My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One-Night Stands Read online

  Men love Shoniqua's straightforwardness and always seem to be charmed by her. She's a great partner in crime because I don't have to do much except be humiliated. We had perfected our "one-two-punch" technique on several occasions. Shoniqua would talk to my prey about religion, their homeland, and her husband who was a banker. I would jump in every once in a while to reinstate my position as his future sexual partner, commenting about how National Geographic's exposes on the wild were starting to look more and more like an episode of CSI: Miami.

  "Here he comes," Shoniqua said. "Try not to fuck this up."

  My Latin lover rounded the corner and took a seat next to Shoniqua. He was at least six feet tall, with dark brooding eyes and a flirty half smile. I knew for sure I had to have sex with him.

  "Hello, ladies," he said in his Antonio Banderas accent.

  I don't know what it is about accents that makes me want to get undressed and high-five myself. I'm helpless against any accent--except a British one. My ex-boyfriend's British accent was charming for the first two months, mostly because I couldn't understand a word he said. (It was very similar to the Crocodile Hunter guy. The first two episodes, you're thinking, This guy is great! Two more episodes and you want to dress up like an alligator and bite his hand off.) After the initial honeymoon phase wore off with my ex, I was ready to scream, "Stop talking like that, damnit. Talk like me. Just try!" Not a fair trade for someone who wasn't even circumcised. I've never understood why they don't circumcise men in European countries; most of them end up here, anyway.

  My little Don Juan's accent was sexy and thick. At times, his words were barely decipherable. But this may also have been due to my failing eardrums, which were aligning with my failing liver, which was, no doubt, wondering why I had to keep torturing it. "Liver," I would say, "you only live once, or at least I do, and you should be grateful to be along for the ride."

  He was visiting New York from Peru, where he worked as a mechanical engineer. That didn't interest me as much as my visions of him capturing anacondas on the Amazon, so I chose to stick with that mental picture instead.

  He kept making eyes at me while Shoniqua and he were chatting, which was sweet and reassuring since we would be the ones having sex. In her characteristic and persuasive way, Shoniqua mostly dominated the conversation. She found out that this was his first trip to the States, and his name was Lupe. I had always believed that Lupe was short for Guadelupe, which is, I thought a woman's name. To avoid bringing this up in conversation, and thus postpone the moment when people would just stare at me with disappointment in their eyes, I excused myself from the table to take a breather.

  I went outside to bum a cigarette. On the corner, just beyond the door, I saw another adorable face. My seven margaritas instantly took over. "Hey, you. Come over here. Will you come inside with me and pretend you're my boyfriend? There's a guy at our table who won't leave and I want him to think I'm taken," I lied. It was time to bring in reinforcements. I had to let Lupe know what a hot piece of real estate I was.

  I shimmied back to the table, holding hands with my new boyfriend.

  I sat down next to Lupe and made the introductions. Shoniqua glared at me and kicked me under the table with one of her massive feet. Meanwhile, I was looking back and forth between my two options, trying to figure out who was cuter. My new boyfriend didn't have an accent and looked about twenty-one. My Peruvian still had his accent and looked about thirty-five. Then the newbie mentioned being a rave promoter and the battle was over. "Are they still doing those?" I asked. I hadn't been to a rave since I was eleven, and from what I remember, staying up dropping acid until six in the morning was no walk in the park. I figured I would be better off with La Bamba.

  I told the young boy to scram, as he had nobly fulfilled his commitment to me.

  Lupe said he was going to the bathroom. To ensure he'd come back, I asked him if he wanted another drink. He requested a whiskey on the rocks. I've never bought into the whole soul mate thing, but after hearing this guy order the one thing I love to see a man drink, I considered getting my tarot cards read.

  "Who the fuck was that other guy, you shithead?" blasted Shoniqua. "Now you're just getting cocky."

  "Sorry, I'm drunk."

  "Listen, I'm sitting here slaving over this fuckin' guy trying to get you some booty, and you're running around cockblocking your fuckin' self. He likes your skinny monkey ass, I don't fuckin' know why, but he does, so don't do anything stupid." I bit my tongue. Not on purpose. I actually bit my tongue.

  "Ow, shit, I just bit my--"

  "Shut up. Here he comes. Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!," squealed Shoniqua. "Lupe, you ready to get out of here, I've got a jammin' party for us to go to," she said with more enthusiasm than a QVC representative after a six-pack of Red Bull.

  One of Shoniqua's friends was releasing his new hip-hop album and we were scheduled to attend the party. Ordinarily, it would have been fun, but I definitely wasn't going to let Lupe see me dancing next to black people.

  "Why don't we stop by the hotel and freshen up?" I said, giving her the "pay attention" stare.

  "Okay, okay, sure," she said, catching on.

  We got the check and Lupe offered to put in some money, but I wouldn't think of it, considering what I had in store for him. "You can pay for me too, bitch," Shoniqua said. I'd have had to be Helen Keller not to have seen that one coming.

  As we stood up to leave, Shoniqua whispered to me, "It's taken care of, you're gettin' it, and I'm going to the party without you."

  "Fine," I said. "Just pretend you're coming back to the room to get us, so it doesn't seem so obvious." I always assumed anyone with an accent was automatically slow on the uptake, when in actuality the only one a few pom-poms short of a pep rally was me.

  The three of us climbed into a cab, with Lupe in the middle. I turned and said, "I think you're really gonna love America."

  "Copy that," Shoniqua said.

  "Two such beautiful women, I am very lucky," Lupe said.

  "Well, Lupe, that's just how we fuckin' roll,'" Shoniqua said.

  When we got back to the hotel, we bid adieu to Shoniqua and I asked Lupe to come up with me to my room. Once inside the elevator, he said, "We are not going to the party right away, are we?"

  "We're actually not going to the party at all," I replied.

  He had a big smile on his face and I was glad he was happy with this decision. "I was hoping to get some time alone with you, to talk," he said, gazing at me with his big bedroom eyes. "You were very quiet at dinner. But you have beautiful smile ..." He hesitated. It seemed as if he was searching for the right words to say. I didn't have all night, so I made my first move.

  We were making out in the elevator and it was hot--just like in the movies. And it was a pretty nice elevator too. I had never had sex in an elevator, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity.

  "Do you have a condom?" I whispered in between kisses.

  "A who?" he asked.

  "A condom . . . protection."

  "Oh," he said, "no, no, no, I do not own condom."

  This was very cute to me.

  "It's okay," I said. "We can run out and buy some."

  He stopped kissing me and held my face in his hands. "I would rather spend the evening with you talking and having nice time. No condom necessary." He paused and then followed it up with, "I don't feel comfortable spending our first night . . . together."

  "Listen, Lupe," I said, "this is our last night! Don't get your hopes up. It's cold and I'm tired, so get out that pinata and let's get this party started."

  I didn't understand what was happening. This had never happened to me before. I had been denied sex on certain occasions, sure, but they usually involved a three A.M. phone call.

  "You are upset, are you not?" he asked.

  Upset? I was stark-raving mad. I couldn't understand why a traveling man would come to the United States and not jump at the opportunity to be manhandled by an American girl.

  I kn