Sleeping Around by Brian Thacker Read Free Book Online Page A

all over the dog, smooching and groping Louise’s best friend in the middle of the lounge room, then collapsing in a drunken stupor underneath the pool table. I felt so embarrassed the next day that, after much apologising, I packed up and left.
    Back at the barbecue no one had collapsed yet, but many were on their way to getting seriously intoxicated. The wine had run out and they were now drinking a wicked concoction of Drambuie, Johnny Walker, ice and fresh cloves. At least if I did fall over or try to grope Aunty Claudia*, I’d still be in the good books. When I returned with the cigarettes I also had a bouquet of flowers to give to Grandma, who almost hugged me to death and told Juan that I could move in with her.
    â€˜You are going to write that Chileans are a bunch of drunks,’ Juan said.
    â€˜Yes, but nice drunks,’ I said, smiling drunkenly.
    Six hours after we had sat down for lunch, dessert was brought out. It was dark by the time people started getting up from the table. The children played happily in the garden, the old men went back to their game of cards, the older women cleaned up, and Uncle Diego* and Aunty Claudia* canoodled in the corner like teenagers while their teenage children sat drinking with us.
    We finally got up to leave at 8.30, which was just in time. Any longer and I would have nodded off and fallen face-first into my cake. Juan, who had been holding back on the drinks, drove home and said, ‘I’m sorry Brian, but I have to work on my thesis tonight.’
    â€˜That’s okay,’ I said, looking at my watch. It was nine o’clock. ‘I’ve still got lots and lots of notes to write as well.’
    I was asleep at about eight minutes past nine.

    I still wasn’t quite sure of the whole couch-surfing protocol. When I awoke at eight the next morning, the house was quiet. Everyone was still in bed. I knew that because I tiptoed down the hallway and put my ear against everyone’s bedroom door just to make sure. I really didn’t know what to do. Is it considered rude to help yourself to breakfast? I wanted a shower, but did I have to wait till everyone had one before I jumped in? I snuck back into my room and made the bed and packed my bag. Fifteen minutes later I re-packed my bag, then wrote in my notebook that I’d just re-packed my bag, then made the bed again.
    It was a bit after nine o’clock when Juan’s mum would have had second thoughts about strangers couch-surfing in her home ever again. She stepped out of her bedroom to find a man in his underwear standing on his tiptoes with his ear up against her youngest son’s bedroom door.
    Breakfast was a little uncomfortable. Juan’s mum didn’t speak English, so I couldn’t explain that I wasn’t trying to sneak into Luis Alfredo’s bedroom. Breakfast was a veritable feast of warm fresh rolls, giant slabs of ham and cheese, boiled eggs, pickles, jam, tea and orange juice. It was all muy bueno (very good), but all the food also meant that I was at the breakfast table for half-an-hour and the only thing I could say in Spanish to Juan’s mum was ‘muy bueno’ . I said that a lot while trying to smile without looking too much like a deviant.
    Juan finally wandered down at 10.30 (he’d been working on his thesis till 3.30). I was in a bit of a rush to leave, as I had to get to the central bus station and catch a bus to Valparaíso, so I asked Juan if he could drive me to the metro station. Juan told me that he was sad to see me go and that I should stay for a couple more days. Although I had spent less than twenty-four hours with Juan and his family they had treated me like one of their own and when Juan gave me a hug it felt like I was saying goodbye to a dear friend. Even Juan’s mum was keen for me to stay after I explained to Juan what happened and he told her that I wasn’t really a dirty old pervert.

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    â€˜Interesting enough, the