| ‘Three days in Berlin.’ The Man
lays his hand flat on my cunt. ‘Three days on your own.’
‘Yes,’ I say
and push my body against his.
‘You better not
touch.’
He doesn’t expect
a reply.
I still nod, as he knows
I would.
The plane is late. Next to me a girl with purple hair and
pierced cheeks is picking her nose. I stick my own nose between the pages
of my book.
We land at midnight.
I get my luggage and head
for the information desk.
The purple girl kisses
her boyfriend who came to meet her. I check my mobile. Vodafone is the
only one who welcomes me to Germany.
The info woman gives me
directions to my hotel but the train I get on doesn’t stop where
she said it would.
I get out the next stop.
I have no idea where I am. There is no taxi in sight. The streets are
empty except for two couples hugging and necking. I don’t want to
interrupt and hop on the first train that comes along. Unsurprisingly,
it is the wrong one.
Following some homeless
woman’s advice I schlep my suitcase for a mile and a half until
I reach another train station. I’m wearing my winter coat. It was
cold in London but it’s hot in Berlin. Sweat pours down my back
and between my breasts.
The train breaks down
after two stops. I wait twenty minutes for the next one. I wait in vain
for a message from The Man.
The hotel is a mile from
the final stop. There is a sign at the door: ‘Kindly pick up the
key at the gas station across the street.’
It is 2.30 am when I finally
get into my room, take a shower and fall into bed.
In another bed in another
city The Man snuggles up to an elf like creature with no cellulite, blonde
hair that never greases and a sickeningly cute smile that attracts men
and women alike.
Suddenly following his
orders feels like dumping the most precious part of me into the trash.
I touch myself in search of comfort and protection and warmth.
Will he punish me for
giving myself something he doesn’t?
The answer is yes but
I’m too tired to care and come without a single fantasy.
Then I fall asleep.
The alarm clock shrills my eyes open the next morning.
I stare at the ceiling
while in another bed in another city The Man caresses the elf into waking
up with a smile. She prepares breakfast while he is in the shower, brings
him his morning paper and kisses him good-bye before he goes to work
My fingers find their
way. Once, twice – what’s the difference?
The moment I touch I crawl
on all fours and kiss his hands to ask for forgiveness.
He doesn’t look
at me. I know if I look at him he won’t be pleased. I lower my eyes;
stay on my knees. I won’t fight. I come praying that one day I will
learn to do as he says even if it rips me apart.
I spend the day shopping.
Sweaty tourists everywhere.
And no A/C in the stores so the natives stink as well.
I buy pink soap and chocolate.
After the show I take
my singer out for dinner. He talks about his career and tells me how much
he misses his beautiful lover when he works abroad.
Back in my hotel room, back in bed alone.
Once, twice, three times
– what’s the difference?
The moment my fingers
move in fast, precise circles over the forbidden spot he speaks to me.
‘How dare you disregard
my orders?’
I stand in front of my
make-up table. He pushes a metal spreader between my legs, attaches it
to my ankles.
My feet are firmly planted
into the ground. I can no longer walk, let alone run.
Three times, I think while
my fingers fly. I know he likes much bigger numbers.
‘You got that right,’
he says and bends me over the table.
He likes to multiply,
but …
‘Thirty is too much,’
I protest.
‘You should have
thought earlier about what is too much.’
He ties my hands behind
my back; strokes my shoulders and arms, his palms soft against my skin.
Our eyes meet in the mirror.
Mine betray my lust – and my fear. I look for a trace of kindness
in his. He hides it well.
‘It’s not
fair,’ I whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear.
‘Of course not.’
He kisses my forehead and pushes a black rubber gag into my mouth. ‘But
when did you ever fantasize about fairness?’
I watch him in the mirror
as he raises his arm. I cannot make out if he is holding a flogger or
a cane, a paddle or a rod, a brush or a shoe. Maybe he just uses his hands.
It doesn’t matter.
I come before he touches
me.
Lust falls asleep with
me, but fear greets me when I wake up in the morning. |
