Dealing Flesh (3 page)

It really doesn’t matter what I do or don’t do, because I hear Otto assign me the new label “The Prude”, which amuses everyone but me.

~~~

A Couple of Years Later

The “adults” present Vicki and me with the choice between three weeks of down time on the dude ranch by the Swiss border that I have been to before or a trip to Spain. I sign up for the country adventure again, while Vic settles for fun in the sun.

~~~

I feel on top of the world now that I gallop the pony I’m assigned to take care of for the next two weeks, bareback, through seemingly endless woods. What could be better than jumping over fallen logs, participating in herding sheep, and taking part in group rides from city to city? Happiness has returned.

Aside from falling in love with the lifestyle, I develop a huge crush on Benny, one of the head wranglers, who gains my vote for the most amazing-looking boy ever. My legs turn to mush when I see him prance around bare-chested on top of the stunning palomino stallion, radiating like a crystal. He reminds me of an Apache warrior, although his hair is not nearly as long as that of a native Indian chief. No doubt he is every girl’s dream.

Romantika (a.k.a. Romy):
It really hurts that he doesn’t take much notice of me.

Doubt Cloud:
I can see how he digs the cooler, more experienced-looking chicks on this ranch. Well, how can he possibly like someone like me? A boring looking gal who’s lacking development in all the right places—whatever the right places are—pale, with flat, dull, brown hair and no make-up.

Consequently, I attach myself to a few of those hip and trendy gals and study them closely in the hopes that some of their magic is going to rub off on me.

Coming to terms with the fact that Benny will probably remain forever unattainable, I settle for his buddy, Holger. Holger is cute, too, but I do not lose myself in fantasies about him, the way I do about Benny.

Much to my surprise, on this full moon night, some of the cool chicks ask me to tag along to a river party; I gladly accept. We sneak out of the dorm at nine, making our way down the dark, deserted country road. Seeing everybody dive into the dense, pitch-black cornfield each time a headlight moves our way makes me giggle.

The party is already winding down. I take a seat on the grass near the fire and listen to the intoxicated guitar player while sipping on my beer. Twenty minutes pass. By now, most of the crowd has dwindled, and we slowly embark on the trip back to the girls’ lodge. As we stroll along, one of the cool girls suggests that we take a detour to the boys’ ranch house, located approximately two miles from our domicile. Everyone agrees. I’m elated.

We arrive. Not having a clue about which boys sleep where, I knock on the window of the trailer that is parked on the front lawn of the main barn. I hold my breath. To my surprise, Holger’s face comes up behind the glass. He signals that he will be right out. His shapely body shows up in front of me, covered only by a pair of washed-out blue jeans.

“Hey you,” he says in a low tone of voice that bears excitement.

My heart begins to race, as he playfully pulls me inside the trailer and locks the door behind us.

“I am so glad you came by.”

His hands scout out my physique while we roll around on top of his bed. He takes off my shirt. Instantly, I press my warm breasts against his chest. We kiss. He attempts to pull down my pants but Scaredy Cat panics. I free myself from his embrace.

“I am really sorry, sweetie, but I have to leave.”

“Dang, girl. Can’t you stay a little longer?”

“I don’t want them to come looking for us, you know? We’ve already been out for some time. I’ll see you again soon, I hope.” I give him a quick kiss on his mouth and head for the door. After spending several minutes rounding up the rest of the gals, we all depart.

Two days go by and Holger and I collide again. This time, we retreat into the quiet hay barn behind the riding arena in broad daylight. After a couple of hours of kissing and necking, a kid finds his way onto the hay stacks and informs me that my parents are waiting in the office.

Ragelina:
Fuck. They are way ahead of schedule…not supposed to be here until days from now.

Scaredy Cat:
I better leave. Too risky to make ‘em wait.

Romy:
Trading going home for this? Are you out of your mind? I’m not going.

With a heavy heart and a giant pout on my face, I tear away from Holger’s embrace and grudgingly make my way over to the main house. Upon arrival, I ask the “adults” for an extended stay, but they demand that I get into the
Mercedes
immediately. They carry me—one holding my upper body, the other my legs—and wrangle me into the backseat of the vehicle. Unable to contain my rage, crying hysterically, hissing and moaning, I struggle like a wild animal that’s being stuffed inside a cage. I hate them for taking away my happiness.

CHAPTER 2

Rapture Amongst the Trees

Some woods are clean, others are dirty, and still others are dirty in quite a different way.

Black Forest Region – Mid 1970’s

The sound of crackling twigs giving way under my shoes fills my heart with a wondrous urge for adventure. Greedily, I suck in more of the beguiling forest scent that’s pervading the air. I stand still for a moment and focus my gaze on the tour bus over by the
Autobahn
’s rest stop parking lot. Several of my classmates, who now appear the size of toy soldiers, busily dart into all
Himmelsrichtungen
.

My mind revisits the swell time I had at the school country home this past week, but quickly switches to trying to predict what the minefield-like atmosphere at my house in Wolfsburg a few hours from now is going to be.

Longing to rid myself of too much thinking, I hurriedly rummage through the undergrowth in front of me. Ten feet away, surrounded by a cluster of medium-size trees, I spot a colorful object on the ground. As I walk towards it, the contours of a magazine take form. “
Ach Du liebe Scheiße
!” I mutter. It’s one of those mags that can be found in plentitude at my house, the kind that most people prefer to ogle in secret. The notion that someone might have placed it here to watch me while I react to it makes my adrenaline rise.

I should leave, I know, but I can’t stop staring at the cover’s close-up image of a female and two male naked private parts at play. The picture’s intensity serves my eleven-year-old girly existence such a rush that the rest of the world around me turns nebulous.

Yuck, don’t touch that Schmuddel paper
, a barely noticeable whisper inside me warns as I attempt to grab it. I pause.
Just do it. It’s exactly what you need,
another voice urges. Determined to keep the warm, comforting sentience in my
Muschie
going, I swiftly snatch the thing off the ground and skim through the pages.

Ahhhhhh…mmmm…I admit that previously, I have never felt this elated. Just as I am beginning to obsess on the endless possibilities that await me in adulthood, Mr. Janssen, my teacher’s voice shrills through the megaphone from about eighty feet away. “Everybody, back on the bus…now.” I focus on loading more of that delicious feeling that eyeing the pictures provides. “Last call to board,” Janssen nags again sixty seconds later.

Shall I bring the material along? I really, really want to but on second thought, if I get busted, Blushetta is going to cause me living hell. With great reluctance, I toss the magazine into the trashcan several meters shy of where the bus is parked. Putting on the face of a Madonna, I blend into the line of my already waiting classmates. One by one, we board the bus. I move toward the end of the vehicle and plop into the velvet-covered window seat.

Within a minute, the bus settles into the fast lane. While I concentrate on the ever-changing scenery outside, objects whiz by my head at roughly 170 kilometers per hour as scenes of the busty woman who’s having nasty things done to her flood into my head again.

What wouldn’t I give to get them to stay? But the harder I try holding them in my brain, the quicker they disintegrate like chunks of ice under a stream of running water. Dammit.

Beware of T-Rex

I watch the movers transport our belongings to a spacious, leased townhouse in a nice part of town, a definite upgrade from where we have been living all these years. The building consists of two levels and a basement. The “adults’” floor houses the master bedroom, the kitchen, the office, and the family bathroom. The second story belongs entirely to Vicki and me. Our side-by-side rooms face a small narrow hallway. Now that Sis and I have our own rooms, I am hugely contented that I no longer have to get into territorial fights with her. I even embrace the fact that our floor has no bathroom but that each chamber does come equipped with a sink.

To steer clear of Mother’s wrath over complaining that we make noise too early and to avoid accidentally encountering Otto’s wagging member in the hallway, like one morning a couple of weeks ago, I occasionally opt for hopping onto the wall-mounted wash bowl inside my room to empty my aching bladder. On extremely high anxiety days, I defecate into a plastic sack, which I later dump into the yard’s trash bin.

~~~

I am on household duty this morning, tidying up the mess from last night’s adult “in house” gathering. While vacuuming around the coffee table, I bump into the all too familiar
Bacardi Rum
bottle that is once again neatly tucked away behind the leg closest to the couch. “Don’t move it, or he’s gonna get mad,” I recall Mother instructing me on prior occasions. Hence, I stay extra vigilant not to mess with Otto’s favorite drink in any way.

It’s a little after seven at night, and Vicki and I are goofing off in the foyer outside the living room.

“Who the fuck do they think they are? They need a good ass-whipping. Do something, honey,” I overhear Otto instruct Mother. Vic and I instantly bolt for the second floor to prepare for the inevitable. Sissy—her room being closest to the stairs—gets slapped with the wooden spoon first.

Tough Gal:
Shall I climb out the window onto the roof?

Scaredy Cat:
Ehh, no. I do-o-o-on’t think so.

Choked by indecisiveness, I opt for jumping into bed fully dressed. I frantically wrap the comforter around me, making it as tight as I can. A moment later, my door flies open. Within seconds, Mother yanks the cover off of me, pulls down my pants, moves my legs upward and lets me have it.

Later this month, Otto himself pays us a visit, and he whacks both Sis and me with a belt.

Ragelina:
I hate him
.

The second he leaves, I crawl back under my blanket, my thoughts honing in on visions of the devil, hellfire, and the
Hänsel and Gretel
fairytale.

In times like these, I contemplate running away permanently, but Scaredy Cat begs me not to. Instead, I submerge myself in captivating animal tales, stories narrated from the perspective of horses.
Black Beauty
and
The Black Stallion
become my heroes because their stories talk about their trials and tribulations, pains and desires. I also spend lots of time with
Leon
, my beloved green parakeet. I let him out of the cage, bathe him in the sink, and teach him to speak. His sweetness and cute ways always cheer me up.

This afternoon, as I get home from school, Mother tells me that my dear friend flew out the window while she was tidying my room. I feel smashed.

Ragelina:
I hate her, too. I hate everyone in this house.

~~~

Age Thirteen

The “adults” step out for the evening. Within minutes, Vicki and I rummage through the house. With boundless zeal, we work our way through the toys, magazines, and adult movies inside the large mirrored wardrobe of the master bedroom. While Sis is busy with discoveries of her own, I nervously sift through the pile of porn flicks in front of me. The pictures and storyline of one in particular instantly take me hostage. It shows two tall jocks, one fair-haired and the other with ebony tresses, seducing a woman on top of a wooden staircase.

Fantasia:
I gotta see this.

Feverishly, I dig around inside the
Schrankwand
, jumping for joy, when I discover the projector that can play the film. After a few minutes of finagling with the technical aspects, the show begins. I watch the woman on the screen fight the men off initially, but as pleasure overwhelms her, she eagerly joins in, catering to the males’ every wish. I enter
Woozyland
, a place I do not care to return from, because it’s the happiest place I know. It’s the same intense thrill I remember having on the day I found the dirty magazine in the woods or the time I clamped down on the clothesline steel post as a small child. Although compared to those occasions, this current feeling surpasses them all. It is by far the hottest thing I have ever seen or felt. I’m wrapped in such brain fog that I almost miss the noise by the front door.

“Shit! They are back!” I yelp.

Knowing this often being the time a night the “adults” slip on their monster suits to battle each other, Vicki and I rapidly scramble to destroy the evidence. My pulse throbs against my temples as I hear the key twist inside the lock. We make it out just in time to greet the grown ups with facial expressions of kids who just watched
Sesame Street
. An overpowering urgency to reach adulthood burns in my veins.

Fantasia:
Someday soon, I’ll rent that flick and indulge in it all day long where no one will bother me. Please, time…fly.

From here on out, raiding the “adult’s” bedroom for the latest porn turns into somewhat of a regular activity for me. Many days, it is effortless because a bunch of triple x-rated magazines are already sorted in with the stack of the usual weekly soft-core nudie
Heftchen
that grace the coffee table in our living room. As I sit on the couch scanning through this week’s stash that’s piled onto the small table next to me, I run into pictures of males having sex with school age girls. Another magazine shows a woman doing it with a huge stallion, tied with ropes to the horse’s belly - yikes. On the next page, a lady lets a dog lick her in private places, and worse. I cringe as I turn each page, yet I cannot put the poison down. There are other bizarre scenes that I’ve never ever laid eyes upon before.

On some days when Otto is around while I look at pictures inside those sleazy publications, he passes comments that make me freeze each time and turn speechless; other times, I just giggle or laugh it all off.

More time elapses. This afternoon, Otto involves me in a discussion about boys. I feel ill at ease when he uses the term
Stecher
to refer to men. It makes me instantly picture guys as horny wasps, flying around with long pointy appendages hanging from them, merely looking for a female they can
prick
between her legs and inject their venom into.

“What are you going to do when that button itches? You are going to get fucked, of course. You are powerless over that,” Otto exclaims.

I really do not want to know, but does anyone ever listen to me? Message received. Sex is the most important thing on the planet.

~~~

I head downstairs to grab a snack from the kitchen. The only way to get to the refrigerator is by going through the living room. I enter. Otto is sitting on the couch, his eyes glued to the television set. Mother stands just a few feet away, busy with housework by the dining room table. I pass by Otto and walk into the kitchenette to get something from the fridge. On my way back toward the exit, his raunchy sounding voice halts me in my tracks.

“Aww, look at that cunt, uhhmmm, yeah; and the tits on her? Mmmm…I’d like to have me some of that, uhhuhh,” he says with moaning undertone.

Feeling permanently stuck to the floor, I mutely turn to the screen which displays the image of a naked woman who appears to be a part of a non-pornographic feature film. Assuming a possum pose in my mind’s eye like I did in many similar instances in the past, I only have one desire – to be able to beam myself away like they do on
Star Trek
. Instead, more of Otto’s obscenities hammer down on me. I see Mother keeping busy with what she is doing.

Pristina:
Mama. Heeelp me. Don’t you see the T-Rex? You have to do something, Mama. Now. Please. I need you.

Like always, Mother ignores the happenings around her. I sense Ragelina’s desire for having me run over to Otto, place my hands around his neck and squeeze so tight that no further sound will ever escape his throat again. While Otto keeps going with his spiel, I obsess on better days—days of freedom, of being grown up, of leaving this house for good, of finding love.

Romy:
Hmmhhh, love. Now there is a hopeful word.

~~~

I lie in bed, a bunch of pillows stuffed behind my back to allow me to comfortably do my homework. This moment, the sound of breaking glass and loud quarreling voices from somewhere downstairs meet my ears. I pull the tweedy green comforter up over my head at once and fold myself into a ball while holding my ears shut. Doors slam with furious bangs, the kind that makes you think they dropped off the hinges. Mother’s pleading voice sweeps through the hallways, closely followed by the sound of screeching tires, which I know is Otto driving off in a rampant rage.