Johanna - 5-1 free porn video

The fall semester of my sophomore year of college was just as lonely as the spring semester of my freshman year. I did well at school, got to know classmates as acquaintances, but still made no friends. The longer it went on, the more I was convinced that there was something wrong with me.

Halfway through the semester I went to a presentation by the International Office on Study Abroad. I was really keen to leave campus, but the cost of program seemed prohibitive. I knew Mom didn’t have the money, so I just filed it away.

As the leaves fell and the days grew shorter, I went back to working at the stables with Robin and Misty Sue. I had a frank talk with Misty Sue and made it clear that our sexual dalliance was over. She was disappointed but took it well. I think Robin was relieved to find me working in the stables again instead of avoiding her.

I had dinner with the two of them a couple of times a week. I told them about my hopes of studying abroad.

“Don’t you think your mother will support you?” asked Robin.

“Of course, she’ll support me,” I said. “That’s not the problem. The problem is that she will support me, but I know she can’t afford it. She’ll scrimp and deny herself all her little pleasures in order come up with the money. She lives very simply as it is, I can’t make things worse for her.”

“Hmmm,” said Robin. She was quiet through the rest of the meal and finally spoke as we were having tea afterward. “You’ve worked for me almost ten years, Johanna. I’ve never counted the hours, but it’s been a lot. I haven’t had to clothe you or give you room and board. It’s been a good deal for me.”

“I’ve enjoyed coming here, Robin,” I said.

“Misty Sue and I would like pay for your study abroad thing,” she said. Misty Sue nodded.

“Are you sure?” I asked, not quite daring to hope. “It’s not cheap.”

“We’ll cover it,” said Robin.

I got up, put my arms around her, and kissed her on the lips. I kept my eyes open and looked at Misty Sue over her shoulder. Robin held me for a briefly, but didn’t open her mouth to receive my tongue. I tried for a moment to get a response, but she pushed me away.

“Don’t, Johanna,” she said. “You’ve worked here for years, you’re like a daughter to me. Let’s leave it at that.”

*

Mom was initially reluctant to accept Robin’s offer, saying that it was her responsibility to pay for me. But I kept at her with Robin’s argument that it was just a repayment for all my years of work at the stables. Eventually, she agreed.

 I worked with the university’s Study Abroad staff to get my paperwork in order. Just before the Christmas break of 2011, I got an acceptance from the University of Göttingen. I corresponded with their admissions office to finalize my student accommodation and course registrations.

In early January 2012, Mom drove me to the airport to begin the series of flights that would take me to Germany. As we stood together outside the security area, she hugged me tight, and kissed me hard. I was surprised to see she was crying.

“Write to me and call me every day, Johanna,” she sniffed. “I’ll miss you.”

“Of course I will, Mom,” I said. Faced with the reality of leaving her alone, I was beset with guilt. She looked so forlorn that I felt my own tears well up. “I can cancel everything and stay with you …”

“No, no,” she said, quickly wiping her eyes. “You must go. Have a lovely time and make new friends. Soar into the sky and see the world. But remember wherever you go, you will always have my love with you.”

I cried all the way on the flight to Newark.

Making the transition to my Lufthansa flight in the busy airport, I got into a conversation about my Study Abroad program with the person checking me in. As we talked about Göttingen, I got caught up in the excitement of my upcoming trip and began to feel more upbeat.

On the transatlantic flight, I read an Irmgard Keun novel in the original German. I spoke to the flight attendants in German. I was pleased when they all assumed that I was a native, and even asked if I was from Heidelberg. I was tempted to lie, but I ended up telling them the truth – that I am American and had picked up the accent speaking to a German professor from Heidelberg.

I flew to Europe every year, but it was always with Mom. This was my first trip by myself. I was feeling carefree and I guess my excitement showed only too clearly.

The flight was not very full and I had three seats with a window all to myself. I was able to spread myself out, sitting in the middle seat, but retaining the option of the window if there was anything interesting to see outside.

One of flight attendants was a cute, young guy and he came back several times to chat with me. He put a hand on my shoulder the first time and thereafter each time he came back, he grew a little more adventurous. He became bolder when the lights were turned down after the meal service and most passengers were drifting off the sleep or engrossed in watching movies.

The first time he cupped my breast through my blouse and bra I demurred verbally, "Wir sollten das nicht tun." (We shouldn’t do that). But I didn’t push his hand away. The next time when he unbuttoned my blouse, I whispered, Jemand wird sehen! "(Someone will see!) But when he leaned down and kissed me, I kissed him back.

Thus encouraged, he sat down in the aisle seat and took me in his arms. He pushed down the cups of my bra and my nipples hardened and stood out. He whispered that he liked my nipples against him as he held me tight. He pushed his hand up my skirt between my legs and his fingers teased me through my panties. I was breathing hard, but I knew this was more than I wanted. I managed to get his hand out from between my legs and put my hands on his chest to give myself some breathing room.

“Warum?” he asked. (Why?)

“Nur ein paar Küsse,” I murmured. (Just a few kisses.) I switched to English. “I don’t want to have sex with you. I don’t know you.”

“That’s the fun of it,” he responded in a low voice, also in English. “Come on, Johanna! You have gotten me so hard!”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Are you going to leave me like this?”

“I’m so sorry,” I repeated.

“Alles ist fair in Sex,” he said philosophically. “Küss mich noch einmal.” (All’s fair in sex; kiss me one more time.)

I kissed him again and he played with my nipples before I pushed him away.

He came by a few more times during the night, but I kept him at a safe distance. He gave me a card with his contacts and asked me to get in touch once I was settled. He formally wished me good day and auf wiedersehen as I deplaned in Frankfurt. I dropped his card in a trash bin on my way to immigration. I went to a restroom and sat in a cubicle crying quietly for a while. I felt like a cock teasing bitch.

*

I settled in quickly at the university in Göttingen. It was snowy, but much milder than the winters in Wisconsin. I made several acquaintances in my first week there. One of them was Dieter, a tall, lean guy with an easy smile and irreverent Bavarian country accent.

He invited me to a party on my first Friday there and I made the mistake of trying to keep up with him drinking beer. We stayed at the party, drinking, chatting and dancing till about midnight. We kissed and made out. When we left together, he put his arm around my waist.

He asked me to come by his place for another beer. I knew I was very drunk and refused, but he just laughed. I’m a bit hazy about exactly what happened, but we ended up in his place anyway. As he got me a can of beer from the fridge, he said his flatmate was out for the weekend. By this time, I'd sobered up. I didn’t really want the beer, but took it over my better judgment. We sat on the couch in the living room and he kissed me again.

I kissed him back hesitantly. I was not sure I wanted this, but I felt I had led him on and “owed” him, especially after the episode on the flight over from Newark. So when he pulled my top up over my head, I helped him take it off.

He unfastened my bra and kissed my nipples muttering, “Du hast kleine Titten, Johanna!” (You have small tits, Johanna!)

“Magst du sie nicht?” I mumbled. (Don’t you like them?)

“Ich wünschte, sie wären größer, Johanna,” he said in a low voice. (I wish they were bigger, Johanna.)

He hiked up my skirt and pulled down my panties.

“Please go down on me,” I asked, continuing in English.

He ignored my request and pushed a finger into me, using his thumb on my clitoris. It was not gentle, but I did begin to get moist. He grunted his satisfaction and led me to his bedroom. He undressed very quickly and mounted me with my skirt around my waist and my scarf still around my neck. He was not rough, and asked me if I was okay as he pushed his cock into me. I nodded. Once he was fully embedded in me, he lay there and kissed my throat, whispered in my ear in English, “Your pussy is tight and warm, Johanna. So lovely.”

His cock was rather small. Even fully in me, he was not very deep. I felt a yawn coming on and managed to stifle it. But when he began to fuck me, slowly with a straightforward in and out motion, I could no longer fight my tiredness. I fell asleep before he came.

I woke up in the morning with a splitting headache. Dieter was lying by me on his stomach, breathing the long breaths of deep slumber. I got out of bed cautiously to avoid waking him and got dressed. I went to the kitchen and drank several large glasses of water and felt a little better.

I put on my coat, walked back to my place, took two aspirin, and went to bed. I slept all day Saturday, waking up in the late afternoon. I looked at my cell phone and saw there were six texts, all from Dieter. They sounded increasingly worried, so I texted him back that I was home and fine.

*

One of things I’ve learned about men is that once you have sex with them, they assume that you’re going to let them have you again. I liked Dieter, but I certainly did not want to have sex with him again. I worried how he would take it when I told him. The week after our night together, he invited me out for dinner, and I accepted. When he tried to kiss me during the meal, I took the bull by the horns and told him that I really didn’t want to get physical with him again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in English. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no,” I said. “It was all me. You asked me and I said yes.”

“Don’t you like me?”

“I like you,” I said. “As a friend, someone to talk to. But not as a sexual partner.”

“I see,” he said.

He was quiet for the rest of the meal. He walked me home and only responded in monosyllabic German when I tried to make conversation.

I assumed I would never see him again, but he texted me the next day – ‘I’ll be your friend, Johanna. Do you want to have coffee after class?’

I texted back – ‘Yes,’ and that was that.

Dieter was majoring in physics and we were in a statistical mechanics class together. My German was very good, but in the highly technical and jargon-laden class, I often had difficulty keeping up. Dieter helped me along with easy nonchalance, never making me feel stupid. As the weeks went by, my knowledge of technical German improved, in part from his tutelage.

Dieter was also the secretary of the university ski club. We were having our regular coffee after class in early February when he told me he was organizing the club’s annual ski trip.

“It will be in the semester break in the third week of February,” he said. “I’ve booked us a place in Zermatt in Switzerland. I have two questions for you. Do you have plans for the break? And do you ski?”

“No, I don’t have any plans and yes, I sort of ski,” I said. “I haven’t been on skis in about eight years. I was twelve when I skied last.”

“Well, come along,” he said. “I’m sure you can find slopes to ski on. There are lots of easier runs.”

“I can’t. I don’t have any skis. And I’m sure Switzerland is very expensive. I don’t have that much money.”

“Just join the university ski club. I can make you a member right now,” he said easily. “Just fifty euros. I have several pairs of skis you can check out. You can also check with some of the girls in the ski club. I’m sure we can find you good equipment.”

“But what about the expenses in Zermatt?”

“The ski club gets a subsidized hotel rate for its members. And we get funding from the university. It won’t cost too much. And if you’re still worried about it, I can pay for you.”

The thought of skiing again did catch my fancy. I’d never skied with anyone but Dad, and I’d never skied in a resort. Zermatt sounded so upscale, so sophisticated, so cool! So the next day, I paid Dieter fifty euros to join the university ski club. He took me to meet Ulrike, one of the girls on the university ski team, who was the co-organizer of the ski trip.

She was a tall, lean blonde in her mid-twenties with a long face and cornflower blue eyes. She had the easy grace of an athlete and asked me a series of questions about my height, weight, and what skis I had used.

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “Dad used to pick out all my equipment. I know I used pretty wide skis because we were often in deep powder in Montana.”

She had over a dozen pairs of skis in her closet. She went over each pair with me, explaining the pros and cons of each with unusual patience. Dieter chimed in from time to time. In the end we settled on a pair of all-mountain skis that were far better than any I had ever skied on. I also lucked out in that Ulrike and I had the same size in ski boots, so I just borrowed those from her as well.

Ulrike, Dieter and I drove down to Zermatt in his BMW, with our skis on the roof rack. He drove very fast on the autobahn, over 160 kilometers per hour whenever he could. He was quite casual about it, continuing to talk to Ulrike in the front seat and even turning to talk to me in the backseat from time to time.

“We’re staying at the Jagerhof,” he said. “Everything in Zermatt is pretty expensive, but its affordable with the ski club rate and the university subsidy. I’ve used our organizers’ privilege to book a two-bedroom suite for Ulrike and me. You’re welcome to join us. Then you won’t have any lodging expenses.”

“Thank you!” I cried.

*

We had dinner at an autogrill on the highway and arrived at the hotel quite late. I thought the Jagerhof was quite upscale, like everything in Zermatt. It had a Swiss chalet décor with everything finished in blonde wood and stags' heads on the walls of the lounge. It was nicer than any hotel I had ever stayed in thus far in my life. Dieter and Ulrike smiled at me as I looked around, round-eyed.

The “two-bedroom suite” the Dieter mentioned turned out to be open plan, with the “bedrooms” merely alcoves off a central common area that included sitting and dining spaces as well as a kitchenette. Each of the bedroom alcoves had a double bed.

Ulrike and I went to the bathroom with our toilet kits and brushed our teeth. She seemed to read my mind and said, “I’ll share a bed with Dieter, unless you don’t want to sleep alone.”

“I’m happy to sleep alone,” I said.

She mentioned the sleeping arrangements to Dieter as we traded places in the bathroom. I thought he looked a bit disappointed, but I may have been flattering myself. Ulrike stripped down to her sports bra and panties in the common area with unselfconscious casualness before sliding under the covers. Dieter emerged from the bathroom shortly after and also shed his clothes down to his shorts and joined her. I slunk away to the other alcove, changed into my nightie and got into bed.

A half-hour later, I heard the unmistakable sounds of their sex. The steady creaking of the bed and the thumping of flesh against flesh were impossible to tune out. I put a pillow over my head, but it was no use. I heard Dieter beginning to grunt and then moan. I listened intently, but I could not hear anything from Ulrike.

“Komm schon, Ulrike!” he cried. “Bewege deinen Arsch! Gib es mir, gib es mir!” (Come on, Ulrike! Move your ass! Give it to me, give it to me!)

Finally, I heard her panting. I imagined her arching her back, trying to lift his weight. I confess that I was tempted to sneak over and watch them. It was not long before he began gasp, “Ist gut! Es ist so gut! Ich komme!” (It's good! It's so good! I'm cumming!)

The bed creaked a bit more, there were a few more fleshy thumps, harder than those before. It was quiet for short while. Then I heard padding to the bathroom, first light, quick steps that I assumed was Ulrike. They were followed by a heavier step that I assumed was Dieter. I heard them settling back into bed and finally drifted off to sleep.

*

I got up about six-thirty and walked by the other bedroom alcove on my way to the bathroom. The bed was unmade and Ulrike and Dieter were gone. I hurriedly got ready, put on my skiwear – my Wisconsin winter jacket over a cable knit sweater and waterproof rain pants over my jeans – and headed down to the breakfast room.

I saw Ulrike and Dieter sitting together in a corner behind the coffee machines. I had to walk around the breakfast buffet to get to them and was out of their sight. They were talking in German and I realized they were talking about me. I stopped, unsure of whether to interrupt them. Curiosity got the better of me and I stopped by the coffee machine. I made myself a cappuccino and listened.

“… und sie scheint sehr jung zu sein,” Ulrike was saying. (… and she seems very young.)

“Sie ist jung. Sie ist erst zwanzig,” Dieter replied. (She is young. only twenty.)

“Schon so fortgeschritten in der Universität!” (Already so advanced in university!)

“Diese Amerikaner haben es immer eilig, Dinge zu erledigen.” (These Americans are always in a hurry to get things done.)

“Deshalb sind sie so unreif,” said Ulrike. “Und ungekünstelt. Du hilfst ihr im Unterricht?” (That's why they're so immature. And unsophisticated. Do you help her in class?)

“Ein wenig. Aber Johanna ist sehr schlau. Sie findet die Dinge jetzt selbst heraus und braucht mich nicht.” (A little. But Johanna is very clever. She's figuring things out on her own now and doesn't need me.)

“Hast du sie schon gefickt?” (Have you fucked her yet?)

“Nur einmal, als sie sehr betrunken war. Sie ist großartig im Bett, aber würde mich nicht wieder von mir ficken lassen.” (Just once, when she was a bit drunk. She’s great in bed, but she wouldn’t let me fuck her again.)

Dieter paused and I was about to come around the corner and join them, when he continued, “Ich frage mich, ob sie genauso gut Ski fährt wie sie fickt.” (I wonder if she skis as well as she fucks?)

“Nun, ich habe kein Interesse daran, wie sie fickt, aber ich werde bald herausfinden, wie gut sie Ski fährt.” (Well, I have no interest in how she fucks, but I'll soon find out how well she skis.)

“Bitte, Ulrike, töte sie nicht. Sie haben fast die Nationalmannschaft erreicht, und sie ist wahrscheinlich nur eine Anfängerin.” (Please, Ulrike, don't kill her. You almost made the national team, and she's probably just a beginner.)

I came around the corner with my coffee and said, “Hi!” and they asked me to join them.

“You should change into your ski clothes,” said Ulrike as we were finishing our breakfast.

“These are my ski clothes,” I said, surprised. Then I looked at the fashionable ski bib and silk underlayer that she had on and realized the inadequacy of my outfit. I continued nervously, “Not fashionable, but functional.”

She nodded. We shouldered our skis in the hotel foyer and walked the short distance to the gondola to meet the rest of the group. There were about twenty of us, roughly the same number of guys and girls. Like Ulrike and Dieter, everyone was dressed in the height of ski fashion. The women especially seemed to all be wearing tight outfits that showed off their svelte figures.

I looked like the round ball, and I could see the women exchanging glances when they saw me. Even Ulrike looked a bit embarrassed by my appearance, and I reddened. Nonetheless, I managed to sit next to her in the gondola.

“I hope you’ll let me ski with you, Ulrike,” I said.

“I’ll be skiing with the most advanced group, Johanna. Are you sure you will be able to keep up?”

“I’ll try,” I said.

“Well, don’t ski beyond your ability. Even if you lose us, the mountain is well marked. You can’t get lost. We’ll meet for après ski in the hotel bar at 1700.”

At the top of the gondola, we skied to a tram. I stayed on Ulrike’s tails and got on with her. We took another one to get to the highest point on the mountain. Our group mustered and quickly divided into three groups. Everyone seemed to know exactly which group to go with. I stayed with Ulrike and followed her.

She led the way to a black slope, and with a quick push of her poles, propelled herself over the headwall. I saw Dieter out of the corner of my eye launch himself on to the slope. He caught some air as he did so and was gone, streaking after her.

The long poles felt strange in my hands, for my memories were of the short stubby ones I’d used as a twelve-year-old. Nonetheless, I pushed myself forward and got on to the slope rather awkwardly. I pointed my skis straight downhill to get speed to try and catch up with Ulrike and Dieter. The slope was extremely steep and rather narrow, so I had to use my edges aggressively.

As I tried to carve my very first turn, I felt my edges running away from me and nearly ran into a rock outcropping. I had no control, and after two more slack turns, I managed to bring myself to a stop. What’s the matter? I thought. I’ve skied much harder terrain than this, but I’ve never skied this badly.

By now Ulrike and Dieter were out of sight. I wriggled my toes, and my boots felt loose. I looked down at them and realized the problem. My boots were unbuckled! I felt like a moron – in my haste to follow Ulrike, I had forgotten to buckle them. I did so now, cinching them as tight as they would go. Then I turned downhill again.

The difference was like night and day. My edges bit as I carved my turns and I quickly found my rhythm. The years seemed to melt away and I felt like I was back in Montana again, skiing with Dad. I whipped by other skiers, going so fast that most were just blurs. Ulrike’s carbon-braced skis hissed on the packed snow.

Their edges bit deeper and better than the cheap skis I was used to. I felt invincible. I finally saw Ulrike’s distinctive aquamarine jacket. I thought I saw Dieter’s red jacket just behind her, but there were so many red jackets on the mountain that I could not be sure.

I had grown up chasing Dad, so I was in my element. I raced after them in long slaloms. I saw a skier in front of me at a narrow chokepoint and I didn’t think there was room enough to pass him. I found an undulation at the side of the slope and took off from the lip. I sailed over him in a tight tuck, my skis above his head. I

felt the ‘whump!’ as I landed the jump and edged ever so slightly to line up behind Ulrike. She was going fast, but my jump had given me an extra burst of speed. I caught her just before the slope flattened into the shallow runout at the bottom. We came to a stop together and put up our goggles, breathing hard. Dieter came up a couple of seconds later.

“You were flying, Johanna!” he said. “I was almost flat out and you still came by me!”

“I got a slow start,” I said.

Then the skier I had jumped over came to a sharp stop just by us. He put his goggles up and started shouting at me. I realized he was speaking German, but his accent was so strange, and he was speaking so fast that I could barely catch a word here and there. I just looked at him dumbly. However, Ulrike and Dieter seemed to understand him.

“He says you jumped over him. He’s very upset, says you could have killed him. Did you?”

I colored.

“Yes, I did. I didn’t think it was dangerous, I cleared him easily. I wouldn’t have done it if I thought there was a risk of hitting him.”

The other skier continued to shout, holding his hands close together.

“He says your skis were just a few centimeters over his helmet,” said Dieter. “You really mustn’t ski like that. You’ll get yourself banned from the mountain.”

“Es tut mir sehr leid, mein Herr,” I said to the other skier. “Ich bin noch nie mit anderen Leuten in einem Resort Ski gefahren. Ich werde vorsichtiger sein. Danke, dass du mich korrigiert hast.” (I am very sorry, sir. I've never skied in a resort with other people before. I will be more careful. Thank you for correcting me.)

He calmed down and I looked at him more carefully. He was an older gentleman, and I had obviously shaken him up.

“Es ist in Ordnung, Fräulein. Lesen Sie die Regeln und seien Sie vorsichtiger. Ich wünsche dir einen guten Tag.” (It's all right, miss. Read the rules and be more careful. Have a nice day.)

I realized he was speaking Schweizer Deutsch (Swiss German), but he now spoke more slowly and enunciated clearly, so I could understand him. He raised a pole in farewell and skated off toward a lift station.

“What did you mean, you’ve never skied in a resort before?” asked Ulrike, when we were on the lift going up again.

“I’ve only ever skied with my dad in Montana,” I said. “We just hiked, climbed, and skied. Ropes, crampons, ice axes in our backpacks. ‘Earn your turns,’ Dad always said.”

“You’re a backcountry skier? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“You’re fast,” she said. “I was going nearly as fast as I can, and you still caught me.”

“I cheated,” I said, smiling. “I jumped.”

When we got to the top, Dieter said something to Ulrike and she laughed.

“Dieter wants a picture for the ski club social media feed,” she said to me. “Let’s give them something to see!”

“What do you mean?”

She dropped her poles, took over her gloves and her jacket. Unmindful of the few other skiers going by, she unzipped her ski bib and slid it all the way down to her knees. She pulled off her over layer as well as her silk underlayer. She put her hands on her hips, with just her helmet, gloves, pink-and-blue sports bra, and white athletic panties.

“Come on, Johanna!” she cried. “You too!”

“I can’t,” I mumbled, looking at the nice swells of Ulrike’s breasts. “I’ve got nothing to show.”

“Take it off, Johanna!” said Dieter.

“I’m getting cold, Johanna!” said Ulrike.

I gave in to their pressure and stripped off the layers from my upper body. Ulrike put her arm around me, and I posed with my back to the Dieter. I had on a yellow sports bra and Dieter said, “Nice color scheme, nice setup – Ulrike’s tits, your nice straight back!” as he took a series of pictures with his phone.

“Make it exciting, Ulrike,” he urged. “Come on, come on!”

She pulled her sports bra over her head and whispered to me, “Come on, you too!”

I felt her nipples on my skin, stiff and hard from the cold. I wanted to get it over with, get my clothes on again, so I just complied and pulled off my sports bra. Dieter took more pictures. Then I hastily got my clothes on again, dressing faster than Ulrike, even though I had more layers.

*

Dieter, Ulrike, and I skied together for the rest of the day. They were much better technical skiers than me, as they had both been in ski school since they were little, whereas I had never had a lesson. However, we were well matched, for what I lacked in form and finesse, I made up with instinct and experience.

I also had good chemistry with them, and we chatted easily on the gondolas and trams going back up. We got back to the hotel about four, tired but happy. Ulrike went in to take a shower, and Dieter made to follow her, but she demurred. He gallantly allowed me to go after her. We both dressed while he was in there. I sneaked looks at her body as she snugged on her bra and panties. I envied her lean musculature. She had perfectly defined abs, delts and pecs that could only have come from workouts in the gym.

“Let’s go down to the bar,” she said. “I’ll buy you a beer.”

“What about Dieter?”

“He’s a big boy. He’ll find us.”

We were the first from our group at the après ski, and got a long table, waiting for the others. Ulrike went to the bar and got me a big stein of beer. We tapped and drank.

“You’ve had sex with Dieter,” she said.

“Yes.”

“It wasn’t very good, was it?”

“No.” I took a deep draft of my beer and wiped the foam off my upper lip. “If you knew that, why did you have sex with him last night?”

“It was better than nothing.” She sighed. “I’ve told him a dozen times what I want him to do, but Dieter’s problem is that he doesn’t listen. Sometimes he gets me so close to cumming, then leaves me hanging, I feel like hitting him!”

“It sounded like that happened again last night,” I said.

“Yes, I’m sure you heard us,” she said, giggling.

She put a hand on my cheek. “Dieter said you’re a great fuck, Johanna. And you’re a pretty young thing. It’s a pity I don’t like girls.”

*