Let me begin by making it clear that this is not my story. And no, I am not embellishing. It happened to a man with a slight Mohawk and an otherwise wholesome look. He makes good money. Drives a nice car. Lives alone in a clean house and keeps in shape between occasional late night fast food runs. He hasn’t’ dated seriously since his marriage ended. He writes children’s books on the side.
So the man went to a bar one night with the intention of doing nothing beyond killing time. His buddy showed up but got distracted by the dartboard and graduated to the category of useless. The man sat on a bar stool a few drinks in with a beer in hand while the bartender wiped up around him. The place smelled of peanut husks and wood and desperately needed to be filled with curls of cigarette smoke and dust to get the mood right. A girl walked in and surveyed the row of empty seats and chose the one next to him. She smiled and in broken English introduced herself. She was a Japanese tourist. She stuck out her hand and he grasped it and shook as his other hand swooped down over her jean skirt and then under and between her legs and he began fingering her.
She was surprisingly receptive. She threw her head back and made little foreign moaning sounds as he picked up speed and worked harder and started getting a clearer picture of what was actually happening right then. He made a split decision and pushed his seat out abruptly behind him and marched to the bathroom, abandoning beer and female alike and hoping both would be gone when he came out. He took his time in there. Washed his hands. Smoothed down his shirt. Checked his budding prep Mohawk. Everything was in place and he had run out of things to fidget with so he took a deep breath and walked back out.
She was still perched on the stool next to his empty seat and his beer hadn’t moved but the situation had changed drastically. On the other side of his seat now sat a second tourist. She wasn’t the looker tourist #1 was but she had the same youthful body and jean skirt and he set his jaw and sat back down.
Tourist #1 leaned into him as she pulled his right hand back towards her skirt and motioned to the new arrival and said “do her what you do me” in a heavy accent. With a quizzical look he extended his left hand in the other direction and found himself fingering both girls as they writhed theatrically and the bartender took his order for another round of drinks.
The evening had hit a point where he needed to either walk away or step it up. Not that the choice was entirely uninfluenced by female pressure and an unwilling hard on. The girls followed him back to his place in a taxi that he admittedly tried to lose a few times with sharp turns and weird acceleration but he was no match for a professional driver.
Once inside they jumped him. He didn’t make it past the hardwood floors of his living room. He could have been a blow up doll or a CPR dummy underneath them as he made a few more mild attempts at making sense of the situation. He was covered in foreign skin and clothes manifested themselves in a ring around him. He couldn’t keep track of all that black hair. They spoke to each other in Japanese and giggled and came on again with a vengeance. Finally he metaphorically threw up his hands and waved the white flag and let them do to him what they would.
When it was over they sat smoking on his couch and chattering in a language he didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure how to make the situation more awkward. They couldn’t leave until the taxi arrived and the attempts they made at communication involved the support of a lot of hand gestures. Then he got an idea. He went to his back room and came out again with a “V for Vendetta” mask on and a handful of props. He started playing with his special levitating baton and they went crazy. They jumped up and down on the couch and clapped their hands and laughed that laugh that sounds like it’s coming from a child with limited mental capacity but is really just the result of growing up in two entirely different cultures. He kept his magic show going for as long as they were amused.
Eventually they found themselves in the same position though, him feeling strangely left out in his own living room and them talking about any number of things in a language he couldn’t follow. Then they were arguing. Tourist #2 stood up and stormed out and jumped in the taxi that was intended for both of them and took off. Tourist #1 remained on the couch, now crying quietly. He was in over his head. She finally got herself together as he frantically dialed another taxi. She smiled. A big, blank, we can’t communicate kind of smile. She motioned to her chest and motioned to him and asked “I stay with you?”
He pointed at himself, “me?”, then did a little back and forth movement between them and spread his fingers with his palms facing her. Universal sign for stop. “no no no” he repeated wildly waving his open hands. He was stepping on his own tongue. He stared into her gaping expressionless smile and he motioned to his chest again. “I have girlfriend” he said. “Home any minute!”
She gasped and smacked his chest playfully. “You have girlfriend?” “you bad boy!” Right then the taxi was pulling up outside his window and he tried to rush her out the door. She still wanted his email though. She still wanted his phone number. She still wanted to see him again. He gave her all the information she wanted for a man he named Chavez. Anything to make her go. He finally exhaled as she smiled and waved excitedly from a taxi that was fading into the distance.