Schmutzige kleine Geheimnis (Dirty Little Secret)

January 24th, 1961. My 19th birthday.

It was officially one year since I had run away from my mother in Alabama and never looked back. This year however, I wasn’t awoken by a strong sense of determination and excitement. Today was just another day where I was now; the Reeperbahn in Hamburg, Germany. Just another day of conning men for drinks, taking my clothes off onstage and leaving myself to the mercy of any man that pays for my body.

I woke up with the same feeling I’d had since the end of my first week here, the week I imagined would open up the whole world to me, shoot me into the world of stardom that I’d always dreamed of. The week I imagined would only be the beginning of something, not become the something... and never end. I’ve grown up a lot since then. I’ve had to, to survive. If I hadn’t, I’d be out on the streets with no money and no room to stay.
No, the end of my first week here ended up leaving me with sore loins, bruises and ruined make up. I’d cried so much this past year that I didn’t think I had any tears left in my eyes. I had nothing to cry about anymore, really. Not like normal girls. Nothing that mattered, anyway. In my profession, you couldn’t have any relationships or romances like other girls my age. I did enjoy watching loves unfold though, just so that I knew that it was real, that it existed just for a moment. I spent my days doing that, obviously until the evenings when I had to go back to work again.

I glanced around my bedroom, taking in the tiny, cramped room. The walls were brown; the cheapest paint there was around. It had been painted that way before I arrived, though. I’d not made redecorating a priority, though looking back it probably would have helped to elevate my mood if I had.
My shelves were empty, apart from maybe six or seven ornaments and a stuffed bear that I was given by my father when I was a child.
I owned one small chest of drawers, that contained one drawer of frilly underwear and stockings that my boss insisted I wear under my costumes on evenings. I had comfortable knickers for my day times too, thankfully. I’d seen that as very important. Bras were too expensive for me to afford so I didn’t ever wear them.
The next drawer along contained my daytime clothes; t-shirts, sweaters, Capri’s, leggings and day dresses mainly. Not too many of those though, they were on a rotational cycle. Sometimes I couldn’t even go out in the daytime for not having the clean clothes to.
I had two bigger drawers below those two. They contained what I suppose were my most important garments. Corsets, tassels, sparkly costumes and sashes for my shows. They took up the most room, even though they stayed on for the shortest time of all. I was a stripper in the early evening in the club I lived above, a somewhat subtle con-artist afterwards and a prostitute to top the day off. It was the only work I could find after coming here. It wasn’t the Hollywood, musician’s lifestyle I was imagining this time last year.
My window was what I tried to keep clean. It was the only way I could see outside from this building, watch normal people leading better lives than my own, imagining what my life could be had I not ended up here. I had a few scented candles that I had bought lined along the sill. I liked to light them on days like today, so that I remembered that I was a person with a life on my birthday, and also on my father’s anniversary. The memory of my father reminded me that if Heaven allowed it, there was someone that truly loved me still.
The one other thing that made my room cheerful was my poster of Joan Baez, the woman with the most beautiful voice in the world. I had fallen in love with her back home in America, and she made me want to escape my mother’s puritanical grasp and become a folk singer. Germany was where most musicians went to find their way. Somehow, it had made me lose mine...
Nevertheless, this was where I lived, and it was all that I had, of course after I cut off all ties with my religious, push-over, layabout of a mother.

Back to my day ahead though.

I sat up in bed and wiped the night’s dust from my eyes. My inner thighs were yet again killing me from last night; my client had been particularly ruthless. My shoulders ached from how my arms had been held above my head. I had bruises on my arms where he had held onto them so tightly. My blonde hair was in tangles and rat tails after he had pulled my head back so far, twisting my neck in the process. I was used to the pain now however; I just imagine I’m in a better place.
I hadn’t known anything of sex until I had come to the Reeperbahn, now I knew too much about it. You were bound to, living here. Men used me to play out whatever sick desires and fantasies their wives forbade... or maybe didn’t even know about. Some of the things that they asked me to do were strange. I’d never experienced ‘making love’, only sex. That’s why the Reeperbahn was here.

Silently, I bathed myself at my bedroom sink and washed the dirtiness away. I wasn’t physically dirty, particularly, but I always felt like I was after I had been with a man here.
The mornings were always void of human interaction, and I was used to being alone a lot of the time. But this morning, my boss came in as I was dressing, which surprised me somewhat. I covered myself as I heard the door open.

“Don’t worry sweetheart. I’ve seen all of your bits and pieces.” He smiled like an old man who hadn’t seen a young woman’s body for years, his eyes roaming all over me. I giggled sweetly to keep him happy, remembering who I was speaking to, but kept myself covered.

“What brings you here, sir?” I asked tentatively. It’s not often I have to speak to him, so I wasn’t sure how to address him correctly.

“Nothing much. I just came to let you know that you may have to shorten your act a little for the next few months. I have this new act starting work tonight.” He said, more to the curios he was fiddling with on my shelves than to me.

“Any showgirls?” I asked, curious as to whether I stood the chance of making some more female friends. I had a few, but they were purely whores. They would be performers had they a talent, but a lot of these girls suffered from a lack of self esteem and thought they weren’t worth anything. Some of these girls had seen and heard things that I couldn’t even imagine, so damaging that I couldn’t even imagine. I mean, I had seen things and experienced things, but this was on another level. Not to mention what actually happens once you get here.

Boss shook his head. “No, no they’re not girls,” he said, almost disappointedly. I fiddled with the corner of my towel, trying to hide the fact I was disappointed too. “They’re four guys from England.” He said, leaning on the door frame and distracting me from my imagination. I looked up knowing full well what more men in the club meant.
“You’ll flirt and earn me some of my money back from them, you hear? The other whores will too, so you’re not alone.” I was taken aback by being referred to purely as a whore when I felt that I was predominantly a singer, but I didn’t say a word... rather, couldn’t say a word for fear of being fired. Boss had a glint of greed in his eyes before leaving me alone once more. I sighed at my reflection and rested my head on the basin, feeling the cool surface on my forehead.

Evening swung round and it was time for my second outfit change of the day. I had been first on since I started working here as a singer/stripper, and I had a set schedule for how my days worked. Tonight, it was my teeny-weeny, skin-tight costume, suspenders and heels. I’d decided to cut one of my middle songs to shorten my act, as the boss had asked. I’d end on ‘Ol’ Black Magic’ before making the rounds on the tables in the pit. I hated my set being changed, but I had to live with it.
I checked myself over in the mirror, making sure that my corset was going to be easy enough to unclip, that my tassels were attached to my tits securely and that my butt was just peeking out from the bottom of my knickers. My suspenders were clipped tight and the seams on my tights were straight. I slipped my beige trench coat over everything and my ensemble was ready. My same old evening was about to begin.

My performance went as expected. I walked on stage with my trench coat tied at the waist and stood behind the microphone stand. I sang ‘Love Me Tender’ as ‘sensually’ as I could – that’s how I had been told to sing. I preferred singing country so much more, but I wasn’t in control here. I had to appeal to the men rather than be my old, strong-willed self. I got an average, drunken round of applause from the guys in the audience, though I knew it would increase somewhat during my next song.
I sang Marty Wilde’s ‘Sea of Love’ as I removed my trench coat to reveal my tasselled breasts, corseted waist and completely exposed legs. The roar that erupted from the audience was immense, as per usual, as men whistled, whooped and clapped as they drank their lives away. I scanned my eyes across the audience members, not stopping on one person for too long. I enjoyed the applause for showing my body, but I always reminded myself of the disgusting things that men fantasised about. I should mention that between songs I spoke to the audience, flirting and selling myself before conning them into buying expensive drinks afterwards.
During ‘Ol’ Black Magic’, I turned my back to the audience and removed my corset carefully, peeling it off and bending over to flash my butt and legs. The audience erupted again, hollering louder and louder. The usual. As I rolled myself back up, vertebrae by vertebrae, I just noticed a guy in a black jacket watching me perform from behind the curtain offstage. I looked away from him swiftly as I turned back to the audience, exposing my naked torso to the crowd as I finished the song.

“Thank you! My name is Cherie, and if you liked my little show, you can ask me if I’d like a drink once I step offstage!” I said with a wink, in my put-on, playful voice, secretly hating every part of what I had to do.