The Stranger


The other evening I found myself in a quagmire. An uncomfortable quagmire where I began to sweat and smell like the stranger that resides within myself. Sometimes events have a way of playing themselves out beyond my ability to comprehend. I was at a dinner party that was thrown by a friend of a friend’s friend. My wife and I were invited to his home for and evening of drinking from his historic wine collection that brought forth multiple bottles of red wine that were each valued at over a $1,000 bucks. We drank from them with a biblical delight and felt our minds turn towards ease as soon as the red medicine entered our blood stream. I was on my seventh glass of heavily fermented red wine when I felt outgoing enough to walk around the large finely decorated home and meander with the dozens of other guests that I did not know. With red wine glass in hand I walked through the various sitting rooms and living rooms smiling at people that I would never know. Then I was greeted by a woman that I immediately remembered knowing a long long time ago.

“Don’t I know you from some place?” she asked me with a knowing look of curiosity upon her face. I immediately scanned the room to see if my wife was anywhere in sight. When I saw that the coast was clear I looked back at the woman who stood before me waiting for a response. She was just as beautiful as I remembered her being seven years before. A combination of an eastern European gypsy and a sophisticated Jewish princes is how she appeared. Her long brown hair and olive skin made you want to reach out and touch her. “No, you do not look familiar to me,” a response which I will always regret. “I can swear that we have met before, I even remember where,” she persisted. “Well, I do have a twin brother who has been known to meet many more people than I,” I said in a desperate attempt to find a way out. “You have a twin brother?” she confirmed looking a little sceptical. “I do….he looks exactly like me,” I replied telling the first blatant lie I have told in quite a long time. “My name is Karina,” she said sticking out her hand and introducing herself to the man she had already met many years before.


It was a cold and rainy night and I needed a drink. I was alone and horny and I thought that making a trip to the Ruby Room, a popular bar in town, would not be a waste of time. It was already midnight but I knew that I was not ready for sleep. The bar was filled with cigarette smoke and the eccentric sounds produced by a female DJ spinning records in the back. A few people lingered on the dance floor and most late night loners sat at the bar. I joined them and ordered a bloody Mary with a twist. It was strange, because I was so stuck in my head that I did not notice the beautiful girl that sat beside me. It was Karina. To make a long story short I engaged in intellectual conversation with her and her friend and we bought each other drinks. The three of us calmly danced on the linoleum dance floor and Karina and I decided to leave the bar together and go for a drive into San Fransisco.

It was obvious that the two of us where stinking with a desire for sex. Why else would we be at a bar past midnight? In our own ravenous ways we wanted each other- but were to afraid, to estranged- to reach out and grab the first kiss. I did not want her lips as much as I wanted the nudity of her flesh and at that point in my life I knew no better way to get to the root of a woman’s body than to travel to a strip club. At that hour of the early morning there was only one seedy strip cub that would stay open until 4 a.m. This club was infamous for having some attractive women who would still sell their bodies even though the majority of client tell were drunk men. Karina and I paid our twenty dollars to get in and sat in some chairs in front of a stage with a woman dancing nude upon it. She was an attractive Asian woman with a butterfly tattoo on her butt and a dragon around her waist. Karina took my hand in hers and gently started sliding our hands towards my pulsating crotch which was in desperate need of attention. She came slowly towards my ear and whispered in it “I’ll pay to watch the two of you get it on.”

Karina, the Asian stripper and I- all went into a dark back room that smelled like cumm and plastic. There was a single red light that illuminated the black leather couches and paper towel dispensers on the wall. Karina gave the Asian lady two hundred dollars which she had taken out of an ATM. My mind was still spinning in tomato juice and vodka but when Karina took a seat and said to go ahead and begin I gave myself over to an experience that would only happen once in my life. The Asian stripper undressed me and herself and began by licking my entire body while she put a rubber over my penis. Then Karina began to play with herself and the Asian stripper gave me a blow job that made me feel high. Karina gave the stripper directions as she fondled her breasts and played pervertedly with her vagina. I played with the Asian stripper and together the three of us were all getting off to the sounds of each others longing.

After Karina and I had an orgasm we zipped our self back up and made our way out from the den of iniquity. It was almost four in the morning and the city was asleep. The two of us were still high from the release of sexual desire. I could tell that some shame ran across both of our faces but deep down the two of us did not care because we had each secretly planned upon never seeing one another again. When I ran into Karina seven years later at the dinner party I was as taken off guard as a man who comes across a wild lion in the middle of the city. I was now married and more respectable- and to happen upon a living memory from my deviant past made me as uncomfortable as if I was wearing all wool sweater in mid summer.


“Nice to meet you Karina,” I said reaching out my hand and shaking hers. “How did you meet my brother?” I lamely asked trying to remain as innocuous as possible. “Oh I’d rather not say,” she replied giving the impression that she had done something bad. “Yep, that sounds like my brother,” I said wanting to make her absolutely sure that he was not me. “What do you mean she asked?” surprised by my assumption. “My brother is a crazy guy who gets into all kinds of scandalous situations with the ladies.” Her face turned red and I don’t know if I made it more or less obvious that he was me by making this remark. “Are you sure you are not him?” she asked in a tone that had made me suggest that she had called my bluff. “I would have to be a psychopath to be pretending to be someone who I am not,” was all I could say. “That is true,” she said and I again looked around the room to make sure my wife was no place to be found.

“What is your brother up to these days?” Karina asked as she took a sip of her red wine. “Oh, he is teaching high school and an inner city high school in Richmond,” I said. Her eyes opened wide and she replied “that is so strange because I also teach high school in Richmond!” I was so shocked by this strange turn of life events that all I could do was ask her what school she taught at and it turns out that the high school where she teaches is two blocks away from the smaller high school where I or my twin brother teach. “That is so strange,” I tried to diplomatically suggest while at the same time I tried to hide my surprise. “What subject does your brother teach?” she asked. “English,” I said already knowing that her response would be, “I teach English as well!” I continued to make small talk with Karina about the strange nature of coincidence and all the forces at play in the universe that keep our lives strangely intertwined. I tried to act as objectively as possible- not letting on that a part of my desperate drunken self wanted a second round with Karina. I used all my acting powers to portray an image of a man who was too virtuous to be that twin brother who Karina had transgressed with seven years before.

“Are you sure you are not him?” Karina said to me one final time before we separated. All I could do was laugh as if to suggest that she was being ridiculous. I promised her that I would let my brother know that we had met and that I would pass on the information that she was teaching at a high school not far from his. “Well… it was nice to meet you,” Karina said with a strange smile upon her face- taking my hand in hers. For a moment I thought that I felt her hand moving closer to my crotch- but then she let go and walked away.


  1. “Stop reading this crazy stuff”, I tell myself. “You’ve got better things to do. Like the laundry. And the dishes. Besides he’s probably only fabulating anyway and anyone can do that.”

    On the other hand I’ve been indulging in John Irving’s books since I was twelve, for the exact same reason.

    Not wanting to do the dishes, that is. πŸ˜‰

  2. Yes, I write because I do not want to do the dishes. My wife is always getting upset with me because she feels like she can not enjoy her kitchen with all my dirty dishes piled up. I can relate with you Anni- I often tell myself to stop writing this crazy stuff and just do the dishes instead.

    If it means anything to you- this story is 100 percent non-fiction.

  3. I was afraid of that. But while fooling myself I did the laundry and vacuumed the livingroom. Not bad for a freak, eh?

    Sure You’re not a Finn?

  4. Ok, I honestly lost count how many times my brain oscillated between the polarity of that conflict in my head; but it certainly was on the side of “ok, this thing is an ingeniously concocted potion with an over active imagination entwined into reality”, when I read this comment of yours declaring its cent per cent truthfulness.

    Now, if that is true, I am a bit disoriented to leave any coherent comment. Certainly a very interesting event to transpire; and even if it didn’t actually transpire (which is still what a big portion of me wants to believe), you’ve written it very rhythmically and in a captivating manner!

    But yes, now This opening sentence does make more sense! πŸ˜‰ some quagmire indeed…

  5. I’m not really sure what to say.

    The first thing thing struck me was, ‘That’s one fucked up situation,” and the second was perhaps seven isn’t such a lucky number after all…

    …seventh glass, seven years – that Asian chick’s butterfly certainly had some effect.

  6. I am a loss for words…which is so seldom for me.

    I have to tell you that my dear but conservative mother-in-law, selected one link to visit from my blog..and you know the rest it was yours!! I tried to explain the unexplainable. eh,eh,eh

    I have to ask you this…does your wife read your blog? :O

    You draw us in an addiction.

  7. It is so nice to come home from a long day of work to find these wonderful comments. I never thought that comments upon my work could be so gratifying…..and I am so grateful to have such intelligent people voicing themselves to me!!! It’s great, addictive almost.

    Again- I will stress (for what it is worth) that The Stranger is a work of pure, absolute un- embellished non-fiction. I do have a tendency to embellish at times ( this is what makes writing enjoyable for me) but all of my work is taken from real life experiences. I never write about something that I do not know, or have not experienced. That would be nonsense.

    Annie, I am a freak not a Finn- but I certainly fit a lot of the personality traits. I only wish I lived in Finland.

    Mr Sanders and Sumedh- sounds like The Stranger may have twisted your minds a bit. That is what it is like living in my head most days. That is why I am writing with my second beer by my side.

    Thank you, Do The Right Thing- I try….which is all one can do.

    And to my beloved gypsy-heart- to be called an addiction is one of the higher honors of my writing career (if you want to call it that). I love that your mother-in-law found this blog!!! I hope it did not cause her to question your character. And- yes my wife reads what I write but tries very hard not to.

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