Conquistadoras

I am writing to you from London this week, and in my downtime at the hostel I occasionally get to reminiscing about the time I lived here for a bit. Specifically, my sexual exploits. Oh sure, there were other fun things involving theatre and grizzled blues musicians and friendly squatter junkies taking me in, but mostly, dear readers, I expect you want to hear about the sex. We're kindred spirits that way.

I always remember this show I saw freshman or sophomore year at college. It was a student-written documentary performance piece--yknow, like The Vagina Monologues, based on actual personal stories people had told the writer--and it was called Conquistadoras. The subject matter? Young American women traveling abroad and having lots of sex.

I then remember, when in London, flipping through a humor book at a store--the subject was how to pick up people of various nationalities, with tips on both men and women. In the section on how to pick up American women, all it said was, "Don't worry. They'll pick you up." So that is the reputation we have over here. And it's not undeserved, I think--as they play posited, being a broad abroad* is very liberating. It gives us a sense of sexual freedom to find ourselves without context, without consequence. Perhaps we're even deindividuated a bit--freed from our own identities.

So, my story? I lost my virginity just before the end of sophomore year of college**, and just before junior year started, I changed my mind about school and ran off to London on a temporary work visa. So there I was, having had sex like three times in my life, and suddenly I exploded. I was there less than two weeks when I had my first encounter--a Kiwi I picked up at a dance party at my friend's hostel. Then there was the Canadian who was visiting my friends, the drummer from Rome who played at the bar we frequented, two different Brits (both club pick-ups, the latter of whom I actually dated) and a surprise American***.

So, 6 guys in 7 months. A personal best not to be challenged for another 5 years. When I went back to school, college boys proved very disappointing--in that they did not seem that willing to be picked up. Maybe it was American standards of beauty (Brits don't seem to mind curves), or maybe being an American Girl gave me the sexy caché that book implied...or maybe my anonymity, my untethered floating in the sea of Europe, made me more vibrant, more active, less afraid of rejection. I certainly struck out plenty of times--and I do better in New York than I did in college, as well.**** So I suppose I'm just better at scoring--fucking, loving, the lot--when there are no boxes to break out of. Perhaps I internalize others' pre-conceived notions of me, and can only truly feel attractive when people don't have them, when people don't immediately know the basics of who I am and what my story is. Because in situations where identity is preestablished, the risk of rejection is higher, and so are the stakes--it is that very preestablished identity that is rejected.

Or maybe America just needs to let us fuck already.

Heh.
**And, like two weeks later, lost my girl-virginity as well.
***I say surprise because we were making out before we actually heard each others' accents.
****Even with people who WENT to my college.