Dealing Flesh (6 page)

Two more minutes go by and the ordeal comes to a close. They tell me I did well and assure that I will be informed of their decision soon.

A couple of weeks after the
Playboy Channel
adventure, a mutual acquaintance of Reiner and I talk on the phone. He tells me that my boyfriend has been getting it on with a woman who works in television. Making repeated efforts to keep Ragelina from spilling over, I cut that “son of a bitch” loose at once.

Whip Cracker:
Looks like you gonna have to become cuter, sexier, kinkier, fitter, skinnier, tanner, richer, shrewder, hipper, more athletic, more blank, blank, blank…after all!

He’s got a point. Because on top of it all,
Playboy Channel
never follows up with me.

CHAPTER 6

Mula for Mojo

Recapitulating on my life so far, it appears as if men are only after one thing: sex without commitment. Despite the nice face, the gorgeous hair, the sexy figure, and a pleasant personality, guys unanimously vote for my vagina as the winner in the contest of the “most important part of my anatomy.” Once they conquer it, they want it a few more times but then usually keep their feelers out for the next enticing carnal treasure package.

Hot Shot:
I don’t get it. I jump through hoops to be good in bed, and what do I get? Nothing but disrespect.

Romy:
I can’t handle one more day of meeting assholes that have no desire to stay faithful.

Miss Vanity:
Mind you, it’s expensive to provide these jerks their drug day in and day out. At the rate I’m going, being flat broke and all, I will run out of cosmetics, perfume, lingerie, eye-catching apparel, funds for sessions at the tanning salon, hairdressers, and an on-going membership at the gym, in no time. I must come up with a solution quickly, or I won’t look this appetizing for much longer.

Whip Cracker:
I got an idea. Since you can’t seem to win for losing, why not give them what they want? But without the bullshit games they play? And definitely for a fee.

Big Shot Mama:
I second that. And to compensate for the mental stresses in applying the new motto of “Pussy for Money,” it’s going to cost those jerks big time
.

New hope surges through me, although deep inside I feel Ragelina spew riverbeds full of seething lava.

Flipping through the paper this morning, a classified ad draws me in. “Millionaire Benefactor Looking For Classy Lady,” it says. I apply at once with an enclosed photograph of Hot Shot’s sexiest modeling shots.

Tonight, a week after the fact, Günther, a forty-something-year-old, well-groomed entrepreneur and I meet at an Italian restaurant in an upscale part of town. We converse with ease, although I cannot say I am attracted to him in any other way than the money and the status that appears to accompany him. While we continue talking, another man shows up, which Günther introduces as his good buddy Oswald.

Scaredy Cat:
Wait a minute. No one said…

Oswald sits down across from me. He appears to be of the same age as his friend, and, as I soon find out, works as an engineer in town.

Doubt Cloud:
You can’t be serious. Are you saying I have to deal with two dudes at once?

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.