A Man, a Girl, a Deserted Island by Uirebit

Chapter 1

Dubai or Thailand?

I’m forty-four years old and completely broke.

If someone decided to pickpocket me in a dark alley, they would waste their time. They’d probably feel sorry for me and give me some change instead. I’ll try avoiding walking into dark alleys, so I spare them any embarrassment.

However, I like the fact that I’m not sharing poverty with anyone else. I don’t even own a dog to lick my face and wake me up in the morning, which is perfectly fine since I’m not at all a morning person.

Even though apparently, I’m supposed to be selling my condo right now, I’m sitting on the couch, minding my own business, while a chubby fellow is walking through it, checking every crack in the plaster, and every screw in the sockets.

I don’t have the slightest intention to disturb them. If they are meant to buy it, they will.

However, I hope the guy won’t lean too hard over the balcony rail, or my chance at sealing the deal will be gone. I’ve always thought that damned rail was too low. It’s dangerous. If you’re not careful, you’ll go plummeting in an instant from eleven stories high. That could be an advantage if we think you’d have plenty of time for your whole life to flash before your eyes.

He must offer a deal! He must!

If the guy comes to me with a price offer, I’ll kiss him on the forehead and accept it on the spot. This is the fourth client in the past four weeks, and each offer is lower than the last. They might have plotted this, or I might just be too suspicious.

“I’ll pay you fifty thousand,” says the chubby man. “If we shake on it, I’ll transfer you the money within an hour.”

He’s fat, and I suddenly realize I don’t like fat people. I didn’t have anything against them until now… but that’s over.

I don’t have any reason to like them. They eat more, shit more, use more oxygen, and more importantly, they’re the reason why elevators break down. One thing’s clear; all fat people must die!

This chunk is either involved with the previous clients, or he can smell my desperation. Maybe both. Either way, I’m not thrilled with this price offer he’s trying to stuff down my throat. I’m not stupid, damn it! I paid eighty thousand for this place only two years ago.

You messed with the wrong guy, fatty! I’ll show you, just wait! You’ll die a slow and painful death! You have no idea who you’re messing with. If you knew, you’d run screaming.

I cough to clear my throat.

“Uhmm… you haven’t seen the balcony yet. That’s unfortunate. My condo has a wonderful view, especially at dawn.”

“I’ve seen it, sir.”

“Hmm… you might have just glanced. You should check it out again, seriously.”

“I’m telling you, I’ve seen it. It’s a balcony like any other.”

“I’m afraid I must insist.”

The king of chubsters shrugs, leaves the bedroom, and returns to the living room. I can hear his footsteps and the creaking of the balcony door. I lay grinning on the couch, close my eyes, and listen. This is the moment! I’m waiting for the scream, and the unmistakable thump of a body hitting cement.

I wonder what the newspapers would say tomorrow.

A Terrible Accident!

A man plummeted from the 11th floor yesterday evening.

During his plunge, he got caught in an antenna on the 8th floor.

The fat man’s screams (yes dear readers, he was disgustingly fat) created panic in the neighborhood.

Once the emergency crew arrived, the antenna broke, and the man continued his descent.

On the 5th floor, he hit a rail, and four of his teeth were knocked out, then he was impaled on a wooden stake.

The doctors are reserved for making a prognosis.

The hippo returns panting.

“Are you pleased? I checked it out again. It offers a sight like any other.”

Damn it, this is just bad luck!

“So,” he continues, “do we have a deal? Fifty thousand?”

I’ve never been great at negotiating. To me, negotiation is just a word in the dictionary. I haven’t even negotiated my contracts for utilities, and here I am, without gas and electricity in December.

I haven’t negotiated with the building’s superintendent, so now I don’t have running water. Maybe it’s time I gave it a shot.

I glance at him at he looks more alive than ever, which gets on my nerves.

“Can we negotiate?”


I walk out of the bank and touch my pocket one more time, even though I know exactly what’s in it: one thousand bucks, and another sixty thousand in my bank account.

Turns out I’m a highly skilled negotiator. Somehow, I managed to buy a condo with eight thousand dollars, and then sell it for sixty thousand. I’m proud of it!

The shop window reflecting me reminds me it’s time for other changes as well, so I walk into the first barbershop. The beard goes, and so does the hair. It all takes fifteen minutes at most, it’s painless and cheaper than plastic surgery.

Everything works out. I have no more hair and feel like another man, however, I realize nothing around me feels any differently. It’s freezing cold outside. Shit! I hate the cold.

I don’t even know where to turn next, so I buy a pack of cigarettes, open it up, and smoke two of them quickly. Mmm… not bad! I haven’t smoked in almost a week but I feel like smoking a third one already.

The last time I did, I enjoyed a cigar. I picked up every cigarette butt throughout my condo, ripped a piece of newspaper, and rolled a giant stinky cigar, just like when I was fourteen years old. Truth is, some things never change.

My God, I’m finally free! I love it! I can go wherever I want. I have so much money I can roll in it. I have the time. Lots of time! I’m ready. But where should I go?

I’ve been telling myself for weeks that I was about to leave anywhere I wanted, away from this city, but I just realized anywhere is not a choice.

Now I find myself on the big day, and I’m still here, running after my own tail. So…where should I go?

I know. I must go to the pub across the street. Yes, it feels like my salvation is in there. If I’m looking for ideas, a pub is the best place to find them.

Plus, I’m thirsty. In the past month, I’ve been wondering who I’d have to kill for a shot of vodka. Well, I just killed my condo, so here comes my reward.

The place is not terrible, quite warm actually. The bartender is all smiles, and there are two girls in the corner minding their own business.

I’m enjoying my second drink, listening to their conversation. One of them claims to have flown in a hot air balloon in the Czech Republic. She still sounds stoked about it.

My peripheral vision is good, so I “capture” their image from top to bottom, quickly realizing the girls are special.

For me, every girl that cakes her face is… special. If she dyes her hair pink or purple, hides her face behind tons of flower-like powder, wears bright lipstick, wears fake lashes, and especially if she has long painted nails, she’s clearly special. Special from the normal women.

The two chicks in question have their noses pierced, so they’re even more special.

I spent my whole life avoiding special women like the plague, so I get back to my drink and look around the room for something less intrusive.

For example, the poster behind the bartender is quite nice. It’s large and beautiful, showing a wonderful white, clean beach. There are several coconut trees in the middle surrounded by blue waters. Or maybe they’re palm trees… No, they’re coconut trees. Or… maybe palm trees. Actually, what’s the difference between a coconut tree and a palm tree?

It doesn’t even matter. It must be warm there. Heaven!

Looking at the island -the heaven- I order my third vodka, and my stomach suddenly punches me from inside. I reckon it’s also time I ate something, so I ask the bartender to add some tomato juice to a fourth glass, pointing toward the poster.

“Lucky those living there. I envy them. A walk on that beach must be… better than a ride in a hot air balloon.”

The bartender is in his twenties. He smiles, shrugs, and continues minding his own business. The special girls behind me ordered coffee, and the smell is floating throughout the pub. I love it.

It’s nice and warm in here. Almost as warm and cozy as the island in the poster. I get sleepy. All I want is to relax like the people in the image who are lying in their beach chairs, on the island with fine sand.

I should also order a coffee while waiting for a travel idea to hit me. No matter what, I’m leaving today. I don’t want to waste one more second.

“I wonder what the weather is like today in Dubai,” I say out loud. “Imagine always being warm, sunbathing. Don’t winters here take the will to live out of you?”

“I don’t know much about Dubai,” says the bartender casually, “but I visited Thailand a year ago, and I assure you, it was a very… hot… experience.”

He smiles, all teeth, and winks.

“Do you swing the other way?” I ask directly.

“No,” he says somehow shocked. “No way.”

“You winked at me.”

“Oh,” he laughs. “That… I winked because I had the chance to meet a lot of cute girls on the Phuket beach. That’s why.”

I realize I’m buzzed because I’m talking about random things to a stranger. For me, chattering is the first sign of getting tipsy. The second sign is my knees buckling under me. And the grand finale is given by my head spinning, of course, and head injuries. All at once.

Today I must not reach the grand finale. I’m a serious man with a mission. I must leave.

On the other hand, I admit I like getting drunk. One of the many advantages is that I can hold a conversation.

I don’t usually like talking to anyone. If I was sober, I would have never started a conversation with a gay man who denies being gay.

The bartender keeps on with how much he enjoyed the chicks from Thailand, but he’s already on my blacklist. By insisting on how much he likes girls, all he does is strengthen my conviction he’s gay.

“Dubai and Thailand mean the same thing to me,” he says while polishing a glass. “The weather is probably the same. However, Thailand doesn’t have restrictions when it comes to alcohol. Most Arabic countries banned it.”

I glance toward my empty glass and realize the guy is right. I wouldn’t enjoy getting chased down the streets of Dubai by a pack of angry Arabs.

On the other hand, Dubai is much closer than Thailand, only a stone’s throw from me. I think. I’m not entirely sure. I’ll check the map.

So, if I quit drinking I could potentially travel to Dubai. I would save time and money. I wonder what Arab women look like.

“Give me another drink,” I tell him absently.

The fifth drink lands neatly in front of me, and the gay man continues.

“If I were to pick, I’d travel to Thailand today.”

You’d travel to your momma’s ass… What does this mean? Is it some divine sign? The poster with the beautiful beach in the Pacific, the bartender’s chattering, everything… What’s going on? Is this God telling me something?

I watch him straight in the eye and casually continue.

“How did you get there? Not that I particularly care, I’m just wondering.”

“I got there the same way you get everywhere else. By plane. It took about sixteen hours with a short layover in Shanghai for the plane to get fuel, then another flight to Chain Mai, their main airport. Oh, Thailand! What a wonderful country! I only spent around ten days there, unfortunately, but I’d repeat the experience any day.”

“And why don’t you?”

“I don’t have a sponsor,” he laughs. “I didn’t pay for the trip. You can’t imagine I could pay for something like that, can you? The round-trip ticket by itself costs about three thousand dollars.”

“You have a point,” I mumble. “I’m so stupid. Of course the roundtrip ticket by itself is three thousand bucks. Any idiot knows that. What a joke! Well, you’re a cool dude. Pour me another drink.”

“I can’t serve you anymore,” he shrugs. “I’m sorry.”

You asshole! You seemed smarter than that, but you’re just a senseless fairy, and just lost your tip with this cheap attitude.

“I had too much, didn’t I?” I ask weighing each word carefully. “Can’t you see I’m sober? Look at me. I can pronounce each word accurately if I speak in a slow and careful manner. I only had a few drinks…”

“You didn’t drink a lot, but you had enough. I’m sorry. Company policy.”

Fuck your company policy, your mother, and… Does he have a cat? Anyway, I’m sure your gay ass is not sorry for anything. You’re laughing at me in your mind.

Do you have any idea who I am? You don’t know who you’re messing with. A guy almost fell from the eleventh floor today because of me. What would you feel like if I got up and smashed that window and all the shelves with bottles? The puddle would reach the door.

“Oh, don’t be like that! Just one small drink and I’ll be out of here. Do it for our new friendship. What’s your name?”

He’s busy polishing a mirror, slowly, like that was his only purpose in this life.

You’re pretending to be deaf, aren’t you? So that’s how it’s gonna be? Pretending not to hear me?

You poor unfortunate soul! You must have skipped chemistry classes in school. You have no idea how flammable alcohol is. After I break all those bottles of brandy in this miserable pub, I’ll light up a cigarette right under that “no smoking” sign.

Then I’ll throw the match at your feet.

Just like that. I can already see the news tomorrow.


A passively gay man and two girls with rings up their snouts burned alive in a pub on Friday morning.

Allegedly, the arsonist managed to escape the authorities by fleeing to Dubai. Or Thailand. Or Dubai.

The police have their hands tied in this case.

We’ll return with updates tomorrow.

Yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do if I don’t get another drink.

He gives me a stern look and, God be good, he pours me another small glass of vodka.

Peace be upon us! Everything is well again in the pub. The girls are saved. His ass is saved.

“I knew you were cool,” I tell him. “See? I’m peaceful. I’ll drink this and leave. You can’t have love by force. I’m leaving. I’m leaving right now…”

And at least I try getting up.

“You shouldn’t have this much to drink,” says the bartender, helping me get up from the floor where I landed.

I look at him in confusion. The tile is cold, and I shouldn’t stay in this position for too long.

“Do you know where I could find a money exchange nearby?”

The man takes my hundred-dollar bill, changes it, and gives me the money. I hope he respected the daily exchange rate.

He walks me outside, step by step.

“Should I get you a taxi?”

“Uhm, yes, please. You’re a smart guy. I hope you took some for yourself as a tip.”

A minute later I sink like a wet rag in the backseat of a taxi. The inside smells strongly of freshener, maybe pine. Of course it does. It’s December.

“Is that a hotel?” I ask. Drop me here and wait for me. Don’t leave yet. Here’s some money.”

This hotel feels familiar to me. I know it from walking by it so many times before, but I never thought I’d get to see what it looks like inside.

And I don’t get to see it now either. The receptionists claim I’m too drunk.

I leave cursing and end up on my belly (because it’s December) but I get up quickly. The fall and the icy air helped me sober up.

I get back in the taxi and glance at the meter that keeps blinking menacingly. The fare is going up, and I’m losing my patience.

“Bunch of pigs. Take me to another hotel. The closest one.”

I burb quietly and the car stops smelling like pine. I lay in the backseat. The car drives smoothly and I like the way it rocks me, but I don’t have time to fall asleep because it stops in front of another hotel.

Another hotel, the same story.

“These are career idiots,” I growl while lying back down in the seat.

I stop watching the meter. The driver is quiet, but he lowers the window on his side a bit. The air is cold. Is he an idiot?

In the third hotel, I almost end up in a fight with the receptionist and the security guard. I get away without a beating but lose two shirt buttons. I continue watching the meter with a killer gaze and drown in silence.

“So where are we going now?” the driver asks calmly.

Yes, your face is very serene. You’re probably under the impression you can drive me from one hotel to another and earn your daily wage off my back. Well, that won’t happen.

Now I can easily imagine what Hell looks like. Hell is a place where a nasty driver with a blank face takes you from place to place, from parking lots to hotels, and at the end of the day, they tell you your total cost.

I bet these people have an agreement with each other. All of you bitches are working together! In this city, hotel receptionists and taxi drivers lick each other’s asses, and at the end of the day they share the profits.

“I don’t know where else to go. Let me think about it.”

“Okay, buddy. It’s your money.”

“Do you understand anything from this hotel business? I’m trying to give them money, and they’re nuts. When I realize I lived in this city my whole life, I feel like I’m gonna lose it! Useless hotels…”

“Man, if you’re from here, why don’t you go home?” he asks raising an eyebrow.

“I sold my condo today for sixty-one thousand uhm. Anyway…”

“Oh,” he says. He looks at me thinking, sighs, and says, “I know a small hotel with a more… relaxed attitude. Do you want me to drive you there?”

How would I not want him to do that? The man is my savior. Long live taxi drivers!

He starts the car, I sink in the backseat, and probably pass out. I dream of being in Dubai or Thailand on a sunny beach. I’m laying in a beach chair, sucking from a straw, reading a newspaper. The first page screams in bold letters.


The sadistic taxi driver makes another victim.

The beast robbed a client who had just sold his condo, then sold him to an organ-trafficking network that stole both his kidneys.

Continue reading on page 2.

“Jesus! Heeeelp!”

I jump up screaming in terror, bash my head into the roof of the car, and almost pass out again. The driver hits the brakes, and the car screeches from every screw. This time, my head bashes into the back of the front seat.

The driver turns around and stares at me.

“Are you nuts?” he screams, spittle flying everywhere. “Why are you screaming all of a sudden? Do you want me to hit a tree? Fuck my life. That’s what I get for picking up every douchebag.”

I rub my temples and forehead, shake my head, and realize that every molecule of alcohol has left my head.

“I was dreaming, man. Stop shouting at me because my head is pounding. Turn around and let’s look for other hotels.”

“Fuck if I will. I won’t. Pay me and get out of my damn car!”

I pull out some cash and pay him, noticing he started to calm down, and I just got out of a situation. And suddenly, I got hit with the best idea I’ve had my whole life.”

“Oh… I know,” I stutter.

“Know what?”

“I know exactly where to go. Please turn the car around.”

“Where are we going?”

“Isn’t that obvious? Take me to the airport,” I say calmly. “I’m going to Dubai.”


“Or Thailand. No idea yet. That remains to be seen.”

The driver crosses himself, but I feel like a winner. The engine starts, and so does my journey to Dubai.

Or Thailand… for fuck’s sake.

Chapter 2

The French Are Perverts

Life is beautiful. I’m in the airport, alive, with no missing kidneys.

More than that, I had the chance to see what an airport looks like inside, and I got a very good first impression. Behind the doors it’s dark and cold, but in here there’s air conditioning, and lots of seats that you can use to nap. About a quarter of the people here are napping.

I’m a bit hungry, but I can’t see any place selling vodka and tomato juice, so, as a sacrifice, I buy a burger with double mayo and a coffee. I take a seat and relax, but a jolt of realization tells me I’m here for a reason. I must leave, today!

Before getting the chance to decide between Dubai and Thailand, I felt like skimming through a book I bought from one of the airport’s stands.

I sip my coffee quietly, glance from time to time at the clock on the wall that is now showing 10:30 PM, then focus my attention back on the book. The cover is nice! Let’s see what this novel is all about.

Yep, even though I don’t think I’m terribly smart, I realize from the first pages this is about perversions and dark stuff. Once I’m absorbed by the pages, I completely forget about my coffee.

The plot is simple and sad.

A virgin girl ends up in a dark park. Naturally!

She meets a young handsome man (they’re always handsome). He takes the naive girl for a walk in a dark alley to confess his feelings for her.

Coincidentally, the young handsome man meets a friend of his at the end of the alley (another handsome man).

The girl discovers Santa Claus is not real. I skip the next page. And the next…

Of course, it gets sadder and sadder. She loses her mind because of the shame, poor girl.

I quickly glance at the cover. What’s up with this author? What’s up with this ass? Couldn’t he find another subject to write about? It would have been better to buy a newspaper instead. I would have found the same subjects in there for a fraction of the cost.

Anyway, I get back to my book. The plot sucks, but I don’t like leaving things unfinished.

The unfortunate girl ends up in the nuthouse. Very predictable, but this is not all. One of the young men learns what it means to flip your dick left and right, because the girl’s father is not dead, but patiently waits and watches in the park, and, after a few weeks, he gets his hands on one of the thugs.

I find out from the next page that the girl’s father is a doctor. It explains everything. That’s why the girl was in the park at a late hour. Doctors are so busy with their lives; they don’t have any time to prepare their spawns for real life.

Well… the rapist is knocked out, kidnapped, taken to the doctor’s home, shackled in his basement, pumped with hormones, injected with all sorts of chemicals, and forced to take hundreds of pills.

Doctors, man… They’re so obsessed with their careers even when they’re taking revenge. I’ve never had the chance to visit a doctor in his home, but now, after reading this, I’m not even tempted to ever do it.

Okay, my coffee cup is empty. I’m a bit curious to see how the novel ends, but first I’m going to get another coffee. Caffeine is great! Completely awake, I get back to my book.

My God! The doctor gives the guy a sex reassignment surgery, then does very unorthodox things to his new organ. Seriously?

“Fuckin’ asshole! Have you ever heard of the Hippocratic Oath? What a shitty book!”

It’s clearly visible the author is even more demented than his characters. I throw another glance at the cover and realize why. The author is French. I was suspecting that, but I just wanted to make sure.

Everyone knows the French are perverts, and they create perverted writers. Marquis de Sade is one such writer. This guy who wrote a book about rape in the park, in the basement, and about crazy doctors is another example.

How could the doctor fall in love with the transexual who raped his daughter?

“Jesus! What a nut job!”

It was enough. I don’t want to read one more line. I bet it has a terrible ending. All that’s left now is for the girl to get out of the psychiatric unit and fall in love with her father.

Dude, you’d think this is a book specially written to be read in airports, between two landings and a soda. But it’s…


“Please stop swearing.”

The woman on my left pierces me with angry eyes. There are two empty chairs and a suitcase between us. I pick up the book and show her the title.

“Don’t spend money on this novel,” I warn her. “It’s a bad investment. I’m serious! It’s written by a sexually deviant author, and every page contains two-three perversions.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says in a bored tone.

“Just a second… Did you say I was swearing?”

“Only every two minutes.”

“I apologize. Today I hit my head in a taxi,” I confess. “And that’s not all. You’re right. Sometimes I talk to myself out loud without realizing it. Actually, I read somewhere about a syndrome that makes you say bad things without meaning to. It’s called…”

“Tourette’s Syndrome,” she continues while staring at me as I throw the book in the trash. “It’s a syndrome discovered by a French doctor.”

“I could have sworn he was French,” I remark in disgust, then I pull the book out of the trash can and show her the name on the cover. “See? The author of this novel is also French. Would you like to read it? I finished it. Well, I didn’t finish it really, but I’m done with it!”

“Not, thank you, sir. You just said is full of nasty things.”

“Yes, it’s a miserable book filled with sex scenes and violence.”

“Then I don’t want it,” she says, digging through her purse. “Throw it back in the bin. I’m sorry you suffer from Tourette’s,” she says closing her purse. She shows me a cigarette. “Could you watch my luggage for a couple of minutes?”

I don’t think she’s very smart. She jumps to conclusions too quickly.

“But I don’t have any syndrome,” I mentioned irritated. “Did I ever say that? No! I said ‘I read somewhere’ about this syndrome.”

“Of course,” she says nodding vigorously. “Well, will you watch my luggage while I go smoke?”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. I might fall asleep… who knows? Truth is, I’m exhausted and I’ll most likely fall asleep. The only thing keeping me awake so far was that nasty book.”

“Yes, but… Can you…?

“Yes, I know, I know. Your cigarette, the luggage! Why don’t you let me finish my idea? You said you’re going to smoke, not going to the bathroom. Why are you in such a rush? Oh, I know. You’re going to the bathroom to smoke, and that way you hit two birds with one stone.”

The woman watches me for a few seconds and then lets out a sigh, puts the cigarette back in her purse, and sits back down.

“Okay,” she says sourly. “Screw the cigarette. What were you saying?”

“Nothing. I was rambling. My sleep even went away, so you can go smoke in peace. I’ll watch your luggage. I won’t move from here and guard them with my life.”

“You don’t have any luggage.”

“I don’t.”

“And you want to watch mine?”

“I don’t but you keep insisting.”

“Okay, but I haven’t realized you didn’t have any luggage until now.”

I slowly turn my head toward her and blink in confusion.

“So, how’s that related? Why does it matter I have no luggage.”

“It doesn’t,” she answers quickly and then goes silent.

She pulls out a newspaper and turns her attention to it. I watch her perplexed for a few seconds, and suddenly realization hits me. I burst out laughing.

“I got it now!”

“What’s so funny?”

“I understand the thing with the luggage,” I say amused. “I got it.”

“You’re a very wise man.”

“You thought I was going to steal it.”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” she answers visibly irritated.

I bite my lip trying to stop myself from laughing again.

“Okay, okay. I’ll admit it. I really wanted to take off with it, and now I’m sorry for not letting you go smoke. I was an idiot. Be honest, is there anything valuable in there? Come on, be honest. I don’t like wasting my time. Maybe I should go sit next to someone else.”

She starts giggling softly. Her teeth are pretty.

“If you steal it, you’re in for the disappointment of your life.”

“I like the way you laugh. I like you. I would sit with you for hours on end listening to your laughter, but I have to leave. I got the urge to smoke now. Can you watch your own luggage until I return?”

“But I want to smoke too,” she protests pitifully. “I’ve been wanting to go smoke long before you sat here.”

“Well, then I suggest we both release ourselves of this burden. I’ll help you carry the suitcases outside, and we both get to smoke. That way they’ll be safer. If anyone comes near them, I’ll hold them and you’ll hit them.”

“Okay,” she answers with a smile.

My God… It’s freezing outside. I smoke my cigarette, shiver, and glance at the girl from the corner of my eye. I’d say she’s a bit older than me, but you never can tell.

Her hair is dyed red, her lipstick is red, her nails are long and red. It’s clear to me.

“You’re a special woman,” I say dryly.

She seems surprised but continues to puff from her cigarette, blowing the smoke toward me, but I don’t say a word.

I don’t have anything left to say either. This big suitcase drained me of energy and broke my back. I now understand why she couldn’t go outside by herself with all of this after her. Some people are so stupid, they pack half their homes when going somewhere. It’s just a vacation, for fuck’s sake.

“So, I’m special,” she chirps. “Thank you, but there’s no need for compliments.”

I’m under the impression she’s hitting on me. The last thing I need is to hunt for skirts at the airport. The chapter called “How About I Hook Up” is long closed. I’m not interested in women anymore. For the foreseeable future, all I care about is a soft bed to sleep on.

I hope she’s just teasing me and isn’t actually hitting on me. That would be sad.

“After all,” she continues without looking my way, “do you swear because you have Tourette’s or because you simply lack common sense? Come on, tell me. I’m curious.”

“Let’s try another way. First, you tell me where you’re flying to, and then I’ll answer your question.”

She lets out a sigh and waves her hand at me in dismissal.

“I’m not flying anywhere. Truth is, I arrived from Vienna an hour ago. My sister is on her way to get me together with her sweet husband. Or at least they were supposed to be on their way. They’re having some car trouble, so…”

“That sucks.”

“It really does. They at least promised me to get it fixed within the hour, so I’m waiting for her as patiently as a mouse. Meanwhile, I smoke a cig here and there, if I manage to fool someone to carry my heavy luggage outside.”

“That sounds fair. If I were a helpless woman I’d do the same thing. My turn to answer. I swear because I don’t have any common sense. Yep, it’s just a quick way to cool myself off.”

“I suspected that much. I admit to sometimes cooling myself off by saying stuff, or at least thinking them. Everyone does that.”

“That’s just a fad to you, but I actually feel the need to swear. Today I had a horrible day. As so was yesterday. And the day before that. Actually, for a while now, my days are just messed up.”

“Welcome to the club,” she says smiling. “I know the feeling, buddy. I’m having a really hard time, but I’m trying not to let it show.”

“You seem like a nice and balanced woman. You maybe even are. How old did you say you were? Forty-five?”

“Drop it,” she says coldly. “You know very well I never brought that up.”

“Why are you pissed? I clearly told you I lack common sense. So, you’re forty-five?”

“You have absolutely no manners,” she growls. She throws the cigarette butt, and lights another, then looks me in the eye while twisting a strand of red hair between her fingers. “Do I look forty-five? Is that what you think?”

Well, well… now she’s all saucy. Really now? She’s starting to bore me.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” I answer with a yawn. “I’m too tired to think. It doesn’t even matter how old you are. My eyes are drooping. I’m going back to the waiting area to look for a soft and cozy chair. It was nice meeting you. I’ll leave you with your luggage. I’m exhausted.”

“Only an ass would do that.”

“What don’t you understand? I’m telling you again that I’m tired. Coffee and cigarettes aren’t doing the trick anymore. I’m going back.”

“I’m forty-seven years old, and shame on you for making me tell you. Okay?”

“Okay. I could have sworn you were forty-seven I suggested you were forty-five just to make you feel better, but I know you’re at least forty-eight or forty-nine.”

I watch her gasp.

“You… are…”

“An idiot,” I admit.

“I wanted to say rude, but ‘idiot’ works too.,” she says coldly. “Now, like a well-mannered rude man that you are, you’re going to grab this heavy suitcase, and I’ll take the lighter one. We’ll return to the lounge together, and you’ll accompany me to my seat.”

“And then what?”

“Then you can do whatever. You can walk away, sleep, slit your wrists. Whatever you feel like.”

I look at the big suitcase with terror. I’m a gentleman, but it’s so heavy…

Her phone rings, and after a one-minute conversation, I realize that Tourette’s is contagious. The woman ends her pouring of swears as suddenly as she started. The airport is quiet and peaceful again.

She hangs up huffing and puffing, looks at me, and I stare back at her.

“So, the car trouble is going to take longer than an hour?”

“No,” she says while texting angrily. “I need a taxi, God damn it. I have to find a hotel. It’s close to… oh… those assholes! Fuckin’ assholes! How can they do this to me?”

“It will be okay. Don’t sulk.”

“I will!”

“What for? Come on. Don’t make it sound so tragic. Nobody died. You’ll find a taxi and a hotel, and tomorrow you’ll get to see your idiots, and that will be it. You’ll get rid of me in a few minutes. Taxi drivers in this city don’t like me, and I’m already blacklisted by the hotels in the area if such a list exists. I’ll sleep on the chairs at the airport tonight. And tomorrow… I’ll leave. Actually, I was going to ask you something.”


“What type of face do I have? Do I look like someone from Thailand or Dubai? Look at me from the side. Now front.”

“Can you stop? What’s all this crap about?”

“I was just asking. Anyway, let’s take your luggage to that taxi. Oh, snap! Wait…”

“What is it?”

I point to the building across the street. We were looking at the hotel, and the hotel was looking at us.

Chapter 3

Pillowtalk in the Dark

Jesus, these suitcases are terribly heavy! Sweat gushes out from every pore.

All the vodka I previously drank is now running from my head where it was to my knees. I’m trying not to kick the bucket on the way until I reach the reception at least.

Finally, the formalities go quickly. We get to our room and I collapse in an armchair like a wet rag, waiting patiently for death to take me. Mission accomplished.

“You look a bit worn out. Why are you panting so hard?”

“I’m not one for physical exercise,” I wheeze, throwing daggers at her with my eyes.

“I’ll make it up to you. I saw a coffee machine in the lobby. Do you want any?”

We take our time to drink our cups of coffee in silence. Too much silence. I feel the air in the room is a bit dense, and I have the impression I’m to blame.

“Don’t look so worried,” I tell her finally. “I’m harmless. I promise I’ll finish my coffee and leave.”

“Don’t be silly,” she answers visibly relieved. “What’s your deal anyway? Tell me before you leave.”

I use as few words as possible to tell her about my last 24 hours.

“Oh, so that’s how it is,” she concludes.

“Exactly. It feels like the bartenders, taxi drivers, and hotel receptionists in this city are all conspiring against me. And above all that, I’m behind on sleep. I might fall asleep here, in the armchair, with the coffee in my hand. Oh, stop looking at me like that! I was joking. Don’t you have a sense of humor?”

“You were not joking.”

“Okay, I was not joking. I was just trying to see your reaction. We could have split the cost of this room, but it’s too late now. I changed my mind.”

“I’m perfectly capable of covering my own room,” she answers irritated.

“So am I. I’m more loaded than you. I can pay for two rooms with my sixty thousand bucks.”

“Uh-huh,” she says with a bored look. “Sixty thousand kicks up your ass. Don’t expect me to believe that.”

“Believe what you want. I don’t have the energy for this.”

“Okay, I believe you. You’re an excentric millionaire who spends his time in airports, trying to hook up with helpless women.”

“Is that what it looks like? That I’m trying to hook up with you?”

“Of course. You follow me, carry my luggage, want to split the costs.”

“Oh no, it’s not like that. It’s nothing like that!”

“Yes, it is,” she says giggling. “Don’t you remember? You told me I was special, and you’ve been flirting with your eyes for over an hour.”

“Me? What a sad joke. Flirting with my eyes?”

“Yes, you. In the airport as well, and while we were outside smoking, but here too. You’re close to jumping me. But I’m warning you,” she adds suddenly with a serious look on her face, “these Don Juan tactics don’t work on me. I’m not the way you think I am.”

We stare at each other for a few seconds. I either look like an idiot, or I met the most paranoid woman in the city.

“Okay. I’m a serial rapist. You caught me. Congratulations.”

Annoyed, I crush my half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray, get up, and walk into the hallway without sparing her another glance. What an idiot. Fuckin’ idiot! Flirting with my eyes, she says.

I wait and wait on the damned elevator. After a while, I stop pressing the button. Anger buzzes in my head like a beetle, but as the buzzing subsides, I start laughing like an idiot, realizing how ridiculous the whole situation is. What would I want with this woman? Am I crazy? It’s not like there aren’t any more rooms in this hotel.

Oh, screw it, and screw this elevator. Where are the stairs? I’ll take the stairs instead.

“Are you over it yet?” She appears by my side. “I can tell you get annoyed easily.” She grabs my arm gently and walks me back to the room. “I’m sorry if I offended you,” she continues in an indifferent tone. “Stop sulking. Truth is, I don’t know anyone in this city, and I’m a bit afraid of situations that involve splitting the costs for a hotel room. We started our friendship on the wrong foot. You’re a bit rude, but I admit your face shows honesty. You don’t look like a luggage thief.”

“Or like a serial rapist,” I answer still irritated.

“That either. So I’ll accept your proposal. We can split the cost.”

“I’m glad,” I say coldly.

“Me too. You can take the half next to the door. There’s a draft coming from there, but I have one condition.”

“Which is?”

She gives me half a smile and points toward the bathroom door.

“Please go take a shower.”


“Because you stink.”

I love it when women are not too direct, so I shrug and turn toward the bathroom.


I think it’s around 2 AM.

Trying to feel for the nightstand lamp proves unsuccessful, and I give up, trying to find my way to the bathroom in the dark. I’m half asleep, but if I don’t piss now, something will explode.

My roommate was nice enough to lend me a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. I’m trying not to drip on them.

Looking at myself in the mirror, dressed in these silly clothes, I look like a woman with wide shoulders and a bald head. Shit, I’ll have nightmares after this.

Mumbling under my breath, I get back to my side of the bed and fall asleep instantly. An elbow to the chest wakes me up just as fast.

“You can either flush after pissing, or you can flush after pissing. Your choice.”

I choose to flush.

How ridiculous. Of course, I flush after I piss, you cow! I didn’t want to wake you up this time. I did it for you, but that’s fine. I’ll get up every hour to piss and flush noisily. Hope that makes you happy.

I get back in bed and fall asleep again, for maybe five seconds.

“Do you know you fart in your sleep?” she asks out loud while turning from one side to the other.

“That’s extraordinary,” I grumble with my eyes closed. “I had no idea. I’ll try to pay more attention while I’m asleep.”

I feel the bed swaying.

“Yes, please do. And for everything to feel complete, you also talk in your sleep.”

“Okay. Please send me an email with everything you dislike about me. I’ll read it in the morning after I wake up. So later today.”

“You’re an asshole,” she concludes, turning to her left side. The bed squeaks and groans.

“I’m sorry, you angelic and immaculate being. I admit that sometimes I fart in my sleep, and sometimes I might even talk in my sleep. I apologize profusely. Can I go back to sleep now? I paid for half the room and half this squeaky bed. And as a bonus, I also flushed the toilet.”

“You haven’t paid for anything yet,” she replies giggling. “I’ve not seen one penny from you yet, so you’re at my mercy. I can kick you out this second if I want. Wanna see?”

I open my eyes. It’s hard for them to adjust to the darkness in the room. A few seconds later I make out the shape of her back. She’s wearing striped pajamas, but can’t tell exactly what color.”

“So you want me to leave?” I ask half asleep.

“I was joking,” she giggles. “You woke me up when you went to the bathroom, and now I can’t fall back asleep. We can at least make conversation.”

“You want to talk in the middle of the night?”

“Uh-huh. How about that?”

“Oh God, no. I have to make decisions in the morning. I need a clear mind to decide if I want to go to Dubai or Thailand.”

“Dubai? Ha ha… You’re such a liar.”

“Believe what you want. Since you’re already awake, I’ll take advantage and ask you…”


“Don’t you have something… strong… to drink in those suitcases of yours?”


“I could have sworn you don’t.”


“Because you don’t look like the drinking type. You look like a very well-behaved woman.”

“Well-behaved?” she squeals.

“Very. An innocent and well-behaved fifty-year-old.

I feel her blood starting to boil. The bed starts shaking. A few seconds more, and she will combust.

“Well, buddy, learn that I have a full bottle. It’s intact, sealed, and full of…”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious. It’s a traditional drink from Austria that I bought in Vienna. It’s called Marillenschnaps. It’s apricot brandy.”

“Stick it up your…”

“What did you say?” she screams, half getting out of bed.

“I’m sorry. I have Tourette’s. It escaped my lips.”

“I dare you to say that again,” she threatens out of breath. “Come on, try it you ass!”

“You’re so touchy. You’re forgetting I’m your best friend in this city. The only one actually.”

“Really? If you’re my friend tell me what my name is.”

“I forgot.”

“See how dumb I am? I’m in a strange city, in a strange hotel, in a strange bed, with a stranger who doesn’t even know my name.”

“Yeah, I won’t disagree there.”

“Am I not stupid? Of course I am. I wonder why. Why?”

“Lower your voice. They’re going to kick us out. Why what?”

“Why don’t know you what my name is?”

“Because I don’t know. But you’re a smart woman, so enlighten me. Why don’t I know?”

“Because,” she says sharply, “you’re such a pig that you didn’t even have the sense to ask.”

“You’re right. What’s pissing you off the most is that I said you were fifty.”

“I don’t even care about that, even though, honestly, I’m not fifty. But why does it matter? Age is just a number. Numbers only matter if you want them to matter. What hurts me, is that you didn’t care enough to ask who you’re sharing a bed with. This. This is what pisses me off.”

“Okay, turn toward me. I want to ask you something.”

“I don’t want to see your face. Has anyone ever told you that your face looks like it asks to be punched?”

“More power to you. If I had a dollar for every time someone told me that, I would have an easy life.”

“You’re annoying too.”

“You’re contradicting yourself. Not long ago you were saying my face looks honest and not at all like the one of a luggage thief. Anyway, this whole argument happened because I haven’t asked you your name. I’ll ask you.”


“Is your name Ana?”


She hops out of bed like a cat and looks at me in surprise.

“How did you know my name was Ana?”

“I guessed.”

“No, you didn’t. You’re lying. Tell me right now how you knew my name was Ana, if not…”

“Okay, okay. But will you be quiet after that and let me sleep?”

“I don’t know yet. We’ll see.”

“Will you let me sleep or not?”

“I will. I promise.”

“Your name is on the luggage tag. Thank you for your attention, Ana. Good night, Ana. Sweet dreams, Ana.”

I don’t get to sleep.

“Listen,” she whispers. “I want to ask you something as well, and then I’ll let you sleep.”

“But you already promised you would. Are you a child? What the fuck? If I keep answering your questions, you’ll just keep asking more. Be fair. Do you have iss…”

“Just one question, and done.”

I get up angrily, turn the light on, and grab my clothes from the armchair. I put them on, put my shoes on, and carefully tie the laces of my boots. It must be very cold outside and could use a hat. I’ll definitely buy one if I find a store selling them at two in the morning.

“What are you doing?” she asks, watching me confused.

“Is it not obvious? I’m leaving.”

“Just like that? At this hour?”

“Two in the morning is just as good of an hour to leave as any other hour. When you want to leave, you leave.”

“Oh, is that a principle of yours? A man thing?”

“Yes, it’s a man thing.”

“Your wife must be very happy to have a man with such principles.”


“Yes, your wife. You know, that poor woman who waits for you at home, while you try hooking up with chicks in airports. Do you think I haven’t noticed the ring mark on your finger?”

I look at her with pity. I wonder why there are so many people feeling so exhilarated when they say “Oh, life is beautiful! It’s so worth being alive!” It’s not true. Life is absurd and diabolical.

This woman came into my life from the pits of Hell. She’s not a woman. She’s the Devil disguised as one.

I sink into the armchair and light a cigarette, blow the smoke toward the ceiling, and look at it floating quietly. Time moves slowly.

“Come on, ask your question. What did you want to know?”

“I just wanted to know what your name was. That was it.”

“Was this your biggest worry? What my name was?”


“And how will that help you?”

“It helps.”


“I’ll know who you are.”

“But why do I have to know who you are, and why do you have to know who I am? Do you want to marry me?”

“I’m not that stupid.”

“Good, because I don’t want to marry you either.”

“I’m glad we got that out of the way, Mr. X. I was scared because for a moment I really thought you were going to ask me to marry you.”

“Did you really think that? Was that when I was pissing in the middle of the night, or when I was farting in my sleep?”

“You don’t have to be vulgar, okay? Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot you’re a man.”

“No, I’m sorry for losing my temper,” I say with a sigh. “I don’t know why I have the impression that I’m married to you. It feels like it. All this shit you’re subjecting me to reminds me of situations that I’ve been through hundreds of times before.”

“So, you’re married after all,” she says with satisfaction. “Gotcha. Admit it.”

“I’m not married, Ana. But I’ve been married several times before.”

“Several times?”

“That’s what I said.”

“What happened to your wives?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“And I don’t really want to hear about it.”

“That’s good, Ana. Do you want to know anything else before I get up and leave this room and your life forever?”

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

My God… How stupid can women be? She sounds like a broken record. What’s your name? What’s your name?

Okay. I’ll try an experiment. If I can make her pull out that bottle of brandy and gift it to me, it means all women are stupid and deserve their fates.

“Okay, Ana. This is how it’s gonna go. You pull out that bottle of brandy, and I’ll tell you my name.”

“Haha. Very funny. Forget it! Hahaha. Have a nice trip!”

Well, I can be wrong sometimes. She’s not that stupid. I step out of the room and call the elevator, which comes up this time.

“Come get this damn bottle,” I hear Ana’s disgusted voice. “Come back here!”

I walk back in victorious, and the door slams behind me. Women are so stupid. Oh, yes. Stupidity is embedded in their genetic code.”

“Took you a while,” I say smiling.

“I wanted to give it to you anyway, but I was trying an experiment.”

“An experiment, you say?”

“Yes. I was telling myself all men have a disgusting character, and they’re all pigs. So, I decided that if I call you back to get the bottle and you don’t return, it would mean you’re the only man who deserves my respect. I’m sorry, buddy. You just failed the test.”

“That’s fine. Fuck the test. You called; I came. Now give me the bottle.”

“Not yet. What’s your name?”

I’ll kill her. No joke!

“My name is Tiberiu,” I say with a sigh.

“Tiberiu what?”

“That’s it. Tiberiu.”

“You think you’re smart?” she growls. “What do you think you’re doing? You only gave me half the information.”

“That means I deserve half the bottle. You can have the rest.”

“What’s the time?” she asks suddenly.

“Who cares?” I say while fighting with the cork. “Oh, it smells good.”

“I care. It’s too early for a drink.”

Will you look at this? Nice. At least she’s not an alcoholic. That matters.

“But I’ll make an exception just this time.”


“Okay, okay,” I say defeated, giving her a glass. “Cheers!”

We toast. Surprisingly, this piss tastes good.

“I wonder what your sister’s gonna say when she gets here and we’ll burp fruit brandy in her face?”

“Not sure what she would say, but my brother-in-law won’t be happy. This was his present. Cheers, Tiberiu, terror of the airports.”

“Thanks, girl,” I say in a good mood. “Cheers to your health. One more glass?”

“Do you want another?” she asks smiling.

“Hmmm, you’re trying to get me drunk. It won’t work. You’ll fall first because women have no tolerance.”

She gives me an unhappy glance, takes the bottle out of my hand, and pours herself a full glass. She sips slowly but watches me in the eye the whole time. That’s a rare type of girl.

Alcohol brings peace back to our room. I don’t want to leave anymore, so I take my clothes back off and get back in bed.

The clock on the wall shows 4:05 AM. I have plenty of time to take another nap.

Ana gets back on her side, unusually quiet. The room is very peaceful, and I fall asleep instantly.

Around 4:20 AM I receive an elbow to the mouth.

At 4:25 she wakes me up with glass-shattering snores. I turn her on her belly to hopefully stop it.

Unfortunately, at 4:30 AM her head is resting on my shoulder, and a hand is touching me between my legs.

I lift both my hands up.


The one down there is not mine.

Chapter 4

Ana is Gay

I look to my left. Ana is awake, looking back at me.

“Aren’t you asleep?”

“No,” she babbles, her breath surrounding me in waves of brandy.


“You know why.”

“I have no idea why, but I’m dead tired.”

“Oh, stop with this sleep nonsense,” she suddenly snaps in a drunk tone. She turns around and hits the light switch, then asks in a playful tone. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re interesting? You have a terribly magnetic attitude.”

Poor woman. My magnetism is just the alcohol in her brain, damn woman.

The thought that a woman finds me attractive only when she’s close to an alcoholic coma doesn’t sit well with me.

“To be honest, nobody has ever said I was magnetic, however, I’ve been told my face asks to be punched.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not talking about your face,” she says, and her hands disappear under the blanket.

“Is it just me, or you’re trying to do things to me, ma’am?”

“Is it just me, or you’re acting crazy, sir? Ha ha… Or maybe you don’t like women.”

“I’m not interested at all in women.”

She looks at me confused, and her fingers under the blanket take a break, but a few seconds later they continue their assault.

“Hee, hee… What a cute idiot! You’ve been married several times, and you don’t like women? Tell that to someone else,” she says laughing, visibly drunk.

I try tempering this creature that keeps tugging at my pants. Her cheeks are rosy and her eyes are rolling in her head because of the brandy. She clearly is fixed on her idea, and I don’t like that.

God, help me! I swear to never get women drunk again.

“You don’t like chicks, you say?” she scolds, panting. “Did you become an enemy?”

“That’s stupid,” I protest. “I’m not gay! I never said I liked men.”

“I like men,” admits Ana. “Hee, hee, I think I’m a bit gay because I’ve always liked them.”

Okay, I have two choices. I either run out of this hotel with my clothes in my arms, and with Satan following me down the stairs, or I quickly give her what she wants and get her to sleep.”

It’s terribly cold outside, so I pick the second option, praying it won’t take long. It will probably be fast. It’s been a long time since…

“I’m impotent,” I say as a last resort.

“Yeah, right,” she laughs. “If you’re impotent, then what am I holding?”

I look down somehow curious. Yep, she caught me. I don’t know how she managed, but I could crush someone’s head with what she’s holding.

“Okay, Ana. Moment of truth. I’ll tell you why I can’t. I’m HIV positive.”

“And I have herpes. Wanna trade?”

“Hell, you’re unbelievable! I don’t even have a condom! I don’t!”

“I have *hiccup*… a condom.” Ana tries getting out of bed, but she’s so drunk, she falls on top of me like a pancake.

“You keep condoms in your purse?”

“Of course I do. Did you think I visited Vienna to go to the zoo?”

To my understanding, I found a collector of men. That’s bad luck. Now I know I really need a condom.

“Okay, you convinced me. We’ll have sex. Where’s your purse?”

“There on the table,” she moans. “My Godddd…”

“What? What happened?”

“The r…room is spinning.”

“Oh, that… I know. That’s normal. Get off me for a second. I need a condom.”

Ana suddenly screams in my ear.

“A man doesn’t belong to *hiccup*… God! Bring me the purse! Keep your paws out of it, you pig!”

I manage to free myself and bring her the purse, but her search for a condom takes forever. Finally, I get the much-awaited rubber, but I have nothing to put it on.

“See, you gay woman? See? I didn’t lie to you. I told you I’m impotent.”

“Why in the world are you shouting? You’re going to wake up everyone in the hotel.”

“I’m the one shouting? You are! You’re louder than a corporal shouting orders.”

“Leave if you don’t like my voice!” she shouts, sending brandy-flavored spit my way. “You keep coming and going from my room. You weirdo! A man must be *hiccup* sure of his actions!”

“Come on, tell me to leave one more time,” I shout in anger. “I dare you! Tell me that again!”

“Leaveeeee!” she screams.

I get up on all fours and try to reach my clothes, but Ana grabs my legs and pulls me back. The blanket flies off me. One of the pillows hits my head, and the other hits the lamp on the nightstand.

“Did you really think I was going to let you leave?”

This is not a woman, but a judo fighter. I don’t understand how those thin arms of hers are so strong. I’m afraid that if I really upset her, she’ll snap me like a twig.

“Listen here, you ass. I’ll enjoy the best sex in the world even if you don’t participate willingly,” she shouts in anger. “But you will be part of it, I assure you of that. You’ll be the guest of honor, oh, yes! You will *hiccup* be part of it! And you’ll be the best!”

She’s drunk, crazy, and with a horrible thirst for doing the dirty. Great person to share the hotel room with…

Suddenly, she weasels out of bed, locks the door, and goes to the bathroom. I hear the key clinking in the toilet and Ana flushing.

I stare at the ground in resignation. I’m doomed.

“Well, that’s handled,” she says, walking out of the bathroom. “Lay on your back and let me revive it.”

It’s a miracle. In less than a minute, it’s alive again. Ana grabs the condom and rolls it without a wrinkle visible.

Her pants fly on my head. I take them off and watch her, half in amusement, half upset about how she impales herself on me. She’s not all the way drunk, because she knows what she’s doing, and she’s doing it well. She rides me like a possessed person. It’s worth looking at. It feels like I have a front-row seat to a show.

“Not bad, girl,” I encourage her. “Why didn’t you say so from the start?”

I grab her menthol cigarettes off the nightstand, light one up, and continue watching my amazon. I swear I could marry this woman. That’s what I’ve been searching for forty years, I just didn’t know it.

Someone knocks. The thin voice of a woman threatens us through the door.

“I’m from the reception. I’m sorry but… Hello? We keep receiving complaints. Please be quiet!”

“Can’t people fuck in your hotel?” screams Ana without stopping what she’s doing. “Have patience and let me finish, and after that, I’ll give him to you. You can bring colleagues.”

I start laughing. I like her. She’s fierce. I always appreciated those who can turn a situation in their favor.

The other one keeps knocking on the door enraged, this one tortures me on the bed, but what really scares me is that this has been going on for over ten minutes, and I can’t finish. I don’t know what Austrians put in their brandy, but it seems to work for men and women both.

I get a great idea. I should pretend I’m done.


“Don’t you dare finish, or I’ll kill you!” she screams.

“What are you saying? No way!”

I’m doomed. I’m going to end up dead in my prime years in this hotel. How unfortunate. Maybe if she had not thrown the key down the toilet, I’d still have a chance.

Ana is breathing fast and she looks like she’s close to getting a heart attack. Sweat pours off her in waves.

“Move a bit as well, don’t sit here like an animal,” she moans. “It’s not fair.”

I take pity on her. This energetic woman is fifty, after all, so I set her nicely in the sheets, and take over the business.

She turns too quiet all of a sudden. She lays under me like a rag. I have the weird feeling I’m screwing a corpse, so I take a small break and lay my palm over her left breast. Her heart’s still beating.

“Why are you stopping?” she asks, looking at me with one eye.

Yep, she’s alive. Defeated, I continue exploring the burning depts offered to me so generously. It takes a while, and the minutes keep passing.

It feels like a sauna in here. We’re soaked with sweat and we’re both moaning like bears. The cold from outside is not reaching us from under the door anymore. The bed keeps shaking, protesting timidly, squeaking louder and louder. A bit more and it will collapse as well.

Okay. We’re at the position number 107. I try to come up with another one, but I have no creativity left. Ana squeals, moans, shouts, and pants, then takes a break and starts again.

God damn it! This isn’t sex, but a room of the Spanish Inquisition. If I continue, we’ll both kick the bucket, and I won’t see Dubai anymore. Or Thailand!

“I can’t do it anymore; I really can’t do… it… Do you hear me? Can we leave it for another time?”

“Nooooo,” she screams, suddenly alive. “I’ll get the best… the best…”

“The best sex. I know, I know.”

I realize there are two big hammers in my head. I can hear them beating on my temples. It’s a miracle I have not passed out yet. Even the lady from the reception got bored and left.

I glance toward the nightstand and notice the bottle is not completely empty, so I pour two drinks in equal amounts and offer her a glass. We drink quietly.

“I really needed one after all this. Cheers! For the health of your brother-in-law.”

She starts laughing and chugs the drink, then throws the glass over her shoulder. It shatters and she pretends to be surprised, then hiccups and starts crying.

I look at her a bit uneasy and feel the need to cross myself. Ana sees my face and starts laughing like a deviant hyena. Who could understand her?

“It’s almost 6 AM. Go rest for a bit.”

I’ll stay with her for a bit longer to pretend I care, and then I’ll vanish out the door, or out the window. It doesn’t even matter. I just want her to fall asleep.

What the fuck? She’s crying again, and her drunken womanly squeals piss me off.

“Come here.”

I hug her and tell her she’s beautiful. That’s not a lie. She’s the most beautiful woman in this room.

“I really like you, Ana. Honestly. Calm down.”

“You like me?”

“Of course! I like you a lot.”

Why shouldn’t I tell her that? It’s not difficult.

“Tell me more.”

I tell her she’s special, very special. I wipe her tears with kisses, stroking her red hair, and gently rock her. She calms down and falls asleep with her cheek against my chest. Finally.

I keep talking to her and stroking her even after she falls asleep, then gently lay her on the bed, pick the blanket off the floor, and wrap her up. She’s breathing lightly like a child.

The condom comes off in one move and I throw it under the armchair, then lay on the bed as well. There’s complete stillness in the room, and you can’t hear a fly.

Mission accomplished.

Title: “A Man, a Girl, a Deserted Island”

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