Perhaps you’re the last port in the
storm, it could explain the surreal act of Wünsche
sitting down heavily beside you and resting his head on your shoulder
as though you’re part of the architecture or like he doesn’t
remember the way his lips pulled back from his teeth and his brows
drew together the last time he saw you and he spat a warning before
his friends tugged him away from
your incipient brawl, now his beery breath is huffing hot on your
neck and he pats you on the knee
like he’s banging a drum and starts mumbling with a slurred tongue:“I
can still hear them singing, and the
lad who wrote that, Horst, I think he had…I think, I don’t know,
well no education in music, or maybe he went to university, yes, he
did study somewhere but, I forget, but he was a construction worker, a fucking fighter, he puts bricks and stuff together, used his hands, right, and, and stood on those fucking streets and there, somewhere in some fucking Red cunt’s house, he had a room and he sat
there and composed that song and anyway, my point is….(Wünsche’s
lips are slurring the words against your neck and you wonder if he
has a point or if he’s just been pouring over copies of Der
Angriff as he vibrates on Pervitin and pilfered schnapps)“…Peiper
when you hear it, when you sing it, don’t you think, isn’t it just, isn’t
it just, at the heart of everything, the anthem of our great,
glorious nation, and could you sign your name to Versailles while
listening to it, or any, any other treaty, no matter what, no matter where
we are now, I don’t think you could, I don’t think it’s possible,
and that should really resonate with the motherfuckers who have
robbed, cheated, and abused this great country, we deserve better, we
deserve better…”His
knuckles have gone white where they’re tugging at your collar,
wanting to bring your mouth into consonance into his, begging for the
union of shared breath and touch since you’re sticking to your
silence over his little rant – at last you pluck out a cigarettes
from your case and put it to his lips and he sucks on that as you
press a brief kiss to his temple and let a light spark for him to
draw from.
Tag: jochen peiper
Feet kink with Himmler
Jochen came to enjoy their private time in the office, when he sat in Himmler’s chair and Himmler himself was kneeling at his feet, kneeling not like in prayer but like a small animal with the limbs drawn to his body, running his stubby little fingers over his adjutant’s feet, following the veins with his fingertips as if admiring the lifelike details of a marble statue, and smiling up at him with the desperately submissive smile of a wandering salesman begging for alms. If Jochen allowed it he placed wet kisses on his feet and on his toes and he pressed his tongue between them humming with delight at the salty taste of sweat. He was a nasty little worm of a man and he liked hearing that from Jochen’s mouth, his eyes then became just a bit more bug like behind the glasses as he eagerly agreed, calling himself pathetic and vile and calling Jochen such a good boy while hoping the good boy would spit on him or worse.
Himmler being sickened by the reality of his genocide
On the first visit to the camp they gift Himmler flowers and paintings the little ones have made for him, delivered by a shy little girl with long black braids; when he pats her on the head he thinks he hears his adjutant scoff and maybe that has egged him on, maybe he really wanted to see the inner workings of his creation or maybe he did just get lost by pure chance. It is a bit of a surprise how few walls and fences stand between that sunny path with the little girl and bleak, stinking misery, the sight of the prisoners that hits him like a wall, the disgust welling in his stomach forcing him to his knees throwing up half digested coffee and cake. His adjutant drags him up by the elbow and there is no expression on his face when Himmler turns to him head shaking, mumbling apologetically that it was not how he meant it to be, but when he hands Himmler a handkerchief and wordlessly turns away there is undoubtedly a sneering smile on his lips.
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