This story is by Calvin Traverse and was part of our 2018 Summer Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
“50,000 Hungarian forints?! No fucking way.” reprimanded the Tourist.
He had a hard time converting the amount to American dollars, but he knew it was way too much. Brushing any signs of rationale, he muttered “fuck it.”
The Tourist handed money to the Stranger and went in for a kiss.
“ehh that cost more.”
Taken aback, thinking his actions were for her pleasure, he flung out his cock. She started stroking his half-hard chub, unaware to the lack of blood circulation due to alcohol consumption. Her touch was not out of tenderness, this was all business. The Tourist was just another customer, and the transaction didn’t include any emotional connection whatsoever. New to the business workflow the Tourist inquired, “so when we fucking?”
His surroundings, barren, as the cocaine, weed, and alcohol strongly-dispersed throughout his bloodstream, inhibiting his sense of reality. The Tourist was now thinking with his other head.
The Stranger took off her black, lacy panties as the Tourist exited his Khakis, looping them through his Sperrys. Entering the head a moan let out. He leaned back his head noticing a rustic clock tower bell. Quickly brushing off any questions his sober mind was trying to tell him, he brought his gaze back to the scene at hand. Her glutes flexed as she glided up and down his moderately-hard shaft. Unable to feel anything through the rubber, he knew this was a view of a lifetime. Admiring the precision in how she conducted business which was a fine-line between fucking and love making. Repositioning his hips closer to the edge of the stairs into a more strategic position of insertion, he bought a one-way ticket to Pound-Town. As the Stranger lowered herself, he arched upwards now in full control. She held fast as the Tourist thrusted with reckless-abandon, imagining himself as the main star in a featured porn video. Progressing faster and faster, the Stranger stretched her arms back and aligned blurring the lines of business and pleasure as her hips tightly-grasped by the Tourist’s firm hands. Entranced, perception came to reality while hearing his balls clap against the clit echoing against the bell tower. The perky, but firm tits bounced from penetration as her breathe slowly accumulated imitating the rate of penetration. He let out a massive moan as he shot three loads praying there were no holes in the condom…
“I’m never drinking again…”, groaned the Tourist wiping saliva drool out the side of his mouth letting a small smirk appear while recapping the sequence of events from last night. Hopping out of his top bunk, he made sure to not wake any of his 7 suite-mates who all came from all opposite ends of the earth. The hostel, Grandio, was recommended by his friend who said he had an unforgettable experience during his time in Budapest.
This was no different
Putting the pieces of his life together , the Tourist felt his heart sink when he couldn’t feel the bulge of his wallet and phone.
Keep calm, you definitely have it, just keep looking..
He frantically tore through his shorts from last night. When the same results kept repeating, he began to tear through his pack. It was nowhere to be found. Defcon 2 just became Defcon 1 as he frantically continued his search-and-rescue mission.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, where the fuck is it? Where would it have gone?!
Treading lightly as to not awaken anyone of his imminent threat, he began recalling the sequence of events from last night.
Okay, shit, think man! What did you do? You went out drinking, bought cocaine from the mob, then fucked a hooker. Wait, what the fuck? Nevermind that. Where did you lose it? THINK, YOU IDIOT?!
Fear struck the core of the Tourist realizing his worst nightmare became a reality. Overwhelmed with panic and swaying back-and-forth stunned with analysis-paralysis, the Tourist suddenly felt all alone.
A hung-over Israeli soldier was the first guest to arise from the shambles of last night.. Budapest was his home away from home, a fortress impenetrable of life’s worries. He strolled into the courtyard eager to start the day when a smile stretched across his face as spotting his newly made friend. Happiness turned to worry as he drew closer.
“G-G-Gil.. man I think I really f-fucked up.. I lost my phone and my wallet with all my money.” stuttered the Tourist unable to fortify his voice.
“Don’t move, I will be right back” replied Gil calmly, mentally working through military standard operating procedures.
Returning with two cappuccinos, a cigarette landed right next to his mug. The Tourist reluctantly obliged, indulging his hand stopped profusely shaking and coherent thoughts could be gathered. Only heavy exhales could be heard.
After a long silence Gil calmly explained “look.. you can’t change what happened to you. What happened, happened. You must accept reality for what it is now and not what you would’ve wanted to happen. I can tell you’re a good guy. We had so much fun last night and I feel like we’re good friends already. Last night was more fun than all of the last 3 times i’ve been here. I have a little extra money, don’t worry about food. I will cover you until you leave. Just try and enjoy the rest.”
Looking up, stunned to the response, he mustered up all energy to whisper, “why?”
“Because.. I have seen a lot of bad shit happen to good people. There’s a thing called Hashem in my religion that says to do good however possible. This is a sign. There is a reason why we met yesterday.”
Another tear drooped down his face barely ableto whisper, “thanks, Gil”, ignorant to the severity of comfort provided.
The duo went to damage control; credit cards were closed and arrangements were made. The sun leaked into the courtyard warming his skin igniting hope that there was light at the end of the tunnel.
The courtyard was dreadfully quiet except the morning bartenders attending to the fiasco of the previous night as more residents filed in. Congregating to community table to dicusss the events of last night, condolences were forwarded to the Tourist after hearing what happened.
A Gin and Tonic slid right in front of the Tourist.
How can I even look at alcohol again when it’s the one thing that got me into this mess?
“Let me tell you something. It’s tradition that everyone in this hostel gets a name. You can’t pick your own name and someone here must give you it. You’re in a fucked situation and have hit rock-bottom man. It seems fitting that your new name is Rock-bottom—fuck it, Rocky for short! Embrace it, let’s have at it for Rocky everybody!”
The community table soared their assorted cocktails into the air, alcohol spilling everywhere, praising their newly-inducted comrade. A small smirk came from Rocky’s lips as he suddenly didn’t feel so alone.
I can either sit around and mope, or I can make the best of what I have…
A ball of energy filled his void. Springing up from the chair, he knocked over his chair and reached for his beverage. Kneeling on one knee, he enthusiastically chugged his entire drink, pouring the leftover contents onto his head fulfilling the Grandio drinking ritual.
The Tourist had embraced his fate shedding his former identity; Rocky was born. A drink was placed in front of Rocky every time his drank ran low and after each drink by the hospitality of his traveling peers. With every drink, the sun shined a little bit brighter, the laughter became a bit heartier, and the hopelessness gradually faded with his worries.
Wow.. I guess things kind’ve do work out
Strongly-buzzed revitalized, he stood at the entrance of Grandio tall and proud. Peering back one last time, nostalgia overtook him thinking Budapest took everything, yet gave him more.
A can of spray paint was handed to him to graffiti his name on the Grandio Hall of Fame wall, the ultimate honor.
“Every champion was once a contender who refused to give up – Rockbottom “Rocky” 2017.”
Cheers and applause erupted from the entire hostel. The last tradition went underway as they started belting the lyrics of “We are the Champions “, complimentary for all guests able to make it out of Grandio somehow. The spectacle solidified his new existence of the world, restoring his faith in humanity. Feeling the 100 euros that Gil insisted on gifting him to ensure safe travels, Rocky let out a victorious battle cry before entering the taxi, paid for by his new family. Rolling down the windows and feeling the wind, distant chanting of echoes could be heard; Rocky! Rocky! Rocky!
A true warrior’s farewell, he thought.
Sighing heavily at what once appeared impossible lay his last destination, Terminal 4B. Eagerly awaiting to return to familiar grounds and faces, he unholstered his journal, sighed once more, and started writing,
“50,000 Hungarian Forints?! No fucking way.” …