Chapter 13
A Profitable Pastime
I must admit luck was with me. In a short time, I was promoted from an insignificant saleswoman to a wealthy, well-kept lady.
Karl, as long as I would take part in his parties, usually comprised of five or six, as long as he could see me naked among them, was satisfied, and the rest of the time was my own. As you can well imagine, I made full use of it ...
On one particular night, I saw many well-known people from the theater and the cinema, as well as high-ranking German officers and, of course, the usual diplomats.
The evening was marked by its well-bred atmosphere. Still, by about two in the morning, people were getting warmed up by the numerous drinks they had wolfed down. I found myself the center of attraction next to the bar, and it was due to an apparently innocuous incident that I was able to catch my first really big fish.
A high German dignitary, General von Brentano, very impressively, although slightly tipsy, proposed a toast to the Fuehrer.
Everybody stood up, lifted their glasses, and to the sound of clicking heels there was a tremendous shout:
"Heil Hitler!"
I was the only one not to get up. What got into me? Was it the drinks? Was it hitherto unknown patriotism? I don't know. But anyway, without worrying about the social faux-pas I was about to commit, in a voice trembling with emotion, I also lifted my glass and shouted out in Flemish:
"Heil de Koning Leopold III!"
It had the effect of a cold shower on them. But in a sporting way the German officers smiled indulgently.
"She is very young."
"After all, she is Belgian."
Conversation went on as before.
I felt a hand gripping my arm. In his well-cut Luftwaffe uniform, General von Brentano asked for the favor of the next dance.
We danced in silence. My partner kept staring at me intently the whole time. When it was over, he took me to a deserted alcove and very gravely said:
"My dear young lady, I admire your courage. You have got what it takes! To dare to cry out your loyalty to your king among so many Germans is an impressive performance. Especially in a woman of your tender years, such behavior is worthy of the deepest respect.
So saying, he bowed and kissed my hand.
My new admirer was very different from my other ones. Up to now I had had to deal with lovers whose only concern was getting the maximum of pleasure out of me. They looked on me as a beautiful doll whose only purpose in life was to provide fresh meat for their unquenched desires. Herman von Brentano belonged to a different race altogether. He was sentimental.
In his case, I had to watch myself. Rather than making an exhibition of my body, I understood at once that with him I should have to play the role of the poor seduced girl who had been forced by circumstances to get someone to support her.
Not a very amusing role! Especially with a fiery temperament like mine, as well as a lover like Karl, who was incredibly perverse and who specialized in wild orgies. I had begun to get a real kick out of those midnight brawls which filled my sleeping hours with visions of numerous naked bodies in artistic poses.
But this new situation was worth it.
On our first meeting, Herman gave me a check for 10,000 marks. Nothing less than a small fortune! And he had not even touched me, except for a respectful hand kiss. I think I can say without boasting that I was an immediate success at playing the ingénue. I chose exactly the right words to describe what a poor unfortunate girl I was, forced to sell myself to support my aging mother and to keep the wolf from the door. With a break in my voice I gave him my own account of our departure from Bruges, my so-called rape in the shelter, my struggle for life, my poor mother who was always so ill, etc ... I can assure you that my story was full of pathos. My public, which consisted of Herman, swallowed it hook, line and sinker. He loaded me with presents and it was only a month later that he worked up enough courage to ask me to sleep with him. This he did with infinite tact. I could not resist being grateful to him for his gentle handling. When I was naked, he looked at me with a sort of religious ardor. He mumbled passionately:
"I love you, you are so beautiful, my darling! It is divine to see you like this! How generous you are to give me your youthful body!"
And all the rest of it.
He at last decided to lay me on the bed, then took me reverently, still carrying on his childish prattle.
Naturally, like all his kind, he made love just about as clumsily as a bear trying to rape the Venus de Milo. I felt absolutely nothing, but took great care to make out that I did. This was a good thing, because as we parted, he handed me over a draft for 20,000 marks.
I had fallen on a mug with a capital M!
But, you may ask, what was happening to Karl, Rene, Suzy and Angela during all this? As you can imagine, I was not the sort of woman to be satisfied with studying the ceiling while Herman fucked me, without any variations; so it was with unadulterated joy that I would get back to my erstwhile bosses. Of course, I was no longer working at the perfume shop as I was now Herman's official mistress. My mother knew nothing of all this. Luckily she was as shortsighted as a bat, as far as my private affairs went. Right in the middle of the war, I was dressed like a princess. We now lived in a well-furnished apartment near the Chaussee d'Antin. Every day we ate our fill of succulent food while about two million people in Paris nearly Starved. This, of course, my honorable mother considered perfectly right and fitting, owing to our title.
I also had a comfortable studio on the Champs Elysees where Herman and others used to come to see me. This my gray-haired parent knew nothing about.
As for Karl, one or two orgies with Hilda and Frieda now and again kept him happy.
Me too.
I carefully planned my life of debauchery to procure me money first, then luxury, enjoyment and pleasure.
That is why, for the pleasure of it, I often went to see my former employers. When they saw me coming, they would not waste much time. A few words of greeting and off we were again.
Bent over me, kissing me, pawing my breasts, pinching my buttocks, licking my juicy cunt, Suzy and Rene fired off numerous questions:
"Tell us what happened with Karl last time?"
"Did Frieda tan Hilda's hide?"
"How did Eric fuck you?"
"What new sensations did Frieda think of this time?"
I answered as best I could, giving as many details as possible. These appetizing novelties used to put us in the right mood, provoking plenty of erections and ejaculations. Now Rene would fill me with his virile manhood while Suzy worked on the rest of my body with her lips and hands, now I would do the same to her bottomless pit.
I did not for all that forget Angela.
With her it was different. I had slept with her, even finding it most delectable, but that was not the real reason that I used to meet her again at the Casino de Paris or at her flat.
I never forget a bad turn, nor a good one.
It was thanks to her and to her friendly advice and guidance that I had got out of the rut I had been in the year before. I had a deep feeling of affection and gratitude towards her. When I kissed her, it was more in thankfulness than with sexual intent.
Lately she had changed subtly. She, of course, congratulated me on having followed her counsels and having changed my way of life, but I felt she was more than a little put out when I used to talk of my German lovers.
One day, angrily, she blurted out:
"You only sleep with collaborators or Germans!"
I was astounded. I never had stopped to think of it in that way. Fate had thrown a German officer into my life as my first financial lover, and it had followed naturally that I had continued my exploitation of the same circle of people. I had not bothered to look any further. I was not interested in politics, but I understood at once that Angela was almost certainly in the resistance, and very definitely anti-German; no doubt she listened punctually to the BBC every day.
Soon she was to be satisfied, because I was to have a new lover who was neither a German nor collaborated with them.