Perky dirty blond, even in a dirty shirt and torn pants, you can tell a looker when you see one.

She strolls into the large room, confident and carefree.

Wow, what a soft face. Hazel eyes. She’s gorgeous.

She sees me looking.

She looks back.


Game On.

I look away, not wanting to seem too interested.

She looks away as well, as she brings her right hand slowly up her thigh, as she turns to reveal a nicely shaped silhouette.

Oh, you’re friendly.

Her eyes locked on me now as she lifts her back leg a bit while bending slightly at the hips to push out her chest.

I’m going to enjoy this!

Adjusting my stance to accommodate some personal changes, I cut the fine figure in my Hugo Boss and leather boots.

Throwing her head back, she begins swinging her hips as she pulls the hem of her shirt out from her pants.

She looks as soft as the little one I had last week, but far more playful!

Slowly, and with intent, her hands rub the shirt fabric up, against her skin, revealing a pale, but tight stomach.

Show me what you got honey!

Pushing it ever higher, her shirt barely reveals the strap of a red bra, before falling loosely about her torso.

She let go. Ugh.

Her eyes lock with mine again, this time just as she places her left index finger in her mouth, licks it with a gentle touch of her tongue before letting it slide down her chin, under her neck, to her chest.

I stare back at her, leather baton in my left hand resting across my front to hide my enjoyment of this little show.

Swishing her hips again, she places both hands on the hem of her shirt, ripping it up and over hear head in one fluid motion.

I want her!

I start toward her.

Damn the rest, this one’s mine!

She crumples up her shirt, throwing it in my face.

Sweaty, grimy, dirty, female pheromones; I’m taking her right now! 

Her shirt covers my face; enveloping my senses in the dream of sensuality.

Just then, I feel a shove against my chest, and a grab at my right arm.

What was that?

Who was that?

Was that her?

Instead of pulling the siren shirt from my face, I reach down, unclasping my Luger from its leather holster.

What’s happening?

Two hands throw my right arm up, away from my pistol.

With my left hand I pull the encapsulating shirt away from my face.

Dirty blond is directly before me, my pistol in her right hand.


I bring my left hand up to throw the shirt in her face just as she pulls the trigger on the Luger.

PPHHUUMMPP, PPHHUUMMPP, two rounds enter my stomach.


Emmerich rushes over as she turns the pistol on him, firing at his leg.

Doubling over, and collapsing to the hard cold concrete floor, I lose site of the pretty pistol armed inmate.

I could have had her.

Commotion reigns around me as screaming women let loose on the other guards.

It’s a riot.

Automatic gunfire erupts from within the undressing room. Repetitive fire follows from outside where the rest of the prisoners were lined up waiting to enter.

We’re saving gas and wasting bullets today.

I lose site of everything.



On October 23, 1943 Franceska Mann, a beautiful Polish Jew with blue-black hair was one of 1,700 Jewish women arriving at Auschwitz-Birkenau. Part of a trainload of prisoners told they were heading to Switzerland to be exchanged for German POW’s, the 1,700 were told to undress before being disinfected so they could cross the border. As they were undressing, Franceska noticed SS roll call officer Josef Schillinger ogling her with his eyes. There are different accounts of exactly what happened, but what is known is she seductively began to undress, keeping his attention on her. She either threw her shirt at his face or smashed a high-heal against it, covering his eyes either way. Then she grabbed his pistol, firing two shots into his stomach. At this point, the other inmates attacked the SS guards, all of whom were rushed out of the room. Machine guns set up outside the room killed the lined-up prisoners who were waiting to enter while grenades were thrown into the undressing room to kill those inside. Schillinger died of his wounds. Emmerich survived with a permanent disability. All 1,700 women prisoners were killed, possibly all in defiance.

The 1,700 women had been told they were a special transport because they had all paid large amounts of money to the Gestapo for permits to emigrate to Paraguay. Turns out, that was just a ruse to take their money and get them on the train. The permits were not real. Nor was the intent to send them to Switzerland. They were, instead, taken to a death camp for execution. When the women learned of this, they rose in revolt.

Also of note, the SS uniforms were designed by Hugo Boss. This is how the fledgling company first came to prominence. Turns out, somehow, it’s done quite well since then.