Six sentences from my evil conjoined erotica-writing twin Cara McKenna's latest sale, Curio, a.k.a. the Parisien man-whore story (out in early autumn):
Didier Pedra is the name of a male prostitute who lives at sixteen Rue des Toits Rouges, in Paris.
It’s a relatively quiet street amid the greater bustle of the Latin Quarter, his flat in the top floor of a long tenement, two blocks from the river. I never expected to find myself standing on the front stoop of a prostitute’s building in the rain, on what should have been another unremarkable Thursday evening in March.
Then again, I never expected to be five weeks from my thirtieth birthday with my hymen still intact.
As I stood on Didier Pedra’s front stoop—precisely six minutes early for my appointment and unwilling to go in, lest I appear too eager—I knew only a few things about him; that he’s in his early to mid-thirties, that he’s always lived in Paris, and that he has a reputation for being supremely good in bed.
As if I have any basis for comparison.
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