He walked down the steps into blackness; there was no light or even a hint of light. Behind him was the light, the light of the real world. In front was only blackness and the darkness of his cravings. Albert heard the door behind him close. He was thirteen when he first laid eyes on those magazines. They were garish and brutal, opportunistically exploiting the Nazi war crimes. Titles like The Nazi Monsters, or True Stories of Nazi War Crimes sprang form the covers. The magazines were designed more to shock and horrify then to inform and enlighten people against the dangers of hate, pulp magazines cranked out to feed the publics shadowy underbelly of curiosity and satisfy the underlying morbidness. It had been summer and the attic was hot with little bits of dust flying around. Albert did you find it yet he remembered his mom calling up to him. She was an avid collector of cookbooks. And after her collection had started to both overrun the kitchen and the bookcases in the living room and started flowing into the bedroom, had his dad asserted some subtle presser on her to stop or cull her collection. However, the only concession Albert’s dad was able to win was that Albert’s mother would place some of the older or less used cookbooks in the attic. It had been hot really hot and Albert remembered being sweaty and frustrated, he had slammed down an old issue of some cooking magazine dated July of 1962 back into the stack he was looking through. The stack of magazines had wobbled then toppled falling everywhere. At the time, Albert could remember his mind filling with one word “shit“. He had looked down at the hopelessly unorganized pile and saw something most strange. First, was the magazine he was sent up to retrieve and second was…..
A blinding light now shot into Albert’s face, he blinked sheepishly holding his hands slightly in front of his face to ward off the harsh light. “Undress now!” came of voice from the unyielding light. Albert began to comply unbuttoning his shirt, with his head tilted down and his eyes squinting nearly shut. At one point Albert had even shut his eyes but the uncompromising beam penetrated even through his closed lids. Lifting a leg he removed his pants kicking them slightly to the side. He stood naked except for his underwear, his hands protectively crossed around his middle aged belly. “I said undress now!“ The command sent a shudder through him, it was intense arousing. He wanted to be without power, to be in control of nothing. Turning away from the light bending slightly the voice again “Face forward!“ He corrected his position swiftly removing his underwear. The light burned across his body revealing everything every flaw. “You smell like swine.“ the lady of the light said. She must have been close, closer then he thought because without seeing he felt a leather ridding crop touch his belly. “Look at this this disgusting blob of fat.“ she hissed out. “You are lazy yes?“ To punctuate this remark she slapped his belly with the crop leaving a small red welt. Laughing she said “A few weeks in the camp aught to fix that.” Now there was a loud clunking sound. The flood light had been turned off, however, now Albert stared into murkiness. As his pupils began to enlarge from the dimness he saw the room was being illuminated from a single bare bulb hanging down from a chain.
As his eyes adjusted to the gloominess, the room started to focus. On the back wall was a large portrait of Hitler, flanked by two Nazi flags. In the middle of the room was a crude shower with nothing but the head dangling from the ceiling. It looked exactly like one of those emergency showers pulls one would use incase of chemical contamination. The water it seemed would simply fall through a grate in the floor. On the right wall unfurled was a large banner proclaiming “Arbeit macht frei” work will set you free. In a corner by a simple wooden table with an object Albert could not quite see was an iron chair with shackles for both the hands and the feet. There was a leather strap hanging forlornly down from the iron chair starting where the neck of person would be. Adorning the left wall was the Schutzstaffel (SS) thunderbolts looking like two vicious slashes. And there just to the left of him was the centerpiece, the showpiece of this horrid fantasy world, Mistress Muller. She was tall and willowy with high cheek bones and penetrating blue eyes. Her long blond hair was pulled tightly into a bun. A lengthy black trench coat covered her shoulders and the snug brown shirt she was wearing. Pulling tightly against her chest the shirt looked to be two sizes too small and made her breasts poke out like mountain peaks. Between the gapes of the buttons he could see the swell of her white breasts and just make out the darker areola of her right one. Hanging lazily in her right hand was the riding crop she had slapped against his pudgy belly. A peaked black cap stood inattentively on her head, jauntily proclaiming her authority. It gave her a sense of languorous power, one that was casually cruel. Two long white legs sprouted from her skirt ending in a pair of one inch black heels.
There was the glory of his shame, the object of his fantasies. Even within then subset of the fetish world he was a deviant his desires perceived to be too deep too troubling. It was common to find that most of the fetish community regarded Nazi chic as highly offensive. Lots of the clubs went so far as to even ban overt Nazi symbolism. Yet his perverse fantasy ran like a dark river through his soul. He was Jewish and it was his people that had suffered the outrages of the Nazi. The symbolism of that did not go unmindful in Albert’s mind. It played like glass in the blood stream pounding to his brain with every beat of his heart, the shards ripping through him. The outrage, the shame, the horror that he should use the holocaust as his own personal fantasies. How could tell anyone it was because he was Jewish that the unreality was so powerful?
Copy & paste to friend: (Click inside box; Ctrl + C to copy; Ctrl + V to paste)
read more blogs!