I bike over to my German's haus;
Natürlich: modern art on the walls, bier on the table.
We watch the German news and drink Stellas.
I slyly angle my feet under his thighs.
He quizzes me on German phrases in the textbook I checked out from my local library:
Sehr gut! Ausgezeichnet! Furchtbar! Nein!
When my garbled approximations don't match the typed words--
Ach! He twists my nipple until I scream, "bitte!" or "danke!"--
Sufficient enthusiasm is the key.
When I recite in proper Hochdeutsch, I am rewarded with a little spit.
There are many words contained in the viscous string that I don't understand:
A fluid continuum of English and Deutsch,
They churn frothy in my mouth.
It ends in me.
After, we talk about my day-- always about me & ending in me.
My, i, ich, sick, ugh, ach, me.
Like, today I beat my submissive's ass until it burned blue (true story).
All the while, we sit feet to feet on the couch and I lick his sole between words.
Heel to toe; toe to toe; toe crest to toe trough.
He rated my performance a 2 out of 10.
[[German kink is embedded in the language. It is essential:
Never capitalize I (ich), always capitalize you (Sie).]]
I have to go-- I have 13 more miles to ride until I'm home.
If I make it that far.
"You are lucky today", he says. "I have to pee and you will get a little bit."
I think, "I can't", but I know I will.
Prostrate on white tile, I attempt to elicit pity, "ein bisschen...bitte"
I drink some until I can't. Then I drink a little more.
Until my head bows to the open white plain.
"Dankeshön".
He makes fun of my heavy, neon pink back pack,
"Du bist siebsehn."
He walks me to my bike, and makes fun of my viel heavy steel frame.
He makes fun of me for riding a bike at all.
He kisses me goodbye, and I start on my 18th mile.
The day after, I sit at a cafe reading a novel, underlining words in black ink:
It's not my pen; it's his.
The top is chewed and I chew on top of the chew.
A warm feeling spreads across my groin.
I return to reading, chewing, lining.
* * *
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