All characters appearing in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental.
When his friend Stew gave Donald the official tour of the house, the room that stood out most was the messy bedroom belonging to Stew’s three-year old son, Michael. What caught Donald’s attention was the twin-size bed in the corner of the room with a plastic frame built to resemble a 2014 Chevy Corvette. This bedframe was surprisingly detailed down to the projector headlights and approximately 14-inch rims. A green dinosaur quilt sprawled over the stiff, synthetic, urine-proof mattress, and clunky brown alphabet pillows dangled along the fringes.
“Yo Stew,” Donald shouted to his friend who was in the hallway behind him. “If I bring home a chick tonight, I’m fucking her on your kid’s race car bed.”
They both laughed. Donald and Stew had not gotten together to hang out for years, Stew due to marriage, a child, and medical school and Donald due to whatever the fuck Donald pretended was keeping him busy at any particular time.
Thus when Donald flew into town, Stew’s wife had taken Michael away to her parents’ place for the weekend to give the boys ample space for debauchery. It was a largely symbolic gesture. Having not long ago come out of a grueling, five-year relationship and also not having been particularly good at picking up women even before that, Donald knew his threat was toothless.
At some earlier point in his life, Donald remembered he had occasionally fallen ass-backwards into bringing random girls home and even introduced a few to a semi-conscious penis. Yet not even in those pitifully halcyon days could Donald declare, “Tonight, sex!” with any credibility.
That rambling thought was not at the front of his mind several hours later, however, as he made out with a Chinese foreign exchange student on the dancefloor of some awful club near The University. Donald was too drunk to remember how he’d met her. One of Stew’s friends might’ve introduced them or might’ve been hitting on her himself, but somehow her tongue ended up in Donald’s mouth.
The girl was from Henan or Hebei or some other bumblefuck Chinese province that probably nonetheless had 100 million people living in it. Was she hot? Donald couldn’t tell. She had one of those effortlessly thin and smooth Asian bodies with a face that was at the same time attractive and unmemorable.
Dressed to fuck, though. Hell yeah. Dressed to fuck.
Her outfit was almost as impressive as her new BMW X7, which she claimed she was too drunk to drive. Whichever bumblefuck Chinese province she came from, her family must’ve owned it. In any case, Stew won the Least Drunk competition and drove his friends, Donald, and the girl all back in her car to his house, where the girl chugged two of Stew’s wife’s wine coolers and asked Donald if he had any condoms.
No, he did not, by the way.
Sometime after Donald popped one of the girl’s breasts out of her dress and asked Stew to judge if he were better at breastfeeding than Stew’s son was, he realized that Stew and his friends had cleared out to leave him and the girl alone in the living room to do their thing. At this point, Donald’s story should’ve concluded with a simple “and then I fucked her.” That certainly was what Stew assumed, but Stew had not hung out with Donald in a very long time.
“Do you want to go upstairs to a bedroom?” Donald whispered into the girl’s ear. She nodded yes, having no clue that this bedroom would have a Fisher-Price drum set and an unemptied potty-training toilet.
“Is this a real room?” she asked when they entered Michael’s bedroom. Donald had left the lights off, but there was clearly something amiss with a child’s bedroom even to a completely intoxicated foreigner.
“Yeah, it’s a real room,” Donald replied, sweeping the alphabet pillows off the race car bed. The girl hesitantly sat down on the dinosaur quilt, and Donald tried to seduce her onto her back with gentle kisses to the neck.
“What the fuck are you guys doing in here?” Stew asked from the doorway as he flipped on the light switch. Perhaps it was the potty-training toilet, perhaps it was the drum set, perhaps it was the 14-inch rims on Michael’s sweet ride. Whatever it was, this girl wasn’t having it.
“We’re going back downstairs,” she said, pulling together her dress and rushing past Stew.
“Goddammit Stew!” Donald said, chasing after her.
It took two more of Stew’s wife’s wine coolers, but the girl was soon back in the mood and more ready to go than ever. They stripped completely naked. She clutched onto Donald’s neck and was throbbing underneath him on the living room couch.
“Do you want me inside you?” he asked.
“Okay, hang on!”
Donald was not one to let dreams die. He scooped the girl up and carried her upstairs once again. This time Stew was waiting for them. He stood next to his bedroom pointing at his bed.
“Donald, if you want to fuck on a bed, you can use my—“
Donald’s bare ass blew right past him into Michael’s room, dropped the girl onto that urine-proof mattress, and got on top of her. At this point, she was so horny, she didn’t even care where she was anymore.
Unfortunately, Stew did, and the lights flipped on again.
“Okay, look dude. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you two fuck on my son’s bed.” He stood at the doorway, a solemn expression on his face.
With a heavy sigh, Donald reluctantly carried the girl back downstairs. He had just laid her down on the couch when a towel hit him in the back of the head.
“That’s a $1200 couch! Use a towel!” Stew was now standing right behind them with a look of consternation.
“Are you going to fucking chaperone me through this shit?” Donald picked up the towel, a little too drunk to figure out what to do with it.
“Let’s just do it on the ground!” the girl groaned.
They did not do it on ground. Donald’s consciousness called it a night a little after the towel hit him, but he was fairly confident his penis went to bed even earlier. He woke up hours later next to the girl on separate inflatable mattresses on the living room floor. It was six in the morning, and she was already putting on her clothes.
“Hey, are you leaving?”
“Yeah, I have a busy day,” she said, digging her adhesive bra out from under a sofa.
“Okay, cool. So, uh, can I call you sometime?”
“You don’t live here, so there’s no point, right?” She pulled her dress on over her head.
Donald walked her out to her BMW parked by the curb. It was the beginning of a beautiful summer day. She turned and gave him a pursed smile. He leaned in and kissed stiff, unmoving lips.
“Can I add you on Facebook or something?”
The girl got in her BMW and drove away. Donald stood at the curb outside his friend’s house and watched her go.