I have to remember to pack my French grammar book so I can study and not make a complete fool of myself, when I leave for Paris in February. At least I'll never forget how to politely order coffee in Paris. I wonder what my sister would be like in Europe. She hasn't bee back in 15 years, and she is much more Americanized than I am. And, she is less tolerant of people, and she hates easily.
In Cancun, there was a boy named Damen (Damiano in Italian), who was from Calgary, Canada. He was nice enough, but made some comment about the girl who was sharing his hotel room being a last resort lay. Those words were his death sentence in my sister's eyes. I looked past that comment, entertained by his interest, I was condemned to stifle any hint of attraction. Every minute it was another snide comment. They served as reminders to "not try anything." One night, we all went to a foam party at a club called, Basic. I was doing my usual rounds, dancing and kissing total strangers (sometimes not even bothering to ask them their names). I also danced on an elevated platform, which had a pole running through the center of it. I wasn't wearing a shirt (just a bikini top). And, then the bartender who was watching me danced propsed we do some body shots. My friends would go first, Mike and Nick. Nick at the time was my sister's boyfriend's 18-year-old brother who crammed his neck between my legs to suck out the contents of a shot. Then, my friend Mike asked Damen. He looked as hesitant as I did as I quickly scanned the dance floor for my sister. Grabbing the lime from in between my lips, I could feel his tongue lingering, and he kept it wedged in there much longer than "necessary". A few more rounds in, who does my sister see me with? Damen. She calls me a slut, and calls him an asshole, and prepares to lecture me, completely slaying the ambiance. I ignore her, and find a skinny Brit to dance with.
Noah. I can't stand him. Especially since he tried to kiss me and stroke my hair on an excuse he called a bed. I tried to distract him by feigning interest by inquiring about the art that was hanging on the walls.
In Cancun, there was a boy named Damen (Damiano in Italian), who was from Calgary, Canada. He was nice enough, but made some comment about the girl who was sharing his hotel room being a last resort lay. Those words were his death sentence in my sister's eyes. I looked past that comment, entertained by his interest, I was condemned to stifle any hint of attraction. Every minute it was another snide comment. They served as reminders to "not try anything." One night, we all went to a foam party at a club called, Basic. I was doing my usual rounds, dancing and kissing total strangers (sometimes not even bothering to ask them their names). I also danced on an elevated platform, which had a pole running through the center of it. I wasn't wearing a shirt (just a bikini top). And, then the bartender who was watching me danced propsed we do some body shots. My friends would go first, Mike and Nick. Nick at the time was my sister's boyfriend's 18-year-old brother who crammed his neck between my legs to suck out the contents of a shot. Then, my friend Mike asked Damen. He looked as hesitant as I did as I quickly scanned the dance floor for my sister. Grabbing the lime from in between my lips, I could feel his tongue lingering, and he kept it wedged in there much longer than "necessary". A few more rounds in, who does my sister see me with? Damen. She calls me a slut, and calls him an asshole, and prepares to lecture me, completely slaying the ambiance. I ignore her, and find a skinny Brit to dance with.
Noah. I can't stand him. Especially since he tried to kiss me and stroke my hair on an excuse he called a bed. I tried to distract him by feigning interest by inquiring about the art that was hanging on the walls.
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