make tea
image courtesy of Monty Python

When talking to men, you must speak a certain way. When talking to women, you must also speak a certain way. When talking to the ambiguous, you should avoid the question, “Do you have a penis?”

In Weezilxi, I did not encounter this question.

Yet some people need further clarification, as if I had forgotten what we were talking about, as if the antecedent had gotten up from their tea and forgot to kiss the remaining parties on their cheeks.

This is not uncommon where I am from. The departure from tea is simple, and only if you are truly close to the person does one call after duzzztixi, which literally means breathe from your toes. Should a toddler or someone passing on the street perform a double take, I occasionally delight in uttering a particular sentence about my genitalia.

In this teashop, there are sixteen pairs of eyes upon me. No doubt this is because of the ambiguity I wield. I do not mind; I welcome it. In the local language there is a word that I learned recently. I wrote it down because I did not want to forget. Suxili means the one who draws the most eyes is the most desirable. In Weezilxi, this word does not exist.

Carbix told me this word because everywhere I go, eyes follow. Even when we went to an upscale restaurant, where lobsters crawled about in aquariums atop the center of each table, eyes still jerked about my presence.

In Weezilxi, a tongue lapped my clitoris slowly and calculatedly every other day. The tongue lapped and I squeezed a nipple. The tongue began to create a circle with its secretion and I moaned for it to continue. I grabbed the nipple and brought it to my mouth. I bit and began to suck and the tongue reversed its direction. I wanted to moan but I continued to suck.

In this teashop, I ordered three scones that I did not eat. I ordered them a while ago, thinking that hunger would have struck me.  My tea had gotten cold, and I was not hungry. The tea was too hot when I first received it, and I was writing instead of sipping on it. I had gotten so engrossed in writing and the act of writing and the thoughts that were pulsating and the eyes that were on me that I forgot about the tea when it had reached the right temperature. I thought about going to the counter to ask for more hot water, but my cup was more than halfway full.

I met Cabrix while I was on a bench at a park. Cabrix asked if I knew how the bench was used at night. I said I did not and she told me that it was better that I didn’t know. I asked her to explain the purpose of the bench, but she maintained that I would know when I knew and took out a wallet. Within the wallet, she had several pictures of the bench. One for each of the four seasons.

A hand pushed me against a surface. A foot was pressing my inner thigh, and a tongue was sliding down my throat.

Cabrix said I caught everyone’s eye and she wished to see my tongue.  I had read somewhere that asking to see your tongue was what you asked only close friends. A tongue can reveal more about a newcomer than one can imagine. I told Cabrix that I would when the time was right, possibly in a museum or a in a cave beneath a waterfall.

A voice said they needed me to come inside. A hand was burned by hot water. A stop button was pressed. My lungs filled with air, and then emptied. A head fell on my chest and lay there.

-Veronica Estes, Contributor 

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