first caught sight of J in an outdoor café in Budapest where she stood out like a freshly minted dime – petite and shiny, with little ridges on her rim. As I delicately sipped my strawberry milkshake, my eyes ran over her like ants on a picnic blanket; I was intoxicated! Who was this lovely creature? Where had she been all my life? Why had they been so stingy with my whipped cream? So many questions! The downtown bustle flooded my senses – it made my head spin. In my opinion it far surpassed the uptown bustle which I found comparatively jejune. Ironically, the uptown hustle was vastly superior. Budapest was a strange town.
In her left hand she held an extraordinarily large socket wrench, which she waved frantically at the petrified passersby. I initially found her behavior somewhat lunatic, but it all made sense when I later learned that she had been studying abroad, working on her doctorate in advanced plumbing.
I continued to spy on her, delighting in the way she wielded her wrench. I was all at once intrigued, nauseated, threatened and slightly aroused. I could take it no longer – we had to meet! Sidling up to her seductively, I asked her if she’d care for another coffee or perhaps a piece of Danish
“Hungarians don’t eat Danish,” she retorted in an odd monotone.
“So you’re Hungarian?”
“No, I’m Lithuanian, but when in Rome…”
I could tell she would be a hard nut to crack, but I knew I could sway her. Still, I had to be cautious. For one thing she was carrying a potential implement of destruction, for another my mother had always taught me never to inhale too deeply next to a Lithuanian.
“Well, perhaps you’d like some strudel then, I hear they make a fine strudel.”
“Yes, please!” her eyes lit up. “I would love a prune strudel.”
It’s funny, up until then I had ordered many different types of pastry: choux, danish, profiterole. After J, it would be only prune strudel ever more. Nowadays, each time a piece of prune strudel passes my lips I chuckle knowingly to myself and think of her. One time a fellow patron at a local café was so irritated by my knowing chuckles that he beat me very badly and put me in the hospital for two months. I still continue to knowingly chuckle though – I just do it much quieter.
J and I ate our strudel, flirting, and laughing – I with her, and she mostly with herself – well into the crisp Budapest-ian night. Eventually it became time for us to part, but not before she reached beneath the table and tenderly brought me to orgasm with her socket wrench. Luckily, as I stated before, it was a very large wrench! My heart, and penis were never the same after that night. That wretched, ridge-y, mental case embodied everything I’d ever wanted in a woman. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be; later that week I would be deported for attempting to screw a fire hydrant in broad daylight.