Fu***ck those voices in your head.
Can I bite you?”
I’m in Ibiza’s Amnesia nightclub and the guy next to me is hot. Like, really hot. And all I want to do is bite him.
Yes. I sink my teeth into his shoulder.
“What’s your name?”
“Lukas.* What’s yours?”
“Suzy! Where are you from?
“The U.S. You’re sexy.”
“You’re sexy too.”
A short older man who’s been telling me I have a “sonrisa del arco iris” (a rainbow smile) puts his arms around me and starts rocking me back and forth. I politely wiggle out and return to feast on the German’s arms. Those arms.
“Don’t leave without me, promise?” I ask.
“And don’t do anything unless you’re 100% sure I want it, okay? You seem nice, I just have to say that because bad things have happened before.” (What? Consent is hot, people.)
Back at his Playa d’en Bossa vacation rental, he introduces me to his friend Alex.* They tell me about their IT consulting firm and flip through my articles on Alex’s phone. I bite Alex’s finger. Lukas diagnoses me with “kieferkicks.”
He brings a condom to his room, but doesn’t open it. I keep spotting it out of the corner of my eye, but he just fingers me, eats me out, and repeats. I decide I am okay with this.
In the morning, I thank Alex for sleeping on the couch and ask Lukas for his Facebook. He doesn’t have one, but he enters my number into WhatsApp, misspelling it “Sussi.” I delete it and type “Suzannah.”