Becoming Accustomed to Being Accosted
I saw him follow me into the water, staying a close distance away, and dipping only his feet in the salty sea. He was long and lanky, balding and wrinkly around the edges. I waded up to my stomach then went back to my towel, only to find the man sitting close behind me. I sat down with my knees up to my chest, my back to him, my toes burrowing in the sand. He crouched down nearly on top of me and grinned a crooked stained toothy grin. Something in creepy Spanish spat out of his mouth, giving me chills in the hot sun. I declined the offer to chat due to language barriers and then asked my name in English. I considered saying Susie or Peggy Lou or Georgina, but I told him the truth only to regret it seconds later. He leaned in closer, even too close for a Spaniard, and asked for a kiss. Utterly repulsed, I dodged him and screamed, “Noooo!” then continued to sit in my same spot, only shaking a bit now. I could still feel his leechy presence for a couple seconds until he went back to his towel, which had myseteriously moved close enough to mine so that the corners touched. I’m sure that aroused him to some degree. After a minute or two, I gathered my belongings and angrily stomped off to a better, less sleazy area of my beach.
