I had never seen so much money.
The drug trade in the undergound clubs was booming, and we went out every night to make money hand over fist. Sometimes people would just shove money into my hands, even after we were completely sold out, in the vague hope that I had a secret hidden stash up my something somewhere, or that I would remember who they were the next day, the next week, the next month. I cannot describe it as sheer and utter insanity, the loud booming music, the flashing lights, the drinks that kept on flowing. We never did drugs while going to or on the job, and I was never tempted to as I had plenty to distract myself with without wanting for chemical stimulants. But when we got home and weren’t too tired, we always had some MDMA on hand and just fucked each other’s brains out until we fell asleep, sometimes still entangled in each other. And next to all of this he insisted I’d take 10% of my earnings as an ‘incentive fee’. The more I earned, the more I got. And though I knew it was pennies on the dollar, I didn’t care and spent it all on clothes and lingerie to look good for him. There seemed no end to the good times and it was such a stark comparison to the horrors I had been through. I was on the top of the world with a man who carried me on both hands in adoration, and who I would go to the ends of the world for to please, and just didn’t care about the rest of it as long as I was having fun.
When one day John/Johann, in one of his milder moods, said I was as beautiful as Eva Braun, I believed him, knowing Eva Braun had been Hitler’s girlfriend. I even saw it as a compliment. After making a few calls in German the very next day he took me to a small office where three men and a woman were waiting with photo camera’s, lights, make-up, and a few racks of costumes, and we did all sorts of photo shoots, some straight up just standing, some saluting, and some were kinkier, going into S&M play. When I wanted a break, at his command everyone and we drank champagne, and ate strawberries dipped in chocolate and cream, and had sex right there on the set in full dress-up. I was enjoying the attention, but I knew what I was doing was a bit, if not a lot, on the edgy side of things, as what I didn’t tell in all of this that the ‘costumes’ and ‘dress-up’ were various Nazi uniforms. Some were cut for women and made to look sexy, without cover for tits or ass, or cut just the right way that no matter how I moved my pussy was always showing, and some of the male uniforms, which were new, but, as he said, exact copies of the real thing, did look quite snazzy. Especially the SS uniforms accentuated him in all the right ways. This here was the blend of his personalities, the business man and the Neo-Nazi, and when after the umpteenth clothes change and play-setting with him, when everyone had left again for a break, he took a camera from a stand and told me to strip slowly, and without thinking I did, for him.
A few months later a package arrived and when I opened it, as I sorted and opened mail for him all the time, I found one of my stripping pictures posted op the cover of a German porn magazine, and inside was the entire series, dressed saluting front to naked vibrating end. I had never felt so ashamed. Until now there had never been evidence of what I had done, but now, now there was actual proof, staring me in the face. As I sat there I figured this had been John/Johann’s plan all along, but when he got one look at it, he burst out in anger, slammed a big hole in the wall with his fist and left the house, only to come back very late that night with blood and grimy, reddish-brown dirt on his hands and clothes. He never told me what happened, and I never asked, as I feared the worst, and the look on his face told me that my fears were justified. He had not given permission for the pictures to be published, but someone else had stolen them to earn a buck, and by John/Johann’s hands that buck had stopped right there.
I still wonder if there are still pictures of that day, or copies of that magazine, out there, somewhere, owned by some collector of strange Nazi memorabilia. I know it’s a weird thing to say, with my past and all, but the thought of someone wanking off on those pictures disgusts me beyond measure, while on the other hand I do want to see them again. I don’t know why, my angry, hateful, emotional side says to burn them and erase them from existence, though my mind says that is impossible. But deep in my heart I would keep them, and treasure them as keepsakes, as this was the only time John/Johann had allowed himself to be captured on camera with me.