One Night in West Berlin, 1988

New York: May 1991

"You know, I was often in Berlin when I worked in Frankfurt."

Sherrie and I were having lunch in Paley Park, a small park on 53rd Street between Fifth and Madison. There's a wall at its northern end and a never-ending waterfall streams down it, muffling the noise of passing traffic.

We always passed a piece of the Berlin Wall when we went for lunch there. It stood right next to the park's entrance, graffiti-covered on one side, starkly-naked on the other.

"It was in the mid-80s, before the Wall came down. And, yes, a man was involved."

"Quelle surprise."

"Yeah, those days. I was working on a deal for Deutsche Bank and they'd sent me to meet a company we were supposed to lend money to. He was the junior guy on their team and I was the junior on ours.

"At each meeting he kept looking at me. And, I admit, I kept looking at him. His hair was perfect. His English was perfect. His smile was perfect. But he was so damn German, you know? The five or six of us agreed to meet for drinks in the hotel bar after the third day of discussions. We were very close, and did close the deal on the next day. Did I mention how German he was? He didn't want to blow the deal by doing something 'inappropriate.' But I could tell. So I decided to turn the tables. He excused himself to go to the bathroom. As he came out, I was there. He was surprised. I pushed him against the wall and I threw my body against his and I kissed him for all I was worth, which, as you know was quite a lot in those days, and I felt him grow.

"We left the table five minutes apart and he was in my room. It was one of the greatest sessions I've ever had. I went back to Frankfurt the next day. I think of him every time I see that hard slab from Berlin when we come to lunch. I thought you should know."

* * * * *

Berlin: October 1988

When I finished my disclosure, I thought back on that night. The deal was almost completed. The back-office at our Frankfurt headquarters had signed off on the figures and there wasn't much left beyond proofing and getting the papers signed in the morning. So everyone was relaxed during drinks.

When I was against him in the hallway, I whispered "703" and continued to the ladies' room as he went back to the table. When I returned, I said I was tired, wished everyone a "good night," and left the bar. I could get room service later for dinner.

He must have waited about ten minutes or so because that's how long it took him to knock gently on my door. I had not changed except to take off my pantyhose and swap my normal panties for a silk pair I often took with me on such trips just-in-case. So I was still in my navy-blue suit with a white blouse and two-inch heels.

He looked a bit nervous when I opened the door. We established a day or so before that neither of us was in a relationship. It struck me that what he was about to do, what we were about to do, was not something he did often or lightly. I reached for his hand and pulled him into the room and I kissed him lightly on the lips before saying, "I want you. Tell me you want me."

He reached for my right hand and moved it under his jacket and to his crotch. "I want you."

I had left only one light on, next to the bed. The room itself was cream-colored, modern and with a minimal amount of furniture. I'd moved the comforter and sheet and blanket to the side of the bed, giving us room to go there. That was my plan, but it quickly changed. His hands grasped my ass and he pulled me to him. He was only an inch or two taller than me since I was in heels. Again I felt how hard he was. I draped my arms around his neck and our tongues were lost in each other's mouths. My god could I feel him and damn if he didn't know it.

He started towards the bed. "No," I said. It wouldn't be enough. "Here. Like this." I turned to face the wall over the dresser. There was a mirror above it. He quickly knew. We both had our suits on although my jacket was off. He left his on. It made things a bit kinky. He undid his belt and the buttons on his trousers and unzipped them, pulling them and his briefs down below his knees, puddling on the floor.

He kept his cock at a distance from me and he reached under my skirt. His left hand pulled it up and his right caressed my silk-covered ass-cheeks. For just a moment. He reached that hand around and felt how damp my panties were. How fucking damp I was. I reached to my sides and hooked my fingers on my panties and pulled them down, letting them drop and stepping out of them. They, too, now puddled where we stood.

That accomplished, I had to bend slightly to reach the hem of my skirt and I pulled it up above my ass and above my pussy. When my skirt was out of the way, his cock again approached me and I felt its hardness against my right ass-cheek. Things stopped for a moment. All of the preliminaries were done and out of the way.

Fuck. Except for one.

"Wait."

I left him standing, turning his head to follow me as I walked to the left of the bed, to my bag. I sorted about and found a condom and returned with it displayed in my hand.

"Shit," he said, "I lost control. Thank god you didn't."

I ran my hand across his cock, and gave his balls a little juggle. I'd not seen it before. It was gorgeous. Neither wide nor long—although frankly I had little frame-of-reference—but perfect. I so wanted to keep touching it and to kiss it, but I didn't have the time. I was playing for higher stakes.

I handed him the condom package and he opened it and easily put it on.

I hastened back to the dresser. "Now. Where were we?" and again I pulled my skirt above my waist, far enough up so I didn't need to hold onto it. I bent slightly, our eyes locked in the mirror.

"Tell me you want me as much as I want you."

"More. Fucking more than I have ever wanted someone inside me."

It was true. He ran his cock up and down my slit. He knew, though, that I needed him inside, and then I felt him enter me. Slowly. My eyes shut so I could concentrate on what was happening to me. And what was happening to me was the slow entry and almost-exit of this man. Slowly in and almost-out. It did not take long for me to start thrusting my ass to get more of him. When I opened my eyes I saw that his were closed, every part of him concentrating on moving in me and satisfying my craving.

Suddenly he slowed dramatically and his eyes opened and he displayed a smile. "You Americans are in such a hurry. We must enjoy this."

"Fuck you. I'm enjoying it plenty."

"Ah, mon Cherie." He utterly failed in his French accent. "Patience. Patience." As he said this he resumed his slow, teasing in and almost-out motion and my impatience evaporated as I again fell into the spell our congress created. Slowly in and almost-out. And then the fucker picked up the pace again and I thought we were again done with the preliminaries and I was this close when he stopped. Now his smile was almost evil.

"You know Willy"—that was his name, short for Wilhelm—"I can wait all night" and he knew I was lying but I didn't care I just wanted to tease him into pushing me over the edge. "Of course, I don't know much longer my legs can hold out." I was in good shape, but I think he was in better shape. None of that mattered, though. It was teasing and we both knew it couldn't last much longer.

He apparently decided edging me twice was enough because he resumed his pace and inevitably he lost control of it. Grunting "fick, fick, fick" there was no stopping him now. I was echoing with "fuck, fuck, fuck" and with one final thrust he exploded in me and I swear I could feel the heat of his cum in me through the condom's walls. And I was gone, my head losing all stiffness as it rolled back-and-forth on my neck as I struggled to catch my breath.

He pulled out of me and after removing and securing the condom he pulled up his briefs and trousers. His keeping his jacket on was incredibly erotic, and probably a thousand fantasies bounded about my brain as we were fucking. I turned to him, pushing my skirt down.

"That was lovely." That, too, was a lie and we both knew it. It was a lot of things, but "lovely" wasn't one of them. It was beyond that and I leaned in and we shared a long French kiss, his hands again firmly on my ass cheeks.

"I need to go."

"I understand."

After he took care of things in the bathroom, he stopped in front of me. I was sitting at the foot of the bed.

"You are special," and he gave a peck on my forehead and was gone.

I did order room service, including wine, and I slept the sleep of the dead. We finished the deal before noon the next day. Willy was there, but we treated each other as we treated everyone else. My team was able to get a 2:00 plane home, and en route I wondered when, or if, I would see him again.

We did manage to see each other every few months. I'd fly to Berlin if the opportunity arose and he'd do the same for Frankfurt. We didn't always fuck. Sometimes we just went out on dates. When we finally did get into a bed, he turned out to be a wonderful lover. He liked nothing more than eating me. Even more than fucking me. And he never asked me to go down on him. I did, but only because I wanted to and he wanted me to do what I wanted to do. We never did a 69, though. When he ate me, he wanted to be able to concentrate, and I felt the same.

But the distance was wearing for both of us. Our conversations became less frequent. Then the Wall came down and things changed. I was spending more time traveling to eastern Germany as Deutsche Bank tried to expand, but my German wasn't good enough and few people there spoke passable English so they decided to transfer me back to New York.

Willy and I had one final date. It was in Frankfurt, about a week before I moved home. We had an expensive dinner, my treat, and then I took him to my apartment. There was as much passion and intimacy as we ever shared, but not the fire of that first night in West Berlin. We lay in bed looking at each other, our hands caressing each other as we each tried to commit the other's body to memory.

Then my right hand dwelt on his cock and his left fingers delved into my pussy. I moved my hand up-and-down him as his fingers lazily danced inside me. It was our only points of contact as we stared at one another. I know I came close to saying it and I think he did as well but neither of us did. Why bother? I was headed to New York and he was heading back to Berlin. Gradually I turned to be atop him, my pussy straddling his thigh. I continued pumping him, and he wrapped his hand around my ass to resume his fingering. I began the slow ascent and began rubbing myself against the skin on his rock-hard thigh, which he raised by lifting his knee off the bed, anchored by his right foot.

As I got close, my hand loosened its grip and we both concentrated on my pleasure. Then I crested. Nowhere near what happened that first evening, but treasured just as much. When I was done, I needed him to follow. I crossed over him and got on my knees beside him so I could pump him with my right hand as my left juggled his balls. His breath shortened and his ass lifted from the bed and he shot three bolts across his stomach and chest. While sometimes I took some of his cum and tasted it, this was not the time for that. He was ready, and had a damp hand-towel that he used to clean himself.

I crossed back and was again on my side looking at him, with my hand drawing circles on his chest and my fingers tickling his nipples until he begged me to stop.

"I'll miss you."

"And I'll miss you."

And we kissed and after we prepared for bed we got under the covers, said "good night," and fell into a sleep I only knew when I was in bed with him, his arms wrapped around me.

We wrote to each other now and then. I called him once or twice in the first year after I was back in New York, but my thoughts of him moved on as I'm sure his did. I sometimes took a look at updated paperwork on the deal the bank did with his company, but his name was no longer on it. He wrote eventually that he had left that firm and was working for Deutsche Telekom, still in Berlin.

Then the piece of the Berlin Wall showed up on 53rd Street. I didn't notice it as first. My office was a few blocks to the south. One day, though, I was meeting Sherrie and she suggested Paley Park and right before we got there I saw it. Shit, I had a visceral reaction. I work for a German bank and deal with people in Berlin every day, but this was somehow different. I didn't recall whether Willy and I actually saw the Wall together. Probably not.

The section, though, was dominated by a large face. With big eyes and sharp eyebrows. A very red mouth. It didn't look like Willy, surely, but it was a face staring at me as I passed.

When we sat at a small table in the park that first time, Sherrie asked if I was OK. I told her I was fine, just a bit of a stomach ache. And from that day on, I always felt a bit queasy as I passed the face on the Wall. Sometimes I'd take the long away around so I wouldn't see it. But the frequency of my thoughts of Willy increased, particularly at night. Don't get me wrong. I had plenty of relationships with men once I got back to New York. Plenty. And when I was with a man that I wanted to sleep with, I slept with him. None, though, got very far. The sex was often very good, but the connection was not there, and I found myself often thinking about Willy when I masturbated now that I had seen the Wall.

* * * * *

New York: May 1991

"Gabby. Are you there?"

"I'm sorry, Sherrie. I just drifted off."

"Next time you do, can you take me with you? She seemed to be enjoying yourself there for a while."

I was embarrassed, but I laughed, "For a while, perhaps, but all good things must—"

"If you want to talk about it, you know where to reach me."

"Were you in love with him?"

"I was L O V. But I don't know about the E. The distance killed it."

With that we were done. We cleared off the table, nodded to a couple waiting to take it, and headed back to our offices. And I took a quick glance at the Wall section as we passed it.