa Bonita. Inhabited by unmentionable desires, I seized the day when I was eleven and I seized the day yesterday as well. I’ll leave the gory details to your imagination…I have skinned knees and my mind is still overflowing with erotic smut today.
(I have a 500 word limit with myself. Without it, I would ramble on forever.)