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and afterward I asked myself why." A virtual foot stomp can be heard in her words.

      Perplexed, he raises his eyes to the ceiling. "I hate shopping." Then hope springs up in him. "Would you at least go with me? ...for advice?"

      Ilona agrees.

      While I put on my T-shirt and sweater, I think with relief that my punishment has probably been forgotten about, at least for the time being.

      Since Richard's sports car won't fit three people, we'll have to drive Ilona's small car. He takes a seat on the passenger seat and looks around suspiciously, probably wondering why one would get such a vehicle at all.

      "I'll order a car for you," he says to Ilona. "Would you rather have a Porsche or a Ferrari?"

      At a walking pace, we crawl along the congested road towards the city centre and in disgust she looks over at him. "What would I do with such a flashy car?"

      He looks back at her without understanding, with his right hand clasped to the handle above the window like a grandmother on her Sunday drive. "Why flashy car? It has nothing to do with showing off"

      "Then what is it?"

      "Driving comfort. And style... Besides, without a decent car, you're not taken seriously."

      Oh. Is there some sort of inferiority complex in smart, confident Richard? This is something I never thought I'd see.

      Ilona thinks differently: "Oh. Aren't you taking me seriously?"

      "It's different with you, you're a woman."

      With a critical side glance, Ilona explains to him that he is currently on very thin ice and that he should never say something like that on Facebook if he doesn't want to harvest a shitstorm. During her talk, we drive past the traffic jam. An accident. One car collides with another. Fender bender. The left of the two lanes is blocked. Big drama. A woman cries, a fat man gestures furiously, a policeman makes placatory gestures.

      "Oh wow, it is a clunker," says Richard as we agonize over it.

      Ilona wouldn't object to a new car, but a normal one. Middle class. Not a huge thing.

      "Upper middle class, okay," nods Richard. "It'll be here within the week."

      The deal is done. Must be nice to have a lot of money, I guess. Others, including myself, might negotiate the purchase of a new coffee maker that way. But I have to beware of social envy, because somehow I'm one of the rich people now, albeit in a questionable role and anything but at eye level.

      Ilona leaves the car in the car park that is close to my apartment and I think of suggesting to them that I could just get negligee and suspenders quickly. From the dirty laundry. And that it got a little stained. No, maybe it's not a good idea. So I follow them silently to the next department store and then straight to the lingerie department.

      Halfheartedly I take part in the process. Actually, it's incredible what I'm doing here: I come shopping for lingerie with my mistress and a filthy-rich CEO. A lingerie for me! So they can see me in it later. Of course, all this is incredibly attractive, on the one hand, while on the other hand it frightens, embarrasses, confuses me. How do I put up with all that?

      Ilona, too, seems anything but enthusiastic, is not keen on seeing me in ladies' clothes, probably would have preferred to choose something for herself. But Richard, he has no scruples, of course not, he doesn't have to wear the clothes. It doesn't take long, he has found a lot, two suspender belts, one red, the other black, and three negligees, one red, one white, one black, all lavishly decorated with frills. He seems to enjoy shopping, which he supposedly hates. He wants to hurry to the stocking department, but Ilona tells him that there are no stockings of the right size here and that you have to go somewhere else. She takes the things to the till, pays there with his card and puts the shopping bag into my hand.

      Determined, we run after her to the exit. I have a hunch of where she'll lead us, and my hunch is right. We end up in the stocking store where I once met her, back then, when we were shopping with Gudrun and Sofie. It's a beautiful memory that I cherish, but only for a moment.

      Ilona doesn't care that nobody must know anything about my role, neither the saleswoman nor the fat customer who is rummaging around in the pantyhose department. She points to me and does not even think of muting her voice: "We need stockings for him. He likes to wear them."

      The customer looks over in consternation, but the saleswoman remains unimpressed, probably she is used to a lot. Professionally, she takes me into her sights. "I think I'm a size four." Ilona knows that, has already bought stockings in this size for me, probably in this shop here; she probably just wanted to embarrass me in front of other people. And she succeeded.

      I don't know if the salesgirl recognizes me or not, and it doesn't matter. I look around for a mouse hole to crawl into, but I don't find one. Again Richard feels responsible for the selection, digs in the compartments the saleswoman shows him and brings out packages in black, white and red. Without complaint, Richard's card lets the purchase price be taken care of and the stockings go into my shopping bag, which still has room for them.

      Out on the street, he looks at Ilona reproachfully. "Actually, the whole world need not know about him."

      It's the first time I've ever agreed with him.

      Indifferently Ilona shrugs her shoulders. "He's who he is, so let him stand by it. Secrecy is not good for the soul."

      "His spiritual life seems to be in order," says Richard, without knowing anything about it.

      On the way to the car the two of them bitch even more and I feel like a little boy listening to his parents arguing. The best thing for my soul would be for them to get along again and to merge into harmony, surrounded by sweet violin sounds...

      At home, at Richard's villa, firstly I am sent upstairs with my shopping bag to the bathroom to change.

      "Put on the red stockings," Ilona calls after me as I almost climbed the stairs. "And tell me who they remind you of."

      I pause, turn around, know exactly what she wants to hear. "They remind me of... of the frivolous hussy. Again I feel like Judas and bleed my heart out when I have to call the wonderful Sofie so shamefully.

      Richard looks from her to me in confusion. "Who is this frivolous hussy?"

      "I'll tell you in a minute," she says and retreats into the living room with him.

      Luxury without end, even in the bathroom. The taps are gold-plated, the tiles look as if they were individually handmade and the anthracite-coloured ceramics look so noble that you hardly dare to use them. The red stockings, oh dear. Now that I have to put them on myself, I can understand Sofie's aversion to them at the time. But it's no use. I put on the red suspender belt and the black negligee. It looks funny, I notice when I look in the mirror, but no, it's not that it looks funny, it's me who offers this funny sight. I prefer to do without shoes, as I cannot walk around in my shoes in this outfit. So I walk down the stairs in stockings, very carefully, so as not to slip on the shimmering blue metal steps. Without any protection, the cock sticks down there and it doesn't get any smaller when I step in front of the two of them in the living room.

      "It turns him on," Richard says with a grin.

      Ilona waves away resignedly. "That's just the way he is. Anything perverse makes him horny."

      On the coffee table, I see with horror, there is a crop and two pairs of handcuffs.

      "Brought from home especially for you," says Ilona with a scowl on her face. "It was a good idea. We'll need it."

      Richard is being questioned. "Me first."

      How? He wants to be beaten? No, he doesn't mean it. I must kneel before him and this time I won't be saved by the doorbell. I can't believe I'm doing this. But I have no choice, can do nothing about it, nestle down the zipper of his presumably tailor-made trousers without further ado. If I can at least placate him, perhaps a great deal has already been won and mitigated. There it appears before me, the tall sceptre. Well, I don't really need more hesitation.

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