Free Dealing Flesh by Birgit Waldschmidt Page A

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 see 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