Frank and Muth

I don't tell these stories because I'm proud of them. I only tell you these stories because I find them amusing, and maybe you will too.

Moving to my small town could very well have been the worse move I've ever made in my life. Living amongst the Stepford Wives and mini vans isn't really my cup of tea. The only tea I like happens to be Long Island Iced Tea, and even in this town a couple of those won't drown the pain. As far as finding a boyfriend, you can just forget that. This is a city where finding a single man with a full set of teeth is impossible to find.

What I'm saying is that I have to escape as often as possible. One cold December evening I decided to get a hotel room in the little German town of Frankenmuth, Michigan - just for the hell of it. I figured I'd have a few drinks, and do some holiday shopping the next day.

The first thing you have to understand about Frankenmuth is that it's cheesy, and makes no apologies for it. They claim to be a German town, so all of the buildings have some sort of German flare to them. When you're not watching the Pied Piper of Hamlin chasing the rats out of town, you can buy beer steins and lederhosen. My Austrian mom told me that once we were there with her parents, my Oma and Opa, and some dude was singing Nazi songs. So you see, in Frankenmuth, you get the whole package.

So, out I go... and I belly myself up at a bar. A couple of drinks turned into several, and I met a group of people there for some sort of pharmaceutical convention. The bar closed at midnight and a couple of guys asked me if I wanted to go with them back to the Bavarian Inn Lodge - the hotel they were staying at, where there was an open bar. I can't remember their names, so I'll just call them Frank and Muth. Frank was a hotty, tall, dark hair and handsome. Muth, on the other hand, was wearing a Nascar racing jacket; so that automatically puts him out of the running.

We make our way back to their hotel. The city is small enough where everything is within walking distance. And as if a fake little German town isn't enough, the town is also known for their Christmas spirit. Everywhere you look there are Santas and mangers and snowmen. There is a covered bridge that goes over the river, and we had to walk over the bridge to get to their hotel. Literally, over the river and through the woods. This town alone could keep Santa's Cheer-Ometer out of the red zone for years to come. So, the walk was quick and uneventful except it was snowing, which was fitting because we could hear the tune of "I'm dreaming of a White Christmas" in the background.

Flash forward a few minutes to the hotel bar. Frank and I flirted, he dedicated some song to me which he sang on a cheap karaoke machine. I figured that was enough reason to justify sleeping with him, so I turned it up a notch.

I'm not a fan of PDA, but when I'm drunk enough, I don't care. Muth was off in a corner with some woman who was clearly of questionable virtue... and Frank had his tongue down my throat. Eventually we made our way back to his room and got busy.

What I didn't know was that Frank and Muth were sharing a room. Muth came back to the room, and we had apparently forgotten to put a sock on the door handle, because he walked right in the room and up to the edge of the bed. At this point, Frank had my legs over his shoulders, and he didn't let me even try to scramble to maintain some sort of dignity as Muth stood there watching. I kinda tapped Frank on the shoulder and pointed, but he didn't care... he just kept going at it. Muth had a seat, cracked open a can of beer and pulled "it" out. You know what I'm referring to when I say "it", right? Well, there "it" was...

I guess I had somehow come to terms with this situation, as I didn't ask Frank to stop this rabbit pounding he was giving me, and I decided what the hell... let's give this Dale Earnheart-loving-red-neck a show. And that we did.

It was all good until Muth decided he needed to give us some directions. He asks Frank to move me this way or put my leg over there so he could see more. Frank was actually doing it, and responding with stuff like "How is this? Is this better?"

Finally I said "Listen, if we're going to do this, there can't be any talking between you two. Focus, Frank..."

Eventually we went to sleep. Frank and myself in this sort of awkward post-coitial I-had-sex-with-a-stranger bliss, and Muth over in the other bed, snoring away, his mouth gaping open like a giant bear.

I awoke a couple of hours later and blushed at my behavior long enough to realize that I needed to get out of there! There was no way I was waking up in the morning with these guys. You will find that I will go to great extremes to avoid awkward moments; and this was one of them. I stumbled around in the dark looking for my clothes, all of which had been tossed in various locations around the room. I stuffed my bra in my coat pocket, grabbed my shoes and quietly snuck out the door. I put my shoes and pants on in the hallway.

It is always cold in Michigan in December, and at 6am, it is usually at its worst. So it was a long, cold walk of shame. I decided to take a short-cut across the snowy yard to get to the covered bridge, even in my $200 shoes.

In the background, I could hear Jingle Bells, and I was zig-zagging around the snowy yard, dodging snowman families and Santas and sleighs covered with bells and mangers and baby Jesus. I couldn't help but think of Buddy the Elf running around in the north pole, talking to snowmen and Arctic Puffins. Yes, folks. I did the walk of shame through the seven layers of candy cane forest, through a sea of twirly swirly gumdrops. And then I walked through the covered bridge.