Hot Shot: I don’t mind doing the curly brown haired one. Too bad it can’t just be him.
Scaredy Cat: I am not gonna give up hope that this Oswald guy is going to turn himself loose after supper.
Dinner ends. Günther offers to move the party to his house, inviting Oswald to come along for at least a little while.
Scaredy Cat: Now what?
I enter Günther’s blood red Porsche, and we all reunite inside his extravagant two-story villa in a ritzy neighborhood that I do not know the name of.
Scaredy Cat: Looks like I’m screwed. Where is that damned champagne? I need some now.
I take a seat on the couch next to Oswald. Günther approaches with the bottle of Dom Perignon and fills our glasses to the brim. Greedily, I gulp down the first one, shortly followed by another. All this turns Scaredy Cat into an even bigger chatter bug.
Scaredy Cat (giggling): The room is spinning. I think I can be talked into a three-some now.
Whip Cracker (laughing): That’s my girl. At least you finally get a chance to reenact the movie you saw as a child.
Fantasia: These two aren’t necessarily the sexy studs in that flick.
Whip Cracker: They’ll do…for starters. Let’s get down to business.
“I’ve never had a threesome.”
The men’s eyes glaze over.
“That’s okay, dear,” says Günther.
“Shhh, relax. We gonna be real gentle with you. I promise you gonna like it,” says Oswald, the tone of his voice dropping to a mere whisper.
No longer captain of my ship, I yell out, “It’s gonna cost you double for two!”
“Don’t worry about the funds. I’ll take care of it, darling. Just enjoy the ride.”
Now that we are all on the same page, Oswald begins fumbling with the buttons of my silky red blouse, unlatching them one by one. We interlock in heavy French kissing while he frees me from the rest of my apparel.
As I’m sitting here fully nude, he scoops me up and carries me into the bedroom. We start warming things up on top of the king-sized mattress while Günther is busy selecting the perfect music for our “fuck-fest.” A moment later, he joins the lustful scene. I close my eyes, and let Fantasia take over.
Doubt Cloud: Hmm. I stand corrected. It’s not all that bad having two mouths, four hands, and two cocks at my disposal
Romy: I hate you.
At least an hour passes before the event comes to a standstill. As I am getting dressed, I notice that my pussy hurts. Sorry, understatement – it burns like hell!
I hear Günther suggest, “Let’s get together again soon?”
Romy: Hell no.
Whip Cracker: You already are a whore taking money for sex. What’s the big deal in continuing? And may I remind you of your financial constraints.
Ja, ja. I get it.
“Sure. Call me,” I tell Günther.
After all, I am one thousand dollars richer than I was three hours ago.
~~~
Somewhere around eight Uhr this evening, I am pushing Günther’s Porsche Carrera Convertible at 230 kilometers an hour down the far left lane of the Autobahn toward Italy. Who cares that it is pitch black, foggy, and raining like mad with hydroplaning conditions? I’m cool like that; I can handle anything. It’s ‘pippifax’, expresses Hot Shot, like she often does when things are of petty matter. Although I resent hanging out with the man next to me, especially during mattress aerobics, the exhilarating trip down the Italian Riviera coast makes up for it and by far beats sitting in a stuffy office looking at the disgruntled face of my superior.
Hot Shot: Sexy gals have better things to do - getting pampered at the salon or matching the right color purse to the right outfit, to name just a couple.
We spend the night in a five-star hotel near Geneva. Every time Günther rides me, Romy threatens suicide. With the Secret Grotto coming up as dry as foot powder, I worry about the rubber splitting.
Romy: I’ll never find true love, and it’s entirely your fault. I fucking hate you.
Big ouch.
Back in Stuttgart, Günther continuously requests that I escort him to events. He buys me a stunning, soft, light gray-colored crème de la crème leather coat that I had been ogling for some time. Wearing it makes me feel super extraordinary.
Miss Vanity: I deserve this. Can’t wait until other women see me in it. And who are they, right? Bow, please.
A week goes by. Upon rising this morning, I intuitively know that I can no longer tolerate getting physical or showing my face in public with my benefactor.
Romy: About time…because I really want a boyfriend, dammit.
Big Shot Mama: I love the millionaire lifestyle and the amenities. But maybe it’s best to weigh the good against the bad.
I sever my ties with Günther at once, showing up at my still existing “bread-and-butter” job first thing this morning.
~~~
Things go okay for a few weeks, but it isn’t long after that thinness around my pocketbook creeps back in.
Starlight: There’s gotta be a better way to generate additional income than getting paid for sex. How about just offering a massage?
Hhhmm. I think I’m going to try my luck at the Schickeria club tonight.
After two hours of provocative dancing on the upper stage, a patron who has been staring at me for some time stops me by holding onto my arm as I walk by. I take a seat next to him at the bar and order an orange juice. Nearly done sipping on it, I ask if he is interested in a rub down. I mention a fee. He seems elated and instantaneously we take off for his house.
He lives on the third floor in a nice apartment complex in an upscale part of town that I’ve never been to. I watch him set up the massage table in the middle of the den. He approaches. His breath reeks of alcohol. I feel his hand on my ass.
Ragelina: How dare he…?
I squirm away from him, passing some sort of polite remark.
“Why don’t you lie down on the stretcher, so I can start with your rub down?” I say.
“I’m gonna get there, but for now, relax. Take off some of your clothes,” the fellow demands.
I sense Scaredy Cat’s shivering and assure her not to worry, promising I got things under control.
My catch insists on kneading me first, verily I take off my boots and pants, but keep on the panties and the T-shirt before I place myself face up on the table.
Scaredy Cat: Danger.
Hush. You simply don’t have a clue what adults have to do to stay alive.
I watch the man walking over to the front door, locking it and placing the key on top of the console next to it.
Scaredy Cat (screeching): Major Red Alert.
I do see her point now. The guy returns to the table. This time I ask him to lie face down so I can massage his backside.
Tough Gal: Be chill. If you show any sign of panic, he’ll know you are on to him.
Making the best effort to hide my nervousness, I ramble on nonstop while kneading him. At the same time, my gaze swerves around the dimly lit room. My clothes and belongings lay roughly five feet away from where I’m standing, over by the chair in front of the window. A couple of seconds elapse.
Scaredy Cat: I don’t wanna die. Whaaa. It’s now or never. Do it.
Like a leaping gazelle I dart over to the stool that holds my things and snatch as many items as two hands can carry. I leap barefooted toward the exit, wearing only the T-shirt and my underwear. One of the boots drops, but I keep going. My trembling fingers grab the key and clutch onto it. Frightened out of my mind, I jam it into the hole. Adrenaline goes through the roof when from the corner of my eye, I see the man get off the table and come my way. I turn the key once, rip the door open, and rush forward into the staircase.
Dong, dong, dong…my heart paces like mad as I take flights of four stairs at a time, nearly tumbling down. Knowing that Monster-Man is behind me, I run like someone who is being followed by a swarm of killer bees. As I sprint down the dark and
deserted roads in still nothing but my panties and a top, I turn right, left, right, left…dodge in and out of alleys. Heartily exhausted, I drop down onto a granite bench in front of an attractive brightly lit fountain. A hollow silence fills the night.
Scaredy Cat (hysterical): I know he’s coming for me. I know…Keep running. I’m going to die, help, somebody, help.
Still shaking, I rapidly put on the only remaining boot and my trousers. As I look to the left, I make out an approaching taxicab. My face lights up, instantly relating to the feelings of a stranded person on a deserted island that sees a ship on the horizon for the first time in years. I hobble into the road, almost throwing myself in front of the car. Luckily, the driver stops and lets me board. Within minutes, he drops me off safely in front of my house.
I draw myself a hot bath and relieved, lean back into the prickly foam. Steamrolled by a teary meltdown, it seeps in that my drive to generate income could have gotten me killed tonight.
Copycat
Vicki moves to town.
Doubt Cloud: You gotta be kidding? I betcha, she reports first hand to Otto and Mother, informing them about all my affairs. I worked too hard on establishing privacy to now have it all ruined.
Blushetta: But now you’ve got someone you can visit.
I feel an urge to protect little Sis from the whirl of this ruthless city. I do. But every time I entertain that notion, I recall how uncomfortable her domineering attitude makes me.
The phone rings. Ironically, it’s Vicki asking if I would like to come by. Reluctant yet yearning for companionship, I drop by her room downtown in the afternoon. Sis meets me with docility and sweetness, which immediately makes me drop my guard a bit.
Blushetta: I wished she could stay this way forever.
Scaredy Cat: Wouldn’t that be nice.
An hour of pleasant conversation passes. It becomes time to leave. But before I do, Sis and I make a plan to soon spend a night out on the town.
Blushetta: I’m really excited to show her around.
Doubt Cloud: Well, good luck. Just be on guard.
Life’s a Pose
My eyes nervously wander across the different sizes of photographs of models that decorate the walls of Jordan’s east side studio.
“I’ll be right there,” I hear a deep soothing sounding voice yell from somewhere in the back of the building. The humming ceiling fan inside the foyer spreads welcomed waves of air throughout the space on this humid summery day.
Hot Shot: I am beyond excited about this portfolio shoot.
Miss Vanity: Tell me about it.
I keep staring at more of the pictures on the walls of the people Jordan previously photographed.
“Ah, there you are,” he says, hurrying around the corner, giving me a bright sweet smile. His delightful aura conjoined with the calmness in his voice instantly breaks the ice. I like him, although not in a “being on my radar” kind of a way, or at least, I don’t think so. In addition, I am well aware this is a business relationship.
“Why don’t you get started on your make up, while I get the lighting and the backdrop arranged? Holler if you need help, okay?” His dark, kind eyes feel nurturing.
I put on the first outfit and moments later the shoot begins. Two hours, and six different looks and hairstyles into it, we relocate to the back room of the studio to finish off with the topless segment. Jordan locks the front door to prevent patrons from interrupting.
“Let me touch up your make-up, darling.” I greedily immerse myself in the gentle paw of his hands.
Romy: Awwww. How I miss this.
Miss Vanity: Knock it off, will ya’? It would defeat the purpose.
Click, click, click…the continuous sound of the shutter lens gives me a feeling of lightheadedness. Ninety minutes into the session, Jordan proposes taking the last few photographs with wet hair to create somewhat of a dreamy effect.
I head into the bathroom, splash my mane with water, and wrap the silky smooth cream-colored long scarf around my waist. Bare breasted, I sit down at the mark. Sweet fragrance and a sizzling silence of eroticism surround us. Letting a couple of moist strands of hair dangle in front of my eyes, I bend my body into an agreeable pose. Hot Shot has me slightly part my glossy lips so the white of my teeth can poke through.
Hot Shot: I’ve seen the lingerie models do that. I know it will make men find me even more seductive.
Doubt Cloud: That may be true, but I’m positive it will leave this photographer cold. Mind you, he sees the most beautiful dressed or undressed people in front of his camera all the time. You are too small a fish for him.
Romy (boastful): Picture him as my boyfriend.
Doubt Cloud: Don’t be ridiculous.
Starlight: If he was, he could make me a star by taking the most amazing pictures of me whenever I so please.
Hot Shot: I am going to prove to you I can compete with the super models. Out of my way.
Instantly, I strike my poses in an even more daring fashion. But then…
“That’s a wrap. I’m out of film,” Jordan announces. “You did great.”
“Really? Which segment did you like most?”
“There’s a whole bunch that looked fantastic through the lens. You’re gonna be pleased.” I see the lights of the studio lamps nicely reflect on his shiny black hair. “It was fun working with you. Looks like you have done this before, haven’t you?”
“As a matter of fact, I have,” I answer with pride in my voice.
I feel much closer to him now that we spent this much time together. Disappointed that he is not giving me any indication of wanting to get physical, I pull the silk wrap over my breast to depart for the dressing room. As I am about to get off the futon sofa bed, Jordan flops down next to me.
Lustania: What the…?
Hot Shot: I knew it. No one can resist a hottie like me. Nooo one.
Our eyes lock. Sparks fly. Instantly, I know I am going to spend a whole lot longer on this mattress than initially anticipated. In smooth rhythm our bodies rid each other of the built up tension of the previous hours. Going wild under his tender, weathered hands, the next sixty minutes appear as merely a lightning flash. I leave feeling vital and refreshed. Still, the Big O remains a mystery.
Two weeks later, I’m totally flabbergasted glancing at the developed photos from the session at Jordan’s.
Hot Shot: Fascinating. I look mouthwateringly sexy.
Miss Vanity: It’s imperative that potential love interests get an idea about my versatility early on.
Further enjoying the thrill of the congenial results of my work, I rush out and have several of the best pictures enlarged to poster size. Once behind glass frames, they instantly go up on the walls of my studio apartment. And so, no matter where I turn from now on, a sufficient dose of ME, in color, black and white, large or small, is never far from my view. And on the days that the daunting voice that tries to convince me that I’m a nobody won’t let up, I merely take in an eyeful of the proof in front of me, and voila, I believe in my significance for at least a little while again.
Miss Vanity: It would be a crime to hide those beautiful pictures from the public eye. Can’t wait for others’ reactions.
Therefore, the first thing I do when I have a male visiting me is sit him down and have him look through my albums. I usually start it off with the one that displays the best assortment of nude pictures.
Hot Shot: The hotter I look, the harder he falls, and verily, the longer he stays.
Precisely.
Dagger
On Sunday around 14:00 Uhr in the afternoon, the phone rings.
“Hello,” I say with a tired tone of voice, still somewhat recuperating from last night’s disco hopping.
“Ich bin’s…Mama.”
I switch my ears to selective hearing mode, something I have become good at over time in order to tune out the critical parts of Mother’s voice.
“What’s up?”
“Not much. Just wanted to se
e how ya’ doing. What’s new with you? It must be nice to have your sister living close now, eh? Do the two of you at least hang out sometimes?”
“I visit her occasionally, and sometimes we hit the club scene together.”
“How is work? Are you still at that job?”
“Well, yeah. I bust my butt at that boring gig and still can’t make ends meet.”
“Aww, well, I could have told you that before you left Wolfsburg. Why don’t you move back home?”
“To do what, in a town with no employment opportunities? Don’t think so. I’ll be fine. Not long ago, I dated this millionaire dude who gave me money and gifts, so I’m okay for the moment. Thanks.”
“Oh, really, is he nice? Why don’t you keep him around? You know, men are all assholes. They lie, and cheat, and just can’t keep their thing in their pants. I urge you to think about your security first and foremost. Be smarter than I was. Let them take care of you.”
“Oh, no. First off, he’s too old. Secondly, he’s not my type. I can’t be with someone I don’t love.”
I politely switch the conversation.
“By the way, what did Vicki do for work before she moved out here?”
“She worked as a barmaid for a little while.”
“Oh, yeah. Where? In a night club?”
“No, in an adult bar that our friends own.”
“What do you mean by adult bar?”
“Well, they have rooms upstairs for customers who want to spend time with the women who work there.”
Feeling stabbed by an unseen dagger, I instantly recall a scenario back when I still lived with my then fiancé, Klaus.
One night, he, another couple, and I visited a club that offered a sexually explicit show on stage. I remember that customers had the chance to disappear with a woman of their choice in a private room, called a Separét.
“Did Vicki ever disappear in a room with anyone?”
Mother’s voice sounds irritated.
“No. I can’t remember, really. She might have on occasion, maybe?”
“So what are you gonna do next?” she quickly changes the subject. Are ya’ gonna keep that job?”
“I don’t know. But listen, I do have to go. I’ll tell Vicki you said ‘hello’, okay?”
Dealing Flesh Page 6
