I warned you that the events I describe may not follow any logical sequence and this post probably confirms this. The year 2000 found me in Knysna, South Africa. Karl had been dead 3 years and for once in my life I was quiet alone. The days sped by at a rapid rate and the daily “inspection” in the mirror confirmed the worst. Whatever you have heard, German women do NOT age well. I was 60 years old and probably looked ten years older.
One day a very strange letter arrived in my post box at the Knysna Post Office. It was addressed to my “new” South African name and came from an agent in the States. Enclosed was a First Class ticket from South Africa to Las Vegas for a “Porn Star Reunion” conference. My screen name was used in the letter and I was offered an obscene amount of money just to make an appearance.
Karl had left me, what I considered at the time, a considerable amount of money, but after buying the farm and making the necessary improvements, and living for 3 years, my precious savings were running very low.
The invitation thus, came at a very opportune time. But to go back? After all that time? The way I looked? Impossible !! But the more I thought about it, and the more I looked at my bank statement, the more I realised that I had no choice.
I may write about my experiences in Las Vegas in 2000 at a later time, but not now, not now. On the positive side I made more money in the 10 days that I spent there, than I made during my entire career, which spanned almost 20 years. But at what cost? A more degrading and humiliating experience would be hard to imagine. But always the money, just like the early years, always the money.
The difference between 2000 and 1957 was that in 2000 when you said, “No way, I’m not doing THAT,” they just doubled the offer and then doubled, tripled and quadripled it until you relented and you were violated exactly the way they wanted, over and over and over again.
When I cry at the thought of what happened in Las Vegas, I just go to my study, open the filing cabinet and look at the bank statement that says, “You will NEVER, EVER, have to suffer this humiliation again in your life.”
Eight years later, with the sound investments that I have made, this still applies.
Enough.
Ich Komme 