ONE (ASS) TAP AWAY
Graphic by Mia Stewart
1. INT. ADAMS HOUSE LAUNDRY ROOM – NIGHT
The newly renovated Adams House laundry room. It sits empty in all its fluorescent, cluttered beauty. We are well into the witching hour. SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER enters the laundry room and begins to switch her laundry from the washer to the dryer. Shortly after, MALE ATHLETE enters with a trash bag full of his laundry. The bag reeks, but he’s shirtless and has a great body, so it’s fine. MALE ATHLETE is taken aback by the sight of such a beautiful, talented woman in a Brandy Melville pajama set this late at night in the laundry room.
MALE ATHLETE (awkward)
Hey….
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER
Hi?
MALE ATHLETE
I didn’t expect to see anyone else doing laundry this late.
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER is sick of men being this fucking weird when they try to talk to her, but she’s a little wine drunk and her poem was just accepted for publication in [generic online lit mag], so she’s riding a high.
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER
Oh, yeah, I can’t sleep.
MALE ATHLETE
Me neither. I was too, uh, excited…
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER
…excited?
MALE ATHLETE
About the new free laundry. So I had to come try it out.
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER
I think the free laundry thing starts next semester.
MALE ATHLETE
Yeah, I knew that.
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER
Okay.
Awkward, extended silence ensues. MALE ATHLETE brings his nasty trash bag of laundry to the washing machine right next to SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER’s, even though every single other washer is open. She gives him a weird look.
MALE ATHLETE
Crazy that they haven’t fixed any of these washing machines yet.
MALE ATHLETE then completely unnecessarily reaches right into SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER’s personal space with a handful of his dirty laundry. He slightly brushes her arm with the edge of a sweat-stained t-shirt, which, surprisingly, sends a pleasant shiver down her spine. She turns to give him a nasty look, but notices that he has really great arms. Like, really great. Perfect biceps. She lets her gaze wander to his six-pack. Then the shape of his muscular calves. Then to his passably good-looking face. Hmmmm… MALE ATHLETE raises his eyebrows at her. SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER smirks. MALE ATHLETE leans in to kiss her.
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER
Hold on. I’m not done switching my laundry.
MALE ATHLETE (dripping with sexual desire)
I’ll wait.
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER leans wayyy into the washing machine to get her last sock.
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER (wiggling her ass a little)
Oh my god! I’m stuck.
MALE ATHLETE
Holy shit.
There is a long, extended period of awkward silence.
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER (wiggling her ass even more)
Okay. Get on with it, then. Fuck me!
MALE ATHLETE
I’m sorry, it’s just, um—
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER
Spit it out.
MALE ATHLETE
—You couldn’t think of a more unique porn scenario?
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER
What the fuck? The meta-commentary is my thing. Get out.
MALE ATHLETE
Wait, no! Please no. Please. You’re so hot. Please please please please—
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER
You’re lucky I like it when they beg.
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER gets out of the washing machine.
MALE ATHLETE
You’re so hot. I can’t believe my luck.
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER
Yeah, I was gonna write this piece about Zohr—
MALE ATHLETE silences her with a kiss.
MALE ATHLETE
Can I please just fuck you already?
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER
Yeah, sure.
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER suddenly sheds her nonchalance, pulling MALE ATHLETE in by his waistband. The two passionately make out. Things heat up. MALE ATHLETE lifts SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER against the row of washing machines. Soon, circular imprints of their doors and One Tap Away QR code stickers adorn her back. By this point, her Brandy Melville pajama set has been swallowed into the laundry room’s graveyard of crusty towels and lint tumbleweeds. Things heat up even more. SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER is down to just socks, and one of them isn’t even hers. Eventually, she actually does get trapped in a washing machine. MALE ATHLETE is rocking with the trope at that point and takes full advantage. It’s super hot. After about three hours of nonstop, incredibly passionate fucking (MALE ATHLETE is on Wellbutrin), the two lie naked on the cold ground, admiring the washed-out curvature of each other’s bodies under the fluorescent lights.
MALE ATHLETE
That was the best sex of my life. When can I see you again?
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER
Oh, sorry. No thanks. I have a girlfriend.
MALE ATHLETE
Wait, what? So you—
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER
None of your business.
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER suddenly goes to stand up, craving the comfort of her own bed, before realizing this guy is probably expecting a goodbye.
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER (CONT’D)
Goodbye!
SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER kisses MALE ATHLETE softly and delicately on the forehead, like a mother would, just to fuck with him. She knows finding her Brandy set in the laundry room is hopeless, so she gets up and prances back to her dorm completely naked, like no one can see her. Like a sexual ghost of Christmas past. MALE ATHLETE, heartbroken, searches high and low for her boyshorts—hoping to use them as some freaky perversion of Cinderella’s glass slipper. He digs through every lint trap, every hamper. But all he finds are used dryer sheets. MALE ATHLETE never sees SEXY FUTURE PULITZER PRIZE WINNER again, doomed to yearn for a woman that esoteric and freaky forever.
END.
Written anonymously for the Harvard Independent.