Christopher
Bonn, Germany

I wake up in a hotel I have never seen (which should be explanatory since I'm in a foreign country) but more importantly, why the heck am I in a hotel room? I should be at my business meeting in Berlin right now!

No matter how hard I tried to think about it, I have no memory of how I got here, what must have led to it or what happened the night before.

There are beer bottles all over the side table, not to mention an empty bottle of Jack Daniels. What looks like some fancy foreign wine bottle, also drained, is filled with cigarette sticks. The TV, one of those old, boxy sets, is fallen back against the wall, and in the corner, an armchair is lying on its side. Feathers are everywhere; one of the pillows has been torn open.

I am alone.

No one is in bed with me. When I lean over to check the floor, I see only more feathers and more beer bottles scattered across the carpet—along with my clothes—all of them. My jeans are in a pile against the wall. My boxer hangs over one armchair that is still standing.

Then I realize that I am naked.

I feel a slight throbbing on the right side of my head as soon as fragments of last night start to hit me like a heavy wallop on my head. Slowly and painfully, bits of what went down the previous night begin to tease my memory.

Filthy tables, filthy sailors, and filthy factory workers. Nasty women playing soiled cards, filthier songs from a dingy piano, dirty long bars with large barrels of drinks behind them.

Several people were sitting at a filthy bar, filthy tankards, me drinking away and smashing a stubborn vodka bottle in an alehouse. Then, a lady with a horsey face walking up to me, spewing out gibberish that my ears could barely catch—like her name, for instance. Still, there was a word she kept on mentioning that my brain had unfortunately seemed to register—betrothal.

What the heck did she do afterward? The memory lingers teasingly at the tip of my brain, but it's not clear.

I screw my eyes shut with an unusual force, praying to God not to torture me with forgetfulness for too long. There's only so much I can bear. After saying the short prayer, I make another forceful attempt to remember what she did that must have resulted in me waking up in a shabby hotel room.

Then it hits my head again, this time like the firing of a cannon. What else do two people of the opposite sex do together in a hotel room?

My eyes flutter open immediately when memories of her talking about the entire kissing subject play in my head and the feel of something plump on my lips. I bring my hand to touch my lips. They are abnormally swollen now. She had kissed me last night.

Holy Ghost!

What on earth have I done? How could I have been too drunk and sloppy to push her away? Why did I let it happen? Why did I allow a woman who wasn't my wife to kiss my lips?!

I raise the blanket covering my body, and I look down at my manhood. I screw my eyes shut again, saying another prayer to the God of heaven not to let what is on my mind be what must have occurred.

Oh God, I know I messed up, but please have mercy on me just this once, will you? Things cannot be going haywire just from one mistake I made. Please bail me out of this, and I'll never make this error again. often. Show me mercy, Lord

I vowed to stay faithful to my wife. I admit that we are not good terms, and it is entirely my fault. Heck! I even tried to call her yesterday, but when I couldn't reach her, I tried contacting her friend, Karen. It felt like she was aware of what was going on between my wife and me, but when I remembered that Yemisi was a secretive person, I knew that wasn't the case.

When I realized that she wasn't ready to talk to me, when I remembered that she promised not to miss me, I stopped calling her for the day. I decided to try again another time then resorted to the worst thing I should have ever done – drinking till I lost it completely.

Now, what on earth have I done to myself? What happened last night after the kiss?

My heart is already aching severely, thinking of the fact that I let the wench kiss me in my drunken state. I'd just cheated on Yemisi by doing that. I know I'll regret it. Still, I need to know what happened after last night's kiss.

And there is only one way to find out.

Since I cannot fathom the course of events from last night to this morning all on my own, I decide that it's best to ask the staff of this darn hotel.

Quickly, I get off the bed and place my bare feet on the floor. I do not fail to notice that the floor is stable and flat, unlike how it was yesterday- sloppy and slippery, making me wobble like a catfish.

I reach for the armchair where my boxer is, and just as I pick it up, I make the mistake of bringing the underwear closely to my nostrils. I fling it back on the armchair as though I'd just touched poop.

The boxer reeks of a stench that I will rather not dwell upon. I reach for the blanket on the bed—the next best piece of clothing I can improvise. My other clothes must probably be stinking as well.

I wrap the blanket quickly around my body, letting it hang low on my waist. Thankfully, the weightiness of the blanket doesn't hinder me from hurrying out of the room—the room that stinks of cigarettes, alcohol, and sex—sex that I want to believe I didn't have with someone who wasn't my wife.

I run down the stairs, barely registering the fact that I had been sleeping upstairs all along. As I climb down the stairs, each step I take gives me a clearer view of the place below me.

It doesn't take me long to discover that it is the same alehouse from yesterday, where I'd drank to stupor. Only that now, the alehouse looks very clean compared to its immense filthiness from last night. All the tables look pristine. The steins hanging from the rack at the bar are immaculate. The piano stand looks new too. How had everything gotten so clean? I can't see any customers except the people who work here.

Why on earth would there be customers here at this time of the day? People are busy working hard while you...

"Shut up!" I mutter, silencing the stupid inner voice in my head.

I look around again. The workers are still busy doing their best to make the place look even neater. They are unaware of my presence. I have to let them know that I am here and I need to know what happened last night. They are the only ones I can ask.

"Ey!" I call out, speaking for the first time since I woke up, and realize how bad my breath is. It isn't the usual early morning kind of bad breath. It is the kind of bad breath that you could choke on or could make you puke—the type that reeked seriously of alcohol.

I almost do not want to talk again for fear of smelling it again.

I look around again to see if any of them heard my voice at all, despite how audible it is. Still, I get no response or reaction of any sort. The workers are busy with their activities like I don't exist.

I let out a fraction of the anger in me by reaching for the table next to where I am standing, and I slam my fist on it loudly. It works for sure because everyone, including the bartender who looked at me suspiciously yesterday, now has his attention on me, wide-eyed and frightened.

"Did anyone see something last night? Like a lady seated next to me? Did you notice any lady take me upstairs to the room in my drunken state? If yes, please, I need to know what exactly happened."

I wait for a few minutes, giving them time to contemplate on what particular lady I was talking about since there were several ladies from last night. I wait for a longer time, and I can tell from the way there are starting at me that I'm not going to get a response any time soon. I clench my fists, surprised at how rude they are.

But one of them is polite enough to reply. Unfortunately, he replies in the German language. I take a deep breath. I repeat my question and use my hands to make gestures, so they have an idea of what I am talking about. For example, whenever I mention the word, "upstairs" I'd point towards the staircase, and when I say the word "drunken," I'd go as far as acting drunk so they can understand me.

But these ill-mannered workers reply to my question in that same distant language!

"CAN'T ANYONE OF YOU HERE SPEAK ENGLISH AT ALL?" I yell. My patience has grown thin. I hit my fist on a wooden table till a sickening crack sound emanates from the force of my fist, making the table split into two.

I've never been this frustrated in my life, which says a lot—especially with the kind of woman I have as a mother and the sort of things she does to me.

This time the response I get is even worse. The workers are laughing, murmuring, and gasping. They point in my direction, but I'm too angry to bother why they are all reacting ridiculously.

I glare at them, waiting to get an understandable reply, but they keep laughing, oblivious to the fact that I have just damaged their property to express my fury. Still, they keep peering and pointing at me. Out of curiosity, I look down at my body for a moment. Then I freeze. The blanket that was once tied to my waist is now on the floor.

I realize that I am naked, again—In front of these embarrassing people. My ears catch something one of them had said:

"Sieh dir seine Männlichkeit an!"

I can bet he is talking about my manhood.

Their laughter hits another note now. Immediately after I manage to cover myself up, I sprint towards one of the staff, the one whose words I manage to hear. I grab the worker by the collar. I clench my jaw a bit too tight. There is decorum now as the bald guy trembles beneath my grip.

"HAVE YOU ALL GOT NO MANNERS AT ALL? IF NONE OF YOU WILL GIVE ME A COMPREHENSIBLE ANSWER, THEN I'M GOING TO SUE ALL OF YOU FOR LACK OF RESPECT FOR CUSTOMERS!" I yell in his face, hoping my bad breath would annihilate him.

"Hello, young man. What the hell do you think you are doing to my staff? Who do you think you are to be harassing my staff early in the morning?! I'm going to call the police to arrest you right away!"

I hear a stern, feminine voice. I turn and see a frail-looking, old woman glaring so furiously at me that the wrinkles on her face assemble to support the emotions she is feeling.

Immediately, I know she is the owner of the alehouse. I let go of my grip on the young staff, my lips quivering traitorously.

Damn it!

Why would she want to arrest me when her staff is the ones at fault here?! I'm trying to figure out what the hell that woman did to me last night. I want to know what my fate is but these idiots are making matters worse for me.

This old woman must be delusional to think she can bring the police to arrest me.

But, little did I know.