Crazy Penis Over To You
Chapter 9:
We are approaching the most important part.
Above, I wrote that some clients fall in love with prostitutes. Let me clarify. I fell in love… with Barbara. Much later. Today is September 22, 2020. I have known her for 96 hours.
Barbara has finished her contract and is flying back to Romania.
*With this confession, I may be destroying my future family, but I cannot do otherwise. I am no longer afraid of anything.
After the Persian goddess, Yulia appeared in my life. My possible Ukrainian wife—someone who cooks well, listens attentively, gives advice, and waits for me after work. But this is my illusion. She is in Ukraine. We have never met. We met through a marriage agency I contacted, realizing that I would die alone in Europe. Everything was going well until the cursed Corona arrived. I didn’t have time to invite her before the borders closed. We talked on the phone for a very long time. Yulia brought me back to life. We became close in mind, but not in body. And my physical shell demanded union, while I had no intention of starting a relationship. One day she wrote: “Denis, I understand that you have a woman for sex.”
The day before that, I had met Barbara in a brothel. Yulia, two thousand kilometers away, simply felt it.
BARBARA (Beginning — September 18, 2020)
Only a few hours remained before meeting Barbara, who would turn my understanding of love as a phenomenon upside down. Sayud and I were sitting in a small Spanish restaurant in Düsseldorf. He was trying to get acquainted with women passing by. They looked at him as if he were foolish. I said, “Leave them alone—we will remain alone here forever.”
I barely spoke to my friend, because I was in deep depression due to the loss of my family and the complete absence of any prospects, both in business and in my personal life. Sayud calmed me down and said that my whole life was still ahead of me, that everything would work out.
At one point Sayud said:
“Denis, you need to rest. Free your head. Relax.”
My friend closed the bill and commanded:
“Let’s go!”
We got on our motorcycles and rode off. The whole way I was thinking about how I had ended up without a home and without a family in my new world. What had I done wrong? But the destination turned out to be very close. It was Ratingen. An industrial zone, a dark street, and illuminated doors. Another brothel.
This puff was inexpensive but very active. The interior was below average; the girls sat with dull expressions. Some of them were pretty—though not all. The men were mostly Turks, the women—as always—from Romania, Bulgaria, and other Eastern European countries. I had seen all this before and wandered through the expanses of the love factory without much interest. It felt sad there. The interior left much to be desired. Turks in white robes were not exciting. Turkish music played on all the monitors, at least slightly enlivening the everyday life of the Ratingen brothel.
Sayud immediately took one of his acquaintances upstairs. I was left alone. I approached a girl I called “the Ukrainian”—she looked very much like one of ours. She told me I had beautiful eyes, to which I replied that I paid the same as everyone else, without discounts. We started talking at the bar. Then other girls joined us, and we were laughing—I no longer remember at what.
At one moment, Barbara pushed the girls aside and walked straight through our group. This was done deliberately—she was choosing me. There were many ways to go around us; we weren’t blocking her path. She was going out to smoke and could easily have bypassed us. Instead, she spread the prostitutes apart with her hands and passed through the center of the group—where I was standing.
“Stop.”
“Look at me,” I said, stopping the insolent stranger.
Her eyes paralyzed me instantly. It was a gentle anesthetic injection straight into the heart. Straight black hair, blue eyes, eyelashes… I had seen this before, but this time I felt a warm wave slowly spreading through my body. I felt hot. She was wearing a mask—we all were then. The coronavirus was raging. It even added a certain charm.
I said, “Lower your mask.”
A face painfully familiar opened before me. I had never felt anything like this before. It seemed to me that I had known her for 800 years. Slanted blue eyes, beautiful black eyebrows, a perfect nose, full lips. The thing was—she looked like a woman from Odessa: a slightly impudent smile, confident, aware of her beauty. In short—a cheeky bitch. Exactly the type that had always attracted me. But in Odessa it wouldn’t have felt this intense. I had been living in quarantine for five years—Without normal relationships and without happy faces.
She smiled and went out to smoke. Denis ran after her, abandoning his company. By that time Sayud had already returned and followed me immediately. She impressed me so much that I didn’t dare invite her to a room right away. A romantic.
I tried speaking German, then Russian—no luck. Only English. Romanian English. After some time, everything between us happened. We went upstairs and entered the magical Room No. 8. Denis and Barbara were not just close—they were close as if they had been together for many years and knew exactly what they needed for maximum pleasure. She behaved unlike other girls I had been with in such places. She showed genuine interest in me. She liked me.
Denis did things with her that he hadn’t done for several years, without any disgust. Our bodies seemed to flow into one another. My face was burning. Goosebumps ran along our arms and legs—on both of us. At the end, she asked through a translator what was wrong with me and what I was doing there—exactly the same way the prostitute Didi once asked me. I briefly explained everything and added that I would never be able to be with a German woman. I told her how I had ended up alone, that I wanted to love and be loved.
This was our first date—in a brothel. But our meeting in Room No. 8 was not like a meeting between strangers. There was silence in the room. We were texting with complete certainty that we would now be together. As if we knew we had once already been together—perhaps in another life. And the question of our future together felt like a matter of just a few days. We didn’t speak—only pressed buttons on our phones.
After texting, we lay down on the bed, hugged, and fell asleep. But this is a brothel! Sleeping is not allowed here. I jumped up after about thirty minutes, woke Barbara, and we quickly got dressed and ran out of the room. The lovers ran through the corridors of the brothel, laughing at themselves. How could this happen? A client and a prostitute fell asleep in a room.
When Barbara said, “Take a Romanian woman,” Denis, without hesitation, replied:
“Pack your things and let’s go home.” I said it absolutely seriously. Barbara lowered her eyes and explained that she needed to work a bit longer—she wanted to buy a car. She had made a bet with someone. I never fully understood the situation.
In the lobby, I kissed her and immediately left the brothel so as not to see her give herself to another man. A terrible feeling. Sayud ran out half-naked and asked what was wrong with me. I said nothing. During my date with Barbara, Sayud had been entertaining himself with his familiar prostitutes. I told him I wanted to go home. Ah, I almost forgot—she left me her phone number, which doesn’t always happen at first contact.
I fell in love for the first time in my life at first sight. I injected myself with a concentrate of love. That magical drug is still inside me.