It had been a surprise to wake in that bed, hours before dawn, beneath unfamiliar bedclothes. At first, I could not remember where I was or how I had come to be there. When my memory caught up with my consciousness, I smiled as I felt the warmth of Erich's arms around me. Lightly, I put my palm to his forehead. His fever had broken. I kissed his brow, slipped from between the sheets and left him sleeping there. I crossed the room to light the stove, and began heating water for a bath.
Apart from the usual dust and rumple of traveling, the smell of unwashed skin and coal soot permeated my hair and underclothes. When I was at the convent, my appearance hadn't much mattered. Now, however, I found myself preoccupied with the thought. I could not help but notice how thin I had become. The food shortages and stress of the past years had taken their toll on my young body. I certainly did not resemble the dewy and voluptuous French women that I had seen on soldiers' postcards at the hospital. It had been days since I had last bathed and weeks since I had last washed my hair. I waited impatiently for the water to warm, anticipating the glorious sensation of properly clean skin.
Soon the fire had heated the room, and I glanced toward the bed where Erich lay, making sure he was still asleep. In the darkness, I began to peel away my layers of wrinkled clothing. First I removed the bodice of my frock, then the skirt. Next came the slip and petticoat, then the stockings and drawers. Finally, I removed my brassiere and unpinned my hair so that it fell around my shoulders. I took a thick piece of flannel, dampened it in the water atop the stove, and began to bathe myself. Unused to the exposure, my teeth began to chatter as I worked the suds from a sliver of soap into my hair and skin.
I rubbed my skin with the flannel until it became rosy, then rinsed my hair, and began to dry myself. The soap I had used smelled lightly of lavender, and I breathed in the fragrance with relish. Momentarily, I stood naked in front of the stove, delighting in its warmth on my bare skin. I could not very well return to wearing my filthy stockings and undergarments, but I had only one change of clothes—a lovely white summer dress that my mother and father had bought me in Berlin before the war. I didn't feel that the occasion merited such a fine piece of clothing, but I opened my valise and removed it nonetheless. I slid it over my head and felt the cool cotton settle upon my figure like snow.
The first silvery rays of morning sun crept through the windows just as I finished dressing. My hair hung in loose curls down my back, and I debated whether to bother with a chignon. As I pondered, I glanced again at the bed. This time, Erich was sitting upright, gazing back at me. I blushed, wondering if he had seen me in a state of deshabille. He rose from the bed, and I could see that during the night he had removed his uniform jacket and wore only a white shirt in addition to his trousers. Though I had seen many men in their most natural state, I had always felt distant and clinical toward them. Now, this vital young man stood before me—fully clothed—and I could hardly stop myself lusting for him. The color in my cheeks deepened.
Erich approached quietly, and softly placed his right hand against my reddened cheek. With his other hand, he encircled my waist and pressed himself to me. I gasped at the sudden contact, but he smiled and lowered his lips to my own. His kiss was warm and passionate, and I felt myself melt into him. Slowly, he ran his right hand along my neck and shoulder. He twirled my strawberry curls around his fingers, and then continued tracing down my back. I shivered with pleasure when his hands met at my waist.
Just then, he removed his lips from mine and let them wander down my neck to my shoulder. Each tender peck elicited a sigh from me and an increased desire between us. My hands, which had at first rested lightly on his shoulders, began to clutch at his back. He set his hands on my hips and vigorously moved me toward the far side of the room. He pushed himself against me, and pinning my back to the wall, he lifted me so that I could wrap my legs about his torso.
I balanced there on his hips, my arms thrown around his neck and shoulders. He found my lips again and kissed me forcefully. His breathing had become heavy, and the sound of it ignited in me a physical longing I had never experienced. My hands found the supple skin of his neck and I began to unbutton the collar of his shirt. He made a noise in his throat like a low growl and tightened his grip around my waist.
After a few moments, he loosed one hand from my waist and slowly moved it down to my hip and thigh. The dress I wore had ridden partway up my thigh, and I sighed when he placed his hand on my bare leg. He stopped kissing me then, and carefully let me slide down so that my feet touched the floor. With one hand still wrapped around my waist, he leaned down and whispered to me.
"My God, you're beautiful. I want to touch every inch of you."
