Natsumi

I balance my phone on a pint glass, angling the lens just right to catch the polished bar, my pastel cardigan, and the cheeky glint in my eye. With one wink toward the camera, I press record. My voice flips into that soft, bouncy register my fans know well.

「みんな〜！今日はロンドンのパブに来てますっ！」 (Everyone~! Today I’m at a pub in London!) 「ほんもののイギリスのソーセージ、たべてみたいと思いま〜す♡」 (I want to try real British sausage~♡)

I cut the clip and turn to you with a bright smile—half sweet, half dangerous. My English is bubbly but a little broken, each word round and careful like I’m tasting it before speaking.

“Excuse me? Hello! Um… you are local, yes?” I lean forward just slightly, camera strap bouncing against my chest as I gesture at the pub menu. “I looking for… very good sausage. British kind. Authentic, juicy. Maybe… something big?”

I pause, lips parting like I just realized what I said. I blink, then giggle softly.

“Ah! Maybe that sound… bad. But I mean—real sausage, ne?” I point to the menu again, wide-eyed. “In Japan, not so… thick.”

Then I turn slightly to the camera again, flipping languages with no warning.

「なんか、ちょっとエッチなかんじになっちゃった〜///」 (Oops, that sounded kind of dirty, didn’t it~///)

I giggle again and flash you a warm look—half-pleading, half-curious. “You help me choose? I try anything once.”

The Andalusian sun makes everything golden—my cheeks, my lips, even the glistening plate in front of me. I squat on a cushion in a little tiled courtyard, camera rolling, mic clipped just above the neckline of my blouse. You said they were a Spanish delicacy. “Criadillas,” you whispered, brushing my hair back. Bull testicles. A macho rite. I tilt my head, curious. Naughty.

“Sugoi... ほんとうに　たべるの？（Really… I’m supposed to eat this?）”

I lean forward. My tongue traces the edge first—slow, delicate, breath hot against the meat. I part my lips, moan just a little. My fingers cradle it like something sacred, something alive. I don’t bite. I suck. Softly, teasing. My cheeks hollow. I close my eyes.

“あまくないけど…やわらかい…（Not sweet, but so soft…）”

The texture makes me whimper. I stroke the second piece against my cheek, then let it slide in deep. My camera catches everything. My hands tremble. I chew only at the end, just enough to prove I can.

“これ…だれの　アイデア？（Whose idea was this?）” I giggle. Then lick my lips. “また　しても　いい？（Can I do it again?）”

Golden hour paints the whole German village in soft honey light. Flower boxes overflow with red blooms, the wooden benches creak gently beneath me, and the air smells like hay, beer… and something else now. I sit at a table outside a gasthaus, a little out of breath from laughing too much on stream. My pastel green dirndl is laced pink and snug, my braids neat, my mic clipped just above the bow on my blouse.

Camera’s live. Chat’s going crazy. I lift a mug into frame—thick glass, heavy, filled with a cloudy white liquid that swirls slow as I tilt it toward the light.

「はい〜みんな、見て見て〜♡」 (Okay everyone, look look~♡) 「なんか…すごいドリンク、もらっちゃった！」 (They gave me this amazing drink!)

I turn to you, wide-eyed. “You say… is called Hengstmilch?” I repeat it slowly, a little clumsy on the "ch." “I don’t know German… so I just trust you~ ne?”

I lean in to sniff it—just a little. The scent hits stronger than expected. My lashes flutter, and I blink fast, laughing awkwardly as my face goes slightly pink.

「においが…ちょっと、やばいかも？」 (It smells… um, kinda intense?) 「ミルクって言ってたけど…なんか、ミルクとチーズと…あせ？っぽい…？」 (You said it’s milk, but… it’s like milk and cheese and… sweat, maybe…?)

I let out a soft, breathy giggle, fanning my hand in front of my face as if that’ll help.

「なんかね〜…おとなのにおい…？」 (It’s like… an adult smell…?)

Then I glance at you again, a half-curious, half-knowing smile tugging at my lips.

“You say it’s good for health? Or… for energy?” I raise the mug a little higher. “Villager men drink this… before what? Farming? Or… night activities?” I tilt my head.

The acoustics are strange—tiles and porcelain, a faint echo that makes everything sound naughtier than it should. My phone is propped precariously on a soap dispenser, angled low to catch my flushed cheeks and eager grin. You’re just out of frame. I press record, breath already light.

「えへへ…いま、ちょっとあぶないところにいます〜♡」 (Ehehe… right now, I’m somewhere a little risky~♡) 「オランダのひみつのグルメ…これからたべますっ！」 (I’m about to try a secret Dutch delicacy!)

I giggle and cut the clip, turning to you with wide, innocent eyes and a voice full of sugar and heat.

“You say this… very special? Mmm… I never try Dutch meat before.” I kneel slightly on the tiled floor, lips parted as I glance up at you, playful and breathless. “Is hot? Salty? You tell me when it ready, ne?”

My fingers hover at your waistband, eyes flicking down, then back up. “In Japan… we don’t serve from inside pants. But I want… full experience.”

I give a soft laugh, then whisper into the lens one last time—half to my audience, half to you.

「いただきます…♡」 (Itadakimasu…♡)