The Bet

"And what would you like to tattoo on my bald head?"

I turned on the loudspeaker of Günther' phone as I sensed his curiosity about the conversation.

"I have made a sketch already. It would all be in our flashy party colours: magenta, yellow, and blue. On the one side of your head, just above the hairline, it would say 'Bright Minds Vote FDP'. And on the other side, I'd like to have 'Phillipp Graf Lambsdorff -- Your Candidate in Kiel'. And then FDP logos all over the place."

I looked at Günther who looked amused but mouthed the word "headache" to me.

"My tattoo artist just told me that I'm going to get a headache if he tattoos my scalp."

"Yes? Don't you think that 75.000 € is worth a little headache that goes away after a day or two? Anyway, it'll take care of any financial headache you may have. Why don't we meet to discuss this, Dina? I'd really like to do business with you."

Phillipp and I agreed to discuss the matter over a cup of coffee the next day.

"Are you going to do it?" Günther asked as I had finished the call.

"Definitely. 75.000 is a lot of money. Or even 50.000."

"Sure. But I really like your hair."

"Thank you. Will you touch it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Touch my hair. I want you to fuck me, Günther. And I want you to do it before I'm bald and a walking ad for this jerk from the Free Democrats. Because then I think you may not want to do it."

"I've enjoyed working on you every time. I'd fuck you with or without your hair, Dina. I've been fantasising about you since Tobi brought you here and got you that zebra."

"Then fuck me now. Please!"

"Mind if I lock the door and close the blinds?" Günther asked and put down his machine.

After giving us some privacy, he came back to the table I was on. I sat up, unbuttoned his jeans and his huge hard on jumped in my face. I knelt in front of him and blew him while he held my long black hair tightly.

I pulled off his jeans and T-shirt and revealed a whole body covered with tattoos. It made me even hornier.

Günther fucked me right there on the table, and I had the greatest sex of my life up to that point.

Later, we stood in front of the Förde Tattoo shop. Günther was smoking his post-coital Marlboro.

"Are you sure you don't want to smoke, Dina? It's great after sex, believe me."

"I told you, I'm not a smoker," I said, declining his offer.

"Try it anyway," Günther insisted and held his cigarette toward me.

I took it and sucked in a small portion of smoke, which immediately made me cough badly. Günther laughed as I handed him his cigarette.

The following day, Phillipp Graf Lambsdorff came to the Förde Tattoo shop. He brought 25.000 € in cash, and I -- after carefully considering the upsides ad downsides to his offer -- signed a contract and took the money.

Günther gently shaved my head and carefully tattooed my scalp according to Phillipp's instructions.

"Make sure to stay above the hairline!" I insisted.

"Don't worry!" Günther said reassuringly.

After some hours I had been turned into a neo-liberal election ad with a severe headache. Günther told me that I looked even sexier with a bald head.

6. Losing My Job

The same afternoon I went to work at the law firm where I had this part-time student job. I had hardly settled at my desk before I was called into the office of the senior partner.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Aydoğan, but I have to ask you this question."

"What question?"

"Is that... ehm... permanent?" he asked and pointed to the election ad.

"It's a tattoo. It's not make-up that can be washed off if that's what you're asking."

"Then I have to ask you to wear a wig while you're at work."

"I'm sorry. I can't. I'm bound by a contract."

"A contract...? In that case, we have to let you go."

"Why?" I asked, acting surprised.

"We have noticed certain changes in your personal appearance lately. And we decided to live with it. But this goes too far."

"So I don't have a freedom of expression?"

"You most certainly do, Ms. Aydoğan. But you also have a contractual obligation to act neutrally when it comes to party politics while you're at work."

"Okay?"

"I mean I really sympathise with your political views. I'm a faithful FDP voter myself. But I don't scream it into the faces of our clients. That would be bad for business. You understand that?"

"I guess I do."

"So I have to ask you to leave the premises immediately. We will pay you for this month and the next. And please keep your phone open. One of our associates will call you about the unfinished work you're leaving."

"I don't mind finishing it."

"No thank you, Ms. Aydoğan. I think that would be all."

The following day I went shopping with a stylist that Phillipp had hired. I got myself some businesswoman outfits and some high heels that were very FDP. Later we had photoshoots in a studio and on the streets. The pictures appeared in ads on social media, on large billboards, and in papers and magazines all over Germany.

I had become the new, cutting-edge face of the old, dusty neo-liberal FDP.

Over the next few days, I learned what it was like to walk the streets after having my head shaved and tattooed with party propaganda. It got some attention. People stared at me on the street and journalists tried to approach me online and in person about my new look. I did as I had been told, smiled broadly, said little, and told them to contact Phillipp Graf Lambsdorff's press guy.

7. New Sponsors

The national attention got me a few other sponsors.

I managed to land a lucrative deal with a global, German manufacturer of sports shoes and had three neon green stripes with tiny notches at the edges tattooed on my upper body and legs from my armpits to my ankles, stretching over the top of my feet and alle the way over the three middle toes of each foot. Except for a part of my right thigh where the stripes had to give way for an oversized beer label from my favourite brewery in my hometown. I had sold that spot much too cheaply early in the process, before realising what my skin was worth commercially.

Obviously, the sports equipment firm didn't want to supply me with shoes or clothing as they wanted as much as possible of their brand to be visible at any time.

I was also approached by a well-known Bavarian motor company. They put their round logo in blue, white and black on a prominent spot at my left clavicle and, in return, parked one of their beautiful red cabrios in front of my home and handed me the keys.

The combination of his innovative methods and my attractive, if bald-headed, appearance did not make Phillipp Graf Lambsdorff a member of the German Bundestag. It would have got me another 25.000 €. But deep inside I was relieved. I didn't like the guy. He paid what he owed me, disappeared from my life, and I could finally let my hair grow. After two months, the stupid campaign ad on my head was completely invisible. And I could reassure my old friends that I hadn't become neo-liberal after all.

There was a significant change in my life when I moved in with Günther in his small apartment behind the tattoo parlour. We were together all night and most of the day, and he worked on my tattoos during the weirdest hours if we weren't busy fucking.

The North German autumn and winter are not a good time to expose large areas of human skin in public. So for obvious reasons, advertising was a bit slow. A week could go by without a new tattoo. The fewer new ads, the more we fucked.

I felt an obligation to entertain my now 21.000 followers on Instagram with video clips of my life as a living advertising pillar.

Certain parts of my skin that were still free are not easily displayed on some, rather prudish, social media. In October I opened up an OnlyFans account for paying customers which provided me with a platform where I could show all parts of my anatomy and all my tattoos.

Germany's largest sex toy retailer, founded in my hometown Flensburg as a mail order company just after WW 2, bought a large spot on my right inner thigh, and a very successful, global porn site had me shave my pussy to have its seven-letter name tattooed right there in black and orange. It cost them a six-digit amount in euros as I argued that this made my social media presence significantly more hardcore.

8. My New Big Boobs

Having taken that step, I didn't hesitate when the Fördebusen plastic surgery clinic in Kiel approached me, asking if I would like a free boob job in return for letting them use pictures of me, the well-known influencer, in their marketing. And have the text "These titties were created by" tattooed on my right boob and "the Fördebusen clinic" with a phone number on my left.

My A cup small boobs had annoyed me since I was a teenager so I decided to go as big as the surgeon would go, which was a D cup. And quite a change I must say. Apart from the cup size I had to choose the profile of the implants.

Modern internet has a lot of useful tools when it comes to decision making, so I decided to let democracy run its course and put the issue to a vote among my subscribers.

I asked them to choose between medium, high, and very high-profile implants. Not unexpectedly, 87 per cent voted in favour of the latter option, which, according to the Fördebusen website would "create very accentuated breasts with showy cleavage".

And that is what I have now.

I must admit, though, that my handball skills have not been the same since I got my high-profile D cup boobs. It's all a matter of balance, I guess.

Inviting paying customers to get acquainted with new parts of my anatomy, rapidly increased the number of subscribers to my OnlyFans profile. My financial problems as a poor student were long gone. But marketing myself was time-consuming, which made it difficult to keep up with my university schedule. So I decided to take a leave of absence during the spring semester and concentrate on caring for my followers and subscribers.

9. My New Habit

One subscriber confided in me that "tattooed bitches are smokers".

"What do you mean?" I wrote back and started a dialogue with the guy.

"I want you to start smoking."

"Why? I'm more the sporty, non-smoking kind of girl."

He wrote back that it was completely out of character for a heavily tattooed woman with fake boobs and the name of the world's largest porn site tattooed right above her snatch (as he put it) to be a non-smoker. And that he had dreams of me starting to smoke.

I decided to put it to another democratic vote among my subscribers. The result can best be described as a landslide with a high turnout and 82 per cent in favour of Dina becoming a smoker. And even though I had said it was a non-binding referendum, there was no going back as the outcome was so clear. After all, that's how democracy works.

Günther was delighted to finally get to teach me to smoke:

"That'll keep you from complaining about my smoker's breath because you'll have one yourself," he pointed out and breathed into my face.

The first couple of cigarettes were awful. I had the most pathetic coughing fits on the pavement in front of the Förde Tattoo studio. My mouth was filled with this chemical taste that wouldn't go away no matter how much water I drank.

"I read that your brain releases an amount of a happiness hormone called dopamine when you smoke," I said to Günther in disbelief as I butted out my third Marlboro Red and tried to suppress severe coughing and puking reflexes.

"Sure," Günther said. "But you need to smoke a few more before you get there."

Early the next morning I bought my first pack of cigarettes. I chose the blue pack because of the nice drawing of the peacefully looking, big desert animal with the hump on the back, the palm trees, and the pyramids as those cigarettes were said to be lighter than Günther's full flavour brand.

Determinedly, I smoked my first cigarette at eight o'clock in front of the shop. I made sure to inhale the way Günther had taught me and to smoke it all the way to the filter. I smoked in two-hour intervals throughout the day. At four o'clock I thought I sensed the relief and release of dopamine. By 5:30 I was back on the pavement, as I felt the urge to smoke my six o'clock cigarette a tiny bit earlier.

By then, Günther paid me the compliment that I looked like a "real smoker" (whatever that is), and I smoked six more that evening. The next day, I started smoking on camera for the benefit of my many followers and subscribers who had democratically decided that their badass tattoo lady should become a smoker.

Since that day, I have made sure to get that glimpse of happiness 15 to 25 times each day. Smoking certainly has its upsides. Also in combination with sex when Günther licks my pussy or fucks me doggy style while I take deep inhales from my cigarette. Our otherwise strict ban on indoor smoking was lifted as soon as I found out how much I like smoking during sex. After all, we couldn't go in front of the shop to fuck on the pavement.

Two more weeks into my career as a smoker, I got an email from a guy from the marketing department of a cigarette company who asked me to phone him back. I went outside the shop, lit a cigarette, and rang him.

"You like our cigarettes, Ms Aydoğan?" he asked in a polished voice.

"I'm addicted to them. In fact, I'm smoking one right now," I said and noisily blew smoke toward the microphone.

"That's good to hear. How would you like to have a year's supply sent to your home address on the condition that you stick to our brand and keep showing the pack on camera when you pick another cigarette?"

"I would like that."

"And I understand that there will soon be some free advertising space on your back?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've mentioned on your blog that you'd like to get rid of the logo of the handball team that you're not so fond of. And I understand that your contractual obligations concerning that tattoo expire this spring."

"Yes. But it's a lot of black ink. So I wonder if you can use that space."

"Actually, Ms Aydoğan, we've consulted Germany's leading tattoo removal experts. They've promised that they'll be able to achieve a fine result using laser technology on the area. And then we would like to pay you a handsome sum if you'd let us use that space for our well-known brand."

"Okay? I might be interested."

"And as this is covered by your personal freedom of expression, we wouldn't have to include all the 'Smoking kills' nonsense that we are forced to print on our packs these days."

"That's nice. I wouldn't want that tattooed on me anyway."

We soon agreed on a reasonable price that reflected that I made an agreement with a large multinational company.

The laser treatment went well. Only a bleak shadow of the hated zebra was left afterwards. And now that it's all covered with a big cigarette ad, the humiliating THW Kiel tattoo that started it all is practically invisible.

10. A Warn Evening in June

Günther had spent that warm afternoon in late June at the studio, filling some of the still fewer gaps between my tattoos with beautiful flowers and colourful ornaments. Advertising was slow which was natural as there I had almost no attractive spots left to offer.

Afterwards we had pizzas and sex. We were smoking in bed, naked, relaxing after several orgasms. Without the knowledge of the public or the sponsor, I had switched to Günther's stronger cigarettes. After being a smoker for a couple of weeks, I realised I liked them more. And it was simply practical that we could smoke from each other's packs.

We made a confidential agreement with the local kiosk owner, that we could swap the cartons that I was supplied with by my sponsor with cartons of Günther's brand. On camera, of course, I faithfully stuck to the brand of my paying customer.

"It's such a fine evening. Want to go for a walk?" I asked.

"Sure," Günther said.

I rolled over in bed, butted out my Marlboro, and found a black zip-up crop top, which nicely displayed, what the Fördebusen clinic advertised as my 'showy cleavage'. I put on a tight mini skirt, skipped the panties as I couldn't find a clean pair, and slipped into my favourite black high heel sandals that I wore all the time now. At this point most of my wardrobe was chosen to maximise the exposure of my tattooed skin and the ads of my sponsors. Which was no problem as this was a warm evening.

As I passed the bedroom mirror, I quickly applied fresh lipstick and mascara.

We grabbed a couple of ice-cold beer bottles with flip tops from our fridge and slowly walked by the harbour. Our conversation was interrupted by people who greeted me.

"Hello, Dina," they would say with a smile, and I would answer without having the slightest clue about their names.

"I voted for the FDP because of you, Dina," one guy said to me in passing.

"Oh, that's nice," I smiled back at him while thinking about how stupid and shallow he must be. We're so lucky that not all German men vote with their dicks.

Occasionally, someone would approach me and ask for my autograph, either on a blank piece of paper or on a commercial photo of me from one of my sponsors. I took the time to sign all of it and exchange a few friendly remarks.

It didn't seem to bother Günther who, by now, must have been used to my fame and my more than 650.000 followers on Instagram.

We walked across the unique, foldable Hörn Bridge, past the Germania Harbour and through the Kai-City before we sat down on a bench with an excellent view of the inner harbour. We opened our bottles, and each took the first sip. Then I lit a cigarette and took off my sandals.

"Do you realise how much has changed in your life since we first met?" Günther asked as he started massaging my feet.

"Sure!" I smiled, put down the bottle, placed the cigarette between my teeth, and cupped my hands around parts of my large tits.

"No. Seriously, Dina. You've got an expensive car, and you're loaded with money. Do you really wanna go back to uni? You don't need to become a lawyer now."

"But I want to."

"You do? Do you think that they'll hire you as a judge or a prosecutor when they know what'll be under the robe and they can see it all on the internet?"

"Probably not. But there are other kinds of lawyers."

"Yeah? What kinds?"

A guy in jeans and a dirty white T-shirt suddenly appeared very closely in front of us:

"Hi, Dina," he said, totally ignoring Günther.

I looked at him and exhaled smoke to the side.

"Hi."

He stood there for a couple of seconds, seemingly a bit drunk. Maybe more than a bit.

"I just wanted to say..."

"Yes?"

I drank from my bottle.

"I wanted to say that you're really cool when you smoke that cigarette."

"Okay."

I took another drag of my cigarette.

"I voted for you to start smoking."

"Well. Thank you for your participation."

This time I exhaled my smoke directly into the guy's face which seemed to please him.

"And I also voted for your big tits. I really like them."

"So do I," I answered and took the bottle to my mouth to have another sip of beer.

I wasn't prepared for what happened next. With surprising skills in hand-eye coordination, he suddenly pulled down the zipper of my crop top, so my big braless boobs fell out.

With the bottle in one hand and the cigarette in the other, I was practically defenceless, and spilled half my beer into my lap.

Günther rose to his feet and him being a man of remarkable stature soon made the jerk run away.

I put down the bottle and managed to stuff my tits back inside within seconds.

A group of young men standing maybe 10 meters away clapped, whistled and yelled Zugabe, which means as much as "encore" in German.