1989: a story of two misfit kids from mid-west america making it big in the big apple. and in the true sense of the american dream they find themselves in a life of sex, money, drugs, and a little rock n roll too.
warnings: adult content, mature rea...
Author's Note: This is part one of this one shot series. Everything was becoming a bit too long to post as a whole piece, so part two will be posted soon. (this part is still long after spliting it, tho haha) thx for reading, and also thx for your patience.
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May 1995 | Honeymoon
Alma was sitting on the edge of a grand bed, fiddling with her camcorder. The French doors were wide open, inviting a cool sea breeze that gently made the white sheer curtains billow. Once the camcorder was in operating order, Alma slipped on her white leather huaraches and walked into the large, quaint washroom. She lifted the camera, aiming it at the mirror, and waved at her reflection, capturing the moment. She turned, showcasing her outfit—a deep v-neck halter top and hot pants you could see through the white lace tunic dress she wore over it.
She awkwardly fluffed up her hair, wondering what to record next. Lowering the camera, she began walking through the house, showing it off as she made her way through to look for Bill. Shortly, they would be leaving for a day on the water. He was out by the pool with his legs in the water, leaning back on his palms, looking out from the cliff the private villa sat on. His eyes were closed, enjoying the sun on his skin as the breeze blew his half-opened white linen button-down back. A closing door caused him to open his eyes.
"Is it time to go?" He asked, and when turning, he saw the camcorder pointed at him.
"Almost. Say hi."
"Hey," he said, giving the camera a little two-finger salute as he stood up.
"You look so hot," she mused, making him turn away with a light blush. "Say where we are." She directed.
"Amalfi coast, baby!" He playfully stuck his tongue out directly into the lens and covered it with a large hand.
....
They were on a boat riding the waves along the cliffs on the coast. Colorful homes, perched against the rock, seemingly stacked precariously right on top of each other. It was a beautiful sight; description could never give it justice. Not even the camcorder could truly capture the dreamy seaside town as they saw it.
Bill invited Alma to sit on his lap and steer the boat. The rental company handed the keys over, and they were sent off with no further instructions besides how to turn it off and on. Bill found it peculiar but figured he could handle it. Navigating was easy, but as they ventured further from the main shore, the waters grew choppier. Spotting a wave in the distance, Bill reached around Alma to turn the wheel to avoid meeting it head-first. But his efforts were in vain—another wave crashed into the boat from the opposite side, splashing cold, salty water over the bow. Alma yelped, drenched, and startled; she had tried to steer clear of it when Bill suddenly overruled her.
Over her shoulder, she looked at him displeased as wet locks of her hair clung to her, and then they began laughing.
"Why don't you just drive it?" She said, trying to slip off his lap, but he held her tightly, locking her in place.
