after two hours of nervous driving on the gravel road
we entered, still steamy from the journey,
the automatic car wash. a thick foam gushed
from numerous nozzles and the inside went dark.
i took his right hand and put it on my knee.
instantly the world picture changed: as if whacked
by an adrenalin brush, he pushed his hand
upward: the moisture saturated the panties
faster than the water cascading madly down the car's slopes.
without shifting his torso, he suddenly thrust his hand
under my bottom, his slender nervous middle finger
starting to conduct a militant rendition of beethoven's ninth,
known to me mainly from the clockwork orange: a philharmonic,
a famous jewish soloist with a hard-to-remember name,
a flickering lamp far away from the stage,
and a hand conducting energetically.
i pounced like a jaguar, opening the way
for him, unzipped his dark blue bermuda shorts
with side pockets to have the bloom come out,
and a joyous, well-shaped dick was already wriggling
in my mouth. i had my tongue bore vigorously
until the sickly sweet topping reminded
me of the circumstances. the dashboard clock
indicated four minutes had gone by, if i had remembered
correctly when we had slid in. big fan tubes
were driving the car that shimmered
in the unbearable sunlight of the hot summer afternoon.
the green light came on and with a routine flick
of his hand he put the stick in drive.
the cashier at the exit waved
a lazy goodbye.

2001-08-26

Translation: Mario Suško