Fucking Berlin 4

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Original copyright © 2017, by Dunja Romanova.

preface

My name is Dunja Romanova. I've been writing erotic books for some time now. Like my book series "fuck stories." But now I would like to dedicate myself to a new project.

Fucking Berlin "will be a collection of erotic stories around the German capital. It's not about me being small. It's always about fictitious, fictional, invented protagonists.

Part four is about me. My life is dreary and monotonous. I live at the subsistence level with no prospect of improvement.

But then there's a good opportunity for me to earn a lot of money in a parking lot...

Of course, I would be very pleased about a positive evaluation and recommendations.

Your Dunja Romanova

The truckers and I

It was dawn when I was on my way home. It was Friday and my week of work in grey, cloudy Berlin had managed me. I lived outside the big city and drove to and from work every day for 1 hour.

On my way there was a freeway parking lot. Sometimes I stopped there to pee and take a cigarette break. As it was this Friday. I parked my old, shabby Opel Corsa as close as I could to the toilets and did my business. The plain toilet, made of grey concrete and cold was not exactly inviting. But it's halfway clean.

I was just 33 years old. These have been very thoughtful days. Throughout my life I have never been special, hard-working, ambitious or disciplined. I was lazy and now I didn't keep my head above water with simple jobs. Idiots jobs are always to be found in Berlin. At that time I was working as a waitress in a classy restaurant. Today the restaurant closed relatively early.

The main customers were high-income earners who worked in the city's financial centre. When the financial district of the city emptied and people were in a hurry to get home, out of the dreary canyons of grey concrete blocks - home to the family idyll, the customers stayed away.

These people rushed to their families in the better neighborhoods and sheltered suburbs. But others, like me, had to go back to the desolate poor and troubled neighborhoods where even the rats don't want to be buried. In my case, that was then Marzahn, where I spent the week living together with two other girls in a dilapidated apartment.

At least each of us had our own room. I knew that differently. I experienced times when I had to sleep on the kitchen bench more than once in order to give my roommate an undisturbed night with one of her lover, who brought her to us quite uninhibited.

I couldn't forbid her to. I didn't mean to. I never would have been heartbroken. And now and then, I did it to her. Then she had left without hesitation, but most of the time she was on the road all night long.

Anyway, I could have done a lot worse. I didn't have to work at night and because the restaurant was open only for hours on weekends due to a lack of customers, I was able to drive home regularly on Friday evenings. Into my parents' simple but cosy house. There was always a bed for me there. And there was always a hot meal for me. My parents wanted a penny for it, even though they themselves had it far from easy.

Back home to the tranquility of the rural environment where I grew up with my brothers and sisters and which I still loved to roam on weekends, albeit mostly alone. It did me good to walk in the footsteps and experiences of my childhood and to indulge in memories of the supposedly carefree, happy days.

But during my cigarette break I was suddenly torn out of these thoughts by a proleten-like "Hey, baby, how about us". I almost walked on the way back from peeing into a big, not unfriendly looking lorry driver. But his strong arm has just caught me and prevented me from falling down the length of the line.

"For 100 I'll show you the sky treasure, "I gave him back cheekily, half in joke, half seriously. Then I wanted to move on again. And I didn't like to think back about the fact that I had already crossed this boundary of pride several times in my life. But after a few times it didn't make much difference whether you did it for money or for pleasure. At least if there was no love involved. I liked men and I always liked to fuck. And why reject if you could also collect a few extra bills for the satisfaction of your own needs?

To my surprise, the man didn't let me go, he held me by the arm. "I'd love more, baby, if you're good," he said calmly, almost professionally. When he realized that I was uncomfortable, he let go of my arm.

"I like you. I bet my buddies would like you, too". He pointed with an indeterminate gesture in the direction of a dimly lit part of the parking lot, where one could only see a few lorries in the approaching darkness.

But I hesitated and shook my head. "Hey, man, you're OK, but I don't know your friends. So what is it?" The man looked at me a little perplexed. When he didn't react immediately to my question, I turned away from him and walked towards my scrap-ready car.

My car was probably not worth the hundred I had just turned down.

Fucking life, I thought to myself. With my pathetic waitress wages, I would probably never get out of this desolation. He wouldn't have been bad and I could have used the bill very well.

When I was just about to leave, it knocked against my window. "What did he want now?" I thought to myself. I opened the window a crack wide. "What's the matter, man? Have you changed your mind?" I

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