There is a first time for everything. First love, first kiss, first fantasy, first puff of a cigarette, first drink underage and first taste of an exotic food. For me exotic is never RAW or moving - it's usually identifiable.
So my friend and I are sitting at this seaside bar - being left alone by our spouses who are off somewhere having the time of their lives. Drowning our sorrows seemed like the right thing to do. Not drowning in the gulf but over sweet girlie drinks in a loud tropical bar on the beach.
Walk in wet and sandy, shirtless and barefoot and not cruel eye will turn your way. It's beach time in paradise. Music and chatter share the air space with mosquito's and tacky Christmas lights blowing in the breeze by the bay. It wasn't a bay I just like the sound of that phrase.
So over Margaritas and Bahama Mommas I do the deed. My first time. First times should be memorable and this one was. Sitting on a hard uncomfortable bench - having a good time with a friend - enjoying the sounds the surf and the total ambiance of the bar by the bay - I ate a 'gator bite'. Tasted like chicken not at all like those leather spiffy gator shoes I have seen people strut around in. I dipped him in a little honey mustard sauce and he went down like a punched drunk. I washed him down a little further with a heavy gulp of my frozen raspberry Margarita.