Czytaj książkę: «Just me»

REENA H E R A

JUST ME

Sometimes one must go through hell in order to gain wisdom.

As for me, I found that deep inside my soul. I realized that all these years I have been interested in esoteric seminars and knowledge, and that made me feel like I had to change myself.

By thinking this way, I had reinforced to my subconscious mind that I was imperfect. I had to learn my life lessons the hard way. I had to endure a living hell first. In this book, I will be straightforward about everything, even about the very exciting erotic experiences I've made. Sexuality is something God wants, so why should it be swept under the carpet?

Dear reader, if this means going through hell for you, I hope that you will rise like a phoenix from the ashes after reading this book, because the sexual desire we suppress or even compensate sooner or later makes us ill. If you get something out of these words of wisdom, I hope it will be that you understand you're allowed to act out the Venus inside you and if that makes you happier than some esoteric course or a health trend, then I have made a valuable contribution to society.

Not just an apple, also an orgasm a day keeps the Doctor away!

Sometimes you have to go through hell in order to gain wisdom.

Well… I guess that was it…

I had just jumped into the water and behind me my yacht was going up in flames.

An ear-shattering noise had made my hair stand on end. Or had it just been the electrical charge of the lightning? Anyway, the pungent smoke that welled up to the helm left no room for doubt.

"Struck by lightning again," flashed through my mind.

I had jumped out of the cockpit, raced to the locker in the back where the fire extinguisher was, and immediately fell lengthwise over the traveller. Seconds later I was back at the companionway, blood was dripping out of my nose and I was holding the fire extinguisher, but the huge black cloud of smoke and the flames leaping towards me prevented me from putting out the fire.

"Damn it, the walkie-talkie is still down there on the charger," rushed into my head. I dropped the fire extinguisher into the flames, threw the waterproof abandon ship bag overboard, and jumped into the water, just in the nick of time because behind me a monumental wall of fire raced to the sky.

I was about 1700 nautical miles away from the coast or a well known island in the Indian Ocean, heading for Madagascar via the Chagos Archipelago.

The storm had been raging all around me for over an hour. I had tried very hard not to lose control of the situation by using the self-steering gear; still, it had been extremely difficult to keep the yacht on course.

Well, truth to tell, I was actually anything but in "control" of what was happening.

As I rode through the tree-high waves and the yacht bouncing up and down from trough to trough, I was barely able to hold the rudder at all.

And now I was floating in the roiling and boiling water of an endless ocean.

The fact that my nose was bleeding was anything but comforting in my situation, given I was so far away from the coast. It is said that sharks can even detect highly diluted blood from miles away, after all…

"I better not kick and splash around too much," went through my head as I tried to reach my dinghy and the abandon ship bag so I could use it to move away from the inferno.

The only thing that was somewhat calming me down in this situation was the automatic life vest I was wearing, which had inflated seconds after I had hit the water surface. Yet, some sailors would rather choose to drown quickly than… well…?

At the moment, I was simply glad that I had towed the boat behind the yacht as a sea anchor. It acted as a sort of brake or parachute which prevented the yacht from succumbing to the violent sea. I had just managed to grab the rope by means of which the boat was lashed to the yacht, and as I pulled on it with all of my might, I could see the small dinghy slowly inching towards me. It took all the strength I had not to let go of this vital connection, so when I had finally reached the boat that was bobbing up and down at the rhythm of the waves, I just tried to cling to the rope on its side. That was no easy task at all. Wave after wave broke over me. My arms were shaking from exhaustion; my hands were red and marked with rope burns. The burning yacht was tossed up and down by the waves, and I was pulled along with the dinghy behind it, like a water skier not wanting to let go of the towline after falling into the water. A huge gust of wind snatched the line out of my hands causing me to lose hold of the boat. I was exhausted. I had no strength left. Again and again I was pushed back under water and could hardly breathe in the foam of the waves. When I managed to grab the rope once more, I wrapped it around my wrist so it could not be taken from me again. With bated breath I watched the yacht, which was now only a sea of flames and black smoke. "How long will it take until the plastic melts and water begins to splash into the yacht through the holes that the fire has caused?" I wondered. The yacht was probably lost either way.

I thought I should probably tie off the line that connected the boat to the yacht, but at that moment I couldn't reach the knife that I had always strapped to my lower leg. Under no circumstances could I let go of the boat now. Each wave threatened to break it away from the yacht. After a few minutes my hands were burning like they were on fire, and I knew I couldn't hold on for much longer.

A wave three meters high is actually nothing special to see when you are on a yacht, but drifting in the water with nothing but flames in front of you was a different story. To be eaten by sharks, to die of thirst, to drown – did I have a choice?

Suddenly, I just felt terribly small and at the mercy of the forces of nature.

Was I really drifting in the middle of this seemingly endless ocean? Was my yacht being eaten up by flames right in front of me? The roaring storm and the lightning strikes all around me were painfully real, not some sort of cruel nightmare! Another gigantic wave threatened to tear my dinghy away from me as it crashed onto us. Both my mouth and nose were full of water and I couldn't breathe properly anymore. "This is the end, this is it," flashed through my head.

Another wave shook my dinghy violently, making it hard for me to keep hold of it. Yet, I wasn't ready to give up; I was still alive, even though I had nothing to cling to but this small boat.

The storm and the waves normally wouldn't have meant too great a danger on my yacht; it was perfectly suited for these weather conditions. However, now that it had been struck by lightning for the third time within a year, it was a different story.

I hadn't taken the warning seriously: the warning that I had received from some energy in the universe on the evening before I purchased the yacht.

°

We had had dinner with friends. While the adults were talking about anything and everything after the meal, I had given the two kids some paper and crayons, so that they could occupy themselves with drawing.

As a former art teacher I like keeping kids busy with something creative so that they don't get bored. On this evening, however, the result of this children's activity was not the usual child's drawing.

Seven-year-old Susanne had drawn a beautiful yacht, probably the result of the conversation during dinner. Above it, however, she had arranged black thunder clouds from which numerous flashes of lightning rained down on the yacht. Flames erupted from the yacht. When I looked at the picture a cold shiver ran down my spine.

"Susanne, why didn't you draw a sunset behind the yacht, or a rainbow?" I blurted out.

The little girl's answer made my blood run cold, although the evening temperature was over 28 degrees Celsius.

"That's how I see it right now, it's pretty simple," was the girl's answer. And, uncommon for a seven-year-old, she looked deep into my eyes when she said that.

"And what's going to happen to me?" I asked her and another cold shiver ran down my spine. At the same time my entrails contracted.

Susanne didn't answer. She just looked deeper into my eyes. During the following night I couldn't sleep properly, and kept rolling from one side to the other in bed… "You're not going to let a young child's drawing keep you from doing what you have been dreaming about for many years," my boyfriend convinced me in the morning. "It's just a coincidence, it doesn't mean anything."

We bought the yacht the next day.

°

And now I was drifting in the ocean, 1700 nautical miles away from the coast.

Another wave crashed over me and the dinghy was cast into the wave's crest once more. Seconds later, a mighty gush of water rushed down on me, and the boat was torn out of my hands. The floods spun me around and around, repeatedly forcing me under water. When I finally got back to the surface, I saw my boat clinging to the wall of the next big wave. Using both arms and the last bit of my strength, I paddled toward the dinghy, but just when I thought I had finally reached it, it was pulled up and came back down many yards further away. I cried out in despair, and was rewarded with another mouth full of salt water.

"OK, just don't panic."

Was that my idea? My muscles convulsed in all four limbs. Finally, gasping for air, I was able to grab one of the board lines that ran around the boat with my fingers. A new wave almost carried me away from it again, but this time I held on with an iron will. Thousands of thoughts were running through my head.

What had made the girl draw this picture? What had she seen? Could she really have 'foreseen' this event? Did some energy in the universe want to warn me?

In general, I believed that, up to a certain age, children are more sensible to messages from the universe. These messages reveal our innermost thoughts. This makes some adults suffer until they start to believe that this makes them feel uneasy. Anyway, at that time some energy in the universe probably wanted to warn me with the help of this girl, as it often has happened in my pretty exciting life.

"I do not actually go with my gut that often. These messages come from my intuition. Instead, I keep chasing my thoughts most of the time, forgetting about what I feel. Well, I should probably go with my gut more often!" was running through my head.

"Oh yeah, it's so easy!"

Whenever I thought of something negative, I instantly got this weird feeling inside my chest, as if some invisible fabric were tightening around me, making it hard to breathe.

"Right now, something cold, wet and liquid makes my breathing difficult!"

However, when I was thinking about something very positive, such as romantic sex or the sensation of flying during an orgasm, my body soon felt very soft and relaxed. In other words, positive thoughts made me fly like an eagle, even without energy drinks or sex. Negative thoughts, however, let me sink like a rock to the depth of the sea.

"Right now, I should probably not think about sinking…"

"Well, right here, now that I'm at the mercy of the waves, I don't need no intuition to know that I'm in the sh...! It's curious though, that inside me, there's more a sense of depth. Where the hell does this come from?"

In my experience, the best decisions have always been the ones I got when relying on my feelings. Whenever I let myself be guided by my intuition, I turned out to be more successful then when I tried to think rationally.

"So why do I even bother worrying?"

Unfortunately, I had listened to my partner instead of the little girl's intuition and my own feelings back at the morning of the day when we bought the yacht. Thus, the inevitable happened. While I was bobbing up and down in the waves like a beach ball in the sea and the inferno on the yacht was still growing bigger – luckily at some distance now that the rope on the side of the yacht had been eaten up by the flames – I shook my head in disbelief.

"I would never have expected aluminum could catch fire," was one of the thoughts that crossed my mind when even the 25 meter high mast was consumed by flames.

My heart almost stopped when it started falling in my direction. Not far away from me the remnants crashed into the water.

Again I wondered why little Susanne had seen all this coming. Why had her voice been so certain when she insisted: "That's how I see it right now!"? I felt like all of my energy was being drained from my body and at the same time, my legs and arms grew weaker and weaker as I desperately tried to keep hold of the boat. However, at least I had forgotten about the sharks that were probably nearby – I had other things to worry about now.

"I have to get into the boat somehow; I won't make it any longer like this," I thought as when another wave was pulling me down.

"The dinghy keeps rolling over because of the waves," was my next thought, "maybe being in the water is more pleasant than the boat after all?"

"No, these splashing waves make it impossible to breathe properly; I have to get in the boat."

The next moment, the dinghy was flipped upside-down by the crushing waves and thereby hit my head. I was cast under the boat where it was much quieter and darker. I could hear the waves crashing onto the hull. I knew better than to trust in the seemingly peaceful quiet down here that somehow resembled calm eye of a hurricane. The sound of the waves reminded me of the flowing rivers in the mountains back home. After some eternal seconds, the boat came back to the surface again and I was shaken and tossed around by the storm once more. Right now, the wind was the most dangerous enemy. It drove millions of tiny water droplets before me, to a height of about 40 cm above the water, and made it extremely difficult to breathe.

The more I tried to take a deep breath, the stronger my feelings of suffocation were. I remembered that I had experienced a similar feeling many years ago.

°

It was during one of my first stays at the ocean. As a child who grew up in the mountains, it had taken the first eighteen years of my life until I came across salt water for the first time. My brother Jo and I had been invited by our rich cousin to her villa at the ocean in Portugal. We drove a few kilometers to a nearly empty beach almost every day. There was a wonderful sandy bay, which was about 100 meters long and nestled in two rock formations. A nice breeze was blowing and the air smelled salty. I would learn to love the smell of sea salt in the air over the years. On one of these days, we were enjoying the two to three meter high crystal-clear waves with big whitecaps on top, which fascinated us. Jo and I really liked to dive deep down in front of the waves so that we could shoot through the water on the other side. Neither one of us noticed that the local guys did not participate in this funny activity. As children who grew up in the mountains we simply found it extremely cool to play with the forces of nature.

"Typical stupid tourists," the natives probably thought to themselves.

Back at that particular day, it might have been better if I had just lain on the beach and passed the time thinking about the previous night. A night in which I had succeeded in giving my sexually very experienced cousin an orgasm, which even surprised her, from just gently caressing her back, her stomach and her enormous breasts for a long time.

Although I was certainly not a lesbian, and actually attracted to guys, somehow, after a few glasses of wine, I found myself in her bed. I was very fond of cuddling, so I could not resist and started to explore her delightful curves. This was all new territory for me, probably for my cousin too, so we took our time. With great patience, I slowly and gently explored every inch of her skin. From her toes to her neck I missed no point, and after this long "hike" through her hills and valleys, I devoted myself to her natural bosom. In the meantime, my cousin was breathing more intensely and obviously enjoyed my tender affection. I could tell by her increasing moans how much she loved the way I explored her body with my hands. Suddenly and only for a split second she had put my hand between her legs. My God, she was so wet. Like nectar it came flowing out of her pleasure garden . Only a few seconds later, she came with screams and moans: "I don't believe it, I don't believe it, an orgasm from only caressing my breasts!"

She pretty much spoiled me when she stated: "You should be proud of yourself. Once you get a man in bed, you will never get rid of him." These words boosted my self-confidence regarding sex, and that turned out to be something most young men couldn't handle. Most men do not like women who are confident enough to take over control. Plus, most of them do not show too much interest in being caressed and fondled. The only thing they are interested in is having sex, as soon as possible. I did not understand why my cousin did not give the same joy to me that I had given to her, so I had to pleasure myself that night. Even today, I still haven't quite forgiven her for that.

However, since I was so consumed by an effusive lust for life and the fun I had playing with the waves that very day, I wasn't thinking of a "next time". Suddenly I crashed into a wave slightly at an angle, and instead of gliding straight through it, I was caught in the vortices of a rolling wall of water.

I was tossed around in a circle on the ocean floor, and before I managed to get up to the surface to get some air, the next gigantic wave had already come crashing over me. Like a ball I was pushed under the surface by the masses of water that violently pulled me back and forth. Even my bikini was torn off me down there. I had lost my sense of orientation and couldn't tell which way was up or down anymore. Everything was spinning; I was surrounded by tiny white bubbles and an unbelievable force which kept tossing me around mercilessly.

My lungs were desperate for air, but there was nothing but water around me. The last thing I felt was losing consciousness while thousands of thoughts about my life and my family were going through my head.

There was nothing left but the fizzing sound of the little bubbles and the rushing of the waves that was getting softer. Suddenly, I felt a strong impact that resulted in unbelievable pain, and though I was barely conscious I started to claw what my fingers could grab of the sharp rocks.

Blood, there was blood everywhere… Staggering from pain like in a stupor I tried to get away from the water on all fours, stone by stone. When I had somewhat regained consciousness I heard the screams all around me.

"There! Straight ahead, she's up there!" "REBECCA!"

A wave had thrown me onto the cliffs so that I was finally out of the water. I had probably managed the rest by crawling in a semi-conscious state. From the roots of my hair down to my toes, my skin was covered in bloody scrapes. I was still shaking violently when I was wrapped in towels and taken to the nearest hospital.

°

This time I was wearing a life vest and the nearest rocks were about 1700 nautical miles away in an easterly direction. Meanwhile, the light in the sky had become scanty, and soon it was complete dark around me. The atmosphere was rather spooky as my burning yacht was being driven away from me by the wind.

A loud noise made me gaze at the inferno. Obviously one of the gas cylinders on board had exploded. Debris of all different sizes went flying through the air. As a result of several explosions, lots of small pieces were hurled into the sky, wrapped in thick black smoke and accompanied by a bright light trail behind them. I certainly do love fireworks, but this was not my taste. After some minutes passed, there was silence again.

First and foremost I had to get into the boat again – right now. I kept trying over and over again. In a quiet bay, it would have been easy. Out here, where I was tossed around by a heavy storm, roaring waves and a raging sea, it was an entirely different story. I desperately hoped the powers I had left in me would be enough to manage it. The boat was flipped upside-down once more, slamming its bottom against my head. I was repeatedly pushed under water. Whenever I tried to get back to the surface again, I was snorting and panting. I pulled, kicked and groaned every time as I tried very hard, but I just couldn't get out of the water and into the dinghy. Slowly, I began to panic.

Again and again, I fell back into the water with a clapping sound. What if I couldn't get into the boat? What if sharks started attacking me? It was growing dark and I knew that sharks were hunters of the night – a fact that worried me even more. This additional anxiety set my last energies free.

I screamed, trying to get the water out of my lungs. The mere thought of a shark beneath me made me "grow wings", or so I felt. Finally, I managed to roll over the side bulge and into the boat. Feeling totally exhausted, I tumbled down into it and just lay there panting for several minutes.

My situation seemed to be a little less hopeless now. As far as I could see, I was surrounded by white foam and a flaming inferno with a column of smoke, which reached at least 100 meters into the sky.

"I just hope someone sees this smoke. Somebody has to notice this huge cloud after all, right? Hopefully it'll be someone who cares… or who is curious enough to take a closer look, at least…"

The yacht, or rather what was left of it, was driven further away from me by the howling winds. Meanwhile, the light in the sky had become sparser. It didn't take long until I was surrounded by darkness. This was the time when my feeling of abandonment grew immeasurably. Even if someone were about to look for me, it had now become virtually impossible to find me. Now there was more to it then to endure the next few minutes.

I knew that I had to survive on my own until sunrise at least. Only the next day, starting with the next dawn, I could hope to be spotted by a ship. That was not very reassuring either. But had my life ever been reassuring?

°

It already started with the rather traumatic event of my birth. I was born in the family room of a farm house at the very end of the Grail Valley, which the locals consider one of the world's busiest valleys. That's probably why I was in such a hurry. Or maybe it was because my mother has always been so easily frightened. It was the so-called 'Day of the Devil' in the valley. That was an old Grail Valley Custom on December 5^th. Before St. Nikolaus visits the good kids, in other words, the well-behaved ones, on the next day, the naughtier ones have to tremble with fear on December 5^th. Traditionally, some of the men of the village are allowed to dress up and act like the "Krampus", a devil-like helper of St. Nikolaus, during this time, at least for the short period of one or two days. These men usually seem to be having a great time then, making up for certain urges they have to suppress for the rest of the year, I suppose.

Well, at any rate – whether it was out of shock or my innate curiosity – I was a difficult and too early birth. It took me more than seventeen hours to try and get out of a place where later in life it took me like forever to let someone in.

However, what turned out to be even worse were the first sentences ever to make their way into my subconscious mind.

"She's not going to make it," were the words my grandfather spoke as he ran for the priest so that at least my soul would be saved on this devilish day.

I guess I must have left quite a miserable impression. A lot of water was spilled quite for nothing – and here I mean tears.

I drowned out the wailing of the women, I must have somehow not liked the priest. This turned out to be an aversion I've never been able to shed my whole life. An aversion, which reached its peak when my mother told me the following story around my twelfth birthday:

"Your father and I were raised in a very religious manner. After your birth and my serious heart attack that followed soon afterwards, I learned from my doctor that I should not have any more children after you. The doctor even thought that I might very likely die if I gave birth to another child."

My mother continued in a weeping voice: "Your papa and I decided to ask the village priest for the permission for me to take the pill. He rejected our request categorically with the following explanation: 'This is absolutely out of the question! If it is God's will, the mother has to die.'"

"That just can't be true," I thought.

"Condoms or other forms of birth control were out of the question; partly due to our ignorance," my mother added. Besides that, the Catholic Church forbade devout Christians to use any form of birth control.

Fortunately, I didn't become an orphan after all. The universe was probably more benevolent than the Church's apprentice. I can't remember if I was angrier at my naïve parents or at the priest's commanding tone anymore. At any rate, my mother's admission made me furious. Today I'm still amazed that I didn't decide to set fire to any churches at that time.

But let's move back to the room where I was born. The water in my grandfather's eyes must have worked like an elixir of life on me.

"Now I'll show you, I'll prove you wrong!" … And I've been doing this up to the present day.

My difficult start, however, has been an influence on some areas of my life for a very long time. As a visible reminder of a life-threatening bronchitis I survived back then, I got a slightly deformed thorax. Fortunately, the beautiful shape of my breasts makes this flaw pretty "invisible". Apart from that, I simply slept through the first months of my life and as well as a few years after that.

Even the secondary female sex organs, namely the breasts, which are, as we know, every man's favorite topic, could get me out of my sleep back then. Every single time, I had to be forced to suck or drink with a few hearty smacks on my fanny. If they hadn't done that, I might have quite simply starved to death in my sleep. Oh well, I got used to the slaps later on.

To cut a long story short, I had a tough start in life. Even the youngest of my sisters, who were born in the time interval of one year after me – in spite of the medical prohibition I have 3 brothers and 3 sisters – had already outgrown me before I even started attending primary school. I was soon repeatedly outdone in every aspect by the neighbor kids and by my cousins who were about the same age as me.

Particularly worth mentioning is by my female cousin Petra, who provided my parents and me with quite a few unpleasant surprises, which were the product of her childish imagination. One time it was my hair, which she glued together with spit. I used to have curly hair like a baroque angel and all I kept hearing was: "Oh, look at those wonderful curls, how sweet!"

There was a time when I just couldn't stand hearing that anymore and someone, namely Petra, had to do something about it.

Another time, my inquisitive cousin needed me as a guinea pig in her attempt to find out how many stones she could stuff into a human anus, i.e. intestine. The world was full of surprises and discoveries for me.

My little brother Jo had to make an even worse experience with Petra. Although Jo was definitely not homosexual, Petra wanted to try out the powers of her vibrator before sticking this toy into her vagina – in other words, the object of "investigation" in this particular case happened to be my brother's asshole. And this happened without relaxing foreplay, appropriate lubes or gentle penetration. Jo was not particularly enthusiastic. lang=EN-GB>Since my father had always wished for a son who he could share his passion for sports with, I was raised to be sporty and rather "boyish". I had already displayed signs of my innate responsiveness and sensitivity, whish both were simply ignored and suppressed. As a result of this "re-education", I felt more comfortable with the boys that were constantly brawling and fighting with each other than the bitchy brats with their Barbie dolls very soon.

I preferred the male, loud, elbow bumping and show off acting to the whiny "do not touch me"-posturing of my same-sex peers. Consequently, my female counterparts generally tended to avoid me or made fun of me.

For a very long time, the girls thought that I was simply too bright and tomboyish. Therefore they did not participate in my frequently failed attempts to get closer to the male sex with so-called "Zwickabussis" or "pinch-kisses".

Pinch-kisses are erotic advances that require you to pinch the other person's cheeks on either side of the mouth with both hands while you kiss him or her.

They had certainly been invented as a sexual filter by the pathologically prudish women, because pinching the cheeks was probably supposed to nip any notion of sensuality in the bud. That's all they needed: Kids would enjoy an erotic, lascivious kiss when the grown-ups had to suppress every tempting erotic thought.

At any rate, my father desperately tried to make a "real man" out of his daughter. Especially because he had been the epitome of an athletically fit elite-macho, he was selected as one of the 24 most intelligent and athletic students in his age group in Austria and was allowed, or rather forced, to attend an elite school in Vienna. His intense homesickness and his longing for the mountains saved his life after his second year there. He escaped and returned home, back to the Alps. All his classmates were killed in the trenches during the last weeks of the Second World War. In other words, if it hadn't been for my father's homesickness, I probably wouldn't be here now.

The only joy that I could give him regarding sports was that, being the small little girl I have been, I learned very fast to ski particularly well. And that was at the early age of three. For a long time this would be the only area where I had an edge over the male members of my peer group, whom I quickly surpassed. However, I was probably not aware of the dangers involved.

For a long time I simply had the proverbial beginner's luck and therefore the exaggeratedly ambitious goals of my father never had negative consequences. Until one day when I was at the age of four, when the euphoria was clouded by an accident. I had raced downhill on a slope that was way too long and too steep for a child of my age and crashed after somersaulting about five times.

"Just don't tell Mom!" were the words of my father.

I didn't have to, because I became the talk of town for a week after my major crash. This did not, however, dampen my passion for snow and skiing, and that proved to be a major advantage later on.

I learned to swim even faster, practically within a few seconds. After a few timid and failed attempts on my part, my father dragged me up the diving platform and simply pushed me down from it and into the swimming pool, with the words: "Hey, look, a big fish!"

I can still remember this first involuntary diving attempt, the unique rushing of the water, the many oxygen bubbles and the unfamiliar feeling of weightlessness. I did, however, surface from the 'dive' unharmed and that was the end of my first swimming lesson.

°

Right now, I was involuntarily stuck in a wet, cold hell again, and there would not be a way to escape it before the next morning, if there was one at all. When would they send an airplane to look out for me?

°

Although my father, as the principal of a school, sort of had the afternoons off, and probably had the nerves to handle just about any situation, he simply couldn't manage his kids at home. However, my father was not the only one who was overwhelmed by the boyish girl I was, my six other siblings and all the financial worries our family was faced with; as one can imagine, it was, first and foremost, difficult for my mother. And I of all people – just imagine that – was supposed to constantly act as a watchdog for my brothers. I of all people was supposed to replace my mother's lacking assertiveness and ride herd over a bunch of wild boys.

So I was fighting a losing battle between my brothers and my parents. My sisters avoided me and my brothers beat me up whenever I wanted to play the 'educator'. And my parents scolded me because I was obviously incapable of maintaining order.

And when everything degenerated into chaos, we were quite literally beaten up by our mother. Yes, even I was, although it seldom was my fault. Sometimes the wooden stick that she used to beat us up broke, that's how fierce these attacks on our rear ends were!

Shortly before my birth my father's health problems started, and these were to put a strain on our family for decades.

In the years after my birth, the stork put six more kids in our nest, and we changed apartments three times in five years. Then my father had the glorious idea to turn his back on the Grail Valley with all its stubborn and obstinate old women. We moved to the 'Promised Land' of the Inn Valley. And we did this although my father's professional reputation was at its climax and he was very highly esteemed among the community of my birthplace; they even wanted to provide him with a house, if only he would stay in the village.

I call the old women stubborn and obstinate because they had often infuriated and stressed out the young school principal with their domineering and bitchy behavior and thus probably contributed to his illness, which later put such a strain on us.

Even though the town council praised him a great deal at that time, we turned our backs on my birthplace and moved into my father's parental house in Reutling.

That meant I was away from my beloved maternal grandfather but close to my father's mother, whom we kids had always avoided like the plague.

My younger brothers and I still feel nothing but rage when we think of her now, since she was the laziest, most egotistic and selfish woman I have ever met. Plus, her cooking skills provided us with culinary experiences replete with pain and horror.

When she prepared food for us, she actually dared to feed us kitchen scraps from her household. One of these items was the neck of the Sunday chicken, and we even fought over it.

I'm not so sure if the average citizen is aware of the amount of meat that is NOT on a chicken's neck. Even today, whenever my brother Werner has had too much beer, he often bawls: "If she were still alive, I would wring HER neck with my own bare hands."

°

"Hmm, yes, speaking of food, should I go ahead and have one of the seven granola bars that are in my emergency case?"

On such long, extensive voyages, I had always lashed an emergency kit to the dinghy. My tiny boat climbed to the top of a wave's crest, when I suddenly saw it: There was a white spot of light which rose up with the waves and then lowered again. I tried not to lose the faint light in front of my eyes as the boat sank down into a trough. Was that a fishing boat that was fighting this violent storm? It does not matter, whatever it was, I needed to make contact.

"They will not see me, how could they possibly see me?" As if I had seen it coming, I disappeared along with the dinghy in a wave.

Despite the heavy swell, lying on my back I managed to open the emergency kit. Carefully, I tried to keep it horizontal so that the precious content would not fall into the water. I had fastened the suitcase with a leash to my life vest.

Now I took one of the rescue flares, and immediately shut the case before it could get filled with water. Then I bit open the plastic film which should protect the rocket from moisture.

"So ... hold it with one hand and pull on the rope with the other. Damn, damn, shit!"

We had indeed practiced this in sailing school and before my first Atlantic crossing a dozens of times. I always grew bored of the practice. "What is this, it is kid stuff," I had thought.

And now, out of excitement, I almost shot myself and sunk along with my life jacket. So much for theory and practice.

"Breathe, deep, deep breaths," I was mumbling to myself.

I did not have many flares, and I was too hungry for life to shoot myself. So I tried to concentrate, this time with success. The next rocket rose hissing and howling against the night sky.

"Well, at least somebody can notice that there is still a person alive – if there is anyone in sight, that is."

Along with the boat I disappeared again in a wave.

"Damn it," I blurted. It did not matter anyway; no one could hear me out here.

When I came up again after what seemed like an eternity, the faint light was completely gone. My moment of euphoria soon died. My mood got as black as the seemingly bottomless sea beneath me. My situation was clear. It was as plain as the nose on your face class=st>. In this frightening darkness someone could easily miss me. The waves were now so unbelievably huge and were constantly breaking over me. It seemed too risky for me to open the case again. Maybe in the next few minutes the entire content could fall into the water, both emergency rockets, as well as granola bars. I needed to hold on just a little longer, to get out of this storm. I therefore abandoned the idea of using further signal rockets immediately. To tap into these energy reserves now would certainly be a waste. I also wanted to save the two cans of Red Bull I had left for as long as possible. Maybe this energy drink really could give me wings, in case no other help should appear. Dreaming is always an option. I wish I had had a can of Red Bull when I was a child.

°

Even back then I was daydreaming about flying up to the church ceiling and not leaving all the miracles to Jesus. I wanted to fly to a place far away from my crazy life. A place where there would only be my true childlike self, where in my inner light I could find out who I really was.

Back in those days, I was probably as far away from having this dream fulfilled as I was right now.

The daily church services, which we were forced to attend, probably spoiled this institution for us forever.

My grandma sang, like so many of our relatives, in the church choir almost every day – which was one more reason that made me desire to fly away. We had to accompany her to Church every time but we did not take part in the singing.

Two of my brothers had been trained to be altar servers. Back then that was a very important thing for boys at their age, a task of significance and somewhat high value, so to speak.

Thank God this cup passed from me. At this time girls were not tolerated in the patriarchal world, even if they were as boyish as I was. I pouted; I wanted to fool around with the boys in the sacristy instead of having to sit in the pew with the boring good girls.

The move to Reutling and the culture shock that came along with it caused my already fragile self-confidence to suffer further hits below the belt. These included – apart from the linguistic shock that people in Reutling experienced when they are confronted with the almost incomprehensible dialect from the Grail Valley – cultural, culinary and financial shocks.

Due to the move and the building of a house, we had really become as poor as church mice. One could say that we slipped from a safe little place down into the slums. Just like one entire wall of the house 'slipped' or rather came down and plunged into the basement one day, next to my mother and me as we were boiling potatoes. That incident happened during the process of remodeling my grandparents' so-called 'witch house', which was what we called the former washhouse of my great-grandparents' farm.

In order to save time and money my uncle, who was the architect in charge, simply had not sufficiently supported and secured the wall of the old house. I am sure that this would make the headlines of the local newspaper if something similar happened today. And nowadays this is not so easy any more – at least not with something positive.

I had once again survived a near catastrophe. While us kids – I repeat: kids – were busy with the clean-up operations, my father was expected to play cards with my grandmother, which often happened when there was work to be done. My mother, I think, shed bathtubs full of tears on account of this ancient tyrant.

That's why the Grail Valley remained the idyllic homeland that had been taken from me for a very long time. My Grail Valley grandmother knew how to strongly support my predilection every time I visited.

My father had dared to take her daughter and therefore her family and her grandchildren away from her. And now I had to pay for it. She never really seemed to care too much for Jo and Werner, but everyone was of course taken with me as a girl amidst a crowd of madman. My brothers called me 'traitor' because of that.

During my stays in the Grail Valley I had to witness the outright hostility directed at my father, for, after all, he was the one who had committed the crime of fleeing the valley. Nowadays, I can totally understand him and accept it. But what could I have understood as an 8-year-old girl back then?

I can still perfectly remember a visit sometime between Christmas and New Year's. We were supposed to stay for two weeks, at least until Epiphany. My grandmother was happy and enjoyed bossing everyone around. My father went skiing with us to avoid her.

Quite unfortunately, it happened that my brother Werner broke his leg; so we had to curtail our vacation. That's when I got to know a different side of the grandmother I had loved so much until then. She pretty much knocked the stuffing out of seven-year-old Werner, who was lying in the family room with his broken leg and who was probably in horrible pain.

Slightly toned down, it sounded like this: "This moron boy just had to go and break his foot! You stupid jerk, now everybody has to go home because of you! I could kill you, you fool!"

And to top it all off, she banished the seven-year-old boy to the pantry as a punishment, despite his shock and severe pain.

After that, I didn't like spending my vacation at my grandma's place in the Grail Valley too much anymore. It had been my privilege up to that time. In the meantime I had found out why my grandfather, who actually really liked me a lot, did not appreciate my visits that much: It was because my grandmother always wanted me to sleep in their bedroom.

"It'd be way too scary for our poor little girl to spend the night all alone in another room!"

Well, I can't remember anything I would have been afraid of, but I didn't dare contradict the old shrew.

At some point I finally got it. That's how the frigid old woman could avoid any kinds of sexual advances from her husband, at least for two to three weeks. From a certain age on – I think even earlier – sex was only good for making babies anyway. " I can do without those crazy 3 minutes," I got to hear again and again , and not just from my grandma .

So the only "action" that took place in their bedroom was when the hens started to cackle wildly in the middle of the night and my grandpa, dressed in his nightgown and a sleeping cap – yes, really – and armed with a pistol from the nightstand, dashed out of the room to catch the fox. He never succeeded. On the following day, we kids followed the tracks of the fox using the feathers that the hen had lost. Well, this meant one less chicken for the soup. Given the choice, I wonder what the chicken would have preferred.

One can imagine that my surroundings – I'm talking about the Grail Valley women – were not exactly appropriate to provide a girl like me with role models for a modern, open and mature relationship. My erotic feelings, my Venus, where certainly not awakened in this environment.

However, these years provided me with other profound experiences. One of these days my uncle Franz had planned to go on a mountain hike with two German tourists. To escape my nagging aunts, I begged to be allowed to join the men at least for one day. My persistence was rewarded. I was invited to come along on the mountain tour.

Before the trip could start, I had had to fetch cigarettes for my uncle and the Germans, as I often did. Actually, I went to the nearby bar pretty much every day to do so. I still remember the brand, "HB". The man liked to call them "hanging breasts" for fun. Back then, I used to blush at the thought. However, I was willing to accept and ignore this kind of "humor" if it meant an opportunity to escape my grandmother's company, at least for some time.

We drove deep into the valley to the place where the road ended. From there, we went uphill on foot for quite a long time, heading for a place that offered a marvelous view of the mountain, the beautiful Schönbachler Horn. Although almost 3,000 meters high, this mountaintop could be reached with normal hiking boots, and without the usual equipment like rope, ice ax and crampons.

The view was fascinating, indeed overwhelming. We were surrounded by glacier flanks and huge ice fields below us. I was fascinated by the many crevasses in the ice.

During the last half hour of our descent, more and more heavy black clouds appeared in the sky above us. The mountain tops were shrouded in fog, and we decided to run the rest of the way. Having grown up in the mountains, one is accustomed to jump like a Capricorn over stones and rocks.

The path seemed endless to me. Once we had finally arrived at the car, I fell asleep as soon as I had taken my seat in the back. The three men started telling blonde jokes, and I was too young to have anything to contribute anyway. I also couldn't quite figure out what could possibly be so funny about these jokes at that time.

Suddenly, I woke up because of a deafening noise. "Now that drunkard has driven our car into the ravine!" was my first thought. And my second was, "I'm still alive!!" Even though my eyes had been closed before, I was blinded by the bright light that had accompanied the crashing sound.

The car reeked of sulfur. Our driver had brought it to a halt with great difficulty. Now I noticed the sudden downpour and lightning all around us. "Ooohhh holy shit... we have been struck by lightning! The car has jumped half a meter into the air!" yelled one of the men. Several minutes passed before anyone of us managed to answer him. I was completely speechless. I had been so rudely awakened that I was shaking like a leaf now.

The engine of the car was still running. At that time, the cars did not have all these built-in electronic systems that are standard with the ones of today, so we were able to continue our journey unhindered. The rest of the way, we went at an unusually low speed. Apart from that, we were all really quiet; my companions quite obviously didn't feel like telling stupid jokes anymore. "That's what happens if you make jokes about women," was the conclusion I drew at the time.

This experience influenced my behavior towards the male gender just as much as the women in my home environment.

Don't run women down and let them have their own opinions – that was the consequential message I got out of it at that time.

As soon as we arrived home, the three men chose to celebrate our survival (or maybe rather drown out the feeling of terror) with a lot of beer and liquor at the bar around the corner, the one where I had bought the "hanging breasts cigarettes". "Don't tell anything about this to the women," they had drummed into me before.

°

But let's get back to the Inn Valley, to Reutling, my father's favorite place, which was home to similar 'witches'.

My first experience with male creatures at my age must have left a deep and lasting mark on my subconscious, particularly with regards to dealing with the other sex and handling my career and my success.

My first childhood love and the first outburst of my untamable inner boldness culminated in a marriage proposal to my neighborhood playmate (we were both about 7 years old), which was promptly rejected with the following words:

"I'd never marry you, you're just the daughter of a poor school principal and my father is the village judge. I'm going to marry a female doctor someday!"

Looking back, I can say that I'm really happy that it all happened this way and that I didn't get married to this boy. Nevertheless, his words affected me deeply – and they really hurt. It was especially painful that I could not say anything about the incident at home as I did not want to upset my parents.

My self-confidence had plummeted to zero – or even below zero. And this was very soon reflected in my academic performance.

I have never been dumb, though. I can even remember myself wondering why the teacher kept explaining things over and over again, sometimes even up to five times although everyone had already fully comprehended the topic – or, maybe that was not the case for everyone…?

Back then, nobody had explained to me that you have to 'internalize' the material you comprehended. That's why, or so I've come to believe, I slept through two thirds of my school years. During the other third I was constantly brawling and fighting with the boys at my age, so I could not concentrate on school and failed in showing my potential.

At the beginning I had a very nice teacher . She protected the unusual girl that I was and accepted the wild creature, the witch in me. She was a very caring and attentive person. I loved her for that. It was especially useful for me that we had the same way to school. Today her role would be called 'bodyguard'. On my way home I would cling to her coat-tails, or her hand, so I would be safe from my classmates' attacks. Obviously, I couldn't count on my crabby girly 'friends' to help me, and even though I was a tomboy I was simply too weak to defend myself against the overly powerful boys.

That's why my first three years of school were somewhat bearable. After her came Coughie, also known as Smokie. He was a chain-smoking giant who was constantly tormented by coughing, or rather choking fits, and who had to prevent himself from suffocating during one third of the lesson and smoked one cigarette after another during the other two thirds.

As a teacher, Smokie was as out of place as a dolphin in the desert. And what was even worse: I had also lost my guardian angel for my way home from school.

At any rate, Smokie found out that I was dyslexic, and thus an absolute failure when it came to spelling. No one knew much about this problem; let alone how to overcome it.

The only positive thing I remember from this time at school was the following statement from Smokie: "Her essays are sensational, she's going to be a writer someday, but she needs a secretary with good spelling skills."

Well, if only he had known that nowadays all you need is a good laptop and a word processing software tool with a spell-check function.

That would have spared me some painful days back then. And so it happened that, even though I was classified as a quite intelligent student, they said:

"With these spelling problems we can't send her to high school, not with all the will in the world."

I could see how disappointed my father was. All of my life I had dreamt about writing books about true love and passion, and about gaining experience and the wisdom and knowledge acquired throughout the years.

°

It will probably come to nothing, I thought, being thrown back and forth by the waves as the raging storm reached its peak. I was so terribly tired, and wanted to sleep, but I was afraid I wouldn't wake up again if I allowed myself to doze off.

°

During my school days I did not care about it at all. I slept through most of the hours in class. For me, they were just too boring, and this was reluctantly accepted by my parents.

Besides that, my parents didn't have the money to send two of their seven children to an institution of higher learning. Hence, my problems at school were a welcome excuse. I gave up, only did the bare minimum, and not even that. One can imagine that I delivered a remarkably bad performance for the daughter of a principal.

While my father was bitterly disappointed, my mother coddled me. These weren't quite the greatest circumstances as one can imagine. My classmates started teasing me more and more.

"Once your self-confidence is at zero, your environment will do the rest."

I can remember that, after a time when I was suffering from a fracture of my lower leg ( back then we had ski bindings made of metal spirals), I repeatedly faked pain. My ancient skis with their flat or barely rounded tips had sealed my fate and I had had another horrible skiing accident.

My equipment was simply not suitable for this. I wore a cast for the usual period of time and found out that because of this I got much more attention than usual, and my brothers and classmates took care of me. My cast was littered with autographs of male 'fans'. My mother, and thus the doctor, had to respond to my fake pain. The result was that I had to wear a cast for eight weeks during a growth spurt.

Today, a shortened lower leg and a twisted spine bear witness to the medical ignorance of our family doctor back then.

Was it my own fault? Was it fate? What had all this been good for?

Furthermore, my mother succeeded in keeping me away from all the activities intended for adolescent males, which I would have loved to take part in them. She would neither let me play football with my male peers, nor was I allowed to join the Youth Alpine Club.

A supposed heart deficiency served her as an appropriate explanation – after all I was genetically her daughter and she preferred to keep me out of harm's way by all means.

By the time I was ten, I had beaten everyone at skiing, even people who later became big names in the Austrian National Team. They even wanted to promote and financially support me, the 'wildcat', and my brothers in a team as our family wouldn't have had the money for these extra expenses.

A local delegation came to us with such an offer, but my mother chased them out of the house. And not just once!

In hindsight, this is, despite everything, somehow understandable, since my father had once crashed his motorcycle against a tree in a race. Remember also that there were only leather helmets at the time. Afterwards he lay unconscious in the adjacent field, with a basilar skull fracture. A friend saved his life on the spot by getting the coagulated blood out of my father's throat with his bare fingers. Otherwise my father would quite probably have suffocated on his own blood!

He finally got to the hospital (back then there was no emergency rescue system in this place) and was in a coma for ten days, more dead than alive. The whole valley, and especially the doctors, called it a medical miracle that he had survived this accident in the first place.

If you consider how much luck you need to survive such a terrible accident even today, it really was a miracle that our father could actually walk out of the hospital on his own two feet afterwards.

Our family and especially we kids, however, suffered from the long-term effects of this accident for decades.

I was really good at skiing but my mother denied me even that because of my father's accident. You know, you can crash into a tree when you're on skis, too, not just on a motorcycle.

This hardly helped improve my reputation among my classmates, as one can imagine. Even back in school there was a certain 'hierarchy.'

So my mother successfully prevented me from participating in all extra-curricular events like skiing trips, nature camps or various other trips which would have been necessary for my socialization process.

And that's why I wasn't invited to take part in any pubescent learning processes about sex. It was my overprotective mother's fault that I had simply never been there in any of the crucial moments. Thus, my classmates made their first experiences with masturbation and other erotic games without Rebecca . Since one heard all kinds of things after the weeklong school-sponsored skiing trip or the stay in a youth hostel during the weeklong excursion to Vienna, I knew that almost all of the girls had put their hands between the legs of each other. These were all just harmless girls' games, after all.

But since I had never been part of this and the others were curious as to whether I was really a girl or maybe a boy after all, four of my classmates were waiting for me in the equipment room one day, and before I knew what they were up to, they had already pulled down my skirt.

I can still remember that I was torn between indignation and crying, between sensing impertinence, protest and… maybe they were interested in me after all… a certain sexual pleasure.

Being a good little girl, I had to feign indignation, but I wouldn't have rejected it if some girl had wanted to 'lend me a hand', or maybe even her tongue, as well. Just like classmates granting favors to each other.

Therefore, I didn't make much of an effort to fight them off. And when, in the (on my part) faked heat of the moment, the nicest of my classmates slipped her fingers inside me, my restraint was finally gone completely .

"Aaaah"… Somehow it felt good to have been accepted into the circle of the 'feminists'.

Are you shocked now, dear reader? It was quite normal for girls at that time and actually harmless. It was probably the same for boys.

I had secretly watched my brothers as they mutually pleasured themselves and rubbed their dicks until something spurted out many times. It was particularly interesting for me when my brothers announced the motto: "Who squirts the most?" Again and again, I sneaked up to them to attend these male ejaculation games. One had always heard the most amazing stories about such erotic games from various convent schools or boarding colleges, and not only in certain corresponding films.

In the afternoons at home, my brothers would proudly present me, the sister, to their friends. I already had quite womanly curves at the appropriate parts of my body for my age.

This was considered a sensation among the other guys in my clique, who were two to three years younger. For me, this was one of the few highlights in those days.

Girls who dared to play around with boys without inhibitions and shyness were pretty rare. And the fact that there was a hole instead of a dick under the already burgeoning pubic hair caught the boys' interest for a few weeks, months, even years. Later, the guys invented a game in which they lined up with me and two of my less bitchy cousins in a circle. The leader gave the command: "One, two, three, pants down... one, two, three hands on... one, two, three start masturbating!" We girls had nothing to take into our hands, so we could just slip our fingers into our pussies and move our hands back and forth like the guys did. This proved to be extremely boring in comparison to having a cock in our hands, so we girls begged to be allowed to pleasure them. After some time I was so well-integrated into the group that they would let me massage one of their dicks more and more often. I simply loved it and it was one of my daily highlights during this period. It was not until much later that I found it awesome when one of the guys put a turnip, banana, cucumber or something similar into my vagina. That was all we dared for the moment, and I felt like it at least once a day.

On peak days we even managed to enjoy more than ten rounds of our pants-down-game. I can still remember a neighbor boy – he is a famous man now – who allowed me to lend him a hand in order to get a little juice out. He was about to despair because he couldn't get anything out of him, and he blamed it on his lack of technique. So I rubbed his cock until it turned red and blue.

Whenever we did this, we went to our reed hut on the banks of the Inn. We felt safe there.

Only when it came to my friend Isidor, even my sensitive womanly hand technique failed. Not even a drop of the manly juice came out of the boy's cock, which at any rate was very hard and erect.

The next day I had a charley horse in my arm, just like from chopping too much wood.

So if you want to have a charley horse, you do not need to cut wood, you just have to masturbate.

At one of these occasions my brother Othmar had his hard penis stung by a bee. God, did we laugh about that at first! Even I, the only girl who had been allowed to participate at that day and who was feeling a bit uneasy at the sight of the gigantic penis, had had a good laugh in the beginning. But when his cock swelled up like a balloon and his pain got so bad that he could barely stand upright, we had to go back home to call a doctor. Our official explanation was that a bee had simply got lost in his pants. We vacillated between laughing ourselves silly and being completely horrified.

Faced with the mega-dimensions of Othmar's manhood, I had a question bubble up in my head: "Can this male instrument of pleasure actually burst in such a situation?" My curiosity dumbfounded our mother and drove her to despair. Even the doctor was not able – or not willing – to answer that question.

True to the motto 'the laugh is always on the loser', Othmar was, for a time, the source of many jokes about "the balloon-cock".

It took days before he was able to participate in our youthful sex games again, and he had to wear my pants, which were quite a bit larger than his own. His imposing manhood needed more room.

Despite these rare, amusing highlights, my time in junior high was one big cry of distress. I still ask myself today how I ever managed to survive the fear and terror I felt every morning for four years.

And all this happened in spite of the fact that I was praised later at evening school and at university for having an unusual high IQ. I was assured that only about 2.5% of the population had something similar to offer.

It was not just the stress with my classmates. No! Since I was extremely listless, my performance at school did little to increase my self-esteem. In addition to all the stress during the scheduled breaks, I also felt stressed out by the teachers and the grades.

It was certainly no coincidence, but rather a stroke of fate, that I began to study martial arts, which is viewed as a male domain, years later. I got my 7^th Dan grade in Kidokan, and now I am almost certainly able to beat 99 percent of my potbellied and beer swilling former male classmates at a strength tester machine at a carnival.

At a time when other pubescent girls had their first experiences with boys such as shyly holding hands and getting kisses on the cheek and on the lips, I had my hands full with rubbing the dicks of my pack.

°

I cried out in desperation as the heavy sea broke over me. Fortunately, I had fixed a strong lifeline to the little dinghy in the meantime, and I still clung to it as the massive wave spit me out again. My heart was beating fast and I was trembling all over as I pulled the leash back to the boat. With every cell of my body I felt how my forces left me slowly but surely. Each pull on the line required more strength and willpower. With every effort my hands and arms were aching more and more. By and by, I got the disturbing feeling that I was not moving from the spot at all. Was I getting closer to the dinghy at all, or was every wave throwing me back more and more yards? After every wave that pulled on the rope, I was happy I still had not lost hold of it.

The result of my desperate clinging, tearing, slipping and tugging was that my hands hurt more and more. My torn skin was hanging in strips from my raw palms. Was I actually still able to feel real pain or had I completely damaged the nerves that transmitted pain impulses? Was I tormented by phantom pain? Was a part of my battered body almost dead already? When would the rest of it follow? When would my soul? I drifted off into a state of indifference and unconsciousness.

"Ouch! Damn!" Suddenly, I felt like something had kicked me. But… out here? That was impossible! I stuck my head under the water surface and looked at my legs.

Because of the salt, my eyes burnt when I opened them underwater, so I had to wait a few moments before I could see again. When my vision was finally back, even though it was still a little blurry, my body tensed. Like a bolt, fear flashed through me. It felt as if an ice cold sword had cut through my chest, making my whole body tremble uncontrollably. Now I realized what had hit me. What I saw seemed incredible, but to my horror, it was painfully real. Reality had become a nightmare.

What is a heart able to endure? Tachycardia was the wrong word for what was happening in my chest: That already resembled an atrial fibrillation. At first I had only seen shadows, but soon it was a certainty, and my emotions made me want to cry out in despair. Everywhere below me were sharks. It was not just one shark: There were several dozens of sharks, countless scary predators, and they were so close. Close enough for me to see their eyes. Fractions of a second later, supported by a huge adrenaline rush, I threw myself into the boat. With a frantically beating heart I lay there for minutes, all four limbs stretched out on the ground.

"Just do not keel over again; I must stay out of the water by all means… Ooohhh my God – please let the storm be over!"

My body was shaking so violently that even the boat seemed to vibrate. A wave caught the boat and lifted it up again. Immediately, I shifted the weight of my body to stabilize the dinghy. My life depended on my efforts to keep the boat in a stable position now. I did not want to, or rather could under no circumstances risk falling into the water again. Not as long as these murderous monsters were circling around my tiny boat. I didn't even dare imagine what would happen if I capsized again…

What felt especially disturbing to me now was that the wind was getting stronger and stronger, and thus the height of the waves increased. "I wonder if I'll ever be able to get out of this seething bath alive…"

°

Back then, my whole family – all nine of us – used to sleep on mattresses in the attic during summer and other vacation times, so that we could rent our rooms out to German tourists. Well, actually, we had only two bedrooms: one for my parents and one for the seven of us kids. My parents desperately needed the extra money.

Looking back, I have to be fair and admit that this measure allowed us hillbillies to catch a glimpse of the big wide world – even if it was only Germany.

That's how we met Elke, for example, who already was a terribly lascivious girl when she was only at the age of twelve. That girl had an angel face, but was very frivolous in spite of that. She was c ertainly not reluctant to teach my rough brothers and the tomboyish witch I was something about the erotic world of girls. For all of us, she resembled a vision from Venus: an absolutely unknown, mysterious, strange terrain.

Elke allowed all of us to kiss her in our reed hut. Every year, starting when she was eight, she gave us a little more. Yes…even to me. And it was not just pinch-kisses. We also stuck our tongues deep into the little girl's mouth. And Elke did quite a good job with us too.

Apart from that, we enthusiastically played the "one, two, three ... pants down"-game with her and two finally awakened neighbor girls in our reed hut. Elke then turned out to be very disappointed that she could not pee as far as me and my fellows. At least in that respect I had the dubious advantage of months of training in our reed hut.

By and by, I got the feeling that she took a particular interest in me, the only girl in the group. This feeling turned out to be more than just a product of my childish imagination: Elke confirmed to me that I had been right. However, we did not actually get much closer as I, and I guess my reasons are pretty easy to understand, only wanted to collect sexual experiences with boys back then. Elke, on the contrary, didn't bother too much about the gender of her "playmates"; she was primarily interested in having fun.

°

A wave that swept over my head jerked me out of my thoughts.

"Oh my God, how long have I been here in the water?" Had it been minutes or hours by now? At any rate, it had become brighter. The storm had calmed down a bit, the waves were not so high anymore and lifted the boat up less often, and luckily I was still lying stretched out inside my small dinghy.

Had I fallen asleep from exhaustion? Perhaps I had had a thousand guardian angels protect me here in my already hopeless situation, surrounded by hungry sharks.

As I could not see any land and the sky still appeared somewhat cloudy, it was difficult to determine the time without seeing the position of the sun.

Suddenly a huge wave that seemed to have come out of nowhere crashed onto me and into the boat, almost ripping the abandon ship bag from my hands. I had trouble staying in the boat and keeping it from capsizing. The dinghy was instantly full of water. I immediately started scooping the liquid out of the boat with my bare hands. For a moment, I had become careless and had forgotten that I still found myself in great danger of falling into the water again. A little amount of water in the boat was not so bad, but a full boat meant sinking.

"Just do not let the boat keel over!" was my motto for the moment. Another wave could easily overwhelm me completely, at least as long as the boat was full of water. I needed fresh water, drinking water, and was surrounded by a vast ocean full of salt water. Carefully I took a sip of water from one of the bottles in the abandon ship bag. And again I asked myself how long I could survive with this limited supply of water I had left.

Some time ago, I had read a newspaper article about a 20-year-old guy in Vorarlberg who had survived a week without water. Locked and forgotten in a dark cellar, he kept drinking his own urine, the same liquid, over and over again. You might call that some kind of a 'continuous loop'. However, I didn't think this could actually work in my situation here. I had no penis , which would have made it easy to pee in to a bottle . As I was a woman, I reckoned it to be a little more difficult to get to my urine while swimming in the ocean.

I decided to take a little sip of water every hour. "I hope this will be enough to survive," I tried to encourage myself.

Courage was something I had developed as a member of my clique of boys, my pack, despite my mother's exaggerated care and overprotective attitude – even though it took me quite a while.

°

I caught up on everything in my 'wild years'. The adventures with an ice ax and crampons at the 45 to 65 degree steep wall of ice in the Alps, the extreme powder snow skiing, the backpacking and sailing trips around the world. I intensely and excessively acted out what my mother forbade me to do later in my life. I also - and especially – caught up on the sexual experiences. But before this could happen, there was still an obstacle that needed to be overcome: my mother. Even a German aunt of mine was not able to overcome this obstacle, but she endeared herself to me when she yelled at my grandmother, mother and prudish aunts:

"You can produce one kid after another like on an assembly line, but my ten-year-old son knows more about sex and love than you do!"

Boy, I really had a hard time trying not to burst into laughter back then.

In the meantime I had turned twenty. I had had countless cocks in my hand and jerked them like a million times , but was still a virgin. After a ski tour, and some mulled wine and Jagertee in a mountain cabin, my German aunt thought that I had lost my inhibitions to the extent that a colleague of hers could assume the role of a male courtesan. Strictly speaking, it was a friend of her daughter.

Man, it had been freezing cold when we went skiing that day in the Grail Valley Mountains. Temperature had fallen to about minus 25 degrees Celsius. This really called for the charm and magic of mountain huts and relaxing in a cozy, warm place around an open fire. We wanted to warm up our stomachs too. We had some Jagertee and several glasses of mulled wine, hence we had a jolly time. Even I could enjoy the attention I got from my conquest after I had lost all my inhibitions because of alcohol. My mother had stayed in the valley and was now far away from the scene. My aunt and my cousin had planned to loosen me up first with alcohol and a romantic atmosphere in the mountain cabin and then to seduce me later at the hotel. Everything went according to plan.

Even though I was an excellent skier, I almost immobilized myself first. I had taken a tumble, probably due to the unaccustomed amount of alcohol I had consumed, and landed on my back, right on top of a broken hazelnut branch that got stuck between my vagina and anus. Just a few millimeters more to the front and I would probably have been deflowered and bled to death. When it came to accidents, I've always been quite lucky.

°

This thought somehow gave me hope, even now as I was drifting in the ocean.

Whoever was pulling the strings up there in the universe must have been planning something special for me, considering all the times I have been able to beat the grim reaper.

°

Somehow my 'Casanova' and I got down to the village and caught the train at the last moment. Unfortunately, we took the train in the wrong direction. After a long odyssey, we finally reached the hotel where my conquest was staying. My aunt was already lying in bed, boozed out of her mind and being tortured by my mother with questions about her missing darling daughter. My aunt's response was only giggling and laughter.

"Tonight it happens – it happens tonight!" And further: "Fucking, sucking, cock-a-licking! Hahahaha, hihihihhihi, seduced tonight, she'll get fucked, yes, that is exactly right!"

You could not have said anything worse or crueler to my mother. In the meantime I had sneaked into my cousin's room with my conqueror.

Yes, I sneaked in, because I did not want to run into my 'avenging angel'-mother under any circumstances. Not when I had the prospect of getting an erotic lesson. I was ready – so was my mother!

Like a fury, she had dashed through the entire hotel, looking for her daughter. I don't think I have to go into any more details about this episode. We had to leave the hotel room and flee to a sympathetic relative's place. I still don't dare to set foot in this hotel again.

°

Luckily, I started working as a ski instructor at age 22, as many students do during the winter months. Since I needed the money and used it to finance most of my education, my mother had no objections. She obviously wasn't aware of the risks that this part-time job entailed for girls.

God, just think how many men and even girls I could have banged at that time. The tourists mainly wanted to have fun. I, however, took my ski instruction tasks very seriously. My innocence was a hard nut to crack for countless willing ski bunnies. Among them were many married men with families, who would have loved to seduce me right on the dance floor.

I didn't know how to act, and it was not until the head of the ski school gave me a serious warning that I finally woke up.

"Rebecca, if things go on like this, I have to dismiss you."

I was devastated – I had tried so hard after all.

"The young men in your group want to have more fun."

"Really? I thought they wanted to learn how to ski."

He looked at me and shook his head in disbelief !

"Besides, you shouldn't do such a good job with the rest of the tourists, either. They are learning too fast how to ski well. But we want to have them as customers the following years as well!"

That's what you get for being too serious.

It was only with Mark that I finally opened my eyes, and that was after I had watched the hustle and bustle on the slopes and particularly paid attention to the après ski for some weeks. My boss at the ski school had told me to do that. So I watched it all from the sidelines, so to speak. Especially the " après" after the après ski was a new and very interesting territory for me .

Mark was tall and athletically built ; a very attractive , lively and cheerful ski bunny. He was actually the most talented skier in my group, but still lagged behind everyone else because he kept falling and landing on his butt a lot. Until I took the liberty of asking him one day:

"Mark, I know that you're the best in my group – how come you are constantly lying in the snow?"

Then he would pretend to be so clumsy that I had to help him get up again in order not to keep the rest of the group waiting.

"You don't understand a thing!" was his answer. He was looking fiercely into my eyes .

"What's there to understand? And what is your girlfriend going to think, if you constantly lie in my arms?" Whenever he got up, he always let himself fall into my arms with zest. He shook his head in disbelief and fell right back into the snow.

"I want you, you naïve mountain witch!" was his answer.

"What is it that he sees in me?" I wondered.

He was obviously very serious about it. That very day, Mark gave my brothers enough money to spend a long evening with plenty of beer in the après ski bar. In return, Jo and Werner were supposed to kidnap his girlfriend and get her drunk. I still had to learn a lot. Mark wanted to get out of the bar and into a bed as soon as possible.

"And do not come back too soon! That should be enough for five hours at least!"

"Help, help! What's he up to?" I felt sorry for the girl too, although I wished with all my heart for my brothers to have an exciting experience with an open-minded tourist girl.

Mark was up to a lot of things! And I still had to learn a lot of things.

Luckily, there was a loud celebration going on at my house, where both my family and the German tourists were having a great time. My father had always enjoyed entertaining our guests. On these evenings, even my parents forgot about their worries and played happy music with the tourists, who had become friends of my family in the meantime. I smuggled my conquest through the backyard into my room on the ground floor. The house construction project was almost finished by then. Finally, after fourteen years of living on a construction site, we had several more rooms at our disposal.

We had hardly reached the room, when Mark pulled the ski instructors sweater over my head. The shirt I was wearing underneath lost some buttons as he forcefully ripped it off my chest. My now freed breasts were eager for more. Mark had already started peeling off my jeans. It did not take him too long. Seconds later, he was kneeling before me and put his hands on my panties. Moments later, he had successfully peeled me out of my underwear.

He had very soft hands and he knew very well how to use them. He kissed my vagina lips, licking on the honey which now flowed out of my pussy like a mountain spring. My mouth was half-open and I was trembling all over my body. He fumbled at his belt now and it only took him a few seconds to get undressed and fling his jeans on the floor. He had to hurry even more to get rid of his slip because I was so hungry for his body. As soon as he was naked, I jumped onto him, wrapped my legs around his waist and one arm around his neck, and slowly let myself sink onto his hard, throbbing dick. With his free hand, Mark skillfully led his dick into me. Finally, finally, after the unnecessarily long time I had had to wait for it to happen, I felt a cock in me at last.

"Help! Ooohhh... my God!"

He was so deep inside me that it thrilled and scared me the same time…

My screams that accompanied our orgasms were later drowned out by German beer-drinking songs.

"Warum ist es am Rhein so schön?" resounded from the adjoining rooms. Well, we didn't really care why it was so nice to be at the Rhine river. "Why is banging sooo fine?" Mark sang along in his sexual ecstasy instead. I turned his back into a battlefield with my fingernails. Afterwards, he looked like an Opus Dei monk after self-mutilation. These monks inflict pain to themselves by torturing their backs with special whips until they are covered with bloody welts.

Later, I discovered that throughout the centuries, there had been several religious movements in which monks flagellated themselves before going to bed under the guise of religious ecstasy.

Even outside monasteries, this spiritual martyrdom became fashionable. There were soon hundreds of locations in Europe where flagellation was practiced in order to experience pleasure and joy through pain. Even kings and princesses apparently had themselves whipped by slaves.

In my case, the whip was replaced by my fingernails, the claws of an extremely pleasurable and greedy witch . After my "treatment", Mark's back probably looked like the one of these religious fanatics. He, however, got more pleasure out of his erotic ecstasy than he got out of the pain I had afflicted to him. Or could it have been both?

At any rate, my brothers were rolling on the floor with laughter when they treated his back with arnica schnapps hours later. And Mark couldn't even cry out in pain, because that would have led my mother to discovering the battlefield.

Mark spent a lot more money on beer for my brothers and his girlfriend. They had a lot of fun with Mark's girlfriend, who had wild sex with all of my three brothers in unrestrained, animalistic lust.

The next times, Mark tied my hands to the bed poles – just as a precaution until his back had somewhat recovered at last. And I liked it even better. Although I was young and rather inexperienced, I found out very quickly exactly what I wanted, and I enjoyed my very empathetic teacher of lust a lot.

After only a short time, I surprised Mark with my instructions. "Suck on my toes! Yes, that feels so good… and now kiss the inside of my lower leg, slowly moving upwards from the ankle – hey , I said slowly! Do you like the taste ? Yeah, that's nice… Take your time . Oohhhh , yeah, that feels so good . And now continue on the outside of my thighs, up to the hips. Yes, ooohhh yes, you may even bite me a bit. Do you feel how my skin is getting warmer? Yes, just like that… and now suck my fingers . Oh, I love that too! Now nibble on the inside of my forearm, and then move up towards my shoulder. Do you like the taste? Does it make you horny? Hhhmmm, you're so good at this… Now do the same with my neck. Take care; my skin is very sensitive there! Yeah , that feels so good! And now go on behind my ears. Slowly , I want you to enjoy it! Yes, ooohh yes, this feels amazing! Hey, and what about the other side? Well done, I love your soft lips… Now you may slowly kiss me from the neck towards my breasts. Kiss me everywhere! Yes! Ooohh, that's nice! Well done, but take your time! And now trail feather-light kisses around my breasts. No! Not the nipples yet ! I said around the breasts only . You can also caress me. Yes, this feels so…nice! I could spend hours enjoying this. OK, now the nipples – suck on them very carefully . Yes, do you feel them react to it? Do you feel how much I love it ? Circle with your tongue around them . Yes, ohhh yes, you're doing this well! Now take my nipples between palate and tongue and pull gently . Yes, quite a bit more! Exactly so! Oooh that's good. Please stop right there, otherwise I will come right now! Can you turn me around? Yes ? OK, that's fine! And now run your fingers all over my back. Yes , tickle me ; caress me , ooohh I feel like I am melting away! Kiss my neck ! Yes, quite a bit more intensely . You may also bite me. Oohhh yes , and now kiss me all over my back , yes, everywhere, yes, you are my sex god, ooohhh yes, this is so amazing! I can't take it any longer! Do you like my butt cheeks? Take them with both hands and run your fingers along them. Massage them . Perfect, you're a real Casanova! Rest one hand on each one and slowly circle around my two coconuts with. This is awesome!"

I had somehow freed myself from the handcuffs, turned on my back, took his head and pushed it down between my legs. "Slowly trail kisses up on the inside of my thighs. Yes, oh yes, yes, yes – ooohhh! Do you feel the heat? Oh yeah! My honey is already flowing in streams. Do you like the taste? Yes? Ooohh my treasure! Lick me dry. Slowly, slowly, not too close to my pussy! Very slowly. Stay away a bit; there is enough honey to lick. Yes, a little bit around it! Well done! Ooohh my God. Now let your tongue slowly circle around my vagina lips and then slowly up and down! Yes, take your time. This feels good! Play with the lips! Ooohh my God! Now nibble very carefully on them. Yes, do it gently, very gently and carefully! Circle slowly around my bud with your tongue! Please do not bite it, just circle around it slowly! Ooohhh yes! Ooohhh Mark, this is amazing. Take the bud between your lips. Suck it. Be careful, it is very sensitive! Yes, exactly like that! Yes, yes, yes! Slowly, please, I do not want to come yet! Slowly, gently, yes, ohhh yes! Now run your tongue very gently from the bottom up to the bud! Yes! And again, and again, yes, oohhh yes, do not stop, keep going!"

Mark's breathing got harder and harder, I could feel him stretching his legs as his thighs began to tremble and vibrate more and more! Where was this going?

"Push your tongue in my pleasure garden! Push harder! Yes, push!"

He could no longer control himself now. His dick became an animal and he was on me and inside me within a moment. And I cried out, and cried and cried and whimpered and sighed and sobbed. And now he cried too! Why on earth hadn't he controlled the shackles better? Oh no, his back! At the same moment he cried much louder and filled my glowing volcano with his hot juices. And Mark shrugged and shook for a second time and bit into my neck. Now my glowing cave seemed to be a spring. Splashes and sprays, and a crystal clear liquid shoot in oodles out of my cave and on his fiery hot lance. We both were shaking with laughter.

Hours later, when my brothers joined us for a beer, they were physically messed up and sucked dry. Mark's girlfriend was no longer able to stand on her own two feet after riding on all three of them wildly and had collapsed into her bed, she apparently was very tired. Well, it wasn't for no reason that my mother had wanted to protect us from tourists!

One of the main reasons for the jealousy of the women of the valley was probably the fact that girls from big cities in Germany like Mark's girlfriend were raised to be independent. They were encouraged to become successful professionals, study at the university and altogether be self-confident.

Here in the mountains, however, women still had to lead a miserable mother-housewife existence that included nothing but raising kids, cooking, cleaning, washing, sewing or knitting. Self-realization and lust were not actually part of the plan. So I guess it is somewhat understandable that these women tended to get jealous of the permissive female tourists from abroad.

°

Much later in my life, I learned that there are female and male brains which have evolved differently. And I'm not talking about the geographical differences or the differing social influences that we usually tend to notice in our youth. Generally speaking, these differences are meant to ensure survival.

If only I had known back then that this results in unintelligible, dramatic, sometimes sheer brutal differences between men and women in relationships. That was the fight, the difference between two sexes, which actually cannot get together and will never understand each other.

My female imagination was so fundamentally different from the male one that most men just did not want to even try to understand it.

The male mind sometimes causes strong discomfort, not only in me, but in most women. That may irritate us women at first, but it can also lead up to contempt. In contrast, most men cannot properly handle the romantic, sophisticated sensibility and sensitivity of women. Especially if they hide it behind the facade of a wild cat and witch as I did because I did not want to get hurt. All of the men in my life were just utterly overwhelmed.

When a man looks at a woman, first and foremost, the male eye perceives her butt, breasts and pleasure garden – which means, in other words, that men are particularly visually and genital-oriented. This is also reflected in their love for cars with erotic designs like Ferrari, Jaguar, or Aston Martin. Next to power, the visual part always plays a major role.

The skin as a sensitive organ or erotic zone has, however, hardly been recognized by men. It simply does not cross their minds, and even if it is pointed out, they consider caresses unmanly and therefore they remain inactive. In this case, I have always had an advantage over my female competitors. Since I had grown up with guys, I knew how to demand insightfully and eloquently and without any shyness from men what made me happy.

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.

Where were these thoughts coming from? Was I about to lose my mind?

"Just don't focus on negative thoughts, they may come true," I heard a voice say deep inside me.

°

Yes, dear inner voice, the chemistry between Chris and me was just not right and the feeling of having a crush, of being 'in love' was missing in all these years. That phase does not dependent on age and apparently takes only one year. Love develops over the years and requires a lot of work. You have to work hard on yourself and on your relationship.

If I could talk to Chris again after all these years, it would probably sound like this:

"Believe it or not, this thing about 'having a crush' was not your fault! That's why you don't have to be sorry either. It was my fault, or rather evolution's fault. How could it be any different – our subconscious is still strongly subject to our animalistic origin."

"I'm well-educated; I've graduated from high school, went to university and have a doctorate. There is nothing animalistic about me! "

"Really? Are you sure? Being an intelligent person, do you really believe that 100, 200, 2,000, 4,000 years of education are enough to make up for 160 million years of evolution?"

Basically, it is that simple. One doesn't even need to think a lot about it.

A woman, and I am not just talking about me, Rebecca, does not just fall in love with a nice, philosophical, smart, serious and responsible 'friend'!

These thoughts were running through my head while I was drifting in the water …

"Not the 160 million year old animal in us. This animal is only interested in fertility, strength, animalistic charisma – animal instincts, so to speak!"

Like I said, the whole world of emotions takes place so deep down in our subconscious that we don't want to or can't accept it. Even if we were aware of it, and I would actually try to play The Game (there is a book and film by the same name), it simply would not be possible for me – NOT FOR ME!

And the tricky thing about it is that the more serious the intentions of the partner are from the start, the more difficult it gets to play The Game.

I barely had any chance with men like Chris at the beginning because I had believed in the "one true love" – they just wanted me as a charming discussion partner. But when my Venus was finally awake, I enjoyed at least countless wonderful moments with Mark.

I thank destiny for all the experiences I was allowed to have.

°

This time, Mark was on vacation in Schwaz with his mother and one of his aunts. It was for the first time after two years that I saw him in a restaurant that had a dance floor. His aunt was an enthusiastic dancer and enjoyed a fun time with my brothers. They had always been passionate dancers like me. Jo instantly understood that this somewhat older but attractive woman was not only interested in dancing.

Mark immediately came to me and during the course of his stay we hooked up so passionately that his cock had a permanent erection. The nearly eighteen-year-old guy was incredibly horny, precocious and extremely masculine. He could hardly wait to slide his animal back in between my legs.

Even while dancing, he always had his hand in my pants and I was getting so wet that it was visible even in the dim light of the bar.

My brother made the same experience with his aunt. "Like aunt, like nephew," we thought. It doesn't always have to be the father-son relationship.

One of the promises that his mother had made to Mark because of his good performance at school was that she was even going to support us in every erotic game we were planning. She was mainly thinking about providing us with suitable accommodations and other amenities, despite the fact that Mark wasn't even eighteen and I wasn't even sixteen. Mark's mother knew about my housing situation and about the problems with my mother. Mark's father wasn't supposed to find out about his precociousness either. That's why Mark was allowed to hijack his mother's old VW beetle, which she willingly lent to him so that we could travel to the hilly vineyards around Vienna. We had even gotten instructions on where to go and the suggestion to visit a particularly cozy little spot where nobody would disturb us.

God, I wished with all my heart that I had such a tolerant and sophisticated mother myself. Then, between the grapevines, Mark pounced on me with the experience of a thirty-year-old Casanova. At any rate, that was my impression.

Even Mark was surprised by my secret experiences with guys, and loved me for being his erotic teacher and sex toy.

It was unbelievable. I am sure that the old VW's shock absorbers had never worked that hard on the road.

What followed was like paradise for me. Mark had either his tongue or his cock in my vagina and my dripping wet pussy couldn't get enough of my animal. We cuddled, bit and clawed at each other for hours, and at dinner time we had to explain the scratches on his body to his father by attributing them to the thorny bushes in which we had obviously gotten lost.

From now on Mark always volunteered to get the drinks from the basement of their Tyrolean vacation apartment. The apartment had five floors with no elevator. I had to accompany him, of course, and we barely got down there when he lifted up my miniskirt. Needless to say, I did not wear panties underneath, and immediately stuck my nicely shaped fanny towards his face.

It was so much fun for me to have a quickie between two meals.

Afterwards I found it particularly cool to sit down again at the beautifully set Sunday table. To put on my angel face next to his parents, uncles and aunts and pretend that my red cheeks were from running up and down the stairs and not a typical sign of our erotic encounter. At least my brothers' playmate always grinned when she saw my firmly erect nipples.

Whether it was sex in the woods, sex in the fields, or sex on a mountain hike, Mark and I couldn't keep our hands off each other.

Even during a trip to one of our national parks he kept one hand on my dripping pussy and I had mine in his baggy pants in the backseat of the old beetle. We even managed to chat normally with his parents in the front seat at the same time.

Even with his father who had absolutely no clue about any of this.

At this time I was able to move into a cheaper room in a monastery in Innsbruck since I was a student from a penniless family and thanks to the intervention of my mother and some priest-friends. Mark found it incredibly exciting and quite a turn-on to fuck in such a holy building. So he talked me into smuggling him into the chambers almost every day.

And who could turn down the wish of such a lascivious and horny man? We just had to wait for the right moment to work our way past numerous nuns, through venerable vaults, along walls steeped in history and down endlessly long corridors to reach my monastic room on the fifth floor.

Even for me, this excitement, combined with the obvious adrenalin rush, was a better foreplay than any tender words or gentle caresses.

After we had torn our clothes off, we noticed that I had left the contraceptives in the car. So I had to go all the way back and leave Mark alone in the monastery for about 15 minutes. The fact that he was the only man among all the nuns within these walls made him so horny that he had multiple orgasms when we desecrated the holy edifice minutes later. He had an extraordinary idea this afternoon.

Weeks later, I found myself with him again, this time in a confessional. As usual I was wearing a miniskirt with no panties underneath. After we had cleared with the priest that we wanted to confess our erotic sins together, and only if we could do it together, I sat down on Mark and his stiff member while we were making up lies – supposedly our sins – in front of the man of God. When we finally both came, we even put that on our list of sins, Mark grabbed my arm, yanked me out of the confessional, and we ran out of the church laughing and screaming. While he was zipping up his fly he discovered that one should wait until one's entire manhood is really back in the pants.

I know that the universe forgives everything, even the fact that I sent him back home months later because of an unnecessary argument.

He had wanted to secretly overhear a heated debate between my parents, and I probably felt like he was 'attacking' my pack this way. Even though I had every reason to reject my family, they were still my pack after all.

°

"The true reason for our relationship problems lies almost always in our instincts. In the past, when these instincts developed, we could not survive without the protection of our pack!"

"Oh, really? Are there some invisible volunteers swimming with me in the water?"

"Do not change the subject, Rebecca!" the little witch inside me announced. "In truth, we all live in a huge pack, a social network with plenty of people who feel the same and are looking for friends and want to start a family."

She was totally right, I was only getting bad feelings, as I lead my instincts to believe that I would be so lonely. When, in reality I was not. I have always allowed myself to feel comfortable, even as a girl in a pack of men, and not only because I skillfully rubbed their dicks.

"At the moment I certainly do not trick myself or my instincts! I am all alone in the wide sea! This is not an illusion, but the terrible, horrible truth!"

"Hello?! Little witch… I mean, you! Try harder! It's a bit uncomfortable here in the water!"

"And therefore, the emotional brain provides you with instincts," she teases on, "you may be proud. Human beings are the only creatures on this earth that are able to judge themselves, and you belong to that species."

"Super! Otherwise I probably wouldn't be able to recognize this shit – sorry – as such?"

"Right! Not a single animal can do that. So for the time being, it rates each situation as an attack from the outside."

"At the moment it probably has every reason to do so," I thought aloud, "apart from the waves there were packs of sharks that want to eat me! Let alone wind, water and flashes. This situation is definitely a misunderstanding! The whole thing is surely only an illusion that my little witch led me to believe because of boredom."

"Just try to live a positive life. This increases the likelihood that you're going to laugh a lot and have a spring between your legs," I heard her laughing.

"I want to swap roles immediately. Even witches can use some practice."

But I already knew that I could change that at any time, and that would make my life joyful and pleasurable.

"Haha! I hadn't been thinking about lust and desire for a long time! I'd fancy a hammock on a white sandy beach between the palm trees! Oh, and I want a dick to hold on, too. Wait, where is Chris in this reality?"

I was jinxed. The men I wanted were the ones I did not get, and the men that I got were the ones I did not want.

"In this life, Chris will probably not get to know the animal in me!"

°

"I would like to be a fish now, preferably a dolphin." How long had I been in the water by now? I had already finished my water supplies some time ago. I was beginning to feel thirstier and thirstier by the minute and my throat was parched. I looked into the dark green to blue-black water for a long time. "No, by all means, don't you even think about it!" Under no circumstances was I allowed to drink sea water. But in spite of the fact that I knew about the dangers here, I could hardly control myself. But still, I understood that the salt water was surely not the solution to my problems.

I knew that drinking seawater would mean my certain death. Before risking this, I would rather drink my own urine. My lips were chapped and crusted; the salt was burning like hell on the now raw meat. Was there any of my skin left or had it already completely dissolved in the salt water? Obviously, I had been able to stop the blood poisoning with the few penicillin tablets from the abandon ship bag – but what if it flared up again? Was my immune system still intact? Was it able to cope with all of these infections? I sank back again, luckily not deeper into the water, but into my thoughts.

°

Cut loose from my mother for once, I did not want to let anything or anyone keep me from going on my own journey of discovery. I also did not want to content myself with nothing but the descriptions and explanations of others. I wanted to stop leading this kind of second-hand-life once and for all, so to speak. Due to my zodiac sign (Sagittarius!), I've always been a very curious and creative person. Just think of the "pants-down"- and "rub-the-stick"-games! However, there was also a lot of suffering I had to deal with again and again. In our surroundings, there is always some clever person who tells us how we should behave, what we are allowed to think, and what opinion people have about us.

"Well, the sharks will certainly give me no feedback as to how much they liked the way I tasted!"

I was thinking about Chris again. One day I was lying in bed with the flu. I had a high fever and several other symptoms that came with it.

Chris had heard about this and skipped class in the morning in order to pay me a visit. My mother was just about to leave the house to go grocery shopping in town. Should she let the attractive guy get into my room? Should she refuse a well-meant visit? One could see the doubt in her face. Although I was actually Chris' piano teacher, he was too open-minded for my mother, and too experienced for her innocent and good daughter.

Were my inhibitions still too high to crack this maternal "deadbolt"?

"I wonder what would happen? Is it possible that my poor child will get raped?"

"That has already happened," yells the witch from behind my liver. In the end, one thought must have been the decisive factor: "Well, with this fever, nothing much will happen anyway." So she got ready to leave.

And actually, not much would have happened, at least not on my part.

Chris, however, wanted to seize the opportunity. We were completely alone in the house. And I was already lying in my bed. With the words "Brrr, it's cold in this room, and you are sooooo nice and warm", he let his jeans drop from the hips of his buff body. Why on earth didn't he have anything on underneath?

Seconds later he was under the covers and snuggling up to me. And a few moments later I had his stiff member in my hand.

"That even works when you have a fever," I thought. And in a flash he was without much ado inside me. Skillfully he took charge of all the movements . I just had to lie relaxed on my back. It did not take very long. Chris was too aroused. I was nervous and aroused too and probably too feverish at the same time.

Nevertheless, it was very nice. We smooched and cuddled until we heard a noise at the front door.

Chris was out of bed and back in his jeans in a breath. When my mother looked into the room (knocking still wasn't very common at that time), Chris had his hand on my forehead and said: "You are really in bad shape. It's unbelievable how hot you are, and you're soaked with sweat. Maybe you should take a shower and put some dry clothes on. And a little bit of sleep will also do you good."

And after he had put his hand on my forehead again, he added: "You're so weak, do you want me to help you to get into the shower?" He mischievously winked at me.

"No, no, I'm going to do that," my mother hastened to say. "Thank you for taking care of her and entertaining her while I was gone." She wasn't quite sure what to make of the boy's caring manner.

Chris left the house in a hurry.

I stayed in bed for a few days with a fever, but my love did not come to visit me a second time. Was this wonderful experience real or did I have a fever-induced delirium?

°

I was confused. Chris! A dream? We found each other over the months and years every once in a while. My unrequited love for him grew with each of these meetings, and grew deeper and deeper despite the many setbacks. I was hopelessly lost. Every time, after each one of these dates, I fell into a deep, black hole, and shut myself away more and more. I went to my room, locked myself in, and pulled the blanket over my head. The darkness had me under control for hours. I would often lie in our attic, all by myself, feeling a strange ache in my stomach and listening to the rain that kept drumming onto the roof. The rain in Tyrol could exacerbate my depressive feelings many times over.

That's why I died one imaginary death after the next, and pictured that Chris would completely turn away from me at the next opportunity. For sure, these were the worst hours of my life, that I spent totally distraught in my room. On the other hand we enjoyed a few nice weeks going for walks and talking with each other. I prepared myself in case it got serious. There were even declarations of love. The special evening was approaching. class=comment-copy>He invited me to join him for dinner at his apartment with candlelight and wine.

I was at his door at the appointed time. Desperately knocking and ringing the bell with the expectation. "Chris is probably going to surprise me by being naked?"

The surprise was a severe blow. Chris came out with Ragna.

"Ahh, I completely forgot about you!" he said and then he simply disappeared with the bitch.

Within seconds I hated every man in the world. And one of them had to play for it. I wanted sex. Now. It had to happen immediately. I ran off towards the train station. There was some place around there for frustrated or ugly men. At least that's what the girls in our village had heard. This information had even made its way to the Huber-family in Reutling. There were a lot of whores near the cinema. Now it was going to happen, one way or another! "I'll have the last laugh, at least over one male hooker!"

The men marveled at the Princess. I was really a very beautiful girl.

"What does she want here?" they must have wondered.

They fought over me. Each of them wanted the young witch. I even had to choose. "Red, blond, brown, whom will I tear off his pants?"

I already found myself with one of these hot males who were looking for cheap gratification in his car.

"And ... and ... well ... was that it?"

It was over very quickly and one big disappointment. My anger at men had not dissipated – on the contrary. My frustration had only increased.

"One more has to pay for it!"

Rumor has it that a totally crazy and unknown witch had been like a wild animal to her suitors on this day.

I had put all my anger in these frustrating minutes, and totally finished these men off. They had had the legitimate fear, that the devil in person was going to bite their dicks off, or even worse.

Afterwards I showered and took a bath for two hours. At some point all my anger made way for a feeling of depression.

"You have to learn to accept love again," my witch had told me many times, "it is important for all of us that we are able to love.

"If only it were that easy!"

"Only in a state of all-encompassing love – and I know this sounds very spiritual – can we keep our feeling of happiness permanently erected. To like everything is really a very difficult way to live, but it supports the positive thinking and makes it easier to embrace simple happiness."

"Get used to living this way of simple happiness more and more", were her words.

"You can certainly not imagine how happy I am here in the water. I am even singing it all the time: 'Don't worry, be happy'!!!"

"If you surround yourself with things that you love as much as possible, you may feel happy."

"An orgasm a day, keeps the water away?"

"Our soul benefits from good memories of our past."

For once, I was thinking of having sex with Mark. He was really a little devil, an erotic volcano!

"If I should love this storm, the waves and the flashes, you'll become untrustworthy for me, my dear witch!"

"Above all, you should love your beautiful body, as well as your soul!"

"My body? In this state?"

"Life will love you, if you begin to accept everything and embrace everything. You can even develop your own belief, represent and advocate it."

'Simple happiness' ... and ... 'An orgasm a day keeps the doctor away'! Have you had your orgasm today?"

"My little witch got to be kidding me…"

°

I had known for a long time that people especially had to learn to develop wisdom, goodness and love in us as well as together with each other. And that does not mean that you need to go on a spiritual trip and mortify yourself, as many people believe. To live on wisdom and love does not mean having to stop enjoying sex, fun, parties and a good glass of wine. For most people, this is theoretically very easy to understand, but most of them miss out on the practical implementation.

"Should I learn all this here in the water? Does this always have to happen under the harshest conditions? After a shock like this one, I need a really significant motive to carry out a decision of such a type on a permanent basis!"

Even back then, after my evening as an "amateur prostitute", I had made a profound decision that changed my life for the long haul.

°

Nevertheless, I have to thank Chris or fate or this episode in my life a lot. I decided not to let anybody make a fool of me or disobey my decisions and commands again.

Now listen up! I wanted to achieve a higher social status at first. I wanted education and I wanted to make something of my life. To make up for my lack of knowledge, and to improve my situation regarding my status, I began to study at an evening high school.

However, in case I had been hoping for moral support from my family (financial support was, of course, out of the question), I was bitterly disappointed again. Not only my family, but even my extended circle of friends told me:

"You'll never make it!"

That was very motivating, as you can imagine. But wasn't it the same story when I was born?

"I'll show them what I am capable of!" I told myself.

Since then I know that you can do anything you can possibly imagine and anything you can dream of. The four and a half years were extremely challenging, not because of my studies, but because I missed out on life once again.

°

I was indescribably thirsty. I imagined what it would feel like to lean out of the boat, put my head into the water, and let the whole ocean flow into me. Would that feel good? Could I just finish everything with a good feeling? But would I even like the taste of salt water? Could my already confused thoughts become even more confused? Was I about to become completely delirious and jeopardize my chances of being rescued in the process?

"What are these crazy thoughts supposed to mean? You know that salt water will do internal damage to your body and kill you within hours! "

Oh yeah, my dear witch!

Once again, morning was about to break. For the first time since my yacht, the Carpe Diem, had sunk, it looked as if I was about to feel sun on my skin. Wait, was that a good thing or was I about to get sunburned on top of everything else now? Well, if someone came looking for me in an aircraft, it would be easier to find me now that the sky was unclouded than when the storm was raging. New hope flared up inside me at this thought. The sea had become much calmer and there was no reason why they should not find me today. Maybe someone was about to arrive in the next few minutes or hours?

"Rebecca, do not fool yourself. The coast guard is not even looking for you. They will not come!"

°

It happened shortly before the final exams at evening school. I was already 29 years old and had spent some wonderful weeks with Mark, who had started to study medicine at a nearby city. He even took me to his dissection class at the university hospital. His intentions were obviously very serious.

Even before I met Mark I was absolutely convinced that I wanted to become a doctor as well. Therefore, I had also begun to study at evening school. I was supposed to take over my aunt's naturopathic practice after her retirement.

Mark's father was a well-known surgeon, and he liked me very much, too. Everything was perfect. Mark took the initiative and was already planning our camping vacation together in Croatia. He had no problem with my shyness and was enthusiastic about my sensitivity. Then I got an unexpected call from Chris, who was studying abroad.

"Hi, I'm back in the mountains, in Reutling! Can we meet for a glass of wine?"

I immediately forgot Mark. I'm really sorry, my dear friend.

"Yeeeees! My great love remembers me!!!" was all I had in mind.

The reader can probably see where this was going. The game lasted one week – Mark was gone and Chris, after a few days, too.

Nevertheless, I successfully passed my final exams and graduated from evening high school, even though my friends and my family had not believed in me. This was the first feeling of success I had ever experienced in my life. But I just couldn't enjoy it.

On the contrary I fell into a deep, black hole instead, and my soul was filled with depressed feelings once again. My witch was watching me for a few weeks before she sent me with my brother Jo on vacation to visit one of our aunts in Portugal. The whole trip was all about forgetting Chris!

°

Rene was on vacation with his family and one of his cousins at that time too, and it was the first time in his life that he saw the sea. Rene lived on a farm near Cuxhaven, he was 30 years old and despite his age, he had not yet seen much of the big wide world. While my dear brother Jo concentrated on the older cousin of Rene, I was attracted to the extremely cheerful personality of this nature boy. While we were romping around, I forgot about Chris at least for a short period of time. At the same time, Jo only wanted to get into a girl's pants as fast as possible. Our aunt was jealous of the young girl. This resulted in violent scenes of jealousy and fierce quarrels, and Jo and I ended up moving out of our shared villa and we had to rent an apartment.

Rene's mother was open-minded and a bit older, but considerably more tolerant than our stubborn aunt. A lot of people become much more open-minded about everything when they get older. That's probably the result of experience. So this mother was even happy that her son and her niece had made friends with such nice people from the Alps. A carefree time with the two cheerful tourists followed.

While I was laughing and joking around with Rene in a friendly manner, Jo had already gone to bed with the older cousin. "I must be doing something wrong," I thought, but I wasn't able to figure out what it was.

Nevertheless, the vacation turned out to be a very pleasant experience for me as well. I would not want to miss it. When I was back at home after our vacation, Chris had only eyes for a Barbie girl of a neighboring village again . Jo and I soon decided to visit Rene and his cousin in Hamburg, which is about 1,000 kilometers away from where we lived. On our way up there, I had my first and up to now only rear-end collision on the freeway.

"Well, that's a good start," we thought, and almost changed our minds about the trip.

The extremely nice policemen, however, who had gotten wind of our plans to visit a German family 'up there' in Hamburg, encouraged us to continue our trip.

"That shouldn't keep you from going on, especially if your holiday acquaintances are so nice. Just keep more distance… to the cars of course," one of the officers said and laughed. "And don't fuck, um, hit everything at the thought of your two pretty ones! " No sooner said than done. The damage was repaired with the help of friends in Frankfurt, and we were on the road again two days later. The thought of escaping the clutches of our mother, being one thousand kilometers away and meeting up with light-hearted friends increased our euphoria on an hourly basis.

Once we arrived in Hamburg, we were cordially welcomed by the families of our conquests. In spite of this, my vacation passed without any sexual experiences once again, even though it was pleasant enough. Despite his age, Rene was still too inexperienced and shy, and I just could not forget Chris.

I didn't want to accept my fate.

"Why do I always go for the wrong men?"

This time, however, Rene had promised me to visit me in the mountains as a reward for my loving, warm and considerate attitude towards our friendship. But it was only after his second visit that I was finally somewhat successful. He had come to the mountains for the third time to celebrate my birthday at the beginning of December.

Chris and some of his friends had gone to the Arlberg Deep-Powder Weeks. The group wanted to enjoy the excellent powder snow in Lech at the beginning of December.

Rene was up to something else. He was finally thinking about 'going deeper' in our relationship – and tasting the honey that was flowing down there! His virginity – yes, this was a fact – should be my birthday present.

Before this happened, he was lucky to survive my attempts to teach him to ski. Furthermore, my witch had to philosophize for hours beforehand to convince me eventually but finally to enjoy my life.

"Do you want to have fun with Rene, or weep for Chris forever? And if you just fuck all day – whatever! Do not postpone it anymore, do it right now!"