Loser

by Valerie J. Long

  “Child!” she yelled, ran to the door and shouted for Martin. Then she removed my gag and thereafter the cuffs from hands and feet. I hardly noticed the itch when she tore the fresh scab from my joints together with the cushions.

  “What did he do to you?” she asked aghast. “Why did you allow that?”

  “I thought he’d be harmless. Then he had needles. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  As soon as I could, I rolled myself together as tightly as I could. Martin carried me to my room and carefully covered me after having treated my joints with salve. Perhaps an hour later I noticed Lydia snuggling up to me and wrapping an arm around me to give me some feeling of protection.

  Dora had called her and asked her to leave her client, and Lydia had come. Lydia stayed with me without asking questions, tended to my wounds, took a hot bath with me, and fed me warm soup.

  We never again talked about it. Probably Hermann was banned from all Eva Keller houses worldwide, but I was sure that wouldn’t stop a man of his kind.

  I wouldn’t be stopped, either. I allowed myself one day rest, then I resumed my training. And when the sore joints had more or less healed three days later, I went to work again.

  It’s just pain, I told myself. Just pain.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I could twist and turn it as I liked. I didn’t just sell my body, my sexuality, somehow I also sold my soul. The clients fulfilled my demand for tenderness and protection, occupied the void in my heart—then they paid and left me behind like a used sports gear. It was well paid, comfortable and safe, it was even somewhat acceptable in society nowadays, so that I could openly name my profession, but it still was prostitution.

  For an absolute loser like me, it was more than just acceptable. I had lived in poverty for eighteen years, hungry, freezing, and had hardly been able to afford anything. My parents had suffered from that situation, and even if they hadn’t passed it on to me, they hadn’t been able to give me much love and security. I had that now. I indulged myself in luxury. I didn’t lack anything. Many clients were like good, familiar friends.

  Nevertheless, Hermann had taught me one lesson—fate may always have a surprise for you, so you should have an alternative.

  That incident probably had relieved me of the last remainder of my childlike naivety and innocence. From then on I was a pro, whether I realized it or not. I continued to be intimate with strangers, and I still searched and found my pleasure there, but inside I was more reserved than before.

  I could ignore the fact that some of my clients earned their money in a not entirely legal way. I didn’t see a moral difference between the people who had literally gambled my father’s job away and the people who earned their money trading fine art. Where was the true damage, when some paint on canvas changed its owner, compared to an act that sent people to poverty and hunger?

  This society’s standards were sick. I had experienced that myself.

  “What are you musing about?” I asked my client and rubbed my breast at his upper arm. He still had to recover from my last ride before we could continue, so we were lying side by side on the damp satin sheet and left it at tender strokes.

  “Well, I shouldn’t tell you about it. A competitor beat me. He snatched the Sleeping Venus away from under my nose.”

  “You can have an awake Venus, Ronnie.”

  “Ha—certainly. No, it’s about a painting.”

  “Valuable?”

  “Very. The two-digits million range.” His hand moved along the base of my areola, and I shivered. He could be so gentle!

  “And he offered more?”

  “Offered? Ha ha, he stole it. Very skillfully, by the way—it’s been well guarded.”

  “A pity. Well, saves you a considerable investment, doesn’t it?”

  “Ha ha, not me. No, I lost a considerable fee—and the reputation that comes with it.”

  So that was how he had meant it. Two thieves, and the other one had been quicker. “Who’s your competitor then?”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Anyone who lives and works in the Rhine-Main-Area and had achieved something, lives either in Königstein or in Wiesbaden. Of course that’s only a cliché, but it often matches. His competitor belonged to the well-situated, naturally entirely inconspicuous Königstein inhabitants. He lived in a large property at the forest edge, safely fenced in, well secured with spots and motion detectors.

  At least he believed so.

  I had already attentively watched his villa the days before, as usual without being noticed myself. I had spied out his security installations, taken notice of the ill-tempered character of his Dobermans, had studied the habits of his few guards and precisely memorized the area around the house. The fences were sufficiently screened off, but what did that help if large trees were growing right outside, which you could climb?

  I also had found a way to find out more about the owner himself. Among the best opportunities was taxi radio. Mr. X has ordered a taxi. Taxi 123 confirms. Taxi 123 is available again at the spa hotel. And so on. I knew a few other tricks, too. Men usually replied very openly to my smile.

  In short—I knew when the house was ready for my visit.

  For me, it was easy to get past his motion detectors in their dead angle, while his only guard on duty walked the dogs. Just as quickly, I climbed up the well-grooved wall to the second floor and entered the bedroom through the half-open balcony door.

  The home office was just opposite. This could be observed best in the evening, when the light seeped through the curtains and unveiled the silhouettes behind. I only had to cross the hallway—so far, it was easy. But where did he store the painting? Naturally, I wouldn’t hope for it to be resting on the desk, packed ready-to-go—except if the current owner was quickly picking up a friend from the airport, before both would venture on a business trip to Amsterdam with the painting. In such a case, it was only planful to have it all prepared.

  As quickly as I had come in, I was out again. Into the bedroom, to the balcony—a short glance around, all was clear—down the wall, and walking the right meandering path between the motion detector-covered areas. With relief, I noticed that nobody had stolen my racing bicycle in the meantime. I stuffed the handily rolled-up painting into the small backpack, covered it with a colorful plastic tote and mounted.

  Now that I was here, I could as well do a short trip up the Feldberg. It was much too early for my next appointment anyway.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Relax. You’re absent-minded.”

  My client shrugged, which wasn’t easy in his situation—resting on both arms in the classic missionary position. He didn’t come. Instead, he stared at me contemplatively.

  I felt two challenges.

  The first, of course, targeted my professional attitude. What should that mean, that a client lost his attention in the middle of a coital act? That the service was unsatisfactory. Entirely inacceptable!

  The second aimed at me personally. He visibly had something in for me, and I could guess why.

  “Let it out,” I accepted the second challenge. “What occupies you more than the sex with me?”

  His cock shrank further back. For the moment I gave up my efforts to stimulate him with my vaginal muscles.

  “Jo, a few days ago I’ve told you of a busted deal.”

  “The Sleeping Venus.”

  “Exactly. Actually, I expect those talks to remain between us two.”

  “I didn’t talk to anybody about it, Ronnie.”

  “Neither did I. Only you and I knew about it.”

  “And your competitor.”

  “Admitted. But he surely didn’t burgle my house to place the painting on my desk. So, whom did you tell about it?”

  “Nobody. What you’re telling me never leaves my lips, Ronnie.”

  “But someone knew about it and procured me the painting.”

  “I knew, Ronnie. You wanted to have it, didn’t you?”

  He stared at
me for a while. He didn’t put it together. I smiled and shrugged myself.

  “You?”

  I nodded.

  “You just burgle an international art thief’s house and steal away his latest booty from under his nose? Why are you doing that?”

  “Because I can. The opportunity arose.”

  “If he’d caught you, he’d have fed you to his dogs.”

  “I don’t let myself be caught.”

  Ronnie took a deep breath. “No, probably not. You also entered my house, did you? Placed the painting down and just so took ten-thousand Euro on your way out?”

  I pouted. “You consider that procurement fee too high?”

  “Oh, Johanna! I’d have paid you ten times as much!”

  “You can still do that.” I winked at him.

  He began to grin. “You’re impossible. Damn, you’re the hottest woman I ever came across.”

  “Oh, yes. I’m just feeling it again.” His penis swelled and finally filled my channel again. “Now you can show me your gratefulness,” I whispered.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  After about three years in the wellness center, I had thought I’d know all the girls. Newcomers normally were introduced. So, when I met a complete stranger with a bald head in the hallway on the third floor, I was puzzled. Only her birthday suit—matching my attire—and her confident attitude caused me to consider accepting her as potentially new staff. Still, I wasn’t willing to ignore her.

  “I don’t know you,” I addressed her.

  “I’m Eva,” she quietly replied, “And you?”

  “Johanna. I thought I knew all the girls here, and you’re not easy to miss with your bald head. Would you please come downstairs with me?”

  I hoped that she wouldn’t do anything foolish, nevertheless I was alert. Due to my regular martial arts training I’d be able to defend myself, if necessary.

  “Of course, Johanna. I wanted to visit the coatroom downstairs anyway.”

  Then she had to know the way. I let her take the lead to keep an eye on her.

  “It’s quiet tonight,” she noticed.

  “Summer. In such nights it’s done outdoors. Most of us are in the camp.”

  That seemed to mean something to her, too, or she could play her role well. In any case, she remained silent until we reached the reception on the ground floor. In my opinion, she had a quite well-shaped body, though perhaps somewhat too thin and bony. Her bald head disturbed me. Why would someone do such a thing?

  Dora gave me a brief questioning glance, then she examined our guest. That she took this time already told me that our bald visitor couldn’t be an ordinary new love attendant. But then her face showed a happiness I had never seen in her before.

  “Eva!” she cried out loud and dashed from behind the counter into the stranger’s arms.

  “Dora!” the latter said, and returned the hug. I glanced at our guard and exchanged a shrug with him.

  “I am Eva Keller,” the stranger explained to us.

  “That’s impossible!” The words were out before I could think about them. Eva Keller didn’t exist for the last twenty years. She had practically disappeared for all the time I lived in this world.

  “And yet it is so. Dora has immediately recognized me, right?”

  “Right,” Dora sobbed. “Eva. Where have you been all these years? When you left, you talked of days.”

  “Something got in my way,” Eva explained. “A task that I really got dug into. It took more time than I should have expected. Much more. You got along?” She looked at me. “Do you like to work here?”

  “It’s astonishingly comfortable. Yes, I like it. All here give me the feeling to do something valuable, something good. It’s so different from walking the streets. This is all your doing?”

  “I’ve only provided the kick-off. It’s your doing. What you’re doing, how you’re doing it, is a contribution to the whole.”

  Yes, in a way that made sense. I examined her more closely. Something didn’t match. “You should be close to fifty now, shouldn’t you? You’re looking like twenty—how do you do that?”

  “I forgo a lot—alcohol, drugs, nicotine. Instead, I have sex frequently and happily. Perhaps that’s the reason.” Then she pushed Dora away. “You have to tell me what I’ve missed.”

  To me, she said, “Take the reception. If anything comes up, you know where you can find us.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Eva’s return introduced a change in our lives, even if our founder wasn’t to blame for it. But her appearance coincided with another, at first glance more important, arrival.

  I had just fetched a coffee from the bistro, sat on a stool behind the counter, bored, my toes playing with a pencil, when outside the sirens began to wail.

  The small screen above the counter changed to the picture of a desk with a little black-red-golden flag on top. While the sirens fell mute, an unshaved and uncombed German Federal Chancellor took a seat behind the desk.

  “Dear citizens. A few minutes ago, a message from the NATO headquarters in Brussels reached me, saying that the Imperatrix Aurea Draconis has formally announced the state of war. What so far seemed to be an abstract, distant possibility, is now a proven fact—our planet is under attack from otherworldly invaders. Together with the Minister of Defense, I’ve declared the time of collective defense according to article five of the NATO treaty. At the same time, as requested by the Imperatrix Aurea, I’ve formally transferred the command of our forces to the Legata Aurea Draconis Elaine Lionheart, who will coordinate the United Nations’ defense efforts for Europe and Africa. I ask you all to remain calm and follow further announcements with attention. We will keep you informed on all new developments. May the Lord be with us.”

  Holy Dragon shit. This was a joke, wasn’t it? Otherworldly invaders? But how did our Chancellor fit into this spectacle? Perhaps it had been a mistake that I had had so little interest in politics during my childhood. Who or what was an Imperatrix?

  The picture changed to a well-known news announcer. The text of what I’d just heard ran along the lower screen border.

  “Dear audience. At the current moment, we don’t have any further detailed information for you. We have to reassure you, however, that this is not a fiction. The German Federal Chancellor’s speech was authentic and truthful. Please leave this station switched on, as we’re seeking background information.” He reached for his ear. “I just heard that we now have our expert for Dragon issues on the line. I’m handing over to him. Dieter, you’re on.”

  “Thank you.” Dieter sat in front of a camera in his pajamas—obviously coming right from his bed. “Ladies and gentlemen, as strange as the current news must sound, we all need to be aware of the fact that it’s not a reality show. Twenty-four years ago, in the Holloman Declaration, Admiral Zoe Lionheart did not only announce the now well-known existence of the Dragons. She also told us that the Dragons do not originate from our planet. Since that time, we have regarded the hotly debated possibility of other intelligent species as well as interstellar travel as an empirically proven fact.”

  The station now broadcasted a recording of that speech. Thereafter, Dieter continued his comments. Meanwhile, he had put on a sweatshirt over his pajamas, although surely nobody cared about his clothes—he could have worn pink rabbit ears, and no spectator would have cared a damn.

  “Even if the Imperatrix Aurea hadn’t mentioned it at this point, at the latest, her speech to the United Nations and the following announcement of the strategic cooperation of the United States and Russia have clarified the implications. If the Dragons ventured on an interstellar journey to protect mankind, it had to be about an interstellar threat—an invasion from outer space.”

  “Thank you, Dieter,” the speaker chimed in. “What’s our current situation?”

  “Well, we’re still at the beginning. Nobody expected the theoretical possibility of an invasion coming true so soon. Mankind doesn’t command any means for spac
e fights worth mentioning. If the Dragons can’t conjure up a spaceship now, we’ll have to resort to our own, conventional means. At least we humans are a very martial species. This might be a surprise for the invaders.”

  I turned away. The theoretical blah blah didn’t hold my interest.

  What could, what should we do?

  “What do you think, Jo?” our guard Klaus asked. “What will become of us?”

  “No idea,” I admitted. “If the invaders win, anything can happen. Are they man-like at all? If yes, will they ransack and rape us? Or weave floral wreaths with us and sing songs? Or will they eat us?”

  “Eat us?” Klaus’ face became slightly green.

  “Forget it, that was a joke.” It wasn’t, but of course I didn’t know how close to the truth I came. “More interesting is the question what happens to us if we win. Will there be any intact buildings left? Will we find enough food to live? And who will be in charge?”

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Human gangs traveling destroyed cities and ransacking and raping. We should be prepared.”

  “Ugh. What do you want to do against it?”

  I came around the counter and assumed a position.

  “Exercise. Attack me. You want me. Come.”

  He grinned. “What’s the reward if I win?”

  I grinned, too. “You see it in front of you.” I was still naked.

  He pulled out his club and assumed a fighting stance, too. The club was slightly unfair, but he wouldn’t cause me anything worse than a bruise, of that I was convinced.

  The initiative was with him. I only had to wait and remain alert.

  A twitch of an eyelid gave him away. His attack followed immediately next, and skillfully he swung his club forward. He could have hit me painfully if I had held my arms in the way.