After sumo wrestling (I was teaching English abroad), we all went to a bar. One kind of sketchy girl with a guy who was not her boyfriend asked me for my number completely out of the blue; obviously I gave it to her and got hers as well. We didn't talk the rest of the time.

Monday, she leaves me a message, I call her back, we talk a little bit, apparently she's twenty-eight and lives with her family on a farm, speaks great English. She volunteers to drive out to meet me and stay over that night; I was completely taken aback and made some excuse, as at the very least I wanted some time to think about this — although even then I could hear my roommate's voice in my ear, gleefully saying, "Do I even need to tell you what to do in this situation? STICK — IT — IN!" The next day, she called me three times and

Illustration by Thomas Pitilli

I was too sketched out to pick up or to call her back.

Wednesday night, after a conversation with my old friend Eightball, I decided that I might not have another opportunity like this for a long time, so I gave her a call, and she volunteered again to come over again that very night. This time I took her up on it. She came over, we hung out for a bit, watched an episode of The Critic. (She requested it when she saw the DVD lying around, and was so into it that she refused to start making out until the closing credits, and moreover watched about half an episode the next morning while I was getting ready for work.)

Anyway, we started making out after that and, well, one thing led to another and, some time later, I stuck it in. I don't think I did particularly well but, whatever, it was still awesome. And the next day I awoke happier, wiser, and with a very big monkey off my back, much like Steve Young after Super Bowl XXIX.