I was surrounded by a bunch of Vikings and I didn’t like the look of it and, obviously, they didn’t like the look of me. We were downtown Odense, Denmark, in front of the club where I hung out just about every nights. And there were this huge deaf-mute female and her huger friend, also a deaf-mute female, screaming at me.
These blondes were bitching hard and the crowd, growing by the minute, although it couldn’t understand a word, knew they were bitching hard at me. A deaf-mute speech often resumes into growls. That was the case.
So the blondes were going ‘humpf’, ‘grunt’, ‘hoompt’, with great force and nobody in the crowd could understand shit but everyone there knew these two women were mad and that they were mad at me, a foreigner.
To my back, the club’s window, with neon lights blinking ‘Welcome’. In front of me, all around, too close, a menacing Viking crowd and these two bitches spilling their hate. I was trapped.
Fact is, I knew what these two women were talking about and in fact, at that very moment, I was the only human being on earth understanding their deaf-mute shit. They didn’t give me credit for it and I sensed that if I slapped any one of them, just so she’d shut up, the Viking crowd was just waiting to jump me up. So I had to take the shit and the spits and the grunts up to my face.
It started the night before, a Tuesday or a Wednesday night. A weekday anyway. By midnight, the joint was pretty much empty save for me and another guy at the bar, another regular customer I knew. He was from Algeria and we could speak French together. Who likes to speak Danish?
We’d been drinking, like men drink on a Tuesday night. Life was easy then; the lights and the music and the booze and the girls but we were not thinking of anything, the place was about to close, a Tuesday for sure now that I think of it.
He saw them first.
“See these two ugly whores over there?” he told me.
So I turned around and I looked.
Everybody was gone, they were the last ones on the floor, late on a weekday, two huge blondes seated on a couch, giggling, looking at us, the last two guys in town. They were talking among themselves in signs. Deaf-mutes!
“These are no whores” I thought.
But ugly they were. Blonde 1 was very fat and Blonde 2 was super fat. Talking in signs. Real lookers.
“Let’s go fuck them”, said Ahmed.
I didn’t see why not. So we got drinks and made our move.
Sure enough, we were welcomed. So we laughed, talking in signs like never before, Ahmed and I making jokes in French the blondes couldn’t hear anyway, them probably signing jokes about us we couldn’t read. What’s a deaf-mute’s name if she can’t spell it aloud? What’s your name if nobody can hear it?
Well the club closed and we ended up at their place, a studio.
So Ahmed and Fatso 1 set up by the sofa and Super-Fatso and I settled under the table. A sturdy table.
Then all lights went off.
I mean, really. All of a sudden, you couldn’t see a thing. Total darkness. In the void, Ahmed asked me if I was OK but I couldn’t answer because Super-Fatso was already at it with me.
So she went at it. It’s hard to describe. There was a blobbing mass of warm flesh humming and grunting over me and I couldn’t feel for sure the beginning or the end of it. Yet I knew of the sturdy table’s limits and all my senses were in alert for survival. Looking for directions, I decided to grab a breast, which had to be humongous, only to realize I could never be sure what I held was breast because I couldn’t find a tit to suck on. Whatever I thought it was, I was sucking on plastic and the grunting was out of this world.
Ok I had been drinking but still. I was weighing and squashing huge chunks of flesh and each and every one of them could have been a breast or a thigh or what not. It couldn’t be. That was very puzzling, I couldn’t tell tit from shit. Please help me god!
And it was so dark in the abyss and all I could hear was ‘humpff” and “grunts”. What is this, a pubic hair? A wig? What the fuck? I was close to panic.
Super Fatso, having no idea why I was aloof, was busy loving me and I eventually ejaculated somewhere in her vast expanses. I heard Ahmed; he seemed just as bored. So, under the table, I crashed to sleep.
I woke up all of a sudden. It was total darkness but I was not drunk anymore. I remembered my search for breasts last time I was awake and decided not to investigate within the warm body sprawled next to me, crowding the space. I remembered everything, including where I put my cloches last night.
Like a blind man in a house of deaf-mutes, I got out from under the table, found my clothes with my fingers, got dressed, not making noise. Ahmed was snoring and so were the girls. Deaf-mute snoring is no different than snoring, period.
In a few minutes, I was out of there.
Outside, the air was cold and sharp, the blur of the drunk gone. I walked a bit out of the way, got a cab and went home. Went to sleep like a baby.
The next evening, after work, I wasn’t even thinking about it as I walked to the club. That’s when I found myself trapped. That’s when Vikings were thinking this French fuck had to be an asshole, having obviously hurt those poor deaf-mutes screaming good Danish girls.
Where was Ahmed?
It felt lonely.
I knew I couldn’t touch them nor explain anything, so I stood there, guarded, with as much dignity as I could gather.
After screaming much ‘humpff” and “grunts”, the two furies eventually tired and the crowd understanding nothing got bored. So I inched my way out of there and eventually skidded away, unharmed.
I walked a couple of blocks, found a bar, went in and ordered a beer. There was a hockey game on TV so I watched that. I had more beers, all the way into overtime.
When it was late enough, I went back to the club. No more hostile crowd, no more deaf-mutes, no more hassles. I went in.
“Hey French guy, what’s up, what’s up?” they said with a Viking accent.
I felt welcomed. There was music, lights, friendly bartenders and regular patrons of all genders. And, on the couches, good looking girls giggling and talking to themselves in whatever language girls talk.