It was good to be alone. Finally…. Fuck me. They had to put me in the head of a Barbara Cartland character…. **** She knew he was struggling insid..., but he was being playful and sweet, his voice dipping just a hint and making her shiver with anticipation. They were fully clothed, but her body was already humming. His kisses made her melt, the scratch of his rough stubble strangely erotic on her sensitive skin. Beneath his solid body, Emma melted, her legs tightening around his lean hips as he. But I couldn’t complain. It was better to have been slowly dying in the dark alcove of that partially burnt down workshop, than painfully and all at once as I was sure my mother and brother had, perhaps my father too. To be German, Jewish, and alive was a combination no short of a miracle. This miracle was solely in thanks to my mentor, Kurt Brotz. Despite criticism, possible loss of costumers, and threats, Kurt took me on as his apprentice seven years earlier, in 1933, when I was nothing more. More

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