Part two begins now. CAN YOU HANDLE IT?
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On to the story!
Oh, Lank.
I came back onto the main floor of the bar from it's basement level bathroom to find my long-limbed festie with his left leg up on the stage of the dance floor of this cramped little place. His right leg was resting on the floor. Resting right in between these was the booty of a little twinky-looking boy (God only knows where his legs were). Lank was (still is?) in a relationship at that time, so my "Mom" instincts kicked in and I proceeded to surgically remove him from the twink while the bartender announced free shots to the entire bar. Spring break, doncha know.
We had been drinking for quite a bit. We had stopped at a bar, gone to the Bronx Zoo, hit up Brooklyn, had some cannoli and a bottle (or two) of wine with friends, then headed to a BBQ in the East Village that featured margaritas the size of your head. Immediately after, we saw some ridiculous off-off Broadway Richard Foreman play called "Deep Trance Behavior in Potatoland" (I seriously couldn't make this shit up) in which everyone said and did some really cliche weird shit, including a guy dressing like Dracula and growling "me and my shadow" over and over again. Good show to see under the influence.
Any influence was fine, as we were trying to drink away our memories of Francois the creeper. But in our current inebriated state, had he been waiting for us naked with his legs wide open, we'd be ready. In college, alcohol gives you confidence. It makes you feel older and ready to kick ass. And I was perfectly ready to head on back to that Harlem hostel and kick that guy's ass - should he be there.
Lank, on the other hand, was only thinking about fucking some ass. However, "Mom mode" always prevails, and I managed to pry him away. (much to the chagrin of the entire bar. They were just jealous. Who wouldn't want to steal away with such a charming giant?)
We stumbled off the subway, to the stoop of our luxurious accommodations.
"Well, here we go," I said, slurring like a sappy violin concerto.
After the drinks, Lank had gained a massive amount of courage.
"We can handle this guy...he don't got nothing on us."
Nothing yet, I thought.
We fell into the room. Francois was still there (but I spoiled that for you in the last chapter). He was asleep on his lower bunk, and all of our roommates remained the same. We stumbled around, giggling about our evening and prepping for bed (we were totally those assholes). Lank even felt brave enough to tease Francois a bit:
"That creepy French fucker is still here...hee hee hee..."
I chose to use his newfound courage to strike some subconscious fear into our sleeping foe.
"Yeah, if he tries to touch us again, we'll fucking kill him!" I felt so tough and straight, as I whispered this in my high pitched breathy tones.
"Yeah!" Good old Lank.
"We'll stomp his fucking baguette into a crepe!"
"Yeah!"
"Freedom fries all the way, baby!" (I was getting carried away.)
The asian guy tossed in his bed a little bit, grumbling something. We immediately scampered into our bunks like the frightened gay bunnies we were and didn't say anything else. I collapsed into my cot and eventually, my drunkenness got the better of me, and I passed out.
More dreams. This time, I was in some dark French bunker in Normandy, WWII era. Ok, I'm making this up. But really, the noise that filled the room made me think I had just gone to war.
The door slammed open and light flooded the room.
"WHAT THE FUCK, PERVERT??!!"
Of course, my natural paranoid instincts made me think that this voice was yelling at me. My chest was filled with that grasping feeling of fear and dread as I bolted straight up - I was still drowsy. I couldn't really see, the light had hit my eyes so quickly, and I wasn't entirely sure if the guy that this loud, masculine, New Yorker voice belonged to was coming at me.
As I gained some vision, I realized that he wasn't. He was after freaky little Francois.
"YOU WANNA BRING THIS SHIT INTO MY PLACE, FUCKER?" I realized that the screaming man was the hostel owner. He had Francois by the collar and literally dragged him out into the hallway.
"DID YOU TOUCH THIS GUY? DID YOU? GET THE FUCK DOWNSTAIRS."
The door slammed shut. Darkness filled the room, and all was silent.
For maybe five seconds.
Immediately, the hipster girl started running her mouth.
"I knew he was a pervert!"
"I'm sorry?" Lank's inquisitive voice popped up from across the room. The Asian guy (whom I discovered was American and from San Francisco) started to chat with the room as well. Apparently, Francois had been there just a little longer than hipster girl, and for the past two and a half weeks, she had been watching him creep on the boys that slept in the room (I had miscalculated her stay - she had been there even freaking longer). Just the past night, she had witnessed him resting his chin on my bunk, just literally staring at my crotch for several minutes. She, of course, divulged this information as if she hadn't spoken for years, shaking with excitement at every horrifying bit of info she spilled to us. She had apparently witnessed him grope the aryan kid, and actually saw this kid wake up, quietly struggle with the guy, and storm out of the room.
You'd think this would have skeeved me out, but instead, it pissed me off.
"You know, it would have been great to know this before I got molested," I said to her. Seriously, why was this bitch just sitting up on her perch letting us get creeped on?
"I thought it best to stay out of it," she muttered. "Wait, he touched you too?"
"Yeah," I retorted, put off by her incredible ignorance.
"He touched my ass too," Lank reported from across the room.
"Um," said the Asian fella. "I think he touched me too - he definitely shook me and woke me up, said I was snoring."
Well, great. Lank, this guy, and myself decided to run downstairs and testify.
"He touched me," I said.
"He touched me too," Lank said.
"He felt me up as well," Asian person said.
"Ah, fuck," said the NYPD police officer that was questioning Francois (in that same "Sopranos" style that we fantasize NYPD officers speaking like). The hostel owner's eyes grew as big as saucers as we announced this. Primarily out of terror that his hostel was gonna go under after this.
The police officer was rather speechless for a moment, then turned to Francois. "Did you touch these guys?"
".....what?" he said in the weakest, cutest, little old man-iest voice possible. (That fucker).
"Did you touch these boys inappropriately, asshole?" The cop put much more force behind this question.
"uuuhh...non parler anglais..." (Sure, motherfucker. You can't speak english, but you know the word for snoring.)
The cop proceeded to question us further, nothing too personal. Not that this held me back from telling him every gory detail. I probably should have realized that the cop didn't want to hear about my erection, but I couldn't help myself. I was so excited! It was like being on "Law and Order". We were in New York, after all. And I was gonna Mariska Hargitay this guy's ass back to France.
The cop felt bad for us, but he explained that our testimony was not strong enough. We were not awake, and in all of our accounts, the guy had only rested his hand near our butts, or on our legs, so despite how our crotches "reacted", the only guy that had any legit testimony was the German guy, who Francois apparently continued to stroke after he had woken up. Thusly, everything was up to the German, who spoke less English than Francois.
"Ok, son. I can't arrest this guy unless you decide to press charges. Now, is that what you want to do?"
"Yes! Yes! Charges! I want press charges!" Apparently, the Germans have "Law and Order" too.
The German was still very shaky and hopped up on his anger. The cop decided to pull him aside and talk to him in private. They did not want the Aryan kid to press charges - at all. The hostel owner explained to me that it was out of the NYPD's jurisdiction to prosecute a non U.S. citizen - it would bleed into international laws, which was a problem.
The cops and hostel owner settled on kicking Francois out of the hostel, and calling every hostel and hotel in town to ensure that he wouldn't be taken in anywhere. The last I saw of Francois was his making puppy eyes as the NYPD threw him out into the night. That settled all of us down, and we returned to our rooms.
I'm wasn't sure how I felt about it. It was very "Silence of the Lambs"...you know, the villain escapes and you're never really sure where he ended up or ever will turn up again? Francois could be anywhere in the world...waking young men...and making pig noises as he feels them up...
Ah well. I got a free hostel room out of it.
The morning rolled around, and Lank and I checked out of our little Harlem whorehouse and had another day of fun. We missed our late night bus after catching another show, and sat around the Port Authority station, dog tired and loopy.
That's when he started to giggle.
"I can't believe that happened."
I giggled too. And eventually, it built up into full-throttle laughter. What a story this one was gonna be. My first spring break.
That's the end, story lovers! Follow the blog, vote in the poll, and stay posted for a brand new story next week!!!!!!
Who needs Cancun anyway?!
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