Rammstein: Zeughaus


It was good to be home, and even in a low mood, Berlin could make me feel relaxed. The weather was bad, but that was all right, I didn’t mind. After dropping Nele off via taxi at her friend’s house for the weekend, though, I found myself standing on a street corner in the light misting rain with nothing to do. In the distance, the Zeughaus, still under reconstruction, loomed out of the dismal weather. I hadn’t been to the old Deutsches Historisches Museum in years, and though I knew it was currently closed for remodeling, I started walking toward it anyway, just to take a look.

The German Historical Museum was a huge, beautiful old building. I used to love to visit now and then. They’d been doing their remodeling since 1999 though, and the exhibits were being shown elsewhere in the meantime, in the Kronprinzenpalais, across from the Zeughaus.

I walked up to the construction barricades and stood looking the old building over. The noise of the city seemed to retreat for a moment as I allowed myself to get lost in memories of living here, being happy, being miserable, the line of visions marching back to my younger days when I’d first come here from Schwerin.

Slowly, a subtle sound nearby intruded just when I was starting to realize that the Zeughaus itself seemed very quiet. I looked to my left and saw a woman, bundled up in a heavy coat for the slight cold of the day, taking pictures of the building with a very large camera. Her dark red hair kept slipping from behind her ear and getting in her way as she took pictures with the speed of a professional.

Always one to get his head turned by a pretty face, I slipped into watching her instead of the scene before us. It was a shame the coat hid her figure, but her high cheekbones and strong square jaw promised a work of art. Her hair was probably long, but it was bound up in a loose herringbone braid, and rolled into a bun at the nape of her neck. The locks that she kept shoving behind her ears had already slipped from the braid. Her skin was milk pale and perfect, and I wondered what color her eyes were.

Feeling my gaze, she paused, held the camera just at her chin, and looked over at me. Her smile was shy and private, but she abruptly snapped my picture, too, and winked at me. I would have spoken, but she turned away. She walked to the corner, crossed the street and entered the Kronprinzenpalais, without another glance at me.

I stood there and watched her go into the other building, as the mist turned into rain. I both loved and hated these moments – moments of decision, choosing the immediate path, the next turning point for the rest of your life. I wondered as I made my decision and crossed the street to follow her, what the other decision to just walk on down Unter den Linden Avenue might have brought me.

The Kronprinzenpalais was busy with tourists and locals alike taking in the culture of Berlin in its temporary housing. I searched the crowd, but didn’t see my bundled redhead. I slowly started to feel odd, and wondered what on earth I might say to her if I did find her.

“May I help you find something, sir?”

I turned and saw a museum guide looking up at me inquisitively. The idea of asking her if she’d seen a random woman whose name I didn’t know seemed absurd; but at that exact moment, I saw my quarry across the lobby.

“I’m trying to find her, actually,” I answered.

“Fraulein Roehrig? Are you a friend?”

“Fraulein? Um… yes… a friend.”

Fraulein Roehrig had gone into a door that had ‘employees’ stenciled on it, and disappeared.

“I could give her your name, and see if she can talk to you? Did you have an appointment?”

“Ah, no. Do I need one?”


“Never mind, actually, I should go; but if she’d like to have a drink, I’ll be at the Drei. Danke.”

I escaped back out the main doors to find myself standing in the rain again. My own coat wasn’t warm enough for this, and with recording looming soon, I really didn’t need to catch a cold. Flustered and feeling foolish, I hailed a taxi and headed for one of the few bars where I could drink in relative privacy.


I watched him cross the street and follow me and wondered what I should do about it, but the Crown Prince Palace was close enough, so I just went back inside it and crossed the lobby to the employees’ door. I was just gathering my things to leave for the day, when Hannah poked her head in the door and called to me. I took up my purse, camera, and laptop satchel and walked to her at the door.

“There was a man asking for you, Lorelei. He said he was a friend of yours, but didn’t stay. He said if you wanted to meet for a drink, he was going to the Drei.”

“Did he give his name?”

“No, he didn’t. He looked embarrassed, actually. Then he got a taxi and left.”

“What did he look like?”

“Someone you’d want to know.”


“Just handsome. Tall, well built, with gorgeous eyes. He sort of looked familiar, too, but I couldn’t place him.”

“Hm, well, I guess it’s a mystery. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The rain had set in to ruin the late afternoon, and it made the city look dismal and lost. I didn’t want to go home. The apartment was too empty with Dieter gone to France, anyway. Needing a bit of adventure, I went to my car and drove off to the bar. I saw no harm in seeing him again, if it was just for a drink.

The corner of Lychenerstrasse and Raumerstrasse was pouring down rain, too, and I had to park and run for the doors of Drei, one of my favorite bars. I brought in my purse, leaving the rest in the car, and found a table where I could put my back in a corner. I hung my coat on the back of my chair and sat down, glancing about for a waiter.

Abruptly, I saw my mysterious stranger again, at a table opposite mine, with his back to another corner. He might not have noticed me yet, but out of curiosity, I looked him over. Hannah had been right; he was a handsome man. His black hair was short at the back, but his longer bangs swept down into his eyes. I was too far away to see their color, but he was a striking figure. As I watched, the waiter brought him another drink, and then came over to me.

I ordered a scotch on the rocks and went on watching my mysterious friend. He did look vaguely familiar, but I had no idea why. I had already given up the idea of speaking to him, when he abruptly turned his head and looked at me. Startled, I looked out the window, avoiding his gaze.

Thoughts tumbled and mixed in my head, were studied, then shoved away. I knew my erstwhile fiancé was probably visiting a girlfriend in Paris; but did Dieter’s affairs give me the right to stare at strange men, or think about them? What about that promise to myself to wait until Dieter came home and confront him – make him straighten up? He’d been gone in spirit longer than this trip to Paris, and I still had no word of when he planned to be back. Long empty nights had started to take their toll.

I glanced over again at the man, trying to be subtle. He wasn’t watching me now, which left me free to watch him. His hands were beautiful. Big and expressive, hard to tell if they were soft, but they looked strong. He seemed over all to be a very powerfully built man, but his expression seemed lost and sad.

The waiter brought my scotch. “Fraulein, the gentleman at the table across from you, he asked to put your tab on his, if you didn’t mind.”

“Oh? Well, please tell him thank you, but no.”

“As you wish, Fraulein.”

I took my book out of my purse and started reading, just to have a reason to ignore the strange man, but I hadn’t gotten more than a page of it read before I saw him get up to leave. Forgetting to be covert, I watched him go, but he did not turn to look at me. He paid his bill and spoke briefly to the bartender, but too low for me to hear his words.

“Certainly, Mr. Lindemann, and we’ll see you again. Danke,” the bartender said.

Lindemann. I knew I’d heard that name before. Seemed I had a book by a man of that name. I looked out the window and saw him standing under the awning at the doors. The rain was coming down in a torrent, and taxis were scarce, it seemed.

It abruptly occurred to me that in moments he could be gone. I didn’t know him, that was true, but he was the first man I’d even taken an interest in for months. The anger at Dieter’s betrayals welled in me. All the times my friends had called me timid, or docile, paraded in my mind. Under it all, the need to be desired filled me.

Before I knew what I was doing, I shoved my book into my purse, downed my scotch for courage, put on my coat, and went to pay my tab. To my surprise, the bartender told me that Mr. Lindemann had already paid for the drink. Well, it gave me an opening line, at least.

I went out the doors and stood beside him. He was at least a head taller than me, so I had to tilt my head up to look at his face.

“That was gallant of you, if unasked for.”

“Unappreciated?” he asked, almost too quietly to hear.

“No, not unappreciated. You may have a hard time getting a taxi, you know.”

“So it seems.” He watched the street, looking forlorn.

I went quiet, then. I’d run out of steam, or courage. I had never been good at meeting people, anyway, and this was starting to feel wrong.

“Did you need a taxi?” he asked.

“Oh, no. I have my car, just there.”

He glanced at my car, almost ten feet away in the rain. I saw a taxi coming then, saw its turn signal flash. Decision time, Lorelei.

“Where were you headed?” I asked in a rush.

“I thought I’d go to Café Einstein for awhile.”

“I could drive you,” I said. “I haven’t got much to do this evening.”

He’d seen the taxi too. We both watched it slow and then drive on past.

“Where did you want to go?” he asked me, turning to look down at me.

His eyes were gorgeous; a brilliant blue-green that barely hid his soul. I couldn’t speak for a moment. Then he smiled slightly, as if he was shy, and I remembered how to talk.

“Actually, I was just going home,” I said.

“Oh, then I shouldn’t trouble you. There’ll be another taxi.”

Frustration could taste like rust. So could fear. Fear of doing what I’d hated done to me, and a crazy desire to take him home anyway, warred with each other. I glanced up at him helplessly, unable to speak at all.

His eyes locked onto mine and we stared at each other for what felt like forever. I was shocked to see that he looked as lonely and hungry as I felt. I tried to free my tongue.

“It – it wouldn’t trouble me. I’d like the company.”

“Then I accept. Danke.”

I had to fish for my keys as I led him to my car. We got wetter as I fumbled to unlock it, and he barely fit when we got in. I vaguely remembered where the Einstein was, but didn’t say so. I drove off in silence, and he didn’t offer a word, either.

Soon, having followed a very familiar route, I turned down Anhalterstraße, drove up into the ground floor of the multi-story car park Potsdamer Arkaden, and parked in my usual spot.

“This isn’t the Einstein,” he said.

I had driven home. I felt my blush heating my face, but I also had to deal with my mistake. We were five minutes away from the Potsdamer Platz, and my apartment building, but Café Einstein was on Kurfürstenstraße.

My passenger turned to look at me, but didn’t speak again. His face looked compassionate and I fell to wondering what the hell I was about to do.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m a creature of habit, I guess. But,” I looked at him with my heart in my throat, “I live just five minutes away. Would you like to come up? I can make a mean cocktail myself.”


I wasn’t sure how she ended up inviting me into her home if she was so intent on avoiding me before, but as Chris always said, how could a man expect to know why a woman does things? I’d never been against a quick bit of fun, after all. If that was what she wanted. Nothing was guaranteed, of course. She didn’t seem at all sure what she wanted; but I was game to find out.

“Ja, I’d like that,” I said, noting that her eyes were a shocking emerald.

“Okay,” she said, and jumped out of the car.

We locked her doors and I carried her camera bag and satchel for her. We stood at the edge of the rain and paused. Suddenly bold, I took her hand in mine and we raced off into the rain down the street. When we reached her building, we passed a bakery at the ground level, and then got to her elevator, laughing like children.

When the elevator car reached us, she pushed the button for the sixth floor and we stood silently as it moved.

I didn’t crowd her as she opened her door, and let her enter first before following a moment later. When she turned on the lights, I found myself in a very simple one room flat, with dining table, bed, and living room furniture all in the same room. The small kitchen was separated at one side, and the closet which probably also hid a bathroom, on the other. It was beautifully decorated, and if it hadn’t been raining, it would probably have been very bright, with a big row of windows all along one wall. I walked over to look out and saw a good view over the rooftops of downtown Berlin.

“Make yourself at home. What would you like to drink?”

“Tequila, if you have it.” I put her camera bag and satchel on the coffee table and sat on the couch.

I watched her take off her coat and enjoyed the figure beneath it. She wore a very tailored suit jacket with a skirt cut just above the knee, in dark blue. Her cream silk blouse had a plunging neckline, and she wore two-inch pumps that matched the suit perfectly. Walking to me with grace, she was a sight for lonesome eyes.

“May I take your jacket?”

I stood and removed it, handing it to her wordlessly. Her manner was still hesitant, like she wasn’t sure why she had me here. This wasn’t my usual brand of brazen hussy or eager groupie. This was a lady who might have made a mistake in inviting her guest along to her home. It made me feel self-conscious, and I wondered if she knew who I was at all. I had assumed she did, since most women who picked me up were only interested because of the band.

She hung my jacket next to hers at the closed door, and went to the kitchen to fix our drinks. I sat again and fidgeted, wondering if I could smoke in here. I glanced at the walls and saw that the hanging frames all held black and white photographs of Berlin. Probably her work, I guessed. She came out of the kitchen with two whiskey glasses and handed me one.

“I didn’t really catch your name. I’m Lorelei.”

“Till,” I said, and sipped. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Oh, no, go ahead.”

I set down the thick glass and fished out my cigarettes. I watched her as I lit one and inhaled, because she was watching me do it. I held the pack out to her to offer her one.

“No, thanks. I don’t smoke. I just have a strange fascination with it, I guess.”

“I smoke too much, they tell me… and drink too much,” I added, while lifting the glass again.

“People love to tell others what to do or not to do. Even if they do the things they say are wrong.”

“Quite right.” I puffed and sipped in silence a moment. She held her glass in both hands and toyed with it. “You know, if you’re uncomfortable, I could just go.”

“No, it’s all right. Please stay awhile. My – I mean, I’m alone, and it gets so quiet by myself.”

Small talk for openers. Okay, I could do that. “Do you work for the museum?” I asked.

“Yes. What do you do?”

“I’m… in the music business.”


I watched her a moment, saw how she kept stealing glances at my hands, and smiled. I leaned back a bit, and stretched out my legs under the coffee table. My black t-shirt stretched over my chest, and imagining her out of her suit was starting to compromise my black jeans, too. My usual worries of whether or not she thought I was much to look at might soon drown in basic lust. Whether or not anything happened, I was grateful for that. It helped me fake the nonchalant confidence I tried now to show off; and sometimes the simple pleasure of feeling an erection build was underrated. One didn’t have to make use of it. Of course, walking out of here might be a problem in another few moments.

I fell back to watching her quietly as she fidgeted with her glass. She’s torn, I realized. She did want me here, but she’s afraid now for some reason. Afraid of me? I didn’t think so. Afraid of what she wanted? Probably. With my erection and the tequila lending me absurd courage, I downed the liquor and set the glass down. I spotted an ashtray on the dining table, and got up to fetch it, taking it to the window nearest the couch.

“You have a hell of a view here,” I said, drawing on the cigarette and holding the ashtray so my hands couldn’t fidget.

She got up and stood beside me. “Yes, I love it here,” she whispered, her fingers laced tightly together.

I set the ashtray on the windowsill and stubbed out the cigarette. Reaching out to touch her chin, I turned her toward me. She didn’t protest or resist. That was enough for me. I leaned in and kissed her lightly.

Her sudden passion surprised me. She put her arms up around my neck and kissed me deeply, hungrily. My arms took her in and pressed her body tightly to mine. She kissed me as if we were already familiar lovers, and I quickly figured out her secret. There was a boyfriend somewhere, but too far away to be of use to her, and maybe gone too long. She loved him, too. Did I have a right to come between that?

My body didn’t care about ethics, though. She wanted me, never mind whom she might see with her eyes closed. Did it matter to me? These trysts weren’t meant to last anyway, but would she care about doing this? How far would she go?

When she broke the kiss and our embrace just to lead me to her bed, I had my answer. I sat her down on the bed, then stood before her and took off my shirt, tossing it on the floor in a corner. Her hands came up and fumbled with my belt, and button fly. I wasn’t wearing any underwear, which made her blush.

I grunted in anticipation when she drew out my rigid cock. She seemed just a bit daunted by it’s heft, which bolstered my confidence a little. She released me when I leaned in again to kiss her. Then I shucked off my shoes, socks, and jeans while watching her take off her jacket and shoes. Then I raised her to her feet again and kissed her hard.

My fingers moved to unbutton her blouse, slipping it off and letting it fall, revealing a lacy black bra that barely contained her beautiful breasts. My hands slid up her thighs and felt the garters holding the hose. Be still my heart – I loved garter belts.

I held her and kissed her again, while my fingers traveled around her hips to unzip her skirt and let it fall. Straightening, I slid fingers inside the bra cups and let her hardened nipples peek out. Slowly, loving her low moan, I suckled each one. They were pink and perfect, and if there hadn’t been so much more to taste, I could have been content with just them.

She moved out of my embrace to sit and unhook the hose and roll them down, one after the other. Soon, the garter belt, hose and bra were heaped in the corner with the rest of our clothes.
I watched her avidly as she took down her braided bun and shook out her long hair, stamped with the little waves from the braid. It looked soft, and I couldn’t wait to touch it, and her.

She lay back on the bed, her dark red hair fanning out over the scarlet coverlet. Her eyes looked up at me with a vulnerable need. I wanted to make it right for her, make it good. If all my pointless encounters had given me anything, at least they’d given me a trick or two that the women loved, regardless of how they felt about me.


My God, he was magnificent. Huge and athletic, and just beautifully made; but it was the uncertainty in his eyes that made me melt. How could anyone so beautiful be uncertain of anything? Yet maybe I knew how he felt. I wanted this, and I refused to turn back now, but my own uncertainties lurked below the surface of want. I might regret this afterward, but not for the act itself. I had a feeling that would be worth remembering.

He moved onto my bed and ran his hands through my hair in a way that made me feel like a work of art. Then he moved down to crouch beside my legs, and curled his fingers into the side straps of my black lace panties, sliding them down just above my knees. His left hand splayed on my stomach, leaning down on his elbow to support his weight. I reached to touch his swirling black chest hair, but when his right hand slid up between my thighs, my hand froze on his chest.

I wanted to spread my legs wider for him, but the panties stopped me, and he seemed to want that for now. I felt his fingertips brush my shaved sex, and I was instantly wet. The fingers toyed with touching me until I groaned and then they finally entered me. Thick and strong, they stroked inside me. I closed my eyes and drifted into a searing heat.

I didn’t feel his weight shift until I felt his tongue on my clitoris. It struck with light little jabs, and then licked with wide strokes. My fingers found his broad shoulders and kneaded them, trying not to scratch him with my pristine French manicure.

Instinct wanted to open to him, but his elbows on either side of my legs kept them just inches apart as his tongue went to delicious work. I felt the heat build like a pressure deep inside, as the friction he made on my clitoris threatened to make me explode. When it hit, I cried out, and my nails raked his shoulders. He wracked my body with tremors, and a throbbing and exquisite pleasure, which he lapped quickly, making it go on and on until I almost couldn’t breathe.

Finally, when he moved, he slipped off the panties and tossed them on our growing pile of mixed-up garments. My fingers moved under his heated armpits, and drew him up over my body. He settled his weight over me carefully and as I opened my legs to him, he positioned himself with a natural poise. Then, as if not wanting to give me time to cool down, his heavy cock slide up inside my body in one quick, smooth motion. It was big, hard to take at first, and if he hadn’t made me so wet, I might have had trouble with it. It was gloriously hard though, filled me tightly, and I didn’t care about a thing except feeling it, and feeling his weight come down on me.

He started a slow rhythmic thrusting, rubbing my nipples with his chest hair, kissing and nipping at my neck and collarbone. I tried to remember to move with him, to be good for him, to make him desire me so much that he’d forget everything. I licked and kissed and suckled at his earlobe, darting my tongue into his ear hole and thrusting it there in time with his cock inside me. His answering groan told me I’d found something he liked. I flicked my hips to meet his more urgent thrusts, and tried to hold on to the feeling of him, imagining the head of that glorious thing tapping my cervix, since it was long enough to reach it, certainly. The thought of that drove me wild.

My own orgasm began to build again, and my nails bit into his back when it hit me unexpectedly fast. Sweating and breathing hard, I tried to concentrate on moving with him although I was starting to feel lightheaded.

Abruptly, he slowed his pace and began an easy slow motion, pulling almost all the way out, but then sliding back to his entire length. I felt his full scrotum touch me then, as I could feel his hard cock with every inch of my sheath. I’d thought he was going to cum quickly, but now I knew I had one of those gems with staying power.

He caught my gaze and held it, and his eyes were huge and full of light. His lips were gentle as he kissed me, and the lightest of stubble on his face either softly brushed me or rasped, if he rubbed it against the grain.

“You are so beautiful, Lorelei,” he said in a low husky voice.

“So are you,” I whispered.

I didn’t understand why the compliment made him shy away from my gaze. He laid his forehead against my shoulder and nuzzled my throat as he thrust, slow and perfect, and my breath came faster as the delicious pressure coiled deep inside me again. His lips on my left nipple sucked hard and nipped a little, driving me over the edge.

He seemed to know it when I was close and quickened his pace again, making me gasp out loud. I forgot about keeping his rhythm, and just let my body melt in his heat. I couldn’t think – I could only feel. He drove into me hungrily, desperately, with crashing thrusts, his forehead on my chest, labored breathing and bursts of breath that might have been moans. I felt his body tensing as mine did, and when it hit me again, we both cried out at once and he collapsed heavily onto me.

I lay motionless under his weight and tried to breathe, but I didn’t want him to move yet. I could feel his long bangs brushing my chest, his fingers playing tiredly with my right nipple.


I couldn’t breathe at all, and I was probably crushing her, but I had to get my head to stop spinning before I moved. Damn, I needed that. She was amazing, and whatever stupid fuck had left her alone deserved his fate.

I picked my head up to tell her that but ended up just smiling and kissing her again. I attempted to move and she scooted over as I did and I slid my spent cock out of her warmth and lay beside her. She turned toward me and cuddled up.

It had become a little cold in the room, and then I realized that we had a full-blown lightning storm outside. I watched it rage for a while until I felt her shiver. Then I moved and got up, helping her get the covers down. She snuggled in sleepily. I went to hunt down the bathroom, and when I got back, she was watching the storm.

I hesitated, wondering at her mood, unsure if I should go. Then she looked at me and held out her hand to me. Gratefully, I returned to her side and slipped into the covers close beside her. We both watched the rain and flashes of lightning until we fell asleep.

I awoke to a very pleasing sensation. I knew what it was, but it took me a moment to order my brain into actual thoughts. When I opened my eyes, they confirmed it. I had had a jolly midnight erection, and she’d decided to play with it.

I watched my cock disappear and reappear from her red lips and trembled with the pleasure of her sucking and licking attentions. I had to smile when I noticed she was trying to take it all in, and trying to cover the fact that she couldn’t. Her breasts, full and perfect, made a lovely background to my own enjoyment, too. Yet all the pleasure aside, I could tell she wasn’t used to doing this. I didn’t mind playing experiment, that was certain, but I knew better ways to use that hard-on that she might like more. Not wanting to interrupt what she wanted to do, I waited until she took a pause for breath, then reached out and offered my hands.

She took them in hers, and allowed me to lay her down beside me again. I straddled over her thighs after opening them just a little, and took my heavy cock in my own hand. My left hand fingers touched the delicate and already glistening folds of her sex and opened them to lay my cock in the cleft, just on top of her clitoris. With a talented enough angle and good hip thrust, the entire length of my cock slid down and rubbed up over her clitoris in one smooth motion.

She gasped and grabbed at my forearms with her hands and stared up at me with her mouth open in a silent cry. Smiling, gaining confidence in my trick, and myself, I kept up the motion for a while, long enough to make her start to squirm. The break at the end of the slide when I slipped back to begin again should have broken the pace of her orgasm enough to halt it, and then the next pass worked it up again to a new heat.

This game was tough on me, though. I became so hard it almost hurt, staring at her tight wet opening every time I pulled back, then hiding it from view and watching my cock slide through the delicate folds of her flesh again. Soon enough, I let it slide back far enough to drop and thrust it inside this time instead of along the top again.

Her nails bit into my forearms, but I didn’t mind. The pain felt sort of good, mixed with the pleasure of filling her again. This time I didn’t bother with longevity tricks, and just thrust hard and fast for my own needs, but when her arms rose up and her hands kneaded and scratched my chest, I knew she enjoyed it like this, too. One good pinch to my right nipple, and I almost came immediately. I moved to lie on her fully and kissed her hungrily while I thrust, deep and hard. She wrapped her legs around me and moaned.

My own orgasm was threatening to explode already. I thought briefly about trying to hold it off, but she started that flicking thrust with her hips again, our bodies crashing together, and it was too much for me. I felt the hot flood release, jetting deep inside, and reveled in the feeling that melted my bones and blurred my mind.

When we quieted, and collapsed, I got off of her and she snuggled into me again. It was dark outside except for the city lights, and the rain still fell relentlessly. Thunder muttered in the distance, but the lightning was over with, for us.

I watched the rain long after her breathing went regular and even. I held her white and smooth hourglass body to mine, my arm under her neck, and my right hand resting lightly on her full breasts.

Morning arrived with some very bright sunshine that tried to fry my eyes. I didn’t see Lorelei until I sat up and found her sitting on the couch drinking coffee and watching me.

“Good morning. Coffee? Take it black?”

I nodded, not trusting my tongue yet. She got up to pour me a cup, dressed in a red terry bathrobe. Her hair looked damp, and I was sorry I’d missed the shower scene. I also suspected I needed a shower myself. She brought me coffee and sat on the couch again. I sipped it carefully. Not too hot, and a good blend.

“I have to go and take some more photos today at the Zeughaus. I did notice you earlier yesterday, looking at it. Have you been?”

“A while ago, yes; but with the remodeling, no.”

“Well, you happen to know someone who is allowed in when they aren’t working. Want to come along and see it?”

I thought about today. It was Saturday, wasn’t it? I still didn’t have anything to do. The band would own me again in a week, and then it was off to Spain to record.

“I’d like that. We could grab something for breakfast downstairs and hop on a tram.”

“Spoken like a man who isn’t used to having a car.” She winked at me. “I can drive us there, then take you wherever you need to go afterward.”

“Sounds good,” I said, secretly disappointed that it didn’t sound like she had a weekend in mind. “May I borrow your shower?”

“Sure. I need to check emails, and dress.”

She got out her laptop and set it up on the coffee table. I took my mug with me and walked naked to her bathroom, aware of her eyes on me. I left the mug by the bathroom sink, noticed the extra towels hanging nearby, and started up a hot shower.

The water steamed up the room quickly and it felt glorious on my skin. I helped myself with amusement to the shower items that obviously belonged to the man of the house. Having taken everything else that was his, why worry if he’d mind that? She wasn’t really his. She owned herself, after all. If she chose to share herself with me, it was no other man’s business.

So that ended all questions about whether or not I should be here with Lorelei; and I made no assumptions about us, either. I knew she’d probably return to him, or find another. My place in her plans was clear – a diversion, a release – and I told myself that was all I needed, too.

I rubbed steamed fog off of the mirror with a towel to shave, and paused to stare at my face, appropriated razor poised in my hand. I started to reach for the shaving cream, and then stopped. The shadow of a two-day stubble helped to hide the marks on my face. Staring into my own eyes, I slowly put the razor back down.


I didn’t reply to emails that asked what I was up to this weekend. They sat in my inbox and stared back at me. The homely sound of a shower going was usually comforting, but I couldn’t relax knowing it was the wrong man in there; a man who had mine beat in the bedroom department, too, no use denying that.  Few women would pick Dieter out in a room, to be honest. He was too bookish and serious to be considered conventionally sexy. Yet Till seemed to radiate a heat that must melt women in his path, including me; and I had caught him in a melancholy mood, no less.

The emails from friends and family asking innocent questions of my plans still loomed on the screen. I didn’t want to lie and say everything was quiet and boring, but I couldn’t tell them I had a human volcano in my shower, either. The new mail symbol flashed abruptly, and I saw an email from Dieter appear with the others. Slowly, I turned the machine off and closed it.

I got into the closet and found a pretty hunter green sundress to wear, with black ankle-boots, and a cropped black Bolero jacket. For reasons I pretended to ignore, I also wore a dark green garter belt and hose, with a sliver of a silk thong. Slipping my boots on while sitting on the bed, I noticed our tangled pile of clothes strewn in the corner of my bedroom. A blush rose to my cheeks as thoughts of all he’d done to me last night filled my mind. I nearly lay down again, half-dreaming, but startled awake and picked up the clothes hurriedly. I folded his into a neat stack on the foot of the bed, and put mine away in the closet and hamper. I went to the windows and looked out over the already bustling busy city.

“You look so lovely in the morning sun,” he said.

I turned to smile at him and my heart nearly stopped, taking in the sight of his damp, mussed and chiseled body.

“Thank you,” I said, trying to regain composure.

He smiled shyly and went to his clothes and dressed, seemingly embarrassed to have me watching him do it. It was a shame to cover him up, but at least I still had his eyes to enjoy, half-lidded in the sunlight, and full of uncertainty. As he turned around and went to the couch, though, I had to appreciate the tight jeans a little, too.  He put on his socks and boots, then stood and came up to me.

I thought he might speak, but he took me in his arms and kissed me instead, as if trying to drown the newborn guilt in my face. In spite of myself, I melted. It was all I could manage to escape and lead him to the door before we ended up in bed again. I grabbed my purse and camera and headed out.

Downstairs, I didn’t stop at the ground floor bakery. Every soul in it knew me and knew Dieter. I kept up a constant chatter about the Zeughaus on the way to my car instead, how the museum used to be an arsenal, taking a string of architects over thirty years to finish it. Till nodded and said the appropriate polite replies in the right places, but I was sure he knew I was avoiding my building’s bakery to head for a less conspicuous place.

“I thought we might go to a proper sit down breakfast. Do you have a favorite?” I asked.

“Head for the Paul Lincke-Ufer. The Café Übersee is a good nook.”

I drove and talked out of nervousness. He listened and watched the city around us without a word. I was torn between being happy that he didn’t touch me, and wanting him to slide his hand up my dress. Now and then, he smiled privately, and I assumed my mental turmoil was on display. I had never had a good poker face, and he seemed adept at reading my every glance and gesture.

Traffic wasn’t bad and we were soon among the garden cafés along the Paul-Lincke-Ufer. I parked at the Café Übersee, and we walked in and got a table out on the terrace.


The menu offered a wide variety, but we never got past the coffee and croissants. She sipped her coffee with feigned confidence, and I abruptly had a wicked idea. The warm morning sun melted the surface of the little scooped balls of butter in a china dish on the table to a bright glistening soft treat. I took my knife and smeared far too much of it all over my half of a warm croissant, even slathering a layer of it in-between the flaky layers of the roll.

I lifted it up to my lips, caught Lorelei’s eye, and began to lick at the butter suggestively. The waiter, a wise man, was soon scarce; as I put every trick I’d ever learned about making a woman worship a man’s tongue into my ministrations on my breakfast.

The hunger in my companion’s eyes rose. She set her coffee cup down as if she feared she’d spill it, but kept her fingers locked on it while staring at me in growing heat. Richard would have called me cruel, but he’d have said it with a twinkle in his eye. I was starting to feel quite proud of myself until the game started to excite me, too. Not wanting to hurt myself trying to walk out of here in tight jeans, I grinned impishly at her, and tore off a big buttery bite of it. She laughed, and I felt some of her uneasy mood lift.

We talked about incidental things then, neither saying too much about our private, or public lives. It was obvious to me now that she did not know me. I didn’t even know if she’d heard of Rammstein. Her world was the art and history museums, parks and national treasures. It seemed very far from my life of stage lights and studios. I knew we would never have met if I hadn’t been daydreaming at the museum, standing in the rain like an idiot.

When we got there, she found a security guard at the barricades in front of the Zeughaus, and showed him an I.D. card from her purse. He waved us through without really looking at me. The doors of the Zeughaus were standing open and men in coveralls were working here and there.

“I have to take photographs of one of the new wings. It shouldn’t take long,” she said, leading me inside the building.

Lorelei took us to a finished room away from the few workers, and got her camera out of its case. I stood and watched her as she spoke, telling me about the whole reconstruction project, but as she started taking pictures rapidly, telling me what it was they wanted the photos for, I had a difficult time paying attention to her words.

I was captivated by her dark red hair gleaming with gold highlights in the brightly lit room, and her smooth, graceful movements. The way the cloth of her dress clung to her body and then lifted slightly in the gentle breeze from the open doors, billowing around her beautiful legs. I wondered if the boots were laced tightly. I could imagine myself unlacing them later and kissing the red pressmarks on her feet from tight shoes.

Following her around the huge room, keeping her in sight by walking backwards now and then, I barely paid attention in time to avoid walking right into a scaffold that stood in the far corner, covered in thick blue plastic tarps. I stood there with my back to it, and watched her with delight.

After a small eternity, she put the camera away and came over to me. I reached out and touched her face, leaned down and kissed her. My need was sharp now, straining for her flesh, and without much thought of propriety or eavesdroppers, I backed up, bringing her with me, and slipped under the tarps.


My world turned a stifled dim blue, as we stood inside the four-foot square base of the scaffold, curtained by tarps. The wall at Till’s back was lit a lurid neon blue from the sunlight trying to shine through the boundaries of this hiding place.

I’d never crept under meager cover in public and made out with a man before, but his intense passion was too hot for me to care about that now; and when his left hand finally did slide up my dress, I realized that making out wasn’t his only intention. I tried to think, but his fingers gently moved the silk of my thong away and entered me, rubbing the soft flesh his kissing had already made so wet. Relentless fingers never stopping, he turned us and put my back to the wall.

When his hand moved, he was biting my throat and from a distance that seemed to be miles away, I heard him open his belt and jeans. Any thought of demure protest died when he stopped and looked into my eyes, seeking approval, his own eyes burning with a mix of lust and hesitant need that I could never have denied. I smiled at him in shy invitation, unable to speak.

As my dress was abruptly bunched up around my waist, he crouched to pull the thong down to my boots, and helped me step my left foot out of it. His mouth spread my legs open with strong, insistent laps of his tongue, my hands grasping at his broad back, biting my lower lip to keep silent.

Then he stood again and lifted my left leg up onto his thigh, and with a sharp hip thrust, drove his rigid, engorged cock into my body. I gasped and his mouth covered mine to keep me quiet as he thrust into me again and again, hard and full, but furtively quick, all too aware of where we were.

I forgot instantly where we were. My existence became a hot blue-lit little space and a magnificent cock working my body to a trembling frenzy. His hands freed my breasts of both bra and dress and his mouth sucked and bit my nipples until I almost screamed with my first orgasm. His lips locked onto mine again, and his left hand kneaded my breasts, while the right hand held my leg up on his thigh. The heat around us, and the heat within, made my head spin. The rough texture of his jeans on my silken hose, his tongue, his hard chest crushing into me, and his cock thrusting deep, awash in my body’s fluids, drove me beyond human thought. My orgasm built, exploded, and built again, but he kept his fast pace, devouring me, feeding off of my lust and letting it enhance his.

When his own gruff moan at my throat threatened our privacy, I held his head and kissed him to muffle us both. His powerful hands on me, our sweat beaded and mixed on sliding flesh; and then I felt my pleasure drown me again as he came in molten bursts deep inside.


I couldn’t breathe or see until my head cleared of the haze of lust. Slowly, I discovered again that it was very stuffy and hot, we were sweating and disheveled, and in a tangle up against the wall. I slid my cock slowly out of her body and we just clung to each other in simple exhaustion for a moment.

Then voices intruded from across the room. Hurriedly, we tried to get ourselves put back into order like civilized human beings. I lifted the end of my t-shirt and let her wipe the sweat off her face. She gave me a look that I translated as ‘stay here’ and slipped out from under the tarps. Momentarily, I heard her boots go by me, as if she’d come from the next room. She said hello to whomever was there and I sweltered while they talked.

Finally, she came back to me and whispered that they had gone. Walking out of here was a challenge. I probably looked frightfully mussed, too. Lorelei had patted her hair tame again, but I just tilted my head down and shook my long bangs out to hang where they wanted.

We stepped out of the museum hand-in-hand, heedless of anyone else. I tried to walk to her car beside her and watch her at once. Culture shock be damned, I could fall for this woman, and I admitted it to myself in a sudden moment of raw feeling. The desire to take her somewhere fancy struck me, to dress up for her and be her gentleman. Why not? Thunder boomed in the distance, and I looked up to see the gathering of a new storm.

Ten feet from her car, a tram stopped and a voice called her name. She let my hand go immediately and turned to face the man wearing glasses that walked up to us.

“Dieter! When did you get back?”

“This morning. Didn’t you get my email? I had quite a time getting back from the airport without you, too. Who is this?”

“A friend; an old friend. We were having a look at the renovations, catching up on old times.”

“You’re ‘old friends’ with the singer of a rock band?”

She barely covered her surprise in time, and didn’t look at me. “Yes. What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, nothing. Pleased to meet you, Herr Lindemann. I’m Dieter Hausman, Lorelei’s fiancé.”

“Hallo,” I said, trying not to look shell-shocked.

“Well, I hate to meet and run, but Lorelei and I have a lot to work on if we’re ever going to get this wedding off the ground, right, Liebchen?”

As he turned toward her car, Lorelei looked at me helplessly, confused and torn. I knew she’d go, I’d known it before mad hope had started; but I cared too much already to feel anything but loss.

“Rock band?” she asked with a tremor in her voice.

“Rammstein. Heard of us?”

“Oh, my…. Well, I don’t know what to say and we haven’t the time to say it. Will I see you again? Around, anywhere?”

“That’s up to you. If you change your mind about becoming Frau Hausman, that is. There are ways to find me. Ask at the Drei.”

She started to speak again when her fiancé called to her from the car. She ached to kiss me, I could see that, but she still turned and went to him.

Clouds had gathered to cover us over again while we were locked inside each other in the Zeughaus, and now they began to rain. I looked up at the gathering storm so I wouldn’t have to see her drive away.

As I walked off down Unter den Linden Avenue, on the other side of that decision I’d made a day ago already, the scattered words to a new poem began to echo in my head. It would be a poem about a man with an arsenal of tricks to keep his love at his side… but I didn’t know how to end it.

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