I was standing in between Hans and Pim. They were great kissers. Suddenly, I was pushed down. They opened their flies. “Here you go,” Hans said, “Time for you to give head.” I sucked as hard as I could. Pim held my head tight and gave me a corrective slap in the face. “Get undressed!,” Pim commanded. I complied. Hans and Pim were touching my entire body, and I was fingered hard and deep - moaning and squirming.
At the time SM was very popular in the Netherlands, I became their permanent slave.
Each year, we went to Schouwen-Duiveland for holidays, a two-day journey. We spent the night with an uncle and aunt in Rotterdam. On the second day, we had to wait hours for the ferry to Zijpe. I was told a surprise was waiting for me in Scharendijke. It was 1956. I was six years old. We were staying at my grandfather in his cottage on the dike.
There were two silent boys in the room - Jurgen and Dieter. They both were from Berlin, where they had experienced the terrors of the Second World War. Churches in the Netherlands had brought them here to recuperate. I could not understand them, but they immediately became my holiday friends.
Hans called me. “Can you drop by Sunday? We have two guests from Paris, and they want to have a go at you too.” I immediately said: “Yes, fine, Sir.” That Sunday, my hands were shaking pressing their bell. Pim opened the door and told me to lie down naked on their bed. I complied and heard their voices in the living room. Sometime later, they entered the room. Jean-Pierre spanked my buttocks, and Quiome spat in my face. I was to keep silent.
Jurgen and Dieter always went on a holiday to the beach with us. To a children’s playground in Renesse and the summer night parties in Zierikzee. On the market square, there were performers. One of them was Joop de Knegt, the singing soldier. A handsome man in a uniform. Except for my German buddies, we all sang along:
Ik sta op wacht
En denk aan jou
Je schreef me af
Bleef mij niet trouw
Ook een soldatenhart
Is niet van steen
Waarom schreef jij die brief
En liet mij zo alleen
Ik sta op wacht
Mijn hart doet pijn
Krijg ik verlof
Dan staat er niemand bij de trein
(I am on guard / And think about you / You wrote me off / Didn’t stand by me / Even a soldier’s heart / Isn’t made of stone / Why did you write that letter / And left me so alone / I am on guard / My heart is hurting / Do I get furlough / There will be no one at the train)
Hans handcuffed me and Dieter fucked me. I had to kiss Jean-Piere and Quiome. My nipples were on fire. I was following their every order until I really was too exhausted. Sometime later, I was sitting on the couch with a beer.
Jurgen and Dieter stayed in Scharendijke six weeks, but we had to go back after two. Crying, I waved them goodbye. Some days later, a card sent by them arrived, but I could not read that strange German. My mother read the card out loud, sitting on the edge of my bed. I was sad for days. How I missed those boys.