“Take your clothes off” said Marion.
I was so surprised to her this that I complied. Perhaps it was the obedience reflex I had learnt in prison. I put my clothes in a neat pile on her sofa.
“So when you arrived at the prison what did they do? Did they do an intimate body search? Like this?”
She took a pack of latex gloves from a drawer and a bottle of lube. She came up to me, took my chin in her hand and lifted my head so that I looked in her eyes, saw her amused, mocking expression.
“It must have been very humiliating I think?”
I nodded. I was starting to shake.
“Bend over the table and spread your legs. “
As I stood, bent, legs apart, fearful, I heard her put the gloves on with an ominous slap, squirt lube onto them, then felt her feeling for my anus. I froze and tensed as her finger began the violation. It was so cold.
“Relax Elvira, you’ve done this before, and, who knows, you might get to like me ding it.”
She laughed. I felt a second finger go in.
I hadn’t seen Marion for ten years, not since the spring day in 1981 when we had met for a coffee on the Alexanderplatz, which I thought was to be our last in East Berlin. Actually it was but not for the reason I imagined. I caught the tram home up the Greifswalder Stasse, got off at the junction of Dimitoffstrasse and began the short walk back to my flay past the shop where I had buy a few things. I was thinking about what I might be able to get, maybe there would be tomatoes today, I was lost my thoughts and paid no attention to the fruit and vegetable van that drew up at the kerbside twenty metres ahead of me. As I passed it a door opened and I was pulled inside.
“Elvira Schmidt?” asked an overweight man in a badly fitting brown suit. His breath was disgusting, cheap cigarettes and onions.
“I am from the Staatssicherheit. We have matters we need to clear up with you.”
I was never to see my flat again.
My interrogator knew everything, literally everything about the plan that I had formed with Marion and another friend to escape to West Berlin with the help of a friend in the West, the man with the moustache and the white Mercedes I had met a couple of times for walks in the Tierpark. We had been betrayed. I signed a confession, was sentenced to five years imprisonment and taken to the women’s prison at Hoheneck, a decaying mediaeval castle, whose every damp stone spelt despair.
I only served just over a year before I was released and deported to the West. The Federal Government had bought my freedom. So I was free but not free. The horror of Hoheneck remained with me. And the knowledge that I had been betrayed by a friend.
It was only after reunification that I returned to East Berlin. As my train from Cologne rolled into the former border station of Friedrichstrasse I felt a knot of fear in my stomach. As I got off the train at Alexanderplatz I felt sick. I felt my legs buckling under me as I stood on the platform. I needed coffee and after that I had a renewed sense of determination as I travelled on the U Bahn to the Stasi documentation centre to look at my file.
It wasn’t just that Marion had betrayed me. She was a paid informer, a provocateuse, not someone whose human weaknesses had been exploited by the cynical Stasi. She was the most cynical of all.
It needed courage to go to her flat to confront her but I had to do it. She looked surprised to see me when she answered the door but quickly regained her composure.
“Elvira. How lovely to see you after all these years! I must admit I have been expecting you ever since the Wall came down.”
She motioned to me to sit in an armchair. She put two glasses on the table, took out a bottle of schnaps.
“I wont drink I..”
“You will have a drink. We have a lot to drink to don’t we?”
She poured the glasses, ten lit a cigarette and sat back on the sofa to observe me. She was now in her mid 40s but looked younger. Her hair was shorter now, a platinum blonde bob with a fringe that kept falling over her face and which she kept flicking back up with a wave of her hand. She was still desirable.
“Before you say anything Elvira , I don’t regret a thing. I have no morals, I am not going to apologise. You got what you deserved. Our socialist state gave you everything, a education, a job, a flat. Did you not think you owed something in return?”
“I had all that in the interrogation.”
“It’s true though isn’t it. Elvira, I loved my life in the GDR and people like you were spoiling it for me for me.”
“Then we have nothing more to say to each other.” I stood up and made for the door. Then I heard the command
“Take your clothes off!”
She moved the two fingers up and won the anal passage and I relaxed. Her face was so close to mine I could feel her breath, smell her fragrance. I was starting to get wet even before she said
“I bet the guards in Hoheneck didn’t do this”and pushed two fingers of her left hand up my cunt and began to move the fingers of both hands back wards and forwards to the same rhythm. Her let thumb moved up to massage my clit and I was soon moaning with the intensity of the sensations.
“Did the guards make you come Elvira, did they? Tell me, I want to know. You were quite femme back then, my lovely, and I bet you had plenty of offers. Come on tell me!”
She took the fingers out of my cunt and pushed hem into y mouth.
“Lick. You always had the sweetest juices. There has not been a day I haven’t fantasized about you. I was devastated at the thought of you wanting to leave and there being a bloody Wall between us. Was socialism really so bad that I couldn’t have made it bearable for you?”
She put two fingers up my cunt again. She knelt, moved her face in and began to lick. Starting from the fingers she moved up, and began to tongue my clit, bringing me to orgasm again. She stood up.
“On your knees Elvira.”
I knelt, naked before her. She took a step towards me and pushed my head under her skirt. I pulled her knickers down and buried my face in her bush. I knelt motionless, smelling her sex, feeling the scent of arousal. I licked at the slit, tasted her. I wanted more. I needed her. I pulled her labia apart. Licked hard at the opening. I buried my face in her lush pubic hair and in the gloom of her long, dark skirt felt as if I was moving out of my body, tp a pace beyond our bodies, beyond sex, beyond Berlin. I was worshipping the woman who had betrayed me, the cynical, amoral Marion who used people and discarded them. I should despise her, I should hate her but I can’t.
I began to cry.
“I am so sorry Marion. I am so sorry.” I said and using my fingers brought her quickly to orgasm.