callmethehunter: This is my first venture into writing about Robert, at least for others to see. I h

callmethehunter: This is my first venture into writing about Robert, at least for others to see. I have a rough draft to Part II that needs a lot of work LOL Thank you @firethatgrewsolow for your time and your help with edits and @brownskinsugarplum76 for your encouragement to post it. ❤ I have always been interested in Robert at the threshold of being discovered… Here it goes! 
Note: Not based on historical facts
 It was back in the summer of 1968, she was hanging out with a guy named Steve who had the best acid of anyone on Fort Lauderdale beach. He fancied himself a genuine hippie, with long dirty blond hair, Birkenstocks and army green pants that hung perfectly on his frame. He had no aspirations other than being the guy who had the best acid on the beach. She wanted more than that. Sure, he was sweet when he wanted to be, and a great lover, with a thick cock that perked up at the lightest touch and stayed hard as a rock… But she intuitively knew there was a problem if that was all she could articulate about why she stayed with him… somewhere in her hallucinating mind there was a growing clarity about this. She remembered it was the first time she had ever taken a purple microdot - the kind of acid that Jimi sang about in Purple Haze, the kind that made you feel as if you could kiss the sky, when the clouds had all gone to bed, and the colors of the ocean and sky blended together, and melted like a watercolor dripping on the earth.  There was a place by the Bahia Mar Hotel, past the docks on the intercoastal, where people hung out around picnic tables that sat among the tall palm trees. A motley group of about 10 had congregated there. A small bonfire had been lit, and people mingled around the dancing flames, passing a joint and sipping on beer. An older guy who was obviously tripping hard was crouched down, grabbing a fistfull of sand and marveling at how the grains slipped through his fingers. His eyes were wide with awe as he dug, wrist deep, only to do it again and again. She wasn’t in the mood to socialize at this point in her acid trip. Instead, she wanted to be alone with her thoughts and psychedelic impressions, so she sat away from the group, by the shore, gazing over the darkened beach and out towards the ocean. She was reflecting on its vastness and how the moon turned the tides, its silvery glow casting diamonds across the seemingly endless body of water.  As she dug her feet deep into the wet, shifting sands, she watched the ocean waves, with their white foamy fingers, forever reaching, yet never grasping…persistent little fuckers, she thought. They ebbed and flowed, pursued and retreated. Her senses were fully awakened from the acid, and she took in minute details that had completely escaped her attention before: the friction of each granule against her skin, the fact that each was unique, some darker than others, some bigger or smoother, inconsequentially small when alone, but amidst a gizillion other grains, they made up what we know as “sand”…”the whole is greater than the sum of its parts” she thought, and laughed out loud…groovy man, this microdot was fucking awesome… she was on the verge of a spiritual experience.  The breeze carried the sounds of conversations and laughter from the group. Someone kept mentioning “dead ends”, something about a neighborhood where every other street was a dead end. The laughter echoed and then hung in the air, the stars dripping white in streaks across the indigo sky. She scanned the crowd, losing all sight of Steve as he mingled about like a prince among his subjects, selling or giving away acid, depending on who it was… there was a girl with a chipmunk face -the chick that worked at the boutique on Las Olas, making eyes at him and hanging on his every word. Good for her, she thought, shrugging it off as movement caught her attention further down the beach.  A blond mop on long legs meandered its way toward the gathering. The mop morphed into the shape of a man with the thickest mane of blonde hair she had ever seen. He wore a shirt that billowed around him like the sails of a Viking ship…In his hand he held a harmonica and on his neck he wore a leather necklace. He was greeted by the chick with the chipmunk face who was obviously on the prowl. The group’s murmuring was now punctuated by the sound of the newcomer’s voice which was like a bell, dispersing the reverberating echoes of the dull laughter at the edges of her perception… he shone with an inner light, his blond curls were a halo around his chiseled face, brushing against his cheek. Wait..! Was that a dimple she saw? Fuck. She felt completely disoriented. The same breeze that now caressed her skin also danced among his ringlets . We are all interconnected, we are all one!, she marveled.  He brushed the hair away from his forehead, tucking a few golden wisps behind his ear, as his eyes roamed the gathering, coming to rest on hers. A bolt of lightning lit the darkest corners of her mind. Her tanned face flushing, she instinctively dropped her gaze and looked down at her feet, still buried in the sand where the white foamy waves pursued and retreated. She swallowed hard, as she looked up to find him still studying her. And smiling. -- source link

More pics about