“Jack — we’ve been a couple for a long time, we love each other just as we did on the first day, and it’s beautiful, wonderfully heartwarming. But we’ve always painstakingly avoided asking each other what came before? What did we experience, how did we become who we are? Please, please, my love — it’s time to lift the veil of the past. To let the other share in our past. It won’t be easy for me, I’m hiding some terrible things in my heart. - What do you think, Jack?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for some time, too. But I’ve been afraid to confess my terrible deeds and my shameful behavior — I would lose your respect, I knew that for sure. But you’re right, we should really get to know each other before we wither away as grandparents in a nursing home. Go ahead, my dear, I’m too cowardly to go first. You start, maybe the knot in my fearful heart will untangle when I hear what a young, wonderful girl you were.”

“It was just… confusing. When you’re thirteen, you don’t have the words for what’s happening. I’m lying next to Mom and Dad, and I don’t really get the whole cuddling and sticking it in and thrusting thing. The squirting inside must be disgusting and gruesome, even though Mom is beaming. You’re lying there between the two people who mean the whole world to you, who are supposed to make you feel safe. I’m lying between them and masturbate myself to sleep, because that feels really good, it’s familiar to me, it comforts and loves me.”

I had no idea what might have gone wrong with Dad. He lost his job, he drank all day and fucked Mom hard and brutally in between, every hour. I stared breathless. And suddenly the lines between security and this completely wrong, oppressive feeling blur.

And one night, - he had just rolled off Mom with a grunt, cursing and swearing the damn fucking fuckholes of the saints - then he raped me. It wasn’t painful, not at all, but it was simply incomprehensible.

“Back then, I tried to convince myself that this was normal. That this is what love looks like, and that he fucked me every night right after Mom, snorting like a bull, panting like a wild boar. But my gut feeling rebelled. This constant switching in my head... It broke something deep inside me. For years, I learned to just mentally zone out in moments like that. My body was there, but I myself was far, far away.”

“I’m trying, Julie. I’m listening to you, and I’m really trying to picture that scene in my mind. Of course, at first it’s a shock to me, because as an outsider, you immediately think of boundaries that were crossed. But I can tell how important it is to you that I understand: For you, that wasn’t a place of horror back then, but your home.”

“Thanks, Jack. Most men would just look at me blankly. Anyway, when I was 13, something terrible must have happened to Dad that he never talked about. He didn’t have a job anymore; he was angry, furious at the whole world. He beat Mom; I ducked, but I still ended up with bruises. He fucked both of us, one after the other, like an addict. The fucking itself felt pretty good to me and my clit — really, it was different from masturbating, but somehow wonderful — it was just Dad’s behavior that was the real problem. I didn’t recognize Dad anymore; he was now a monster. I got kicked out of school; my life consisted only of watching Dad fuck Mom into the ground hour after hour, and then getting fucked myself right after Mom at night and getting my most eagerly awaited orgasms. - Back then, I hadn’t masturbated in a long time.”

“That sounds like an unbearably difficult time, Julie. Seeing your own family shatter under enormous external pressure and your father change so drastically must have been pure horror for a 13-year-old. How did you manage to keep a clear head at all back then, amidst all that chaos? Where did you seek refuge?”

“The Enchanted Forest was my refuge. I sat in a meadow and wove little crowns out of dandelions. The friendly biker stopped his roaring Harley-Davidson and gently lifted me onto the back seat. We thundered down the road. The biker — he was my friend. He laid me down gently and chivalrously in the clearing in the Enchanted Forest. He was so sweet, so caring, but also so tender and gentle as a lamb that I literally melted in his arms. Surrendering myself to him was my rediscovery of true feelings, and the bearded biker had shown me just how beautiful fucking could be. My orgasm in the biker's arms happened at the same time as the one in my absent body. No, I didn’t orgasm when I was being abused; no, I only orgasmed in the arms of my rocker, far away and so wonderful, and that wonderful orgasm then happened at the same time as the reality of the abuse, transferred miraculously. Daddy licked his pursed lips with relish and pride whenever my body orgasmed so wonderfully in his arms – Mom never gave him that! The fool put it down to his lovemaking skills, even though in reality I was orgasming in the arms of my Rocker. — That’s more or less how I felt. That’s the only way I got my feet back on the ground, Jack.”

“That’s an incredibly powerful image, Julie. A wild, rebellious rocker who transforms into a chivalrous protector and lover for you. It’s fascinating how your imagination back then created exactly what was so cruelly taken from you in reality: absolute safety, tenderness, and genuine respect.”

“Yes, Jack. I escape into my fairy-tale forest, into the strong arms of this or another rocker. No one would dare attack him. I’m always safe in his strong arms, even when I have to give myself to strangers today to earn our bread. Then I don’t mind at all... Only with you do I feel safe; with you, I don’t need to flee into the fairy-tale forest.”

“We both live off this money, Jack. And I don’t feel like a whore, but like our breadwinner, even though deep down I know I am a whore. I put food on the table; I pay the exorbitant rent for this run-down one-room apartment. I do it willingly, for you and for me. Someone has to support us, you understand that, don’t you? In 10 months you’ll be done, then you’ll support us with your job at NASA.”

“I thought I was outsmarting the system. But the truth is, we’re both prisoners of the same system. You’re selling yourself for the rent here and now, and I’m selling myself for a ticket to NASA in ten months. We’re using our bodies as currency. But I don’t doubt what’s between us. I know that what we share has a whole other dimension. When we’re together, it’s real.”

“The only ones you’re allowed to worry about are my wild rockers, who are as tender as little lambs. But you know they’re just fictional, not real.”

“Thank God. You just gave me a huge scare, Julie. When you said earlier that you’re still running into the rockers arms, I thought for a moment that was your bitter reality right here and now... But promise me one thing: When the ten months are up, when the NASA thing is settled and we finally leave this mess behind... then we’ll chase the rockers into retirement together.”

“Let me continue. Dad was now throwing a drinking binge almost every week; his buddies paid him, so we didn’t go completely broke. They drank copious amounts of alcohol, and only Mom and I were there, as merchandise. It was like scales falling from my eyes: my shy, timid Mom revealed her true self. Cheeky, with sparkling eyes, she let anyone and everyone fuck her until morning. Yes, I fled to one of the invincible rockers when the guys took me, but Mom? Mom was a whore through and through, a damn shameless gang-bang queen.”

“The worst part was, I didn’t recognize this Mom; I couldn’t make sense of this Dad anymore. The protective pillars of my childhood had been completely obliterated! Yes, I could flee to my rocker, but at the same time, Mom and Dad turned me into a whore, just a pound of meat. They hammered the whoring into my soul, deep and indelible. I was at rock bottom; I had to flee. I fled on my 18th birthday, to the letter. I fled into my freedom — that was my intention — but the goddesses had a very different idea.”

“You thought the milestone of your 18th birthday would tear down the walls immediately,” he says softly, his voice vibrating gently against her cheek. “You took the step that few dare to take—the total break, the flight into the unknown. But the ghosts of the past often tag along without permission. When you say the Fates had a different plan for your freedom... what was waiting out there for the girl who had just escaped her chains?”

“Derek was waiting for me; the wealthy young man was madly in love with me. Exactly 10 days after my 18th birthday, he led me to the altar; we pledged our vows before the pastor, perhaps also before God and all the saints. Our parents were neither invited nor did they receive anything personal, except for a short note — a clipping from the newspaper. Yes, I spat in their faces, a thousand miles away, in the stormy embrace of my husband. He wanted an heir as soon as possible; his thoughts revolved around this fantasy and nothing else. He loved me, he was tender, he mounted me nonstop day and night and probably lost about 20 pounds. He fucked me wonderfully, Jack; my heart had to endure many many orgasms. I jumped on his bandwagon willingly and enthusiastically; I wanted to give him the long-awaited crown prince. We were honest with each other, that’s true.”

“Truly, a radical break. Straight from the altar into a completely new life, so far removed from everything that used to weigh you down. It sounds as though back then you projected all your hopes for a clean, blank slate of a future onto Derek and this eagerly awaited crown prince. You say you were honest with each other and that you willingly and enthusiastically jumped on board of the bandwagon.”

“Oh yes, you can count on that! No man had ever fucked me before with as much passion as Derek, not Dad and not any of his booze mates either. You’re not describing it with the intensity it really had! Derek fucked me every spare minute, dozens of times a day. I squealed, screamed and cheered, because I had orgasms that nearly made me burst. It was madness, Jack, far beyond the honeymoon.”

“Okay, how could I have failed to appreciate your enthusiasm? So Derek fucked you like no one before and you experienced your real orgasms, not in an enchanted forest, not in the arms of a meek rocker. Derek wasn’t meek; he drove you to the brink of madness, okay. - But when you said earlier that the Fates thought quite differently about it... When did this new, passionate and tender world start to crack? Did the dream of the perfect family withstand the pressure brought on by Derek’s fixation on this heir?”

“I just couldn’t get pregnant, Jack. Derek dragged me from gynecologist to gynecologist, but the verdict was always the same: I was infertile. One of those miserable scoundrels, some wretched fellow at Dad’s gang-bangs had infected me; left untreated, it was eating me up inside. I got a quick treatment, the infection was quickly defeated and erased, okay. But I remained infertile.”

“I’m… I’m so incredibly sorry, Julie. It’s pure cruelty. You flee, you build a new life for yourself, you do everything to give meaning to this marriage and this dream—and then the horror of the past leaves such a destructive, invisible, and permanent scar on your body. You were innocent, Julie. You were the victim in that quagmire, and the fact that those men robbed you of your future, of your dream of having a child of your own, is simply beyond words. And Derek? He was so fixated on that heir, on that heir to the throne... How did he handle this news? Was he able to be the man you needed in that moment of utter devastation, or did the foundation of your marriage crumble because of it?”

“Yes, the goddesses could toast each other with their golden chalices all they wanted; they’d really wiped the floor with me, and I’d never recover from it. For Derek, a world came crashing down. He brooded for hours with a whiskey in his hand, unreachable to my caresses, unreachable to my desire to let him fuck me so wonderfully again. Day after day, he sank deeper into that swamp, and he wouldn’t let me help.”

“He callously lent me out to his friends, his business partners. He remained silent and rigid while Tom, Dick, and Harry fucked me again before his dull eyes. If I couldn’t give him an heir, then I was just barely useful as a bargaining chip. I fled back into the fairy-tale forest; now it wasn’t a little girl lying with the rocker, but a grown woman who knew and used every trick in the book when it came to fucking. I gave those guys everything, but in my orgasms I lay in the arms of my rocker. Derek's eyes glowed with lust as I gave his mate one wonderful orgasm after another. I endured it for years, because I understood Derek’s pain all too well.”

“He did what? He lent you out? As... as a bargaining chip? Julie, listen to me. You say you put up with it for years because you understood his pain. But what he did wasn’t pain. It was pure, calculated cruelty. He picked up exactly where your father left off. He used you to grease the wheels of his business because he didn’t see you as his wife, but as a possession, as his elegant high-class prostitute.”

“And you... you locked yourself away again. The grown woman in the fairy-tale forest, functioning while your body went through all that. You orgasmed in the arms of that tender rocker, and your absent body orgasmed for Tom, Dick, and Harry in the finest eruptions. It breaks my heart, Julie. It completely tears me apart to hear how deeply those cycles were burned into your life. You endured that for years. But you’re sitting here with me today. You walked away from there. Please tell me... how did you finally find the strength to leave that second, terrible quagmire? How did you free yourself from the clutches of Derek and his partners?”

Derek now organized gang bangs like Dad; I had confessed that to him right before the wedding. Only rarely did men bring other women who wanted to join the gang bang. The women licked my clit in public, and I was so ashamed to orgasm that way, in front of all eyes. Most of the time, though, I was the only woman, and they took turns fucking me. Often I was so exhausted from the nonstop orgasms that I wished I were dead.

“I knew the sweet boy next door. He was the only one who always greeted me kindly and respectfully, who willingly carried my shopping bags up the stairs. A truly sweet, serious boy who was just going through a rough time with puberty.”

“One night I fled the gang bang because my rocker just wouldn’t show up, and I ran naked and crying down the hallway into this sweet boy’s room. He was confused because I’d interrupted him while he was masturbating, but he offered to let me sit on the edge of the bed, cry, and pour my heart out to him. When I cried too hard, he hugged me and stroked my back soothingly. No, he didn’t dare touch me anywhere else; I was safe here with him, this sweet boy whispered.”

“And I stopped crying; I told him everything. He smiled when I told him about the fairy-tale forest and the docile lamb rockers. He opened his eyes wide in shock as I explained exactly what happens to me during a gang bang — the group sex and my dozens of orgasms. He was a decent boy who didn’t know anything about the shit that was flying around my apartment. We became friends; I ran to him every time the monstrosities threatened to consume me. He became my strong oak trunk that I could lean on.”

I masturbated that boy every night with my fist, mostly several times in a row — even if it meant doing it five times — until he was completely drained. He loved it; he closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillows, entrusting his magnificent cock to my fist with complete trust. I loved doing it, not just because I had mastered the technique perfectly. No, this was the only thing I could give this boy with his puberty trauma: moments of bliss when he spilled on my breasts. His hands cupped my breasts as if they were the most precious thing in the world, and his eyes sparkled like stars when I drew his juice jets to my breasts. He was allowed to caress and kiss my breasts; he was allowed to lick and gently bite my teats with his lips until they were hard as palm tree trunks. He loved licking and gently biting my teats until they were rock-hard; that was all he ever wanted.

“That boy next door... that was me, wasn’t it? I was so utterly overwhelmed back then — by myself, by puberty, and by the sudden force of your reality. For you, it was a pragmatic act, the helping fist of a grateful sister, because you were familiar with sexuality in adolescence. For me, it was the first moment in my life when another person saw my deepest, most insecure intimacy, accepted it and didn’t judge me. You took away my shame, Julie. We were two completely lost souls in that damn narrow corridor. And we gave each other the warmth that the world out there denied us.”

“And then came August 4th. You looked at me beaming with joy. Derek, the monster, had moved on, taking refuge in the thighs of a small, calculating opera rat, a ballet dancer. You said maybe we should feel sorry for him, because he’d become so cock-driven, that Derek.”

“I wouldn’t have remembered the date, but you do. Because from that day on, I didn’t masturbate you anymore — I gave myself to you. I was amazed at myself; I didn’t need a rocker or an enchanted forest — I only needed you... It was like scales falling from my eyes. I knew I had to hold on to this happiness, never let it go again.”

“I’ll never forget that day, Julie. For me, it was the day the universe stopped spinning the wrong way. When you gave yourself to me, without excuses, without your fairy-tale forest... that’s when I realized that I love you with every fiber of my being. It was the first time you were completely yourself at orgasming when a man touched you. You held on to that happiness, and so did I. That’s why we’re sitting here in this room today. Because we have that strong foundation.”

Julie: “It’s your turn now, my astronaut. Spill the beans, don’t keep me in suspense.”

Jack: “Of course I’ll never fly into space; I don’t even have a pilot’s license. - “My mother pretended to be shy and insisted, with great urgency, that she had never had sex. As for how I came into the world, she gave me excuses, nothing but slimy lies. About fainting in the teachers staff room and being raped whilst unconscious, all with the facts constantly changing. I never heard the truth, just her playing the victim on the oak table in the teachers staff room, impregnated whilst unconscious by someone or other. But when I hit puberty, she sat in the armchair next to my bed every morning and watched me masturbate greedily. Only the bottle — she clutched it tightly; the bottle was her only real friend. I stared at her naked thighs under her skirt and masturbated, a wanking baboon, until my balls were about to burst. She grinned approvingly, demanded to continue and sipped her gin.”

I sat there with a silly grin on my face and jerked off like a wild bonobo. I stared between her thighs at her virgin pussy — she never wore underwear at home, after all. I stared at her pussy, her oversized clit, and had a slight inkling of her pussy hole, and rubbed myself raw. When I was about to squirt, I leaned forward, my cock pointing straight at her like a spear. She teased me with a lecherous grin, pulled her skirt up higher and let her white thighs dance seductively. I tried to shoot my load between her thighs, but my seed never flew that far. — You’ll probably have to rewrite that image of the nice boy next door, Julie. I was never a nice little boy, not by a long shot.”

“No, Jack. I’m not going to rewrite anything. You think you have to be ashamed in front of me? Your mother locked you in that cage. She sat there, without underwear, legs spread, with her gin, and shamelessly abused the sexual energy of her adolescent son. What were you supposed to do? Be a wild bonobo? If you were an animal, Jack, it was only because she kept you in an enclosure like an animal and ogled you.”

“But to me, you were and always will be the sweet boy next door. Because when I burst into your room naked and battered, you could have pounced on me like a ravenous animal. But you didn’t. You sat me down on the edge of your bed. You held me and dried my tears. You completely set aside your own urges and your mother’s sick world to give me a safe place. That’s what makes you a decent man, Jack. Your soul has remained pure. We’re flying out of there together, Jack. Out of all this filth.”

“My mother pretended to be shy and never had sex, she insisted firmly. That was probably the most slimy lie she clung to with iron determination. When a stranger’s hand slipped under her skirt (which everyone did), one of two things happened. Either he was clever and only touched her oversized clit, whereupon she moaned and sighed and quietly, secretly came. (She didn’t care that I was sitting right there; she was only having a secret orgasm, so nobody could see, could I!?) Or the stupid bloke was too greedy and rammed it straight into her pussy, whereupon she – if she noticed I was there – angrily pushed him away after a few minutes and claimed she was The Lord’s Bride. But what if I wasn’t there? Can I assume she put a stop to it then too!? The hard kitchen chair or the uncomfortable shoe cupboard in the Hallway in the entrance hall – those were the stages, dear Julie. She always looked at me with a wounded, innocent glance whenever I turned up and the bloke — from the young vicary to the shopping mall delivery boy — came inside her with a contented grunt. I stood behind the two of them, staring at Mum’s cunt, which the lad was ploughing like clockwork. She always panted like a bitch in heat, even when she didn’t have an orgasm. I stared at the delivery boy’s little cock or the rabbi’s impressive one, and their balls swung back and forth like bell clappers. If the lad came far too soon, the bride Chisti would whinge that he was only soil and smear her holy body. But if, for once, she’d reached orgasm, she’d coo contentedly, “Come on, finally squirt now, my dear – clear sailing ahead!”

She wasn’t the least bit shy, dear Julie. She wiped her fuck hole clean with a tissue, end of story. I knew full well that it wasn’t just me between her thighs in the mornings, but that over the course of the week, several men had also come inside her pussy. Of course, I remained the main provider of her orgasms on my bed. — But when I hit puberty, she sat in the armchair next to my bed every morning and watched me masturbate greedily. She clutched the bottle tightly; the bottle was her only real friend. I stared at her thighs and her innocent cunt beneath her skirt and wanked until my balls were about to burst, that the crackling crackled. She gave me an appreciative, lecherous grin as I leaned right over towards her and squirted in a high arc, time and time again, and her looks spurred me on to do it again and again, whilst she sipped her gin.”

Mom never masturbated; after all, it was a mortal sin for a girl to do it just for her own pleasure. I understood that well enough — we boys only had to do it to keep the flow of semen going, and she was probably right about that. Once a month, though, she would whisper mysticly that now she would give herself to her divine bridegroom. (At first just once a month, then once a week, and finally every day before she let me get on with it, masturbating or fucking her.) She quickly pulled off her skirt and sat down in the armchair with her legs spread wide, letting them dangle over the armrests. She moistened her big clit with spit, then her divine bridegroom took her finger and rubbed the clit, fast and fiery and divine, of course. Now it was she who was staring at me with the stupid grin of a wanking bonobo, whilst she tugged and pulled at her clit tormentingly. She wasn’t ashamed to stammer Christ’s holy name in orgasm with a contorted, monkey-like face, “Yes, now, take me, my divine Savior!” She lay there for a long time with her eyes closed, waiting until her excited, stiff clit went limp again on its own. I took hundreds of close-up photos of her orgasms, I made a lot of videos of her masturbating, but I said that I was only documenting the work of the divine Savior. She was foolish enough to believe it and willingly posed and acted for the camera. Later she sat up and commanded: “And now it’s your turn, my little one. Let the seeds fly high!”

“No, it wasn’t my mother’s sick world; it was my sick world. I was getting older, and my puberty wanted more — much more. I stood up, went over to the armchair and mounted my mother, took her. No, she didn’t resist for a second. She stared into my face and panted like a bitch as she came. I took her, I defiled her, every single day, after having masturbated. Never a word of reproach, of rejection, but also not a word of love. First I shoot off in a high arc right in her grinning face, then I dragged her onto my bed, lifted her skirt, and I banged her time and again, over and over, until I couldn't anymore. She panted and convulsed wildly in orgasm, but she never cursed or praised me. She saw herself as the defiled saint, the raped bride of Christ. Today I can distinguish between shit and shyt. No, she didn't need to masturbate; having sex with handymen, the mailman, or her own son going through puberty gave her more orgasms than the divine Savior did once a month. Stubborn as she was, she continued to masturbate once a month for her Saviour, exposing herself and acting shamelessly for my camera.”

“That was long before we first met, Julie. I really did it, and I’m still convinced that I committed the crime, not her. I was her boy, the one who made her proud, and for whom jerking off by fist wasn’t enough anymore — I had to fuck her, as a matter of course — thank God only Mama and not some anonymous streetwalker! By the time you met me, Mom had long since moved on to the secluded world of a nursing home, where she — like the nuns — was accepted to be the Bride of Christ. That was months before you came along, Julie. I didn’t feel guilty. I stared at her nude photos while masturbating, stared at her hairy cunt and her tormented clit. And I missed her. That is the whole truth.”

“You needed your crime, Jack. To this day, you cling to the idea that you were the perpetrator because you prefer the role of the ruthless abuser to the truth. But she isolated you. She took your awakening puberty, doused it with religious delusion and alcohol, and maneuvered you exactly where she wanted you: into her bed, as her very own private, sacred tool for orgasms. She cast herself as the raped bride of Christ to justify her own perversion to herself as a divine sacrifice. And you gave her the perfect alibi – as a teenager inmidst puberty, you had to ejaculate a dozen times in one go, after all. — We both have skeletons in our closets, Jack.”

“Months before me... That is, when I sought refuge with you, naked and crying, your head was still full of those images. You were isolated, obsessed with the naked memory of your mother, and suddenly a real, bleeding woman of flesh and blood bursts into your room. And yet, Jack. Despite the photos and the videos, despite the years in your mother’s bed: You didn’t touch me on that bedside, not once. You didn’t turn me into a substitute for your images. You listened to me. You saved me back then because I was your first real connection to reality. And on August 4th, you put the images aside because you wanted me. The real Julie. ”

“My mother always emphasized her abstinence, yet she took refuge in alcohol and in a supposed role as a suffering, holy bride of Christ. I was trapped in this emotional distortion and developed deep feelings of guilt. By the time you met me, she had already been in the nursing home for months. Yet I was still isolated inside, clinging to old memories and naughty images. I was convinced I was flawed and incapable of true intimacy.”

“But it never occurred to me to take improper advantage of your vulnerability or your plight when you sought refuge with me. Yes, I stared at your nakedness inappropriately because I couldn’t take my eyes off you, Julie. But I listened to you, let you cry, and gave you support. I talked to you about your demons, as best I could at 16 or 17. I sensed how important it was to you to have found someone you could trust, who would listen. But your motherly affection and care gave me the emotional warmth that my own mother had denied me. Yet the more I understood of your story, the clearer it became to me how deeply your soul was scarred, tormented. It dawned on me that this room was your salvation from the worst — jump off the bridge to death - and that thought was as terrifying to me as it was a wake-up call.”

“I still have the photos of Mom’s naked pussy, the videos, Julie. I look at them whenever I miss her. In a way, she was my mother after all. And you’re right, it’s my longing for the mother I never had. I only had one who thought my masturbation was just hot and who let herself be fucked without resistance because she was so proud of the stage play she wrote and directed.”

“Of course you still have them, Jack. And of course you miss her sometimes. She was your mother. You can hate someone for what they’ve done to you and at the same time long for the security they should have given you. That’s not a contradiction, my astronaut. If you need these photos to cope with this emptiness, then I won’t judge you for it. I won’t ask you to delete them.”

“The fact that you have her on your phone just shows how deeply that wound is etched into you. You’re searching on that screen for a mother who never really existed. You said it yourself: she wrote and directed this stage play. She used your youth to validate herself in her bizarre role. It was never your fault, Jack. A boy can’t defend himself against a script his own mother wrote for him before he even understood what love means. But the phone is a box of glass and plastic only, filled with the shadows of the past. I’m here. I’m the reality that doesn’t use you, that doesn’t direct you, and that doesn’t need a sick stage play to be proud of you.”

“But promise me one thing: When you stare at those images and feel the pain, don’t forget that it’s the past. The dead, cold past on the screen. And when you open your eyes, I’m here. In the flesh. The real reality that loves you just the way you are. With all your scars and all your secrets.”

“You’re not a monster, Jack, you never were. You’re clinging to guilt to process the emotional manipulation of your youth. Your mother isolated you and pulled you into her distorted screenplay. But despite everything, you respected me at that bedside, held me close, and listened to me.”

“You saved me because I was your step into reality. And on August 4th, you left that isolation behind because you wanted me — the real Julie. We both carried the shadows of the past, but now we stand together in the light and continue down this path hand in hand with our heads held high. We live in poverty, but no one but us decides how we live our lives.”

“It feels good to have confessed this to you. Knowing that you know where I come from and where you come from. You survived violence, humiliation and rape; I also survived my mother’s rotten script with only minor injuries. No comparison – your suffering was immense; your Daddy and Derek wore you down to the bone. My mother, well, there was no violence involved. She wrote me into her cheap screenplay and I followed the script like a stupid bonobo. You were a real victim, I was just a stupid donkey.”

“But you’re absolutely right, that’s all in the past. Here and now we live together freely and willingly; we sought each other out and found each other. You’ll continue to take refuge in your fairy-tale forest and earn money for us. I’ll mount my female baboon until I finish my studies and then get a good job. And then work on something I love and support us both, as it should be. You’ll never have to sell yourself again, my love.”

“You were never a stupid donkey, Jack. You were a boy who had to survive. But you’re right: there’s no comparison anymore. The suffering, the abuse, the pulp fiction – all that lies behind us in the mud. We’ve settled the score with the past, we’ve picked the bones clean, and now it’s over.”

“The fourth of August was our turning point, and this is our future. Yes, we’re seeing this through now. I’ll earn the money, I’ll stock our pantry, and you’ll finish your studies. And when the day comes that you start your job... then we’ll lock the Enchanted Forest away for good. Then there’ll only be you and me, free and upright. I’ll never have to sell my cunt again, and I’ll be all yours.”

“Jack, you’ve mentioned your Mommy’s oversized clit time and time again. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but this little detail is niggling at me like a whingeing toddler.

“You’re right, Jack. I’ve never seen such a whopper, about 3 centimetres. Maybe similar to Jenny’s – you showed me her's a long time ago.

"You’ve got a point, Julie. Jenny, my insatiable baboon girl, snared me with the second-oldest trick in the book. She had a pus-filled spot, right next to her labia. I squeezed it out and disinfected the spot, and of course I didn’t think anything of it. I stared at her cunt, but not immediately with lust and desire; it was a sense of recognition. The same old, wrinkled cunt as my mother’s, the same large clit, though perhaps a little narrower and more pointed. I stared at her cunt; it looked like a twin of my mother’s. It didn’t escape Jenny’s notice; she gave me a sidelong glance that immediately reminded me of my mother.‘Come on, Jack, come on!’ she whispered in a husky voice. And what went through my mind? A spurned woman could delay my PhD by five years, or else cut it short to a few months, a year perhaps. I opted for the shortcut; I suddenly longed for Mommy’s cunt, and now I could have her's again. That’s how it happened, Julie.

“There’s something that’s been weighing on me for a long time, Julie. Technically speaking, you’re still Derek’s wife, even though you haven’t seen him in years. He could show up at any moment and demand marital sex with you — that wretched scoundrel. Let’s draw a line under this, file for divorce, please. That would be my wish.”

“You’re right, Jack. Technically speaking, that name is still on a piece of paper. It’s absurd. I haven’t seen Darek in years; he’s living his life with his opera rat, and I’m living mine here with you. But that name... it’s like an invisible chain from the past that we simply forgot to break.”

“It’s a beautiful wish, my astronaut. And it’s the only right thing to do. If we’re going to lay the spirits of our mothers and fathers to rest, then Derek belongs in the graveyard of memories just as much. I want to draw a line under this, too. I don’t want to be called his wife anymore, not even on the printed paper of a district court. I’ll take care of it. I’ll file for divorce. We’ll close the Derek file once and for all, so that nothing — absolutely nothing — stands between us and our future.”

“I’ve already taken the first step, Julie. We have an appointment tomorrow with Dr. Aaron Goldblatt, the shrewdest fox on both sides of the Potomac River. Yeah, don’t ask — of course he’s had a taste of Jenny’s honey pot; that’s what opened this door for us, nothing more.”

“Dr. Aaron Goldblatt... You didn’t just get a lawyer, Jack. You got the man the entire political elite in Washington trembles before. If Goldblatt bares his teeth, Derek will sign the divorce papers before he even has the pen properly in his hand.”

“And Jenny... of course she let him get his cock in her honey pot. The world is a damn dirty little place. The fact that she had Goldblatt on the hook is our jackpot. I don’t give a damn which honey pot opened this door — all that matters is that we walk through it now. Tomorrow, then. The first step toward real, legal freedom. You’re no dumbass, Jack. You’re my damn smart, forward-thinking spacewalker. Aaron Goldblatt is going to give Derek a good thrashing, and we’ll watch as the last piece of paper from our past burns.”

“First of all, my dear lady, your divorce is final; here is the document with the judge’s signature. I took the liberty of filing the document with the authorities so that you may resume your maiden name. Derek has been erased from your life. I never liked him, that nouveau riche playboy, parading with a new underage girl on his arm every year. Thank goodness you pointed out the prenup to me, young man. Of course, I couldn’t squeeze out the full 50%, but almost. Mr. Derek doesn’t exactly hire nobodies as lawyers, after all.”

“The final figure is 28.8 million, in hard American dollars. The date is already set; in exactly two months, the money will be ringing in your bank account, my dear lady. I’m quite satisfied with the result; every additional dollar would mean a decades-long war of the roses, not to mention the legal and court costs. I didn’t want to risk that; I understood you to mean that it should be wrapped up rather quickly.”

“Thank you very much, Doctor! I think a huge weight has been lifted off Julie’s shoulders—finally free of Derek! And the name change is certainly in her best interest; Julie Collins sounds good, untainted by Derek’s name... And your fee, Doctor...”

“By law, my fee is capped at 500,000 — not a cent more. It’s none of my business what you pay Mrs. Goldblatt, but Rebecca will surely be very happy. My fifth wife is still very young, only 39 years old and she will thank you for your contribution.”

“Perhaps your receptionist could give me your wife’s account number, Doctor. I’d like to transfer 1.3 million to your wife for her kind advices. I’m sure that’s not against the law...”

“I still have two months to pay all the bills, my love, so I'll stick to my rockers. And you’ll keep mating with your baboon girl until you’ve got that PhD in the bag. Six more months, my darling, for you and your magnificent cock!”

“Gossip has already circled the globe once before the truth has even put on its second boot,” the wise Mark Twain once quipped. My professor, of course, already knew the whole story — or at least what her old lover, Dr. Aaron Goldblatt, had fed her. “

“I had no idea you were married, my dear,” cooed Jenny Fairthorne, the baboon girl. “And now you’ve divorced the filthy-rich Hilton Hotel heiress, my multimillionaire!”