Was um Himmels willen war authentisch?So ging es den ganzen Morgen, den ganzen Mittag und Nachmittag. Sie schritt in ihrer kleinen Ein-Zimmer-Wohnung ...uf und ab, schrieb mal hier, mal das hin. Am Ende warf sie sich auf ihr Bett und fragte sich, ob sie überhaupt jemals wahre Gefühle gehabt hatte, Gefühle, wie sie nötig waren, um Authentisches zu schreiben, tiefe, krasse, einschneidende Gefühle, Realität, Wirklichkeit, eine Gegenwart des Unmittelbaren. Sie schnaufte. Alles in ihrer Erinnerung war. We went, took her home, and sat around on the sofa in her house. It was a big and very fancy house. Her father was a doctor, my dentist, and very powerful in the town. He was also powerful in life, a serious guy not to get on the wrong side of. Not a guy to have know that I wanted to fuck his daughter, either. It would be a painful slow death. Or to know that I stroked my cock to dreams of her tits. Because her mother liked me, we were left to our selves, sitting around her living room, and we. More

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