By: Brandy Black
After a few days of glorious bliss at Maroma we decided to venture out to Playa Del Carmen, which was a 15-minute drive from our slice of heaven. I actually debated ever stepping foot out of perfection but since we had not done one touristy thing (our preferred method of travel) we figured we might as well do SOMETHING other than eat, drink, and have sex. So gorgeous hostess #3 called a cab and off we went. The driver asked if I was Susan’s sister and she said “No she’s my esposa.” He laughed at her and said “No, you don’t understand that word, it means wife.” She said “Yep, she’s my wife” and that was followed by “Ohhhhhh” and a long conversation about gays and marriage. When we arrived at our destination the cab driver convinced us to meet him when we were done with our evening so that he could take us home. Susan gratefully complied. I have to admit I was concerned about his kindness.
At the end of the night he met us at the agreed upon corner to take us back to our resort. We began chatting and all was fine until suddenly the driver took a turn off the main drag on to a small dirt road.
My heart began racing and I grabbed Susan hard. The road was dark. Susan asked him what we were doing and he said “routine check.” I started shifting around anxiously and desperately eyeing Susan to do something fast.
“’Routine check’, man?” she said. “We didn’t do this before. What’s up?”
He was quiet and than he began laughing. This was the moment that I had been dreading. Here we were, completely helpless, driving away from any possible safety. My life flashed before me. We went silent and watched dirt spraying from the sides of the car. Suddenly we saw a small shack in the distance with a plain-clothed man standing with one hand on his gun and the other on his hip. The car stopped. My breath stopped with it. The man nodded at our driver. Our driver nodded back and began laughing maniacally and then the car started to slowly pull away. My heart was pounding and Susan began talking again.
“What was that?”
“Really? That’s pretty strange.”
“It’s for the tourists’ protection so that they can make sure you’re ok.”
We began to see the main road again. I took a deep breath and tears fell from my eyes.
In what felt like hours we were back, safe in our villa. The trip was near the end and it was as if our dreamlike state was disappearing before our eyes. I got Montezuma’s revenge and Susan got mosquito bites all over her body. We checked out, Susan paid the bill, and we kissed the beach goodbye and took the longest plane ride home, Susan itching the whole way and I racing to the bathroom every 5 minutes. We arrived in Houston for a layover and stood in a long line with our passports in hand waiting to re-enter the US officially. We had filled out our paperwork on the plane for the border patrol and decided that since we weren’t married legally and we were entering the fine state of Texas, we would not mark the “married” box so, sadly, and against our vow to be forever out as wives, we checked the single box. The line to the border check-in was long and I was dying for the bathroom on the other side. We finally reached the stringent bald-headed man at the podium and handed him our passports and papers. He looked at them carefully and asked Susan “What is your relationship to one another?”
Susan paused, looked at me and then said, “She’s my wife.” He looked me up and down and ripped up my paperwork. “Then you only need one of these,” he said to Susan “and tell your wife to wear sun block next time.”
It was the perfect end to our honeymoon and the perfect start to our new life.
The post Honeymoon in Maroma: Pure Bliss Turned to Total Fear appeared first on The Next Family.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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