The guy at the bar looks like a mixture of Snoop Dog and Pocahontas. His long hair, dark skin and gangster-like charisma fit perfectly into my predator-prey system. God is he horny.

Although it’s been less than two hours since I had a dick inside of me, I’m getting wet. It’s amazing that I’m not drooling yet. Not that my afternoon occupation in the form of being fucked by Mr. Big-ass-jerk-head wasn’t fun, it was fun but it was barely enough to heat me up properly. Instead of being a gentleman and letting me come first, he, after a mere three minutes, jerked off in my face. He then had to go; he still had to work; and no, he definitely didn’t have any time for cuddling.

Well, then he can’t complain about me getting my climax elsewhere.

The small club in the middle of Vienna is smoky, crowded and loud. It’s like a whore’s shack, with sweet smoke, mingled with the smell of cheap perfume, engulfing celebrating stoners in a cloud of mist. If a drug dog should happen to waddle in, it’d probably have an epileptic fit.

I make my way, my movement musically underlined by „Smoke Weed everyday“, through the dancing crowd, focused on Snoopahontas.

Don’t let the guy out of your sight for a moment. I acknowledge an awkward attempt at fumbling by a milk-faced-kid with a don’t-do-it-to-me-or-I’ll-kill-you-look. Even though having sex with an 18-year-old is at the very top of my must-do-agenda, today I have something else on my mind.

The object of my desire looks bored, sips a drink and lets his gaze wander through the club. His gaze touches me and suddenly his restlessness gives way to calm. Relaxed, he pulls up the corners of his mouth and grins in my direction. Even before I decide whether it’s my charisma, or whether I smell like a bitch in heat, the Indian-like African American stands next to me.

„Hi, I’m Rahim.“

„And I’m drunk. Do you want a drag? “

I hold a burning joint up to his face; he acknowledges the offer with a grateful nod. Suddenly a woman appears and gazes expectantly at him. Her shoulder-length hair is the same color as the Bloody Mary Snoopahontas holds in his hand. Lola has gotten burned out and looks quite through. Her tank top sticks to her huge breasts, as if she’d just run through a rain shower, her red mane is scattered in all directions and her eyes are only made up of pupils. I can’t stop staring at her neckline; the things are too impressive; they don’t fit in relation to her graceful shape.

„Rahim, I want to go home,“ she says, annoyed, over his shoulder.

Startled, he flinches, turns in her direction and puts his arm around her shoulders. Damn, I should have guessed he wasn’t alone. Should I have let myself be picked up by the teenager?

To my surprise, Mrs. Snoopahontas looks a little more relaxed when introduces us to one another.

„Claudia this is … what’s your name again?“

„Maja, my pleasure.“

Claudia finishes the rest of the joint, while Mister Lover Lover orders a bottle of bubbly and leads us past two security guys into a closed off part of the bar.

Here the music is not so loud; you can actually talk without screaming. A black theater curtain separates the room from the rest of the place. Dimmed light falls on leather sofas, which resemble the color of Claudia’s hair. Apart from three guys in suits, who chat in Croatian, we’re the only guests in the chillout zone.

Rahim falls onto the couch between his girlfriend and me while a waitress opens the Moet and pours.

„How long have you two been together?“

Giggling, the miracle of the breasts sips champagne before answering:

„Not at all.“

„But I thought…“

Rahim’s hand moves to my thigh and turns his head in my direction.

„Maja thought wrong.“

They both exchange stealthy glances before she says:

„I’m a prostitute, he’s a former customer.“

Well, then I’m reassured. I was afraid they were married. She tells me that she’s been in the business forever and has been having an affair with him for over ten years. It evolved from a „business“ meeting. It was almost a love story of sorts, in the manner of Pretty Woman.

Anyway, I’m not really interested in her life story but rather in her breasts. And of course in the object that is now increasingly violently pressing from within his jeans. Its contour is clearly visible on the fabric of his pants. Carefully, I move my hand tentatively in its direction, watching much more for her reaction than Snoopahontas’s.

But there’s no hint of jealousy in Claudia’s eyes. She immediately does likewise and grabs Rahim energetically by his dick. Even before I get there she opens his zipper and gets the showpiece out of its all too tight packaging.

Meanwhile, his hand has reached under my skirt. He pushes the moisture there upwards and comments on the absence of my panties with an instant purr.

Amused, the three Balkan men in ties look in our direction. I lean over Rahim and lick my tongue over the liberated tip of his dick. His gasp reveals that he likes to be served by two women at the same time. Claudia’s hand grabs tightly around the shaft, while I close my lips around the helmet and suck on it. Fucking fingers under my leather mini skirt heat me up properly.

„Slowly, slowly…“

Apparently Snoopahontas is about to explode right now. I take his cock out of my mouth and notice one of the guys from the next table coming over to us. Irritated, I stare at the huge man, wondering what will happen next. The others don’t notice him at first, as Rahim is busy extracting Claudia’s huge tits from under her top and sucking on them. Only when the stranger in a suit begins to talk, does Rahim let go of her, and looks as confused as me.

„Do you need help with them?“

I think my pig whistles and even before I hear Rahim say „Yes, please“, I have the next turbo unit in front of my face. The dick is as huge as its owner, who introduces himself as Senad. Claudia gets her breasts worked on by her former suitor, while I suck the Croatian shaft. The two colleagues standing close by, also let their pants down and put their hands on their dicks.

Senad whispers something foreign-sounding in their direction and they take a step forward. Suddenly there is a loud clinking of splintering glass. Everyone stops and looks at the perplexed-looking face of the waitress.

Apparently, the little alcohol transport bitch wasn’t prepared for the sight of the copulating crowd. This caused the mishap with the tray; a bottle of Moet along with some glasses are sent crashing to the floor.

She looks pale, stammers an apology towards the Croatians, and disappears as fast as she came. Totally ignorant, which hands grab me at the hip and pushes my skirt up, I continue giving the blowjob. I gasp for air as I finally feel a cock in my middle. Not even a meter away Claudia groans so loudly that those on the dance floor must assuredly hear her. Her rutting screams keep me going. I try to let Senad slide as deeply as possible into my throat. Senad claws his fingers into my hair, pulls my head firmly against his lap, jerks briefly and cums with a loud „Arrrrgghh“ in my mouth. I haven’t even swallowed, when the next one is already in front of me, waiting for Senad to withdraw. The other Balkan man, panting, now fucks my brains out. His thrusts get increasingly harder and he almost brings me to despair.

With a deafening scream Rahim alerts us to the fact that he’s climaxing. It sounds as if he’s hurt himself. A quick, scrutinizing look in his direction confirms that he hasn’t done himself any injury. Relaxed, with a smile on his face and a butt in the corner of his mouth, he clings to his playmate. She looks like she’s reached into a socket and has a bit of cum on her face. She looks electrified.

The sound of spitting confirms the suspicion that a change of course is pending. As feared the stranger likes my ass, and likes being in my ass. He presses in, inch by inch, until he completely disappears. Secretly I’m glad that he’s white.

And just as he’s starting to pound away a security guy comes running in, gesticulating violently, screaming, and breaks the collective coma.

„Boss, police in front of door. It don’t look good. They have a lot of what is like big cats. “

Senad is the only one who’s stowed his cock away. It is he who was meant by „boss“.

„They are dogs, you idiot. How often do I have to send you to a language course? D-O-G-S are not like big cats. “

Mister-I-should-exercise-vocabulary-grammar-and syntax-more-often looks down humbly. He notices my bare ass. Suddenly he seems quite indisposed.

„Yes, boss. Nothing more like big cat, og, yes?“

„DDDDDog! You idiot are as clever as dog shit. Go! Get out of my sight! “

Bingo, now the color of his face matches Claudias‘ chaotic hairstyle and the décor of this illegal underground swinger club. Angry, the boss throws his lighter against the wall. It lands millimeters away from the face of the ill-fated carrier of bad news. He twitches as violently as the one who fucks my butt. He runs out as if on speed.

I wonder meanwhile if the guy has taken Viagra, so incessantly and with the precision of a Polish bandit, does he shovel my back door.

The unfortunate one, who still stands in front of me with semi-stiff,
semi-masturbated dick is yelled at by his boss as fiercely as the security guy earlier. Since I don’t understand Croatian I can only guess that it has something to do with the police outside. As if having sex while watching a crime thriller, and focusing on both at the same time, were something for the more advanced.

The situation is such that I lose my composure and start to softly whimper. Gradually the heat wave surges through me more and more. I close my eyes.
My upper arms become limp and, very slowly, my body sinks down. His hands on my hips, he holds me tight and pulls me in the direction of his woody. He pushes deeply a few times, clings tight and after three seconds I feel his warmth. The highest point of his evening has arrived.

The dead silence, which has fallen over us so quickly, irritates. Although still in a fuck coma and although I enjoy remaining in it, I open my eyes.

In contrast to here:

Family Snoopahontas, Senad and the half-disappointed half-erection stare at us; they are shocked.

„What are you all looking at?“ I ask.

„Maja, it looked like he was going to kill you,“ she, with the fat things, replies.

I examine all my body parts. I can see no scratches and I don’t feel like someone had tried to kill me.

„Where, then?“

„Have screamed like a big cat in heat.“

Where the hell did he come from?

It doesn’t matter. At least all eyes are now directed at the security guy. I can, unnoticed, pull the cock out of my ass after the owner has fallen asleep behind me.

„Chief, police are looking for you. They are at the uftata man.“

A madhouse is a kid’s birthday party compared to this place.

„What? They are at the DJ’s desk?“

Meanwhile, Senad’s pupils are the same size as Claudia’s. I don’t think he’s on a trip; he’s a live wire because of the incompetence of his staff. Hastily he storms through the curtains, at least it seems to be his plan, before the blond boy crashes through in the opposite direction, directly into him. Their heads collide and they both immediately fall to the ground.

I count loudly to ten, and clap with the flat of my hand on the tasteless carpet, to finish the whole thing off with an „Out“. Tie by K.O. in the first round.

I center my thong, pull my skirt up to my knees, and shake the dust from my hair.

„Great. Now the two biggest villains in the club are lying unconscious.“ Rahim looks nervous as he studies the mishap up close.

„Who is that guy?“ asks Claudia.

„This has been what ufftata man,“ replies the resigned-looking security guy, who still stands as if rooted to the same spot.

„You mean the DJ?“

„Yes, this is DJ.“

Rahim grasps Claudia’s hand. She has long been seeking shelter behind him.

Because of the excitement of the situation I forget everything that has happened beforehand. I almost fall over in fright, much like boss-man and Mr. Ufftata, as someone behind me rises as if from the dead. Ah yes, the guy who fucked my ass.

Pulling his pants up, he struggles back into the vertical and nonchalantly walks past us to get outside. Okay, he could be lucky with this minor offense and get away with it unnoticed. As his cock is no longer tied to me, my attention focuses on more essential issues. Such as the question of: where is my grass? Helpfully, I almost stumble over my purse and remember the answer to the question, which I have long since forgotten.

„Boys and girls, let’s get out of here!“

Resolutely, I wave Rahim and Claudia in my direction. I have discovered a window that is large enough to let us get out without being forced to collide with the cops.

„Baby, how did you manage to stuff that much marijuana into such a tiny purse?“

Claudia’s mouth is so wide open, it’d be easy to shove the grass into it; plus half a kilo of hair spray and a little sperm, almost the exact contents of the coitus utensils suitcase. At least I’d be out of the line of fire, should the cops still catch us.

„We’re launching rockets at the moon, it should be possible to have a little fun, right?“

I struggle against the barrier. The lock rattles open. With a little pressure we stand on the ground-floor terrace. The full moon at eye level intensifies the kitsch factor of the moment.

Out, the only thought is getting away from here. Grab your legs, stumble, run. Have you ever seen Vienna by night?


Verfickte scheiß Deadline. Von wegen Motivation durch Abgabetermin. Da scheiß ich doch drauf. Schon aus Prinzip lass ich mir sicher nicht vorschreiben bis wann ich fertig geschrieben habe. Wo kommen wir denn da hin?
Einmal pünktlich und schon glauben alle das wäre immer so.. Fickt euch.
„Unter Druck werden Diamanten gemacht“, säuselt eine der Moralfuffies.
Leere die Dose Schwechater in einem Zug, kämpfe ganz kurz gegen den aufkommenden Brechreiz ehe ich laut rülpsend die nächste Hülse aufreiße.
„Sehe ich aus wie ein Edelstein?“
Da muss sogar Frau Misses Kokaindealerin schlucken. Hashtag Ohneporno.
„Eher wie jemand der Hilfe braucht“, flüstert Daniela so unauffällig wie möglich.
„Deswegen hab ich dich angerufen du Blitzgescheites Tuttu du.“
Routinierter als Fritzel beim Tiefbau schüttet sie das weiße Zeug auf die Waage. Aber eigentlich sei sie nur Hobby-Checker-Tante. Nix Professionelles. Ob ich denn einen Beleg brauche, will sie wissen, als sie ihre Registrierkasse aus der Tasche holt.
Ob sie denn einen Psychiater benötigt, erwidere ich.
Zweihundert Euro für Personal Training, sagt der Kassenbon; ich google „Gruppentarif für Seelenklemptner“. Daniela sagt, es sei schon mühsam genug mit dem Steuerberater zu schlafen, ich soll mir den Psychoheini sonst wohin stecken.
Herr Doktor fragt wann ich das letzte Mal gevögelt hab. Ich frage mich, inwieweit das relevant ist. Schließlich komme ich nicht wegen Syphilis.
Ob ich denn möglicherweise schwanger sein könnte.
Ich denke lieber Gott bitte nein.
Kann man vom Arschficken Kinder kriegen, Herr Doktor?


Bin ich nichts anderes, als eine egomanische Narzisstin, für die Empathie ein Fremdwort ist? Eine vergnügungssüchtige Lügnerin, die zwischenmenschlichen Tiefgang nur vom Hörensagen kennt? Eiskalter Engel, längst schon dem Untergang geweiht?
Ständig auf der Suche nach dem nächsten Kick, rastlos wie ein ausgehungertes Tier. Getrieben und gehetzt, ohne die Möglichkeit durchzuatmen renne ich unentwegt umher. Doch egal wie schnell mich meine Beine tragen, das rettende Ufer bleibt unerreichbar.
Zerfressen von der Einsamkeit, wie ein schwarzes Loch, das sich selbst auslöscht. Wo bist du jetzt?
Versinkender Glaube an das Gute im Menschen, zieht alle Hoffnung mit in die Tiefe. Wem soll ich noch trauen, wenn niemand mehr an mich glaubt?


Nach dem ganzen Chaos der vergangenen Wochen – erst mal zuhause einschließen und tot stellen. Parke den Wagen zwei Straßen weiter mitten im völligen Nichts, schalte das Telefon in den Leckt mich alle am Arsch Modus, lasse den Pizza Menschen mit einem Sixpack kommen, ziehe die Vorhänge zu und packe einen Sack Tiefkühlerbsen auf mein ramponiertes Geschlechtsteil.
Völlig abgeschirmt von der Außenwelt, bin ich fest entschlossen solange in der Isolationshaft auszuhalten, bis genügend Gras über den Schlamassel gewachsen ist und mein lustigster Körperteil soweit gekühlt ist, bis er wieder funktioniert.
Allerdings ist das Sixpack schneller leer, als die Erbsen aufgetaut sind. Und da ich mir eine Woche Pause von allen anderen psychoaktiven Substanzen verordnet habe, bleibt mir wohl nichts anderes übrig, als den Sushi Typen anzurufen und Bier zu bestellen.
Kann ja unmöglich zweimal pro Stunde Mister Giovanni ohne Pizza kommen lassen. Der muss sich ja denken, ich hätte ein ernsthaftes Problem mit Alkohol.
Doch noch ehe ich die Nummer von Monsieur Sashimi gefunden habe, läutet es an der Türe.
Ich überlege für einen Augenblick, ob ich womöglich schon etwas bestellt habe, ohne mich daran zu erinnern.
Lieber Gott- bitte nicht noch einen Kratzbaum.
Zeitgleich mit dem zweiten Klingeln, checke ich meinen Browserverlauf – kein Lieferservice, keine Pornos, keine Versuche ins Dark Web einzusteigen, also wer zum Teufel klingelt da draußen Amok?
Lieber Gott- bitte mach, dass es nicht meine Mutter ist.
Gerade als ich mich innerlich auf eine Diskussion zum Thema warum ich keine Enkelkinder produziere, einstelle, höre ich wie jemand den Schlüssel ansteckt und aufschließt.
Der beste aller Exfreunde schaut mindestens genauso fragend, wie ich, als er mich sieht.
„Hi Maja, was machst du denn hier?“
„Ich wohne hier. Und was verschafft mir die Ehre deines Besuchs?“
„Sehr witzig. Wollte die Katzen füttern, weil ich dachte du wärst noch in Wien.“
„Und warum klingelst du dann, bevor du reinkommst?“
Setzen uns in die Küche, ich setze Kaffee auf und suche nach was Essbarem in Kuchenform.
„Ich habe mir Sorgen um dich gemacht, weil ich dich nicht erreicht habe und deine Karre oben beim Waldweg stehen gesehen habe.“
Bin beinahe schon gerührt, wegen seiner Fürsorge. Sein Beschützerinstinkt ist nach wie vor ungebrochen; hauptberuflich Deutscher Schäferhund. Inklusive Hüftdysplasie.
Er habe ohnehin nicht viel Zeit, heute Abend ist Yoga angesagt. Na dann, Namaste, ihr Huren.
Kaum hab ich mich überwunden einen Wettex in die Hand zu nehmen, überkommt mich das Putz-Tourette: „Verfickte Scheiß Arschlochwaschmaschine“, brülle ich den Staubsauger an.
„Geh sterben du hyperaktives Miststück“, raunzt Mister Vorwerk zurück.
Kaum haben sie sich von No-Name zu High-End gemausert, schon werden sie vorlaut. Gottverdammte Staubsauger. Gibt es ein narzisstischeres Haushaltsgerät?
Abgesehen von Vibratoren?

Sie würde den Anblick ihrer Erstgeborenen wohl kaum ohne Herzattacke überstehen – Außer einer mir völlig unbekannten Boxer Short übern Arsch-, und siebenhundertfünfzig Gramm Erbsen in der Hand, bin ich splitterfasernackt. Bei dem Anblick müsste ich einen Krankenwagen für die alte Frau anrufen, die würden dann da auftauchen und mich nebenbei ins Zentrum für seelische Gesundheit verfrachten – Jahreskarte inklusive.
Paranoia macht sich in mir breit, wie ein Virus breitet sich der Verfolger in mir aus. Ich hasse das Gefühl, nur noch einen Schritt weiter und ich verliere mich in der Angst.
Atemfrequenz hetzt mit dem Herzschlag um die Wette, kickt auf den höchsten aller Gipfel. Doch mir bleibt nicht eine einzige Sekunde um es auszukosten. Kaum erahnt, wie der Himmel schmeckt, und schon geht es wieder bergab.