This seems as good a time as any to tell you (me?) about As...; I'm even listening to Donald Fagen, who turned out to be my continual companion in those days, even if he released this particular album in 2005.
So, to resume: I went up to As...'s office with her to pick out a dressing gown. This lady was just my type: slightly older, bright and oozing sex. Being young, free and single I had one thing on the brain the whole time. That's not changed, but its manifestations have, by the way. As...was slightly shorter than I; her hips were shapely, her breasts full and her face gorgeous, a grin never far from her moist, red lips. Beautiful women are never in short supply in the performing arts, so As...was one more babe in the list I was privileged to encounter every working day. I paid her my 35DM and went on my way.
A few days later, our Old Deutoronomy had his farewell performance. He'd been with the show for four years and had decided it was time to do something other than sit on a tyre and sing Moments of Happiness in German to an audience that was likely to go off after the show and pay for a blowjob a few yards further down the Reeperbahn. His decision to leave the show so soon after encountering As... was instrumental in shaping the subsequent twelve months of my life, little did he know of his deed at the time. I'd played keyboard that evening and went down to the canteen after the show, only to find it fuller than normal. No wonder, Walter was leaving and his fans were there to pay hommage.
I sat at a table near the counter, noticing As... as I planted my backside on the chair. We nodded and smiled at each other in recognition. God, she's sexy, I thought to myself, but did no more than light a Marlboro and sup on my Flensburger Pilsner. I eventually got into conversation with As..., who had, up until then, been talking to her neighbour. "Are you American?" she asked. "No, I'm English"; I detected a slight shift in her mood as she wiggled a little on her seat and bent closer over the table. From that moment on, the evening was ours; no-one interrupted our conversation; we wouldn't have heard them even if they'd tried. I was transfixed by As... and she certainly didn't seem to be seeking out anyone else's attention. We laughed, joked and flirted, then eventually, we decided we both wanted to leave at the same time.
My flat was located no more than fifty yards behind the Cats stage door. My BMW 520 sat in a parking space nearby. As a joke, I asked As... to drive me home. Fortunately her car was close by and we climbed in. Just as she engaged first gear she asked me which direction she should take. "Stop right here", I said "Here?". "Yes, it's here". We'd gone precisely 25 yards and were now sitting outside my front door. A beat, then she burst into fits of laughter. The ice was not only well and truly broken between us, it had been fed into a blast furnace. The only question which remained was who was going to go through the formality of taking this encounter to its next logical, inevitable level.
We started talking about her situation. Mine was pretty straightforward: 27 years old, single guy, horny. There's not much to add to that, is there? As... had been divorced but had remarried a mere six months before we'd met. She had a daughter from her first marriage but, as it transpired, was less than enamoured of the situation she'd let herself in for half a year previously. We talked and talked, examining all possible states of mind, expectations and hopes for the future; why she'd remarried in haste, what kind of man her new husband was and all the rest. About two hours later, I leant over and kissed her full on the lips. She didn't back off, just let out a little moan and buried herself in my embrace. We sat there in each other's arms for about half an hour. "What's next for you?", I asked. "I don't know", she replied; "I have to think". "I'm there for you. You have my number, you know where I live. If you want to run away, you know where to come". This was no empty bravado, this was real. I meant it. I found her sexy as hell, but I wanted more than just her body. I wanted this woman's confidence, her devotion. And I wasn't prepared to squander the chance nor the feelings she could have for me. I was hooked. She was 12 years older than I yet I hadn't been this ga-ga since my Manchester days (bless you, Candace...). We eventually parted, yet we were on the phone to each other the next morning.
That evening, As...jokingly 'drove me home'. There was a makeshift car park opposite my flat; lots of alterations were being made to Hopfenstrasse and Kastanienallee at that time: the St. Pauli Astra Brauerei was being renovated, many houses in Hopfenstrasse were being renovated, so unexpected mini-wasteland car parks were springing up all over the place. It was in one of these that As... slipped her tongue into my mouth, then unzipped my trousers and sucked me dry. It was all I could do as a gentleman to return the compliment. As our passions rose, so our precautions dimished. My previous reluctance to invite As... back to the flat so as not to put my flatmate in an awkward position (another Cats employee and frequent collaborator of As...) disappeared, and we moved our soon-to-be nightly amorous sport into Hopfenstrasse 2, first floor. As... was completely uninhibited and visibly and audibly enjoyed every kind of heterosexual nocturnal pursuit I put her way. Her imagination was not lacking, either, clearly relishing exploring every nook and cranny of the male body, brandishing her omnipresent smile and curious tongue like triumphant tools in the pursuit of love and physical proximity.
Eventually, all came out with her husband and I was apparently in mortal danger from him and his friends. She lined up a new house with her daugher and arranged a fly-by-night morning move, when hubby would be at work. I went and helped; a team of six of us helped to get all her possessions out of the house in the space of an hour. God knows how we managed it, but we did. Soon after, As... and her daughter moved into a little terraced house opposite Helmut Schmidt and it was here that our iniquities unfolded, day after day, night after night until a stupid misunderstanding drove us apart.
Without wishing to bore anyone about our sexual activity over the following twelve months, it was impossible to spend more than two hours in As...'s company without us engaging in some form of sexual activity; either the whole nine yards in our bedroom on the top floor or improvised oral sex in the kitchen after or during lunch, dinner or whatever, a raised dressing gown during the evening's teeth-cleaning. It didn't matter. Somehow, we were put on this earth to fuck each other and fuck we did. It never got boring; to have any part of As...'s divine body in my mouth or attached to any other part of my anatomy just seemed the natural and right order on earth, as normal as sleeping, eating and drinking.
One day, we went to Worpswede, an artists' village in Lower Saxony. As... needed to check out a couple of candidates for the manufacture of Phantom artefacts. We were booked into a hotel for the night. By now, not even As..., who, at first, had seemed slightly nervous about being seen in public with a boyfriend who was, quite obviously, younger than she, cared who saw us. We entwined our hands over dinner like star-crossed lovers, kissed shamelessly over the aperitif and made no secret of our haste to go up to our room once dinner was finished. I remember that particular night as the few hours of the most mind-blowing sex I'd ever had in my life. It was all because my feelings for As... were running so high, knowing, at the same time, that she felt EVEN MORE for me. If there was ever a recipe for eternal happiness, then that is it. Ladies, you know what you have to do. You men, too.
OK, so now you're all going to round on me. "Why did you split up?" In a few words, it was the age difference. I convinced myself it would not work long-term and, after about a year, started to put a little distance between us. As... had talked about moving in together, but I didn't feel this would ultimately be right, at least not for me. I was determined to get married once, have childeren (probably) and fit right into society's expectations, if not my own. The relationship with As... was phenomenal, but we were both still young and pretty. Years would have to pass and complications would arise. I certainly wanted to settle, but was still young and hadn't encountered the woman I felt encapsulated what I was looking for in a wife. Had As... been ten years younger, there would have been no question, and we'd have probably been together today. But even as a horny 27-year-old, certain preoccupations gain the upper hand, even if they may be misguided.
I missed a date at As..'s place; a friend had come round in a state of flux and I'd played agony uncle while he poured out his soul on my kitchen table. The phone had rung, but I'd ignored it, not even thinking who it could be. Only later did I remember the date and realised it was probably As... We spoke the following day. I went round to her house and, by way of a greeting, she pushed me against the sink, unbuttoned my trousers and sucked me dry even before asking why I'd forgotten our date. She then boycotted a production of A, My Name is Alice I'd put on at another theatre in Hamburg, preferring to go and see The Enemy in my Bed at the cinema. In my post-adolescent mind, these were all reasons enough to split up, so we saw each other no longer. Our respective lives continued and I hope hers remained as invigorating as the section I'd been privileged to know. God bless you, Astrid.
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