He-Slut: A Memoir by Alyson DeYoung

Author:Alyson DeYoung
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: -
Publisher: -
Published: 2015-02-24T00:00:00+00:00

I sat on the couch, fully entertained by an English boy slight in frame and a few years younger than I. I was already starting to feel as though he was my younger brother. Siy jumped back and forth, excitable at the age of eighteen, almost as though he had bells on his feet.

I’d never liked beer before, but for the past few nights, that was all we had to drink. I nursed the one in my hand, sick to my stomach but absorbing the pleasant glow of the small candles all around the large room. I glanced at the stars outside, knowing they also shined on the small city I lived in. For the moment, I was comfortable.

“Then I told them they were mad!” Siy exclaimed to me and a couple of others. “After I said that, I ran away as fast as I could. They almost caught me for the beating of my life, but I outran them and ducked around a corner.”

Archie came around with his camera then, taking our photo. We jumped, surprised. He got closer to my face and clicked the shutter again.

“Good?” I questioned.

“Yes,” he replied.

He wore on his head large pink sunglasses with very dark shades. I took them off and put them on my own face. I posed, and he raised his camera again.

“I think we should go around and take pictures of everyone wearing these,” I said to him.

He readily agreed, and we started on our journey. The number of ways a pair of sunglasses can be worn is astounding. The number of funny ways was even more significant.

After that, Maite, one of the Spaniards, took her camera out as well. I wandered away from Archie, following her around as she took pictures, often with the sunglasses, sometimes without. She grabbed my wrist and pulled me on to the knee of the brunette, and we smiled uncomfortably.

I stopped following Maite after that, getting myself in to awkward conversation with the brunette, who started asking me how my sightseeing had gone thus far. There hadn’t been much of it as of right then. The ragtag group of American misfits couldn’t get themselves together very well. Adam was the most out of place, not getting along with anybody, and being so young, he clung to Gretchen. Connie and Lynn spent much of their time solely with each other, but we knew they were around because we heard all the arguing. Callie and I were also content to be separate, different also but in our own ways, not argumentative and generally intrigued by everything we saw.

“Did you get to see the mermaid in the harbor?” The brunette asked.

“What?” I asked drunkenly.

“Our harbor. The mermaid.”

“Oh, no, not yet. We’re going to go whenever Gretchen says we’re going, I think.”

“You know, she’s from Hans Christian Andersen’s story.”

“Which story?”

“The Little Mermaid.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed, excited.

“Yes!” He replied enthusiastically.

“I love that story, but I didn’t know a Danish person wrote it.”

His face immediately darkened. “You didn’t know the story is Danish?”

“No, I didn’t.

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