Couchsurf’d

There is one thing you must know about Portland, Oregon.

Couch Street is not pronounced like the piece of furniture. No, the real pronunciation is “Cooch.”

Ergo, to a Portlander (Portlandite?) “Couchsurfing” could become “Coochsurfing.”

Let me tell you about the time that I was young, single, and feeling a bit rowdy. There was a period during the summer where I hosted several folks through a couch-sharing/travel site, and the travelers were from all over the place. One weekend, I had a pair of French travelers request a spot, and I obliged.

When the two arrived, it was like there was a halo around them. Angels with cigarettes, I’m quite sure. My jaw hit the floor when I saw those two boys.

I took them to a party that night. My friend who was also there–she’s got no filter–leaned in and said, “If you don’t hook up with at least one of them, I’m going to disown you.” The night comprised of Cards Against Humanity (hilarious with foreigners, trust me), lots of wine, and us American girls “cooking” for our French guests. Lobster raviolis, anyone?

One way or another, my group all made it home. Unfortunately for my guest, my roommate invited her friends over and put them on the couch before my guests could claim it. That left an air mattress on my floor and sharesies on my bed.

I brushed my teeth and heard my guests conversing in French. They knew I didn’t speak a lick of French, but I know boys. And I know what they were discussing.

We relocated one guest into my other roommate’s bed, as she was out and about. It’s okay; I left her a message letting her know a handsome stranger was in her bed. She later told me it was her favorite voice message ever.

And that left me with a strawberry blonde foreigner snuggled next to me.

I’ve never heard the words, “Do you have a condom?” sound so beautiful before. The rest of the night was great, to say the least. I got high fives from the couple that stayed on the couch the next morning; in their words, “I would have, too.”

I told the guy in a conversation later that, “I don’t think couch surfing will always be like this.” I know it won’t be for me; it may for him.

If you’re going to have a one-night stand, though, it better be something worth talking about. After all, aren’t they designed solely for the purpose of orgasms and gossip?

That's a pink couch.

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