I understand that, to Karolin, maybe I look really thin. But what meat I do have on me is pure flab. I have flab on the backs of my legs, I have an ass that is as tight as a dead fish, my tits aren't hard, and even my stomach has a bit of a droop.
In other words, I'm human. Like she is.
My parents passed about the time when I was "becoming a woman." And when you're going through something like that, you don't think a lot about how your body looks or exercise or even about boys.
I tell her I want to take a shot of her and then show her what it will look like. If it makes her look bad, I'll delete it in front of her and we won't do the shots at all. No problem.
She agrees.
I take two photos and show her the result on the camera display.
"Wow," she says, "that actually looks...good. I mean, it's almost as if the imperfections themselves make the shot."
Exactly.
We spend two hours alone, the later shots being even better because she's easing out.
We go up to the roof. I do several with her sitting on the low wall, with the city as a backdrop. The wind picks up and her long hair flies backwards and she starts laughing and I get an action shot of that. Not a care in the world.
Like it should be.
Back in the bedroom, I put Thomas and her together again and we continue shooting.
In the afternoon, Thomas is starving and he orders pizzas. He and Karolin share one on his satin bed and I keep firing away. She feeds him a slice. Then he feeds her. A mushroom falls on her breast. He licks it off. I hit the trigger. She smiles and I get one of him with the mushroom in his lips and her laughing to the ceiling.
She grabs him by the back of the head and pulls him toward her. Their lips meet. I'm still snapping away. They know I'm doing it. She pulls away shyly, eats another slice of pizza. I fire.
He kisses her neck, gets behind her. He picks up a slice from next to her and brings it up to her mouth. She takes a bite and her eyes close at just the right moment for it to look like the most intimate moment two people could share. Pizza. Who would've thought?
Finally, they're throwing slices at each other and I get that on camera as well. Karolin is the star. Her smile is heaven. It's the smile of someone in a private room. The smile of someone who isn't being judged by a world that worships falsities and lies spewed out by magazines who profess that to be beautiful one must be a drug addict. A hungry drug addict.
This is real beauty. In front of me. Right now.
I move around the bed, around her, around Thomas. He hugs her, pulls her back to him. He lies on his back and she rests her head on his chest. There's pizza on his abs. She bites a piece off. Snap. She closes her eyes. Snap.
He closes his eyes. Snap.
I stand back and look at them, camera away from me now.
The final shot I snap with my eyes only. Of the two of them kissing, his hand easing up her arm.
She sighs.
She's exquisite.
I decide to leave. Quietly. And let them be.
CHAPTER 25
-1-
A.
Nov. 14, 2013 — Thursday, Around seven P.M.
Namibian Natalia opens the door to her apartment, dressed in nothing but panties and a sheer robe. No clue what material it is. I'm no good at knowing the material of shit women wear. Her dark nipples and areolae are plainly visible behind the fabric. I make sure to keep my eyes up but even from this angle they're unmissable.
She smokes a cigarette and leans against the doorjamb. She smiles and lets the smoke ease out of her mouth and over her nose and eyes. A soft light behind her gilts the edges of her curly her and makes the rising smoke look like something out of a fantasy.
She grins. "Why, hello there, baby. I thought you said you would never visit."
The gown she has on starts to fall and exposes her left breast completely and she simply lets it happen. "It's not that kind of visit."
"It's always that kind of visit." She takes another puff of her cigarette and pushes this one out like a steam engine.
"May I come in?"
"Oh, the double-meanings..." She eases out the way and I walk in. As I do, she steps abruptly forward just for a second so that my arm brushes up against her breast.
I see it's gonna be excruciatingly difficult to convince her I'm really not here for that.
The apartment's small, like mine. It's a little messy. There's Chinese food on the table. She's watching Grey's Anatomy dubbed in German. I've never been able to get into the American shows in this country because of that.
There are about five cigarette butts in an ashtray.
"Bad time?" I ask.
"Honey, does it look like a bad time?" She sits back on a two seater, both tits now openly staring at me.
She stretches a leg out onto the couch, momentarily widening her crotch. She kicks a pillow off, puts the leg back down on the ground.
"Sit," she says, pointing to the seat next to her that she just freed up.
"Here's fine." I sit on a one-seater across from her instead. She covers her breasts and loses the smile. Sits up. Ashes the cigarette forcefully.
"So what is this about?"
There's no point in beating around the bush. "I got tested for STD's yesterday." Her caramel face goes almost pale. "No." I put my hands up. "It's not that bad."
She gets on-topic quick. "What you got?"
"Xin... Xin..." I scratch my head.
"Xinastriasis."
"Right."
"Oh." I see her chest move up and down in relief. "Well, babe, that's part of the game, isn't it?"
"You know it?"
"Course I do. Had it once myself. Oh, no, that was the other one. Trich-something-something."
My eyebrows rise.
"What?" she scoffs. "You think you're special because you didn't even know the name of the infection you have? I'll bet you've screwed way more women than I've screwed men."
"No argument there."
"Well..." She sits back again, grabs her smokes, lights up another one. "That's nice of you to come over and tell me. Most men wouldn't do that."
"The doc told me to do it."
"And most men still wouldn't do it."
I shrug. I don't think this is something a dude can count boy scout points for.
We sit awkwardly for a bit. "So, how you keeping?" I ask.
"How's it look like I'm keeping?"
I look around the apartment, see the mess. "Up until this morning, I'd say better than me."
"What happened this morning?"
"I cleaned out my apartment. First time in five years."
"Hell, you must've had rats in there."
"Almost."
She laughs, looks at the TV screen. "You're a good guy, you know that, Ax?"
She catches me off guard. "Sorr— Say what?"
"I said you're a good guy."
"OK..."
"You don't see it, but you are. I see it in your eyes. There's something in you. You're better than you think."
I look away quickly.
You're better than you think...
The words are familiar.
I stand up abruptly. "You take care o' yourself, OK?"
She smiles, takes another easy drag of her smoke. "Well, the door's always open, y'know? And once you're finished your prescription, come on over. Hell, you could come on over right now. I probably got that shit anyway."
I shake my head, smile. "See ya."
I let myself out, close the door.
In the corridor I stand for a bit, pull in my jacket. Take a deep breath.
"You're better than you think, Axle."
"Whatever, Zoey. I'll do the whole college thing if you want."
"One day you'll believe it."
"I said I'll do it. You can stop trying to convince me."
"I'm not trying to convince you. I'm trying to get you to see the obvious. You are better than you think!"
I shake my head of the thoughts
and let the cold night air wake me up.
I take out the notebook on which I've made a note of the girls I can remember sleeping with. I cross off Natalia's name. "One down, ten gazillion to go."
-2-
I'm hoping to see Blondie at Austin Meatpackers.
There are two other girls' apartments I remember being at before, which are on the way there.
The first one I get to, the babe isn't there. I thought I'd be relieved, but I'm not. I actually want to tell each one.
The second one I get to, the girl looks a little younger than I remember. I realize that's simply because I'm getting old.
She smiles seductively when she sees me, much like Natalia had smiled. She puts her finger to her bottom lip and pulls slightly down on it. When I tell her why I'm here, she stops pulling down on it.
The babe doesn't take it as well as Natalia did. She slaps me once—hard! I just stand there. Then she slaps me again. I try and explain to her that it's actually a very light infection that's very easily treated and it doesn't even mean she has it or even that I had it when we got together—
Slap!
She's really very good at slapping. They should set up a title fight between her and Mike Tyson sometime.
She slams the door in my face and almost breaks my nose I'm standing so close to it. I take out my notebook and scratch off "that young-looking chick with the great teeth."
And what was I expecting, cookies?
I sigh and can't blame the girl at all. Excuse me—can't blame the woman.
-3-
I can't get the nagging feeling out of my head that Blondie was the source of this thing. I haven't got a clue how to reach her. I go past Austin Meatpackers in the off-chance she's there. The smell of cheese and grilled burgers makes my mouth water as I walk into the saloon-looking bar-slash-restaurant. I'd love a burger, but not here.
And a beer. I'd really love a beer.
No booze for two weeks and no sex for three. Somehow, I feel like this is my own personal purgatory.
I look over at the bar and, oh am I lucky, it's the same fuzz-face that was serving me on Saturday night. I remember how nervous he looked. He probably thought I was gonna tear the place up in a brawl or something.
Austin Meatpackers is actually more of a family place. Sorry-asses like me—and Blondie—usually sit at the bar. Everybody else sits in the restaurant section behind me.
At the bar I see the young German boy swallow. God bless him, he actually comes over and does his best. "Whiskey?" he says, cleaning a glass. He clearly remembers me. Doesn't even bother to start me off with a beer this time.
Good man.
My throat cracks from embarrassment, however, when I answer. "Bottled water, sparkling."
He doesn't bat an eyelid. Probably thinks I have a hangover or something. Oh, dude, I have so much worse than that.
I sip the water slowly and look around for Blondie. A few of my army buddies used to hang out here a lot when they were stationed in Wiesbaden. This is a good place to pick up babes because a lot of German babes love flirting with GI Joes. I've often been mistaken for an army man because of my build and my short hair.
I think that's Blondie's game. Even though she never asked, I have a feeling she thought I was in the military. When she'd told me, You're very well built, that had probably been my cue to stick my thumbs in my shirt, cock my chin up and say, while looking down at her, Oh, yeah there little missy, that's because me's in the Ahhhhhrmy! Har har.
I finish my water and still don't see her. I decide to leave.
On my way out I hear a table of unmistakable American voices. And the typical brainwashed parlance of "honor" and "pride" and "security of our nation" and all that crap that recruiters tell potential recruits, or that a president tells his people after flying planes into one of their buildings. Or when he's explaining to the CIA chief which "threats to national security" he'll be ordering the murder of by means of unmanned US drones this coming Terror Tuesday.
Sorry. Sore point.
I turn my head and see the buzz cuts and shaved heads and, for the females, the typical neat hair buns of US servicemen. Or is it service people? One of the guys is looking at me. I'd recognize him any day. He looks me straight in the eyes, then looks quickly back at his "honorable serviceman."
I remember this punk well. He was the one who grabbed Zoey's ass and then fondled her breasts against her will while I'd been in the bathroom. When she slapped him, he even thought she was simply "playing hard to get."
I see none of my "friends" are with him, the ones who closed ranks and took his side when I kicked him in the nuts and then laid seven good ones into his face.
My knuckles hurt briefly as I think back to it.
I see his eye has healed up pretty good. And his nose.
I laugh, shake my head, and walk out. I'm glad he didn't come over and say hi tonight. Because if he'd asked me how Zoey was, his next eye wouldn't even be there to heal itself up this time.
-4-
I'd call it the arrival of a miraculous angel, only Blondie ain't no angel. Unless it's the Angel of Death. And this ain't no miracle—more like a sudden catastrophe.
As I exit the bar, I see her.
She's wearing a skirt so high it barely covers her tits. Her stilettos look more like weapons than shoes. Hey, maybe I should introduce her to the gentleman inside...
She's striding toward the door, doing her make-up at the same time. She looks up at me, doesn't recognize me.
I put it down to Karma.
I'm at the bottom of the concrete steps and, before she gets her foot up on the first one, I grab her elbow. She frowns angrily until she looks at my face. Then the frown turns to an alluring smile.
"Why, hello soldier," she says in German.
She still doesn't recognize me.
Karma.
"We need to talk," I say in English.
Realization dawns on her like the sweet sounds of heaven itself. My, how lovely life must be when you're blissfully ignorant.
She opens her mouth to say my name, closes it. Opens it again. "You..." She snaps her fingers, trying to remember...
There's that Karma thing again. I so cannot judge this woman. She and I are birds of a feather.
Were birds of a feather... I hope. I hope it's "were." I really do.
I say it again: "We need to talk."
She looks at the bar door, then at me. She's thinking. No doubt thinking about whether or not she'd like to try her luck with some unsuspecting man inside, or give it another shot with the sausage she's already fried.
She smirks. So I take it she's hoping for seconds. "No problem," she says. "My place or yours."
"That place." I point to a bench across the street, near a small park where the trams go past. Just behind the big Euro sign.
She's confused.
"As I said, we need to talk."
She follows me reluctantly and there's silence between us as we cross the street.
There's hardly ever a moment of silence with Gen when I'm with her, I note.
We sit on the bench. Blondie looks pissed. "What's this about?"
I get to the point. "I got tested for venereal infections yesterday."
She doesn't blink.
"I'm positive for a curable one. It usually has no symptoms so—"
"Is that what you dragged me onto this cold bench for?" She's irritated.
"Yes."
She stands abruptly. "And? What did you expect from sleeping with any and every girl you ever meet in a bar?"
I'm too floored to comment.
She turns and starts to walk away.
"What!?" I cry. "Hey!"
She stops, turns around. I jog up to her.
"You should get tested. Just to be safe," I say.
She gives a laugh, flicks her hair back calmly. "Is that all you have—Xinastriasis?"
"I never you told you what I have."
"I know you didn't. Now is it all you have?" Her tone
is firm.
"Y—yes."
She scoffs. "Then I guess I was lucky. But I already have that one. So, maybe it was you who was lucky."
She turns like a diva, starts sashaying away.
Suddenly I'm enraged. The woman has really gotten under my skin now. I run up to her.
"You gave this to me?"
She shrugs. "Maybe. You might have gotten it from someone else." She keeps walking.
I grab her arm and hold her.
"If you don't let me go, I'll scream."
"Go ahead. And when the cops get here, I'll tell them you're knowingly transmitting sexual diseases. You know that's frowned upon in this country."
"Like they'd believe you."
"Something tells me you don't want to risk it. Something tells me you're taking revenge on someone, and any threat to that would end your fun and pleasure. So, go ahead and scream. Let's see how tough you are."
She thinks. "Say what you need to say. Then let me go!"
"What else do you have?"
"Nothing! I'm on antibiotics already. I get tested once a month. The doctor told me to lay off the sex. I'm usually very careful..."
"But with me you weren't?" My hand drops from her elbow and sits there limply.
"With you I made an exception." She gives an evil smile. "As I said, married man, consider yourself lucky. It would have been worse if I were HIV positive. What does your wife say about all this?" She storms off. Not an ounce of regret in her voice.
Married man. So that's what this was all about.
My world spins.
I hear the tram dinging its bell like crazy behind me.
I look down and see that I'm on the tracks.
CHAPTER 26
-1-
G.
Nov. 14, 2013 — Thursday Night, later
The shoot at Thomas's place had been too good to risk losing the shots. I decided I needed a backup before anything else so I went past the gallery when I was done. When I got there, I wondered for a second if someone had played with the lock.
That's ridiculous, I told myself.
Inside, I opened up my laptop and loaded the photos. First onto the hard drive, then onto a USB, and simultaneously into the Dropbox.
Like You (Perfectly Flawed #1) Page 15