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Biter

Chicken Soup for the Sex Addict

A hot homespun inspirational sampler

By Richard von Busack

A READER writes: Raised in an orphanage, I never knew my mother or father. At the Peach Blossom Home for Foundlings, I had few friends; my long, straight blonde hair, narrow waist and perhaps overlarge breasts, which I barely could restrain with halter tops, all singled me out for scorn. Nights were made unhappy by pillow fights and constant showers. Clothing was always in short supply, and we were often forced to wear peignoirs and negligees around the clock.

Just before my 18th birthday, I received a telegram from my long lost Uncle Sebastian. I wept with joy! I had family after all. My uncle took me under his wing, and soon I had a full-time job as a personal assistant to an international businessman in the oil industry. I wanted to tell this story to remind readers that happiness is, always, just around the corner.


In 1898, on a village outside of Trieste, a child was born. He was one of 15 children fathered by an illiterate Schwabian beet farmer and his wife. When the boy was 5, his mother died of quinsy. The child was apprenticed to a glass factory. When he was 12, an explosion there cost him the use of one eye.

Drafted into the Austro-Hungarian army, the boy was wounded in the World War I battle of Caporetto; complications from the surgery cost him the use of his leg. Unable to find work, he relocated to Berlin. He was so poor that he had to rent his trousers, rather than buying them outright.

No one who saw Heinrich Schlagerstien in 1918 would have thought he had much of a future--a starving, one-eyed, one-legged veteran in rented trousers. But he persisted. From petty procuring and freelance pimping, Schlagerstien eventually founded the institution he's remembered for: Die Schtuppenzirkus--Weimar, Germany's most exclusive sex club. On a given night, one might find such luminaries as Albert Einstein, Marlene Dietrich, Louise Brooks or Bertold Brecht stark naked underneath a pile of writhing revelers. As Christopher Isherwood wrote, "At Die Schtupperzirkus, all five sexes, and any number of venereal diseases, were welcome round the clock."

At any point on his journey through life, Schlagerstien could have quit. But he didn't. He followed his dream.


Sheik Ilderim al-Aqbar had it all: a pedigree that stretched back to the Prophet's grandson, mansions at Riyadh and Sloane Square, millions in the bank. But in his heart, he longed for the one thing he couldn't seem to find: a blonde and completely amoral concubine.

Other sheiks had such women, sometimes dozens of them: Circassians, Romanians, Russians. Ilderim, alas, never could seem to find that one right woman. He was sad. Real sad. Very sad indeed.

One day, the sheik's head procurer--an ex-member of Mossad who traveled under the name "Sebastian"--presented him with a fresh-out-of-the-orphanage Minnesotan. Her natural lewdness was trained and refined by Ilderim's harem keeper Ilsa, who had formerly been a she-wolf of the S.S. and a tigress of the Gulags. Before long, this new addition to the sheik's household was ready to make her debut. On his 50th birthday, she rewarded Ilderim's generosity with an exhibition that included a cast of two separate sets of triplets, the Royal Copenhagen Ballet, Tara Reid and a live peacock.

The moral? Stay true to your desires, and they'll stay true to you.


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From the October 9-15, 2003 issue of Metro, Silicon Valley's Weekly Newspaper.

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