Melanie Curtin - Around the World in 80 Lays
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Around The World In 80 Lays
Melanie Curtin
Copyright 2015 Melanie Curtin
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1514111136
ISBN-13: 978-1514111130
For the wild ones.
Stay wild.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To ChelseaHandler: For paving the way, and for giving me the idea.
To the BridgeHouse: For giving me a home.
To Love &Faith caf in DC: For providing a spot with plenty of tables, reliable wifi,convenient outlets, good coffee, healthy food, and a friendly staff. It doesntget better than that for a writer!
To AshtonMoss: For your support in the home stretch, and for believing in me in the kindof way that is both steadfast and heartfelt. #downwithfeta
To MikeHinman: For being there for the nightmare I mean delight thatwas formatting this book. <3
To SharilynWiskup: For asking, and for listening.
To TomPopomaronis: For believing in me, and for making it easy. And for that convo wehad in the parking garage that one time. Youll know the one I mean.
To my betareaders: For taking the time, and for providing such detailed, meaningfulfeedback. You should know I regularly cried with gratitude for the things youwrote. This book is stronger, tighter, and, quite frankly, better, because ofyou.
To GiannaRico: For pulling out the front and back cover at the last minute, in my hourof need! Those design skills tho.
To DawnQuintanilla: For the readings (of all kinds), for sharing your truth with me ina way that gave me a sense of purpose and power when it came to this material,for loving me unconditionally, and for the moments in which you said, MelanieCurtin, the world needs your voice.
To SandyRosenblatt: For your loyalty. It means more than you can possibly know.
To ChristenSantinizio: For being my book buddy, my confidante, my mood-lifter, mypowerhouse author friend. Im a wordsmith without words when it comes to you. Ilove you like pretty wahines love shave ice, like bibliophiles love books.
To MindiDiesel Westhoff: For being my spectacular, sexy, supportive, and above all,thoughtful, editor. For your ability to praise whats there, and articulatewhats missing. For your organizational skillz, your care, your grace, and youregg sandwiches. This book wouldnt be what it is without you. Literally. ;)
To my guides:For having my back. For your love when I have nothing left to give. For beingtrue north when the storms of ego rage.
To all themen and women described within these stories: You helped shape who I am, andfor that I am thankful.
CONTENTS
Introduction
What do an Italian waiter, a Costa Rican tourguide, a Jamaican trapeze artist, a Portuguese tango dancer, a male model fromNew Zealand, a British film producer, and a grad student at NYU all have incommon?
Ive slept with them.
Thats right Im like the female JamesBond. I travel the world having sex with mysterious people, then record myexperiences in exquisite detail. All right, perhaps Bond was a bit less forthcoming,and I change the names of the not-so-innocent. Also, my number is a lot higherthan 007, if you catch my drift. But similar international intrigue.
They spoke Spanish, French, Italian, Turkish,Patois, Hebrew, and English. They were from Scotland, Israel, Argentina,France, Puerto Rico, Switzerland, the West Indies, California, Rhode Island,Long Island, and the Jersey Shore. They were black, white, Indian, Arabic,Asian, Latino, and all sorts of combinations therein. I cared about and wascared for by all, even if I was only with them for a night (which, many times,was the case).
We had sex on a beach, on a boat, in a car, on abunk bed, against a countertop, behind a curtain, in a hotel, on the edge of ahot tub, under stars, at his place, at my place, and in a shack down by theocean.
I learned something from all of them.
I learned that the lightest of touches set meablaze, while heavier hands leave me numb. I learned that in Argentina, itsperfectly acceptable to be more than an hour late to a date, and that Britishhumor both lights me up and turns me on.
I learned about quaking orgasms. I learned that anight bus can be an erotic encounter. I learned what it feels like to be pickedover my best friend. I learned that airplane blankets are useless for warmthbut perfect for disguising roaming hands. I learned that sometimes I just wantto fuck, and sometimes I need to feelsomeones heart.
I learned about men. I learned about women. Ilearned about my body. I learned how to set boundaries. I learned about what Iwant, what I dont want, and yes I learned about love. I learned thatpillow talk is universal, no matter the language, and is sometimes the only wayto learn about someones soul.
This is my life. These are my stories. Shaken, notstirred.
May they inspire you to live and share and createand enjoy and revel in your own.
Chapter1: Italiamos!
or, Full-bodied With Great Legs And Im Not Talking About the Wine
Rome, Italy
We shared in a night
what some people never will.
Then I learned your name.
Didyou see that waiter? Celine whispered. I think he was looking at us.
Which?The leathery old guy or the cute one? I asked, turning toward the caf acrossthe courtyard.
Thecute one. The old ones already been checking us out for hours you musthave noticed.
Ihad. It had bordered on creepy until I decided that old Italian men got a pass.
Ialso had definitely noticed The Cute One we had been exchanging flirtyglances for the past hour. Id look up from my journal to see him gazing at me,or hed look up from bringing someone a panino to catch me staring athim. I wasnt really sure how to advance things, but I was pleased that Celinehad noticed him looking at us. That meant it wasnt just wishful thinking.
SuddenlyCelines face fell.
Oh,no hes leaving.We both looked on helplessly as The Cute One strodepurposefully towards a tiny Fiat. He flashed us a brilliant yet somehowmischievous smile before ducking into the car, then started to drive away. Desperatelydisappointed but trying to cover it up, my eyes followed the vehicle all theway down the cobblestoned street, half hoping he would turn back and make somegrand romantic gesture.
Hedidnt. Celine shrugged and went back to sipping espresso.
Wesat in a quiet plaza not far from the Roman Forum, enjoying a post-sightseeingbreak and recording the days events in our respective journals. We weretechnically on holiday, as the Brits would say, although Id just graduatedfrom college and was therefore theoretically in The Real World.
TheReal World. It had seemed so far away for so long. Now it was my life, and Ididnt feel prepared. I kept thinking Id have a sudden epiphany and figureout, you know, my calling, but so far nothing. Id gotten as far astraveling to Italy for a week with my closest friend in the world, before I wasto spend three to four months completing a post-college scholarship project inSwitzerland. I was also nervous because Celine was leaving the next day; shehad another year of school left. I was about to be on my own for real.Fortunately, places like Italy provided plenty of distraction from this fact.
Doyou really think he was looking at us? I mused aloud, glancing at where theFiat had been. I shifted restlessly in my seat, recalling his wavy jet-blackhair, his strong Italian jaw, his tight European pants.
Probably,Celine replied. I think the men here have an uncanny ability to sense when agirl is looking at them not to mention two.
Thenwhy didnt he come talk to us? You think he was shy?
Hedidnt look shy when he was getting into his car, she said. We both ponderedthat for a moment, then went back to writing; there wasnt much more to say. Asafternoon melted into evening and the cobblestoned plaza filled with golden light,I tried to forget about the future and focus instead on the quiet joy thatcomes with long friendship, worn journals, and the shared bond of traveling.
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