P.S. - Thanks For the Beer
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P.S. - Thanks For the Beer

 Aleksei Nelaev
 Aleksei Nelaev
P.S. - Thanks For the Beer
by Aleksei Nelaev  FollowFollow
I am still 23 years old regular guy from cold Siberia, Russia (we had snow recently, can you believe it?).
P.S. - Thanks For the Beer
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The girl was smoking hot.

“May I come in, Tom?” she asked.

I blinked. She knew my name.

“May I?” she repeated looking straight at me with her big blue eyes.

Damn, baby, I thought. You can shit on my door and I won’t tell you a word. You can do whatever you want with a body like yours.

“Sure, come in,” I answered in a restrained voice and let this walking piece of sex come into my tiny and dirty apartment; my clothes were dirty and stinky as well and I regretted that I didn’t change them when I had a chance.

I had no single idea who this brown-haired beauty was. The thing I learned during my time in prison is that you must appreciate having girls around you; and if a girl like that knocks on your door, you let her in first and ask questions afterwards.

“Would you mind making me a cocktail?” the hottie asked sitting down on a sofa. She wore a short yellow dress that let me see her beautiful legs and had a yellow ribbon in her hair long hair that fell on her bare tan shoulders.

I swallowed. “No problem, miss. What cocktail do you want?”

“What cocktail do you prefer yourself, Tom?”

“In fact, I like beer more.”

“Then I’ll have beer, too.”

“But I have only cheep one.”

“If you like it, I’ll like it, too.”

I went to the kitchen; the questions were arising in my head, while I was taking the bottles of Bud Light out of the fridge.

“Where is the remote?” the girl asked from the living room.

“I’ve no idea, miss; I lost it like a week ago.”

“I’ve found it!” the girl shouted with a triumph a minute later.

The hottie was watching boxing on my old Panasonic TV when I went back to the living room with beer bottles and glasses.

“Do you like boxing?” I asked filling the glasses with beer on the coffee table before the girl.

“I’m okay with drinking from the bottle,” she interrupted me.

I shrugged, gave her a bottle and sat on the sofa next to her. I could feel the warm of her body from here and could smell her exquisite perfume.

The girl made a sip of Bud Light. “Nice.”

I made a sip, too.

“So, Tom, what do you do for living?”

“I work in a laundry around the corner.”

“You wash other people’s underwear?”

“Not quite, but you’ve got the idea. Does it bother you?”

“Of course, not. I’m just curious.”

“And what about you?”

“I do nothing. I mean, I don’t work and don’t go to college. Though, I like to take pictures –you know, sunrises and stuff… But nobody pays me for that. I take pictures for myself.”


“My mother says it’s useless. She wants me to work in a bank like her.”

“I think taking photos is more interesting than working in a bank.”

“Even washing other people underwear is more interesting, I guess.”

“Don’t ask me, I don’t wash anyone’s underwear.”

Then, there was a silence; it bothered only me, though. The girl next to me looked relaxed sipping beer and watching boxing. I thought she was amazing. Beautiful and self-confident. I’ve never met a girl like her.

“I like your place,” she said.

“My place?” I frowned.

“I like it.”

“It’s old and dirty.”

“I see. I still like it.”

“I bet you have a bigger apartment.”

“Are you kidding? My mother is a bank CFO.”

“What is CFO?”

“That’s well paid. We have like four or five houses.”

“You’re not sure how many houses you have?”

“I’m not really into mathematics, you know.”

“I don’t get why you like my place, then.”

“I can’t really explain why. It’s just like that.”

Then, there was another pause, and this time, I spoke first.

“How old are you, miss?”

“I’m twenty five.”

“Damn, you look sixteen.”

“I get that a lot.”

“Then, I’m gonna tell you another thing that you probably get a lot, too.”

The girl moved closer to me. I could feel now her breathing that smelled with alcohol. My heart began to beat faster.

“You want to make love to me? Is that what you want to tell me?”

I shook my head.

“Do you want to kiss me?” the girl continued moving closer. “Do you want to put your hands on my breast?”

“No,” with effort, I cleared my throat. “I wanted to say that you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever met.”

The girl looked at me silently for a moment, then her eyes filled with tears and she cried hiding her face in her hands.

“What? What did I do wrong?” my voice trembled; I was scared.

“It just… It’s so sweet.”

“Am I the first who told it to you? You value the words coming from forty nine year old drug dealer who spent like half of his life in jail?”

“You’re a good man, Tom.”

I hugged her and she pressed herself to me.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Who are you?”

“I am a failure.”


The girl was sobbing. “I am the biggest mistake my mother ever made. At least, these are her words.”

“Why would she say that?” I was brushing her hair that smelled with apple shampoo.

“I’m not like her at all… I don’t wanna be a bank clerk… Why does she want me to be a clerk? That’s so boring, Tom…”

“It’s gonna be alright,” I whispered; a storm of feelings was rising inside of me. I hugged the girl tighter.

“My mother said you are a monster.”

“Who’s you mother? Do I know her?”

“She said you’ll take advantage of me if you have a chance. But you didn’t.”

“Why would I do that to you? I mean, at first…”

But I didn’t finish and we spent the next five minutes or so in silence.

The girl stopped sobbing and stood up wiping the tears from her face.

“I must go,” she said, her voice almost normal. “Can you lend me thirty bucks?”

I found my wallet and gave her one hundred.

“I need money for taxi,” she explained. “I forgot my wallet.”

“Be careful.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“No need.”

“Good bye, Tom.”

“Will we meet again?”

“No. It would break her heart if we will.”

“Her heart?” I didn’t understand.

But the girl was already gone.

I found envelope in my post box three days later. It had two thousand dollar bills inside of it and a note written in a vivid handwriting.

Hi, Tom,
A month ago I found out that my mother lied to me about the death of my dad and that he was still alive. I was compelled to find him. I wanted to know if he’s really as terrible as my mother told me.

Now I know the truth. You are not like that at all. I’m glad that I have such a great father. Though, we won’t meet ever again, I’ll keep a memory of you.


PS – Thank you for the beer.



  3 months ago
Aleksei: I enjoyed your story. Just can't figure out why Cloe would never see her father again. Best, Jesse

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