Mooning

On the sand dunes, upon an island in the Caribbean, under the brilliance of a full moon, there stood a male in stage one of a gender conversion.

He was cruising like gay men often do in secluded parts of the world under moon light.

I saw his little boobs blossoming under a tight t-shirt, as if he were a teenage girl entering puberty.

But he was at least forty-five.

I didn’t mind that he or she was there watching my lover and I get blown, one at a time, by a Dominican, under the glow of the full moon in mid January.

But it freaked me out when he grabbed his crotch and looked at me as if to say, “Hey, give me some.”

I wanted to tell him to go back to being a man if he wanted to capture my interest, but I was too busy getting blown by a real man, under the light of a full January moon, under the watchful eye of a real woman.