Dear reader,
This is my first story in English and I hope my translation program is better than I am.
The whole thing is a mystery and I want you to guess the person by the story.
I wish you a lot of fun and hope that it is not too easy.
***
I would like to introduce myself briefly. As an author I call myself Arne, I come from Germany and have already published 35 stories on the German site of Literotica. If I don't embarrass myself very much at the first attempt at translation, maybe it could be more.
I would be very happy about comments and critics, so that I know what I can improve.
*****
Hooray, vacation at last. Off to Switzerland to M. on Lake Lugano. With some Swiss friends I want to spend there two weeks of lazing and doing nothing.
Urs is a painter and will spend the next 14 days in his studio anyway and his wife Iris has enough to do with her youth group. So I can pursue my hobbies, sailing and photography in peace. Well, sailing. I just know how to tame a one-man dinghy; I'm just a mountain man and not a tadpole.
But I can photograph perfectly.
As every year, we have moved into our quarters in the community centre, where Urs does his painting courses for beginners and where I hold readings in the evening from my satirical short stories and from works by friends of mine.
After breakfast a light wind blows and I decide to change to the Italian side with the dinghy; for coffee, strolling and shopping. While having coffee I lean back in my wicker chair and let the atmosphere of the harbour affect me.
A few meters away, near the mole, they probably take advertising photos. The photographer and his assistants are very busy and are constantly scurrying around the model. They give loud instructions, constantly argue and seemingly cannot agree on the motifs. The model seems annoyed and sits in a garden chair with a grumpy expression on her face.
I take a closer look at her. That's right, they are also accommodated with us in the centre and I met them yesterday at dinner. The lady seems a little too old for a photo model; I estimate her to be about 45 years old. But she doesn't look so bad at all. Slim, quite tall, a good figure ( wiry ) and a striking face with pronounced facial features. She wears the black hair in a fashionable hairstyle, which lies like a helmet around her head. I also mean that I have seen her somewhere before. I don't know where.
The group quarrels for a while without being able to agree, then they pack up their junk, squat into their premium limousines and get out of the way. Since the wind is slowly easing, I decide to sail back before I row.
Half an hour later I moor my boat in M. at the mole and look for my friends. Of course I meet them over coffee, where else.
As soon as I have taken a seat and Urs talks about my adventures, haha, the photo troop appears and begins to set up their utensils in front of our accommodation.
She had to drive her cars around half the lake, I could take the direct way.
The mood of the model does not seem to have improved yet. She seems to be English or Australian as she only speaks English. I understand that quite well and so I hear the arguments.
She should change because there is still one hour of good photo light left. With Urs' permission, an easel is erected on our house wall and the tripods and cameras are set up. Then the model appears in the door.
Wow, she looks great. She wears a dark grey trouser suit with light grey stripes, high, black high heels and is discreetly made up. Very attractive and very sexy. The contrast to her clothes and the tanned skin is the snowy blouse.
Now it clicks and I know where I know it from. I have seen her in a film role in which she looked more like a man-woman to me, with austere facial features, bony and unattractive. But now she is a woman through and through. She is not an Englishwoman either, but comes from a former British crown colony on the American continent.
The photographer points to the easel. What, with the outfit and shoes is she supposed to scramble up there????!! They are stupid.
C. presses her lips together and rises carefully and insecurely to the top. The photographer takes picture after picture around jumps around like a box devil. Now she should also do gymnastic exercises on the wobbly frame. That can't go well.
And it doesn't go well either. The easel comes from the rocking into the swaying and C. falls with a loud outcry to the ground. If it had been a lawn, then perhaps it would have ended lightly, but she falls onto the sidewalk with pebbles and remains lying crying.
Urs and I hurry to her, pick her up carefully and carry her into the first-aid room.
"Where is the ambulance?' I shout.
"It comes back in broadest Schwyzerdütsch, "Där isch hüt nit do, där hät hüt fri.
