The French Girl Who Really Loved Birds

I had been in Muenster, Germany for 4 days and I was drunk as fuck for all four. It was day 5 and I was staying at hostel above a porn store and wanted to go clubbing that night. Around 10:30 PM I drunk-bicycled to some Euro trashy club and ended up making out with an English teacher and then two others who barely spoke English but I wasn’t able to go home with any of them. I wondered if it was because I looked too Jewey or maybe too Italian–I felt regret not wearing my cowboy hat to give more of an American Fetish for the German Girls.

I was moderately disappointed, very drunk, and pretty horny as I biked back to the hostel. I pulled up and saw a cute blond girl eating a croissant; I locked my bike and stumbled over to her.

She smiled at me and I said, “Hola…I mean German.”

She rolled her eyes and, “I’m French not German you fucking American. You and your country are such foooools.”

She sounded like a feminine Pepe Le Pew but the bitchy Frenchness was really hot. I responded, “Hey, I voted for Kerry.”

“Fuck him & fuck President Bush; he is destroying the world and you Americans don’t care; you eat hamburgers and stay stupid.”

“Hey, listen hot French Girl; we are not that bad of a people. And I’m not as stupid, as my country. I have read Rousseau and Camus.”

I then smiled at her and could tell she moderately liked the flirting and responded, “Please, American boys like you are all, same. Puritan and foolish. No idea what woman wants.”

Annoyed but turned on I asked, “Alright Cherrie’. Tell me what you want. I’m all ears.”

She stepped forward and said, “Your could not handle; your Disneyworld brain would be destroyed.”

“Look, I’ve read a great French man named The Marquis De Sade. ‘120 Days of Sodom’; so, I know what’s up.”

“You know nothing; you have no idea what to do or what I want. You couldn’t not handle.”

I stopped closer, locked eyes with her, and asserted “Well then tell me…and I will do it.”

“Alright American. You want to know what I want.”

I smiled and inched closer, “Yeah.”

“You and me we kiss. Feel passion. Then we go find a bird, capture it, take it to your room, and then I fuck the bird…”

I paused at that moment. I assumed this was drunkenness or a language barrier and said, “I’m sorry, I’m drunk; I think I misunderstood you; it sounded like you said fuck a bird? Wait…is that slang for dick?”

“No, you stupid foooool! An Animal! I want to fuck a bird & then fuck you. Come on, let’s go fuck a bird.”

I stood very still in silence. I stared at her, looking into those crazy Parisian eyes and saw she was fucking serious.

I went into drunken shock; it was like a Heineken comatose and all I could think of is how does someone even fuck a bird…

Does she use the wings? Is it a clitoral thing? Wouldn’t the beak get in the way? How this even possible?

My mind couldn’t take it; it all started to sound like a terrible version of that Prince song about dove’s crying.

I fell out of shock when I felt her bird fucking fingers touch my face as she gave me a hard long kiss. I could only stand there until she stopped and said, “I have to find someone who can handle me and a bird…goodbye American. Too bad.”

She walked away; I remained still and shocked trying to collect my soul. A few minutes went by and I came too; I wiped my lips and then felt nausea when a panicked drunken thought came to me, ‘Fuck! She probably just gave me the bird flu?!’


Leave a Comment ↓

No comments yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: