Kitabı oku: «Just me», sayfa 4
Plus, I have always loved to cuddle and snuggle. I could never get enough of that.
When a man could not meet my expectations even after my sensitive instructions, he was pushed out of my bed.
That was one of my ways that some men hated me for.
I came to realize (and that was comforting right now), that each time I looked at my past, I managed to relax a little bit more, despite my wet surroundings.
Once I had awakened, I got to experience many, many things.
°
"God, I've had a lot of luck in my life."
"Please, please, let me be lucky only one last time!"
When I reached the top of a wave, I saw a ship. It was incredibly close.
"Thank you, I hadn't expected it to be that fast!" flashed through my mind. I started to scream at the top of my aching lungs.
My heart was racing like crazy. "Maybe it's a large fishing boat?" I speculated. While there's life, there's hope!
"God, they are so close – will they overrun me or save me instead?"
I simply had to take the risk and use another rocket. Carefully, I took a rescue rocket out of the abandon ship bag, which I closed immediately before a wave could fill it up with water.
The way I had done the evening before, I bit the plastic film open that was meant to protect the rocket from moisture. Hold up the right end and pull at the string. That had now almost become routine. This time it worked straight away. The missile shot up with a fiery tail and exploded in an orange ball. I really had a good chance of being seen this time. If it was a fishing boat, I only hoped that the people on it were not all drunk, going on autopilot in this swell, or even asleep. I took the little paddle and began to paddle like crazy, using up my remaining strength.
With short, angry strokes I tried to get closer the ship. I paddled and paddled until I felt totally powerless, then I collapsed almost unconsciously to the floor of my dinghy. Had seconds or minutes passed? When I finally had the strength to sit up again, the painful truth was clear and obvious to see. They had not noticed me. Also, I had pretty certainly not moved far from the spot despite my desperate paddling. The wind, the current and the strong swell were relentlessly working against me. Every time I caught a glimpse of the ship now, it had moved even further away, until it had finally disappeared on the horizon.
Oh, hopes…where have you gone?
°
Anyway, despite her maternal care, my mother had almost shot herself in the proverbial foot once. Even before my first experience with boys, when I was fourteen, my father thought that it was high time to make a responsible woman of the wild girl . It occurred to him that a summer job would be the best way to do that.
If I had a son, I swear I would take him to the most beautiful, most experienced, and nicest hooker I could find.
In order not to lose sight of me, my mother asked the baker, who wasn't even a local but who delivered bread to the village and to our house daily, if he had a summer job for me. Both of them liked the idea that I could be the baker's assistant. The baker, however, liked the idea for totally different reasons than her.
Even when he suggested that I should stay overnight in his house, in a room above the bakery, due to organizational reasons – baker's assistants have to get up pretty early – my mother did not have a clue. The baker was an honorable man, after all, and it would have been too inconvenient for me if I had to travel several kilometers early in the morning every day just to get to the bakery. But the danger was lurking somewhere entirely else. It just took one day, and then he was sitting on my bed and started to talk to me. "How are you doing?" and so on… "Do you like the job?" and… "Do you always sleep in your pajamas?" and… "Isn't that a little too tight down there?"… "Let me feel it, yes it's very tight…"
At that time I didn't know anything about sex offenders. In any case, the baker was nothing but a horny little runt and a child molester.
I don't have a problem talking about it today because the baker is dead, so my mother can't kill him. But back then I really suffered a lot of stress. One way or another, our parents had never spoken to us about sex or even child molesters.
I didn't want to bake rolls, feel the heat of the baking oven and the heat of the monster this baker was anymore!
In my naivety I only knew that something wasn't quite right, but I couldn't tell anybody. And so I remained in the horny master's clutches.
He always kept thinking of new ways to harass me in order to punish me for my successful restraint. For example, I had to bike up the mountain with a full basket of bread, or get up earlier and earlier to do the most strenuous work in the bakery.
I sweat when I was at work, but I also sweat at home, when my mother wanted to know how everything was going with the "nice baker". Luckily, he also had other victims in our village, who are respected housewives and citizens today. The baker kept dreaming up new methods to make me submissive, but my naïve mother still didn't notice a thing.
After some weekend hiking tours that came to nothing, she still didn't have a clue when the baker suggested that short Lederhosen would be the most appropriate clothing for picking edelweiss.
"Yes, sure, of course."
Original Tyrolean Lederhosen have a large drop-front flap, something like a door, with two buttons. And even without this "door" there is a lot of room for a baker's hand. I was sweating blood. So my mother put me in one of those leather pants . None of the excuses were good enough; I had to go on that hiking tour.
Unlike at home, there were always very good snacks and drinks during such hikes. Like the witch said in Hänsel and Gretel: "Show me your finger, umm… your nipple, so I can see if it's nice and big and stiff ... umm, firm?"
With word 'finger', the baker was probably getting at something else. So way up there in the mountains where the edelweiss grows and where one usually hears Heidi, the good little dairy maid, singing, another attempt was made to turn a virgin into a mature woman.
After the efforts of my seducer failed to achieve their desired results, the lecher wanted me to do something to him. So he unpacked, besides the snack sausages, the sausage between his legs. He wanted me to 'turn it into hard salami'. Just like the salami I loved to bite into. But this was something different, and I certainly didn't want to bite into that. A lot of luck and the corresponding naivety made me grab his dick with my fingers so clumsily and so extremely hard, that the pig lost all interest for good. After that, the frustrated sex fiend ran down the hill like crazy, I stumbled behind him, and almost broke my neck in the wild descent. Then he drove the winding mountain road downhill like a madman, so that I feared for my young life.
After a few acts of revenge, which I somehow survived, this episode, too, ended happily.
After many pleasant, but also painful experiences, fate wanted to save me, even back then.
I actually survived this episode relatively unscathed; after all, the baker hadn't been that successful. Today I can even laugh about it. Some of my female classmates weren't so lucky. They were less firm, or proper, – depending on the language use – and some of them still suffer from it today. Up to this day my mother still doesn't have a clue. The baker was buried with all the honors the village could bestow on him. I'm surprised that it had been a baker, and not the priest or some other prince of the church. Nowadays more and more of these sexual assaults are being uncovered. When I was young, the media were probably not so eager to sensationalize everything.
°
"Grrr…" Another wave's relentless force had pushed me to the bottom of the dinghy. This was becoming more and more fun.
I spat out vast amounts of salt water that I had in my mouth. I had swallowed some of it involuntarily. I coughed the rest out of my lungs. According to my calculations, I had already been floating in the sea for 30 hours, and the storm had abated only slightly.
°
I hated funerals, and already at an early age, I had made it clear to my family that I did not want to be buried in a hole in the ground under any circumstances. I'd rather be eaten by sharks than by worms.
Well, this wish could come true faster than I wanted.
Once I had chanced upon a little pan in the ground in the mountains that was seething with a brown mass of worms – like in one of those volcanic mud holes in New Zealand. The head of a mountain goat was sticking out of the pool of worms. The goat had probably fallen to his death last winter.
"Yuck!" is all that comes into my mind when I think of this gruesome sight and the horrible stench now.
"No, I don't want to be buried in the ground under any circumstances."
"If nobody finds me out here, this will not happen," I thought to myself. "Many wishes just seem to take care of themselves."
I wanted to be cremated, and had already asked my brothers to scatter my ashes to the wind from the peak of one of my favorite mountains. I was thinking of the Hochfeiler which is about 3,500 meters high but relatively easy to climb from South Tyrol.
But I didn't want to give up yet. I was not going to let the sharks get me that fast. I've always been good at holding out. Especially when it came to fighting for the love of men.
°
Just like with Christian. God, did I ever fight for this boy!
"Chriiiiiiiiiiis!" I screamed over the crests of the waves.
Once again I had chosen somebody who was way out of my league. Chris was from a very well-to-do family in our village. He lived in an elegant mansion in a prime location and everything else that goes with that. His father was the respected CEO of one of the biggest companies in the eastern part of Austria. Chris' mother had led an eventful life. Chris and his two sisters were fathered by two different men.
My Brother Jo was allowed to give piano lessons to Chris' sisters, Maria and Annette.
With the money for the lessons, the mother of the family wanted to contribute to Jo's tuition fees.
I envied my brother and was once again very frustrated. Even the fact that Jo never managed to get past the huge, dangerous German shepherd named Henco, without having the lady of the house meet him at the entrance to the driveway and accompany him into the house didn't change a thing. In contrast to my brother, I just had to yell: "No, Henco! Go away!" and the dog backed away.
At any rate, Chris' father was annoyed, because the dog was supposed to be a watchdog after all. Only the fact that I was the only one in their extended circle of acquaintances who knew how to deal with Henco probably saved him from ending up at the dog cemetery.
In this regard I have always had some talents, which, however, didn't help me much at that time.
Anyways, Jo had been accepted by the family and was allowed to teach the kids how to play the piano. But I was convinced that I could have done a much better job.
When I saw Chris for the first time, I felt like I had been struck by lightning. Back then, I was covering for my brother Jo, who had come down with the flu, and all of a sudden Chris had become interested in piano lessons. He was simply unearthly beautiful. Chris had black, curly hair and the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen in my life. In addition, he had a dimple on his chin and his nose might as well have been designed by a Greek sculptor. This nose gave his face the overall impression of a male angel. I forgot to breathe for a moment and I felt as if I would collapse any minute. This guy had the most charming smile in the world and during the whole piano lesson he kept looking at me rather than on the piano keys. My heart began to race and my hands were shaking so badly that I could hardly play a decent melody on the piano anymore. My mouth was as dry as a sand dune in the Sahara. "My God, this Adonis is so beautiful," it flashed through me.
I felt hot and cold at the same time, and I was still paralyzed. Yet, I knew that I should be teaching him Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, well, at least the first movement of it. I just could not turn my eyes away from him. Oh my God, and now he was moving even closer. Chris had moved even closer to me on the fairly small piano chair, so he could reach the lower keys better, as he put it. He was so close to me now that his thighs and hips touched mine respectively. Again and again, he looked deep into my eyes and asked lasciviously, "So, do you think that this is soulful enough?" At the same time, he moved his beautiful long, slender fingers gracefully over the keyboard. A firework of emotions exploded in my head.
"I want to be happy with this man until the day I die."
The look in his eyes and the touch of his body on the narrow piano chair sent a shiver down my spine. His warmth and the smell of his male body almost sent me over the edge. He used no perfume. There was just the distinctive smell of his tanned, wildly masculine body… I hardly perceived the spacious lounge around us anymore. Not even the voices of his sisters and his mother out of the kitchen caught my ear anymore. Every look into his dazzling green eyes immediately took my breath away.
He gazed deep into my eyes, so deep that I had the feeling of losing myself completely. When his beautiful long, black, curly hair touched me, shivers ran down my spine. I can still remember that he took the lead and asked me if I would also like to go for a walk around the lake of our village.
I was overjoyed and immediately agreed with my heart pounding.
I pined for Chris and he played not only the piano with me.
Men know exactly how to play with girls even when they're still young, like at the age of fourteen. Chris had very quickly comprehended that I was hopelessly in love with him. But I was just a poor teacher's girl. Despite my tomboyish behaviors, I had become a very beautiful and respectable girl now; however, my social status had remained low.
Nevertheless, we had some good talks. I was able to have lively and interesting conversations even at that time, even without high school. Though not until I had overcome the first phase of my shyness, and that could take a while!
I assumed that he'd have preferred me as his piano teacher over my brother, but it was in vain.
My brother, of course, had no interest in giving up this source of money and in arranging a date for me. The money was just too important for him.
One day, I almost got rid of Jo in a way that I would never have wanted. An electric hair dryer fell into the bathtub when he was taking a bath. He was already clinically dead when we finally managed to smash the window pane and kick the bathroom door open. Othmar, my youngest brother and the daredevil of our family, still has scars from the broken glass on his arm. Since there had been no suitable object within reach, he probably had panicked and used his arm to smash the window.
My father and my uncle Max performed mouth to mouth resuscitation and heart massage on Jo to bring him back to life. After some time in hospital, my brother had recovered enough to take his final exams for his high school diploma.
Chris' family had really been concerned about my brother. This was certainly not the way I wanted to gain the upper hand, but I often was allowed to play the piano or go for a walk with Chris now. I was also invited to various family celebrations, thus increasingly taking over my brother's role as a friend. He had more opportunities to meet girls in the big city and at high school than I did get to know boys, and soon he was busy with other things. Furthermore, he didn't have time for piano lessons while he was preparing for his final exams.
For a short time I was happy. But I soon recognized the class distinction. I was only a daughter of a teacher and he was the son of a rich CEO. Could we ever end up together? Was there any real future for us?
There were more appropriate suitors for Chris. His family belonged to the 'high society'. The parties, family celebrations, vacations and everything else was extravagant.
At last, during a small celebration at their house, I found out that they actually weren't that uptight – one could even run around naked while on vacation in Croatia.
"No, Hermann, not these slides!" Chris' mother tried to intervene when his father became a bit too unrestrained after a few glasses of wine and projected some nude pictures of the family onto the wall.
This was an absolute sensation for me back then, and nearly caused my heart to go into cardiac arrest. My secret love smiled at me from the screen in his beautiful natural nudity and lust, and with a dick like a horse.
I stared at his incredible masculinity and believed to recognize that in the picture his cock was about to stand straight up. The beautiful masculine form of his well-toned body made me shiver, and another bashful glance between his shapely thighs drove me out of my mind once again.
It would have been THE evening for me even without the nudity being a sensation. But Chris – naked? Naked men and their cocks weren't actually something I'd never seen before, and I was certainly not blushing because of that! I had to think of our childish "pants down"-game, laughed out loud spontaneously, and never got to know whether Chris was now angry all about me or about his father and mother.
If it hadn't been for my secret experiences with my brothers, naked men would have been nothing more than sensational dream images for somebody from a family where the mother used to stand in front of the TV whenever a bikini ad was shown in order to prevent her boys from seeing half-naked women.
All she achieved with this behavior was that my brothers used me as an object of demonstration, proudly showing my body to their friends. Had my mother known how many cocks I had already held in my hand, she would probably have had a stroke. My brothers were usually waiting on the porch in the evening until one of the tourist girls got undressed in her ground-floor room before going to bed or taking a shower. They flattened their noses against the glass panes and marveled about the breasts and the hairy cock-less crotches of the girl as they were masturbating.
Until one day, when the brother of one of these girls caught them and told his sister about the peeping toms.
Today, I know that my parents lived so far from social reality that, in this respect, we were leading more the life of islanders rather than the life of villagers who were well-integrated into society.
How little even our teacher Smokie knew about sexual medicine, or shall we say, how terrifically ignorant he was in the field of sexuality, he proved to us in a statement, which he completely and totally believed in:
"Every man has only 2,000 ejaculations at his disposal; so don't waste them – otherwise you won't be able to father children later on."
Well, let's do the math. This would have meant that my brothers should already have run out of 'shots' at the young age of 25. And at the age of 55, they would probably have been well over 12,000 squirts.
When I think of such awkward educational approaches, I get a feeling of powerlessness and despair even today.
Anyway, even though Chris was noticeably attracted to me, he soon had a crowd of more socially acceptable admirers. One of the few highlights of these months or even years was the one hour I spent on his bed on a rainy afternoon.
Subsequent to our piano lessons, Chris snuggled himself very emotionally next to me. Women love it when you fondle their backs, as this conveys togetherness and leads to the production of a cuddle hormone called oxytocin, as I had read in one of the youth magazines I liked to read back then.
Then I must have caressed his back very gently and tenderly. I remember the twenty minutes I spent fondling the shaft of his erect penis like it was yesterday. I never would have dared to touch more than the side edge... and that was exciting enough.
After a seemingly endless time, Chris turned around to face me and kissed me passionately.
I don't know how things could have turned out back then. Our foreplay had taken too long. We had only just started kissing each other when we heard hat his parents were back.
Today I know that this would have been my first opportunity 'to give it to him.'
That's about how my fellow males would express it. Without being really aware of it, Chris had given me something women desire: tenderness and sensitivity.
Chris had probably been too excited and that had noticeably unnerved, even disappointed me. And then, on top of things, his parents had returned back home too. My first sexual experience was over with.
Weeks later Chris had a new "favorite girl": some conceited "daredevil"-kind of chick from the Brückental valley. She loved parties, alcohol, marijuana, and heated discussions.
I didn't even have any experience with the first item and thus I couldn't keep up. Despite everything, I was still invited to all kinds of family parties. Probably by Chris' mother, who had quickly understood that I represented the least risk for her son? Luckily, she knew nothing about the "pants down"-games and my various "finger playing"-activities with my boys' dicks in the reed hut.
A very typical example of this time was something that happened ad Chris' senior prom. He was wearing his dark blue Versace suit, which put the focus on his wonderful body shape and especially on his toned muscles. It was cut so narrowly between his legs that only the sight of it made me sweat without having danced at all. Chris was the absolute star of the evening.
Jo and I had been invited to come and sit at the table of Chris' family. We were well behaved and neat-looking, and totally harmless. Being a good dancer with a fine sense for music and rhythm, I felt like this was a dream that came true for me. I was Chris' dancing partner. Well, at least until one o'clock, as long as his mother was able to keep an eye on us.
After that, my love had disappeared with this rough "daredevil"-chick. When they came back, you could see, sense and practically smell what they had been doing in the meantime. I was overcome by a feeling of powerlessness.
I felt a raging anger towards my mother and Chris welling up inside me. I had strongly neglected the influence of my Venus on my erotic behavior from my birth onwards until I was in my late teenage years because of my overly dominant mother and the prudish society we were living in.
°
When, apart from art, I also studied psychology, I learned that in every human being, even inside men, there was supposed to be a smoldering, intense, seductive and lascivious sexual power. This beautiful energy inside me, inside the witch I was, had been suppressed for far too long due to social norms and my religious upbringing. In retrospect, I can remember that this power inside me had always been strongly pronounced, and I really would have liked to conquer Chris with the seductive arts my Venus taught me. Venus is the fire that burns deep inside of me. The sensitive, romantic nature in me, however, didn't stand a chance of ending up with Chris, precisely because of these properties in spite of the witch who also embodied this Venus in me.
This passionate, mysterious Venus embodies all that I had had to suppress because of my upbringing. I was a very good looking teenager and was often referred to as a beautiful princess, partly due to the fact that my mother had brought me up and often even dressed me up like this. However, there also was this go-getter girl hidden inside me. Still, since there was no "fire", no animalistic lust allowed to exist inside me, I didn't have the slightest idea regarding how to arouse the passion of Chris these days.
This often resulted in a competition between father and daughter. My mother was adding fuel to the fire. My father as an elite athlete and macho, whose genes I have obviously inherited (despite his artistic sensibility which lies dormant deep within him), did not stand a chance against my mother, who repeatedly undermined my independence by not giving up to turn me into her ideal daughter. This was her unconscious message to the male sex and it was directed against this macho behavior. So I was often praised for my empathy, sensitivity and restraint, and never for my male qualities such as fighting with elbows, shouting and showing off which I acted out with my brothers all the more.
I had almost given up trying to be a woman; had distanced myself from my female conspecifics and had become a witch.
I developed a passion for books and a desire for intellectual depth over the years.
As I mentioned, the period was characterized by dispassionate social behavior and cheerless learning in school. I think I was missing the influence of Venus so much that I could not even yearn for it. However, I was not even aware of the absence of my womanhood.
The Venus is not only the femininity in a woman, it also embodies the sexual equivalent of the lang=FO>masculinity. It is the muscular ostentatious man from sports advertisment. It is the honey-colored cognac or whiskey and the carefree laughter of men over a blonde joke.
It is a Porsche, Ferrari or Jaguar, but also the leap with a parachute from an airplane, the adrenaline boost when men are bungee jumping or racing downhill a steep slope in deep powder snow. It is involved in raising the sail of a sleek yacht and the fun loving, wicked orgasmic Sun Downer. It is present in a romantic bay after a sailing trip, when everyone is jumping naked into the water to feel the salt on their skin as a crackling sensation.
The Venus in men represents the muscular harmony in sports and the male aesthetics is a fair compensation for the female sensuality.
We can hear the Venus in rushing waves, in the whispering wind in the sails, in the mating call of the lion before choosing the female out of his pack, and see it in the elegant form of a sports car.
Whenever I run my fingers over the muscular body of a man, he will adore me. The Venus is in his self-glorification and eroticism. The Venus expresses itself in Chris' self-indulgence and in his macho behavior, but also in his delicacy and his good taste.
The Venus is also making him a sensitive, tender and romantic lover alike, as I had always wanted him to be.
As a goddess of love and abundance, the Venus embodies the pleasant and pleasurable things on our planet. So why on earth did I have to suppress this positive aspect?
The Venus is frustrated in our society for a good reason. Whatever successful men have in terms of money, status and power, they seem to be lacking in true love and personal happiness.
Again and again I noted that men who are really successful are still afraid of failing in being a lover and a powerful businessman in equal measure. What remains is the glorification of status symbols as a means of second-hand satisfaction.
Chris was perhaps longing for women, whom he could turn into his goddess to fill the void within him. This void had also shaped my life. Chris, therefore, should be my God.
And if men like Chris floor the gas pedal of their PS Monster with leaden feet, they are actually chasing after a fantasy. They are chasing after a woman who recognizes their Venus, understands and heals it.
Our society has sent the Venus to a sports field, on a road or to a walk on the wild side. Money and status symbols embody our concept of happiness, for fear of getting lost in love, rather than to make the voice of the lascivious influence of the Venus and its interests heard.
Astrologers told me that according to my zodiac sign, I cannot get enough of eroticism and sex – and they were right. But who is the Venus in me and what is important to it?
Why couldn't my Venus just have awakened me from my deep sleep in my youth to tell and teach me how I could have understood Chris and how I could have made him happy? Better yet, how I could have aroused his interest? My mother defeated many other opportunities for gaining sexual experiences except the tutoring lesson my aunt organized and which I have already mentioned.
And then, there was Mark, my beloved long-term friend. He was the only one with whom I was able to act out my Venus, but he almost had to rape me on the ski slope in the beginning. I believed in the uniqueness of love at that time and only wanted to have sex with the man of my dreams and not just for fun and for practice for years. Fortunately, Mark taught me better during my days as a skiing instructor.
Chris wanted nothing to do with love – he just wanted to live a carefree life back then. Meanwhile, I had been waiting for my first sexual experience with him for a long, long time and I had hoped, in vain, for so many years.
It was only after he had caught his part-time high society girlfriend, who was a student, in the act with three other men that my time seemed to have come.
It took me all those years in which I wanted to prove my dearly beloved men my stamina, my reliability and loyalty and I wanted to convey a sense of uniqueness but I experienced that men did not put a value to these things. Again and again men preferred princesses, bitches and Barbie girls, despite being fully aware of these facts. I did not understand the man's world for so long.
°
The storm had now moved on, I had lost all sense of time, but the sea was still very rough and moving. I was lying inside my dinghy and looked at my battered body. The skin hung in tatters from my lips. I was fascinated and horrified at the same time. The sea succeeded in attacking me more and more in all parts of the body. My arms and legs were covered with bloody sores. My breasts looked like raw lumps of meat. Each small scratch had become a festering wound. On my right foot, there even was a gaping gash that had become inflamed. I had always believed the stories that salt water would disinfect. However, reality had taught me something else now. Again and again violent shivers raced through my body, I was probably suffering from a very high fever. From one of my wounds, red stripes went up my legs. I knew what that meant. How long would I be able to stop the blood poisoning with my few penicillin tablets from the abandon ship bag? If the stripes became worse, I knew I would have to tie off the leg to stop the spread of this rigid spasm as long as possible. How long can you tie off a leg until it dies and can not be saved? Could I even amputate it myself in the worst case? I could probably just hang it overboard for a while so that a shark would handle this for me.
