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Another railway station, another ignominious dash away from reality. Sabine had sold me on Berlin, and I managed to get some contact details for friends of hers while I waited at the SNCF ticket counter for the clerk to process the concept of an Australian wanting to take a German train from Paris to Berlin. Between our combined vocabulary, I just about managed it, and the printer dutifully ejected a ticket bearing the DeutschBahn logo and written entirely in German.

Perfect.

From the bits I could decipher, I knew I would be departing at about 6:30 that night, and get to Berlin at a similar time the next day. Go to sleep in France, wake up in Germany. I kind of liked the idea. I could only afford a basic seat, but I didn't think I would sleep much anyway.

I lockered my bags and spent a last afternoon in Paris for now. One last visit to Kitty, for a pat and a croissant. He seemed to appreciate me, at least as long as I brought pastry. One last walk along the Seine, and a seat in the Tuileries gardens while I watched the tourists shuffle past. The wind blew hard, whipping my mane around my head, and the light gravel took off and battered my face and eyes and got stuck in my ears. A suitable souvenir of Paris I guess; it gets in your soul, whether you want it to or not.

The station was big, busy, noisy and cold. More ornate than Gare du Nord, Gare de l'Est handled plenty of international trains, including my ticket to the next stage of my odyssey, Paris to Berlin. I trotted onto the platform in pursuit of a German conductor. They all knew English, Sabine had assured me.

In which case, I had somehow found the only German railway conductor who spoke no English. His blank stare was eloquent, and I ended up shrugging and showing him my ticket. At least he knew where in the mess of German to find my crucial details, which was more than I managed, and he pointed to carriage 106 and the number on my ticket. I had the code now, and presumably the other number was my seat. I headed for the carriage which bore the number 106 and a sign saying 'Berlin 7547 Perseus', and stowed my bags in the compartment of the seated carriage and settled in to enjoy the journey.

My fellow backpackers were a mixed lot, it seemed, and not very talkative. As we headed through suburban Paris and into the Champagne region, I watched the darkened fields roll past with a mute expression, replaying everything that had happened. I could still smell Laerke on my skin, it was like she had soaked into my soul and wouldn't come out. This was not a good sign.

I finally called Marjorie, and had an awkward conversation. She was worried, and sorry. I told her I was heading to Berlin, but not why. I think she could guess though, because she asked if I had met someone. My response was enough to put her into a new round of worries, and I cut the call short before she could outright ask me what was up. If only people didn't ask difficult questions; a guy could just collapse internally and get on and get over it without anyone knowing. That was my plan.

The entertainment potential of the train seemed minimal though, and I managed to complete the Frederick Forsythe I had bought at Shakespeare and Co, complete with little stamp on the fronticepage as a memento of Paris, and looked around my compartment with hollow eyes. I was saved by an announcement, though I couldn't understand a word of the German, the French was reasonably intelligible. The food outlets were open, in cars...well, I managed that just. There was one a couple of cars down from mine, and food sounded good. I headed off at a trot.

There are things I had found about Paris, and they were not always what I was expecting. There were plenty of misconceptions, or at least they seemed to me, and I gradually had to change some of my assumption, usually for the better.

The Parisians for example, were more polite and friendly than the worst of the horror stories might suggest. If you try with enough French to show them you are making an effort, they will help you, even though they may shake their head a little, and even in circumstances where back in my own country someone would probably give up and unleash a torrent of racial epithets.

Far from being kind of spontaneous and free, a triumph of style over substance, the Parisians were kind of anal and stilted though. It worked well in some ways, the Metro was freaking amazing. They were big on rules though, and tourists always seemed to be breaking them. That was the guaranteed way to get everyone pissed off.

If you did try to understand the rules and stick to them, which almost no tourist did, you might even get grudging respect. Don't join the wrong queue or try to gain special treatment. There are millions of bloody tourists like you, you aren't special. Don't walk on the grass. Ever. Seriously unless you want a CRS swat team to nail your ass with submachineguns, which they all walk around with in downtown Paris like it's the most natural thing to do. Don't expect to get into a restaurant on a Saturday night without a reservation unless it's one only for tourists. Don't kiss in public. You are not a barbarian. It may have the reputation of the most romantic city, and of course, feel free to avail yourself of a room in one of our excellent and expensive hotels and fuck your brains out. Even the President has a mistress; he lost face because it was done far too openly though. Private. Public. Vive la difference.

As an aside, I once made the mistake of kissing Laerke, after Versailles, on the bridge over the Canal St Martin on the way back to our hostel, and a passing denizen of the 20th called me all sorts of things. I responded that I was not that, I was an Australian.

"La meme chose."

Both Laerke and I broke into laughter, and the Parisian looked even more scandalised. I liked a good comeback, and they always sounded better in French. Even insulting, they had a kind of style. And they didn't seem to hold a grudge; unlike the Russian wolf, you had your verbal stoush, and they always seemed to be happening in Paris, but then you moved on. All forgiven and forgotten. Tant pis.

The food though, really was generally as it said on the box. Tasty, and often surprisingly cheap. Go to a fancy place, or a tourist place, and you paid through the muzzle. Go to a supermarket or a normal boulangerie, and you ate better than in Australia for less and with twice as much flavour. I still crave French carrots. And apple galettes. And baguette, fresh from the evening bake, still warm at 7 p.m. and only one euro. I had taken many things for granted in Paris, a certain level of acceptable food, and an appreciation for organisation and the need to communicate with tourists if only to stop them fucking everything up, and I was about to realise to my cost that I wasn't in Kansas anymore.

It took me a while to get the hint, but I did eventually. My ticket was in German, the train was German...which meant Germans. In charge, but speaking no English I found, unlike every Frenchman I had come across. And providing the food. Both of these things were to have consequences, for which I can only say, I mostly forgive Germans.

So, as I trotted through one carriage and into the second one after mine in search of this mystic food outlet and its many delicacies, expecting baguette, soup, cheese, I instead found a disinterested German who couldn't speak a word of English or chose not to, inhabiting a little cubicle, which sold very German food.

Sausage. With cheese. Sausage. With more sausage. Fried sausage. Meat paste. Rye bread.Cheese that tasted like soap. That pretty much summed up my choices.

I truly forgave Paris everything in that moment, and wished I had taken Henri's advice to pack a picnic. The bloody bear knew, like he did with most things.

I was hungry, and tired, and my only food had been a croissant shared with a diffident cat in a bookstore and the cat hogged most of the croissant. So I was not happy with this. Fortunately, there is a food group the Germans handle well, and it was well represented. I was about to buy myself 2 beers to start, and turned to the next customer to apologise for taking so long to get through the transaction using sign language and nickers of disgust.

"Good dinner."

There were two girls, both canids. About mid 20's, I thought, and both German by the accents. One was dressed casually, and hung back a bit and smiled shyly. A wolf. The other was a German Shepherd, and wore khaki cargo pants and an army surplus top and a nose full of jewellery. She was the one who spoke.

"Yeah, all I could take on the menu."

"Good choice English."

"Australian."

"Aussie! Like, the land Downunder yes? 'Where beer does flow and men chunder?'"

"Something like that. Kudos for knowing the song."

"We like the Australian music. Men at Work, Midnight Oil, INXS."

"You've only just found these in Germany?"

She slapped my muzzle playfully and smiled. I think I was in love again.

"Do not be rude das pferd. You want beer?"

"Well, it's the only food I'm getting so..."

"We want beer too. You should share, we can get more if we...ahh...pool, yes?"

I looked blearily at the menu. There was something about 6 packs...that sounded promising. In the end, with the help of my German canid friends and a quick euro conference where I brought out one of my precious 20's, we headed off having basically cleaned the bar of 6 packs. 24 beers, of some unknown German type. I did like how the Shepherd thought, almost as much as how she liked to slap my muzzle.

Following them like a good packhorse, as I noticed I had been left to actually carry the beer, I found they were sharing a small compartment with what looked like couches that would convert into beds. This looked like the next step up that I couldn't afford, not a full sleeper, but more comfortable. Although it could take 4, there only appeared to be the two girls there. I excused myself, and went to retrieve my bags, as I didn't like leaving them unattended in the seating car.

On the way back, I ran into a new conductor, not the one from my carriage, who assailed me with a rapid harangue in German. I nodded several times, understanding not one word though, and he threw up his hands and left shaking his head. It made no sense, but nothing Germans ever did made sense.

We settled into the couchette, and got quietly stinking drunk. Then noisily stinking drunk. I could not stand warm beer, and the beer was not going to stay cool in our compartment, so I insisted on polishing it off before it got warm. The more assertive girl, who I learned was called Beate, kept up with me, and we were soon great pals, while the wolf, Erika, stayed quiet but smiled a lot. I learned that they were heading for Hamburg, though both were from Bremen and had moved to Hamburg for work. Both were musicians, a violinist, and a flautist. I had to admit no musical talent whatsoever, something I managed to confirm to their horror when I was challenged to a national anthem singing contest, and the two girls pumped out a rendition of the German National Anthem in perfect harmony. My Advance Australia Fair was a disgrace, made worse by bursting into laughter when I reached the word 'girt'. You will too when I teach you to sing it.

The atmosphere got friendlier, and sillier, with me giving both girls paw massages, and the smiling Erika braiding my mane and tail for me while Beate watched on keenly drinking a beer. Beate had a twinkle in her eye, one not for me I realised in a slightly beer sozzled haze. Some things clicked, slowly.

"Um...are you two...um..."

"You are slow Aussie."

I blushed, but I was pretty red faced already I assumed. I had just finished getting my tail braided, which involved a lot of unnecessary bum touching from Erika, something she apologised for in between hiccoughs from too much beer. The girls were on the couch across from me, a two seater, and Beate had her leg rubbing the wolfess' daintier one. Then Beate reached for Erika's muzzle and kissed.

I watched, laid back and relaxed, and got an enormous erection. And the girls noticed.

Erika's smile widened. Beate kissed her ear, nibbling as I watched and let out a soft nicker of shock, and then turned to half look at me through her right eye. There was an exchange in German, and Erika blushed and winked at me.

"You are not embarrassed Aussie."

"N...no..."

"We have been together three years now. But I have not been able to cure Erika of her liking for guys."

The beer made me lightheaded, and a bit stupidly confident, so I only smiled.

"If you don't want to watch Aussie, go back to your seat..."

The experience was oddly detached for me thanks to the beer. I was drunk, too drunk to know better, and too drunk to be scared but also too drunk to really get into what was happening for the time being. It was like one of those yifftube videos I would watch while jacking off while Jaxson watched me and jacked off too. Except now I was the voyeur, and the girls were watching me. Well, Erika was.

It also wasn't like the yifftube videos. I thought I knew by now I guess, what the real thing looked like and sounded like. This was the real deal, the two girls were totally into each other. They weren't doing it for me, I was incidental, though Erika enjoyed the effect. When they kissed, it was like Beate wanted to eat Erika alive, she attacked her muzzle with such ferocity. Saliva flew, moans disappeared into muzzles, ears twitched along with tails.

When they started to undress it wasn't that they got naked, they just exposed what they needed to do what they craved. Tops off, bras undone but dangling from arms, Erika's pants down to her ankles. Beate knelt between her legs, suckling her nipples and kissing, one paw moving slowly as she explored the wolfess' pussy, gently then harder as the moans and cries became heated.

Then she went down on her as I watched, and I drank my beer, embarrassed, turned on, immortal and terrified, while the two loved each other like the world did not exist outside themselves.

When it was over, and Erika had come, not loudly either, just a shuddering sigh, they held and talked, and then they both looked at me, Eirka with a wicked lust, Beate with something else. More problematic, and more conflicted.

"My girl needs her men sometimes, Aussie. If you want, she likes you. A lot. You are sweet I think, and I don't mind. You will be as gentle as you seem."

It was part crazy request, part order, part seduction. After watching that, and drunk as I was, and as hurt as Laerke had left me, I didn't know any better. I wanted to feel good again. I wanted to feel wanted; and a beautiful wolfess was winking at me as she rubbed her pussy lips in the arms of her girlfriend.

I managed to get between her legs, my pants pulled down awkwardly, top thrown across the compartment. Beate found my condoms, and I found my manners, sort of, wanting to prove I was a gentlecolt and no slouch. After all, Sabine had given me lessons.

Even drunk and a little clumsy, I managed to get Erika on the edge. She ran her fingers through my mane as I went down on her, while Beate sat next to her and kissed her and stroked her breasts. When she came there was no warning, just a painful grip in my mane and a sudden shuddering in her sex and a taste sweet as honey. It made me feel so good though, knowing I had brought her pleasure. I was ok. I was not some freak, some total loser that caused Laerke to run screaming from my side because I was the worst stallion in bed that ever had lived.

I will always love the girls for making me believe in myself again when I most needed it.

When I lifted my muzzle, I found Erika bringing me in to a kiss. I could taste her, and she could taste herself on me. It didn't seem to bother her, in fact she liked it. There was a grumble from Beate though, as she found herself out of the action, and I didn't care. I was in the zone, and Erika had my cock in her paw and guided me to her.

There were just the two of us then. I fucked, hard, needily, until she came and told me to be gentle. Then I made love, embarrassed I had been such a bastard, touching her and caressing while she writhed in my arms. All in front of Beate, while she may as well have been on Mars. I needed it so much, and Erika seemed to like it. This was what I always wanted to do, with all the girls I had been with, show them I was worth being with, touch a part of them that wanted to be with me. It seemed to be working. She called be little horse in English, having lost her shyness in my language as we made love. Little horse. More little horse...more...please...beautiful...love...more...

When I came, we held and just felt the rocking of the train. Then I looked at Beate and got the twin beams of anger from her eyes. I had crossed an unspoken line again. The danger in connecting emotionally with one of the couple; especially when one is letting their partner have you as a favour.

They wanted sex, well Beate did, and nothing more. An itch to scratch. Erika wanted it and more it seemed. I could make do with sex alone if that was the price. That was enough for tonight, if I had to repair the damage. So I let the confident beer swilling stud hoss out, the one I had only just found access to thanks to another German in another place with as many emotional undercurrents. If stallion dildo was what they wanted, I could do that. It beat the hell out of hurting so much.

I sat back on my side of the compartment, and Erika lay back and watched as I jacked slowly. I was still hard, and I told Beate to decide what was next. Her eyes twinkled, back in charge. The rest would be choreographed by the Shepherd.

First she had Erika straddle me and take me in, facing the compartment, Erika's back on my chest. I held her hips, and her breast, playing with a nipple as Beate knelt and licked. I felt a rough tongue on my horsehood then nothing as the wolf suddenly writhed in my grip, just barely rocking on my length. Her rapture would be about her lover, with me as the dildo of choice. And yes, Beate had one of those as well, which she desperately wanted to try on my ass for some powerkicks later. I wasn't feeling that guilty, or drunk yet, so I declined and watched her make love to Erika again, using the dildo to reclaim her from the bad young horse. I knew that phrase now in German. Bad horse. Maybe I was.

We fell asleep, with the train still giving the occasional jerk. I missed the border, Strasbourg and passport control. It didn't matter it seemed, and I found a side of Germany I wasn't expecting, a weariness and couldn't be fucked side that did not compute. I was awake and not, even when the train gave a whole series of jerks and remained still for a while before it moved again.

I woke to the feeling of touch about 4 a.m. To my surprise, it wasn't Erika. Instead, Beate had me in her paw, playing with me like I was some fascinating toy.

"Don't get ideas Aussie. I haven't had a guy and I am not starting."

She was rough, jacking, playing with my balls and letting her claws slide inside my sheath. I was paying for not letting her use the dildo on me it seemed. Then she climbed into my lap and I waited, ears flat and a little terrified.

"Do not move."

Her paw gripped me tight, and she slid herself against my length, using my flare on her clitoris. It seemed to work and she arched her back and sighed. I looked over her shoulder to see Erika was awake, and masturbating herself openly as she watched.

"What is she doing horse. Tell me."

I described Erika's motions, wide eyed and aroused, all the while Beate used me. Then Erika closed her eyes as she used the dildo on herself and I almost came, instead trying hard to distract myself by giving Beate what she wanted. It was a struggle though.

"I wonder which of us she is thinking on."

Erika heard the question. She smiled, and mouthed my name. I whinnied aloud, and Beate kissed me roughly, biting my lips.

"Y...you Beate..."

"Hmph...just as well..."

The German Shepherd came at last, about the time Erika did too, falling against me and into a cuddle almost like a sweet girl with her boyfriend. I held her and stroked her back, and she relaxed against me and licked my chest. Then Erika came up behind her and made it a three way cuddle. The bonds were repaired, even though the kiss Erika gave my eartips spoke volumes I wasn't prepared to read.

We fell asleep again then, with Erika cuddled on one side of me, and Beate lying in my lap while her girlfriend stroked her hair. I hoped then, and still do now, that I find someone as loving as these two were for eachother.

The morning sun was just coming into the compartment when I woke. Beate opened the curtain, and I searched for clothes. A jumble of tops, bras, my boxers had formed on the floor, a sort of sedimentary deposit of sex. I found all the bits just as the announcements started.

Hamburg Altona...

"Um...I didn't know there was a suburb of Berlin called that?"

The two girls looked at me dumbfounded. There was an exchange of German, and I got the feeling Erika thought she must have misheard.

"Berlin?"

"Yes, Berlin."

They looked at each other, then Beate began to laugh as Erika hit her gently.

"Ohhh horse...which carriage did you come from?"

"Two away, past the shop."

"Ohhh horse...scheisse..."

"What?"

"Paul, the train...it split into three, after Metz. This part is the Andromeda, for Hamburg. We will be in Hamburg soon."

"No..." the Germans had done for me again. That this bizarre arrangement could be never entered into my head.

The overhead speaker confirmed my fears in Germanic French even as I tried to deny them.

"La Prochaine Station est Hamburg Hauptbahnhoff...Hamburg Hbf, cinq minuit."

Their laughter was mostly good natured, and they were genuinely worried for me. It seemed I wasn't going to see Berlin just yet. Maybe later...

We said what had to be said though. Erika thanked me and Beate did too, with differing emphasis. I got both their numbers though, and emails, though Beate seemed to indicate if I contacted Erika without telling her she would come for my scrotum with a Schmeisser.

I had enjoyed it though, more than I expected. It was my first real experience with pure sex. I had feelings for all the girls before, even Sabine. I could live with not loving Erika and Beate, even never seeing them again. It was a good and bad thing to learn. I mentally thanked Laerke for curing me of that stupid idea; love. I would not need it.

We bundled out of the carriage into a city I hadn't even wanted to be in, and the girls offered me some suggestions on what to do if I wanted to stay. I wasn't allowed to stay with them though; Beate still didn't trust me, or the effect I might have on Erika. She was probably right.

On platform twelve at Hamburg central, I hugged the two girls almost ready to cry. The two must have worked out I was on the edge, because they pulled me into a three way hug and kiss, one on each cheek, though Erika let her tongue have a piece of my ear too. People wandered everywhere, ignoring us as I took in the situation. At least the Germans didn't seem to mind public displays of affection. I knew next to nothing about Hamburg. At least I should be grateful I managed to retrieve my bags while I still could.

I was standing there getting kisses from the two when I looked over to platform 13, and the train still waiting to board. The sign proclaimed it as the ICE to Copenhagen, departing in 32 minutes. Very German, all sleek silver unlike our clapped out clunker. The Germans didn't waste the good stuff on the French. My eyes wandered over the awaiting passengers until one caught my eye, one who was staring at me, and the two German canids giving me hugs and kisses.

"Laerke"

Then she burst into tears.